Darkness Girl: Trickster God

Chapter Seventeen: Painful Clarity

After the first two days, Regan started to lose her sense of time. Even when she closed her eyes, the harsh lights lanced through her eyelids and into her brain, and every time she started to sink into sleep the music seemed to twist and pull her back. The air became thick like gelatin, and the swinging motion as she dangled from the chains in the ceiling made her feel like she was under water. Her skin felt thin and papery, as if all of her nerve endings had been exposed to the air. Through it all, Pyotr drifted around her, a constant dark presence whispering in her ear. 

After five days, she could barely hold thoughts in her head without feeling like they were pouring from her ears every time she moved. The light flooded into her and filled her from the inside out. 

She wasn't sure how long she'd been been awake when the music stopped. Through the fog, she felt Pyotr's giant hand grip her jaw. She tried to look at his face, but her vision refused to stay focused. 

'Your eyes have lost the savagery they once had.' 

'Eyes,' Regan smiled. 'My eyes don't work anymore.' 

'Someone wants to talk to you.' 

Regan giggled. 

'It's no good if she can't focus,' said a voice submerged somewhere in the light. 'Trevellian screwed up.' 

'Trevellian,' Regan mumbled. 'Should have killed him.' 

'It's a bit late for that now,' said the voice. 

Pyotr released her head and her chin dipped down to her chest. Her brain felt heavy; too heavy for her to hold up. 

'I can bring her back,' said Pyotr. 

There was a sound of chains running through a mechanism and suddenly she felt herself drop. Her face hit the metal floor before she could even think to catch herself. Pyotr rolled her over and slowly unlocked the chains binding her wrists. 

'What do you think you're doing?' said the voice. 

'The strength she had is gone,' said Pyotr. 'I saw it in her eyes. She's broken.' 

Regan felt his powerful arms scoop her up and lift her into the air. 

'I don't want to get married,' she mumbled. 

'She's delirious,' said the voice. 

Regan tried to work out where the voice was coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere. It was familiar somehow. She wondered if it was coming from inside her head. 

There was a jolt in her spine as she was lowered on to a chair. She was sitting at the metal table in front of the mirror. Pyotr slipped a pair of handcuffs around her wrists and placed her hands palm down in front of her. The metal surface of the table was cold against her skin. She pulled her hands away. Pyotr placed them back. She pulled them away again and giggled. This time Pyotr slammed them back into place angrily. The chains of the handcuffs jangled. 

Regan looked up and saw a pathetic blood-covered apparition with matted blue hair in front of her. 

'Who's that girl?' she said. 

'She's gone,' said the voice. 

'Pain brings clarity,' said Pyotr. 

He grasped Regan's right index finger. 

'Wait,' she said. 'Need that for swords.' 

Pyotr wrenched it sideways with a sound like a carrot being snapped in a wet paper bag. Pain shot up through Regan's hand and into her brain, bringing everything into perfect, terrible clarity. She convulsed forward and screamed. Pyotr reached for her middle finger. She tried to push his hand away but he used the back of his hand and struck her across the mouth. Blood flecked the mirror in front of her. 

'No,' she moaned. 'Don't.' 

His fist jerked upwards and her middle finger snapped like a twig. Regan's screams became louder. She slumped forwards and pressed her face into the cold metal of the table. Two of her fingers were pointing at sickening angles. A shiny shard of white bone protruded through the skin of her index finger. She tried not to throw up. Pyotr gripped her ring finger. 

'That's enough!' said the voice. 'You'll make her pass out if you do another.' 

Pyotr reluctantly released her finger. Regan's breaths were coming shallow and fast. They formed a small patch of condensation on the shiny metal of the table. Someone was letting out quiet, wheezing sobs, and it took a few seconds before she realised that the sound was coming from her. Even the most minuscule movements caused waves of pain to sear up from her mangled fingers. 

Pyotr gripped her hair and dragged her upright. She let out a hoarse yell. The light hammered down on her eyes. She stayed upright after he released her, and another cold, metal chair was placed beside her. There was something indefinably ominous about it. 

A shadow detached itself from the side of the room and slid sinuously towards her. 

Black combat fatigues, a black flak jacket and a black coat. Her white hair shone like a halo in the searing glow of the spotlights. A familiar pair of swords were at her side, their sleek black scabbards catching the light as she moved. She pulled the chair back slightly and sat down. Her cold eyes dissected Regan where she sat, taking in her bruised face and destroyed body. 

'Hello Regan,' she said. 

Regan tried to speak, but days of screams had left her vocal chords in tatters. Her voice came out as a dry croak. 

'Kessler.'