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He quietly cries and doesn’t answer.
“One last question, and this one will earn you your freedom.”
Mr. Lewis slowly raises his head.
“Do you still love your wife?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“And yet you chose to put her through emotional heartbreak and drag her name through the mud in court. Why? I advise you to be honest.”
“Because…because I love my money and standing in society more.”
There is the truth. Greed.
“Very good, Frank,” I say, a little disappointed that I haven’t gotten very far in stripping his skin off.
No one has made it past mid-waist, and it makes me sad.
I pull a notepad and pen out of my back pocket.
“What are the passwords to all of your accounts?”
He remains quiet, his deepest fear coming true.
“I’d start speaking unless you want me to let the machine run until you have no skin left on any part of your body.”
My fingers twitch with anticipation. I hope he refuses.
He closes his eyes and sadly, I know he’s going to cave. The words flow from his lips, and when he’s done, he sobs like a child who has lost their favorite toy.
How very disappointing. I roll my eyes and walk over to my untraceable computer. Like everything else in this town, it is top of the line with the best security money can buy. I verify the information and then transfer all his funds into an offshore account. Before I log out, I change all the passwords to his wife’s name and birthday. Mr. Lewis is worth a bit more than ten million. I save the account numbers on an encrypted stick and stuff it in my pocket.
“You said that you’d let me go.”
“No, I said you’d earn your freedom.”
Whistling, I prepare the needle with the sedative.
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, Frank, it’s not.”
I walk toward him, flicking the needle to remove the little bubbles. Not because it matters, but because I don’t like the uneven pockets of air. They bother me.
“What is that?”
I don’t answer.
Predictably, he goes feral. Unfortunately for him, there is no way to chew off a limb and get away. He screams and thrashes, looking as ridiculous as one can imagine with his dick flapping and hitting his legs.
None of it stops me from inserting the needle into the IV line and pushing the plunger. It takes a few seconds, but his movements slow and he eventually falls completely still, slumping against the chains.
Whistling merrily, I drag over the plain, metal trolley and use the motorized crank to guide his body down onto it. Only then do I unlock the cuffs. They fall to the floor with a bang that echoes through the hall as I wheel him down to my cremator. Using the specialized hard cardboard rollers, I transfer his body from the trolley into the chamber.
Mr. Lewis is heavier than he looks, but that is why I work out six days a week. Once he is neatly on the drawer, I push it in, then close and lock the heavy door.
Now I clean up and wait. Despite all my security, I won’t leave anything to chance. The rooms are sanitized after every confession.
