AH – 25th January 2015
Rope in hand, I open the door and walk back in. The empty basement fills with the sound of gunshots as my high heels tap, tap, tap on the concrete floor. I smile a little as he struggles in the chair like he could wish his wrists free of the cuffs. With the bag over his head his senses are dulled but he turns his head, trying to work out where I’m heading.
I stop right behind him.
“Who are you?” he calls out. “What do you want?”
“I want to hear you say two words,” I reply. “Two words for your freedom.”
“I don’t understand.”
I yank the hood from his head and let his eyes struggle with the rush of light. I stay behind him but throw the length of rope down at his feet.
“Do you know what that is?” I ask.
“It’s . . . it’s rope.”
“Ten points to you, pendejo. Now try to cast your mind back and think if you’ve seen it before.”
“What? Are you crazy? It’s rope. How would I know one piece from another?”
“It upsets me that you don’t remember that specific piece of rope. That rope is different to any other piece in the world.”
I ignore him. “That piece of rope was used to tie my brother up for interrogation. It held him in place while he was beaten to death because he dared to speak out against a corrupt government! Ring any bells, hombre?”
“You . . . you won’t get away with this, bitch! They’ll catch you and torture you and rape you and bury you out in the desert. You can’t kidnap a member of the palace guard and expect-.”
The rest of his sentence becomes a poem of choking and gurgling. As I make my way across the basement I look back to see a waterfall of blood soaking his chest.
Knife in hand, I open the door and walk out.