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By the time the two of us stood in front of him, blood ran down my father’s arm and legs from where the restraints had sawed into skin. It was strange how similar humans were. He reacted the exact same way Branson had when I’d come for him. It made me realize these men weren’t humans. Not in my mind. They were simply animals caught in a trap. They’d chew off their own leg to get away.
My device buzzed, and I looked down to read: Remove his gag. Drake can bind the wounds, but you must do everything else.
Drake read his own device. He’d probably received the same or similar message. When he was done, he stared into my eyes and gave me a quick nod. I reached out and untied the rope in my father’s mouth. As it fell away, he looked at me with renewed fear.
“Baby girl—please—I’m your Papa. Help me. We can get out of here,” he said.
My lip curled in disgust, but my voice came out in a deadly monotone. “What did you tell me when the men came over? Did you help me when I yelled for help? Did you?” I looked at Drake, and gripped the saw to steady my shaking hands. “Hold his arm.”
Drake knelt down and clasped my father’s arm in his fingers, holding it tight so he couldn’t tug away. The saw shook as I lowered the blade to his flesh. I took a few deep breaths, and despite my best intentions, tears sprang to my eyes. I wasn’t worried about my father. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Drake reached out with a free hand and rested it on my hand holding the saw.
“You can do this,” Drake whispered.
“No! No, you can’t,” Dad yelled.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I shoved the saw forward. The metal teeth digging into the flesh on top of his wrist. Dad bellowed out a wail of pain as I pulled the saw back and forth, the skin parting neatly, then the facia beneath. There was a strange guitar string twang on the saw handle as I cut through the tendons and ligaments of the hand. My eyes were open wide with concentration and strain. It was harder than I thought. The human body was tough.
He bucked and screamed until his voice gave out. His howls of terror slowly became raspy hisses as his vocal cords were strained beyond their capacity. Once I got to the bone, I had to put a second hand on the saw. Pushing and pulling, back and forth, over and over. Dad’s shaking body and tears of pain spurred me onward. When the severed hand finally thumped to the floor, sweat was dripping down my brow.
Staring at the hand on the floor, I put a hand to my mouth. Not able to believe I’d done it. Drake was on his knees, tightly tying one of the rubber tubes around the nub on my father’s arm. His head was slumped to the side, eyes closed, passed out from the shock of the amputation.
When Drake was done tying the wound, he stood and put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “Three more. You can do this. He deserves it. If it makes it better, talk to me while you do the next one.”
I wanted to kiss him right then but controlled myself. Instead, I pushed those thoughts away, and wiped at my face, not realizing until I’d done so my palms were covered in blood. Crimson smears crossed my forehead and cheeks as I went to work on the next hand which woke my father from unconsciousness.
His bellows of agony came in rhythm with the saw’s movements. I didn’t notice he’d pissed himself until I moved to one of his feet. Staring down at the hairy foot, I rested the saw blade on his leg and started speaking, raising my voice over the wails.
“He told me my cunt was paying for our roof.” I started the back and forth motion again. “He slapped me when I begged for it to stop. For an extra twenty, he’d let people ram it up my ass, and then I’d bleed for days.”
My father screamed as I hit bone.
“He sold my baby sister. I loved her, and he made her be raped too.” I grunted and leaned into the stroke that cut off the bone. The severed limb dropped to the grate with a hollow pong. I panted, soaking wet with sweat and blood. Drake hurried to apply the tourniquet.
The smell of vomit and sound of retching from my father filled the room.
Taking another breath, I moved to his other foot. “She died when one asshole shot her up. She died while he was raping her. And then our father and mother lied and played stupid and skated again.” Tears streamed down my face as I spoke. My lips peeled back in a grimace of concentration, and my arm burned from the work.
Even though it was exhausting, each time I severed an extremity, I felt lighter. It was almost like each time I cut a piece off of him a part of me came back. A part that had vanished decades ago under the hot breath and thrusting hips of evil men.
Drake watched me, never taking his eyes off me. In their green depths, I saw care I’d never been given by anyone before, and that emotion helped tie the pieces I’d won back of myself together.
One last cut. Bone cracked. I dropped the saw to the floor with a clatter and walked over and picked up the spoon.
“Almost there, Dahlia,” Drake said. “Almost.”
With my jaw set, I stepped up to my father, and grabbed his chin. His stubble was smeared with vomit.
“Look at me,” I hissed. “Look.”
Dad’s eyes fluttered, and his eyes swiveled to meet mine, hazy with shock. “Dear god, no more. Please no more.”
I shook my head in disgust and didn’t even bother to answer. Instead, I lifted my hand and jabbed the edge of the spoon into his lower eyelid, and worked like I was using an ice cream scoop. Shoving, twisting, and pulling, until the eyeball flicked down into his lap with a wet bloody pop. The screams were higher pitched now, almost manic. He did sound like an animal. He shook in his bonds, almost like he was having a seizure.
And pop again.
Only one more task. I reached for the hammer and swung it to loosen my arm. Almost done.
Fifteen minutes later, it was over. All of it. I stood staring at what I’d done, blood dripping off the head of the hammer I’d taken his life with. I had blood up to my elbows and splattered across my clothes. The body was a red lump still tied to the chair. Exhausted, I dropped the hammer and didn’t flinch when it hit the ground with a gunshot loud crack.
