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"It’s up to you how we start and what we do to him," I said. "I do want to warn you, Sam likes us to take our time. Walking over and stabbing him in the heart and ending this quickly won’t be enough."
Ashley swiped her arm under her nose, wiping away the snot. "I’ll do my best." She swallowed hard. "I’ve never hurt anyone before. Not like this."
My hand found hers, and I squeezed. "I’m here. I’ll help you." I cleared my throat, deciding to tell her. "My parents didn’t do exactly what yours did, but it was bad. They sold me to men for sex. As far back as I can remember. I understand the betrayal. A parent should protect. They should honor the connection they have to a person they created."
Ashley’s eyes bored into mine with almost religious fervor as I spoke. "You understand," she whispered.
With a nod, I went on. "In this exact room, I destroyed my own father. My hands were slick with his blood by the end. A man helped me do what needed to be done, and by god, I’m going to help you do what needs to be done here." I pointed at the table. "Now grab that fucking hammer."
Ashley smiled and picked up the tool, and followed me back to the chair. Ernest was doing what they all did. He yanked and tugged at the ties, tearing his flesh in the process. Drops of blood dripped to the floor, hitting the floor with little plips.
"Don’t do this, baby. I’m your daddy. You don’t need to do anything they’re telling you to."
"His knee cap," I said, ignoring his pleas.
Ashley moved her murderous gaze to her father. "When I was seven, you told me that God said children had to honor their father. You said that anything we did was because God willed it. I can still hear you saying it over and over again as you fucked me. You kept muttering that shit. ‘God’s will be done. God’s will be done,’ over and over again. Every time you rammed that fucking thing into me. What does your shitty god say now?"
With a speed and viciousness that surprised even me, Ashley swung the hammer forward. It smashed into the kneecap with an anticlimactic pop. The bone buckled, the skin split, and Ernest screamed. His shout of agony pierced my eardrums, and echoed off the walls of the torture chamber. He rocked back and forth, screaming and looking down at his destroyed knee in shocked disbelief.
Rather than being appalled at what she did, Ashley smiled and gripped the hammer with both hands, holding it to her chest in exaltation, like a nun holding a crucifix.
"Did you like it?" I asked her
She nodded, moving her head in a hesitant sort of way, like she wasn’t sure if she really wanted to admit it. "It did. It feels good."
I pointed down to his opposite leg. "He’s got another one."
Ernest was sobbing and muttering for her to stop. Ashley’s lips peeled back and she brought the hammer down even harder. This time the head crashed into the top of the kneecap instead of dead center. The force of the blow sheared the bone completely off the leg, tearing the patellar tendon. The bone lay shattered and hanging from the bottom of the tendon, bouncing on his shin as he writhed and screamed in renewed agony. The acrid smell of piss filled the room as he lost control of his bladder, a yellow arch spurting out.
"God, please no. Please God, save me. Dear lord, sweet baby Jesus save me," Ernest murmured after the first wave of pain subsided.
He kept talking to his savior. If there was anything I knew for certain, it was that if there was an actual god, then he was nothing but a psycho who enjoyed the darkness of the world. The good things were far, far outweighed by the bad. Any deity that a man like this could worship wasn’t worth a penny in the offering plate or a moment of my time.
"What next, Ashley?" I asked, glancing back at the table full of tools.
She chewed at her lip and dropped the hammer, letting it fall with a bang on the floor. She grabbed the scissors, turned on a heel, and strode back. The intent I saw on her eyes sent a weird shiver up my spine. Before the lessons I’d learned here, that look would have horrified me. Now? I wished Drake was here. I wanted to ride his cock again while watching this girl work. Like we had when we’d watched Payton. Something had clicked in my brain. Now, this was the type of thing I desperately wanted to watch. Nothing about it horrified me anymore. In fact, I was excited to see what she had planned for the man.
She looked up at me once she’d returned to stand over her father. "I want to cut his ears off."
I looked into her eyes and smiled. "Then do it. Here there are no consequences to what you do to him."
"Please," Ernest screamed, his face blood red and veins bulging at his neck. "Someone help me."
Ashley grabbed his left ear, yanked it hard, and used the scissors. There was a sound like cutting a stack of wet construction paper, then Ernest made a high keening yelp that never ended. His voice screeched out in a single yowl of misery as she did the same thing to his other ear.
Ashley held the two severed ears to her mouth. "Can you hear me now, Dad? When I tell you to stop? Can you fucking hear me now?"
Ernest leaned forward and vomited on the floor between his feet, the pain too much for him to endure. Ashley stepped back, out of reach of the splash.
I could see that she was already exhausted, both physically and mentally. I walked around to put a hand on her shoulder. "I think that’s enough. You can end it now. I think Sam will be satisfied with this."
"Okay. Yeah. All right."
I led her to the table and picked up the bottle of acid, and placed it in her right hand, then I tucked the steak knife in her left. "I’ll let you figure out what to do with these."
Ashley’s eyes went wide as she looked at what she held in her hands. "I don’t—"
"Be creative," I urged. "Remember," I put my hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet my eyes, "he didn’t worry about what he did to you. Don’t worry about punishing him for it."
