Ira

He could not tell when it was for there were no windows, only a single naked bulb flickering its faded light and stone walls. The cell was dank, smelling of mold, and piss. Ropes dug into his skin so tight, that his struggles for freedom left his wrists and ankles raw and bloody. His neck ached from the straining against the ties strapping his head and shoulders to a surgical table and the bruising cold metal of its surface. The woman, his captor, hummed as she busied herself mixing a concoction of noxious liquids. He had thought her pretty when he pursued her, but now saw the ugliness of her nature.

Sick. Demented.

She turned to him and reached for an unseen lever and began to crank it. The table moved, folding so that he was forced to stand with his head craned as far back as it could go.

"Your kind are so predictable. Using pretty lies to lure poor innocents, never considering that maybe they don't want to be into your bed. Maybe they just wanted someone to love them, but you don't really ask them, do you?" She picked up the vile of her vary special blend and lifted it close to his face so he could see it. "No, you were too busy feeding them your poisonous words." He was panting too heavily not to breathe in the vapers, and they singed his nose. "Well, now you'll know what it feels like.

Griping his chin with a gloved hand she pried his mouth open and poured the contents of the vial down his throat.

For a brief moment, all he tasted was the bitter tang of chemicals.

Then it began to burn.

The liquid seared through flesh, boiling his entrails intel they bubble up and foamed past his lips. He could not scream. He could not breathe. He could only burn with the fire inside.

I barely made it to the bathroom in time to puke, retching into the toilet until I was dry heaving. I could still smell the scent of liquefied flesh. My throat burned and my head throbbed as I leaned against the sink. Standing on shaky legs I reached for the faucet, needing to wash out the taste of sick coating my tongue. My gaze caught on the mirror, and I froze.

In the dim light of the bathroom, two bright glowing orbs peered back at me.

Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing.

Just a dream, I reminded myself, It's just a dream.

When I finally open them, the glow was gone.

Too disturbed to go back to bed, I head to the kitchen to find something to settle my stomach. A hushed murmur made me stop, the sound drifting through the door to the stairs leading down to the diner. Curious, I quietly opened the door and crept down the stairs, settling on the very last one.

"You can't just leave."

Mindy's voice came from the diner ketches.

"I have to. I can't stay here anymore."

Dad.

"Gar -Jon." There was a pleading tone despite her slip.

"She'll be safer without me. They know my face; I'm the one they're looking for."

"So, you're sneaking off in the middle of the night? Aren't you going to at least tell her?" No answer. "Are you doing this for her, or are you doing it for yourself?" Still, no answer. "Beth wouldn't have wanted this."

Mom. The sound of her name made my chest feel tight. This was the first time I'd heard it since she was... since she died.

"Beth is gone," Dad's voice was an echo of the hollowness inside us both. "They killed her."

"I know." A heavy sigh "I know, and I miss her too, but you have a daughter who lost her mother in a horrific way. Don't make her lose her father too."

Another long moment of quiet.

then "If you need to reach me use this."

A rustle. The door opens.

"When will you be back?"

Again, no answer, just a quiet "take care of her" and the closing of a door.

Mindy was still for so long that I wondered what she was thinking. If she was remembering the things that used to be. I didn't know the details of her and dad's past. Just that they know each other when they were young and split up shortly after Dad met Mom. For as long as I could remember Bethany Knoll had been my father's world and I loved it. Loved seeing them together and the way they made each other happy. Loved seeing them argue and make up. I loved that they were in love and that I was a part of their love.

Or so I thought.

Soft footsteps scoffed toward the stairs and Mindy appeared.

"Oh, Chica." She breathed, crouching in front of me. I didn't even realize I was crying until she reached up to wipe away the tears trailing down my face. "I'm so sorry. I tried-"

"I know."