Monday, December 26, 2011

Cruel Justice (an excerpt) by Mel Comley

Friday August 30th, 2007

The pain from the welts on the woman's naked back intensified. She had no concept of time, no idea how long she'd been tied up. Her hands had lost all feeling from being tightly bound to an old wooden chair.
Is this how her life would end?
It had taken a while, but her nostrils had finally grown used to the vile stench permeating her temporary cell.
Time, all she had was time. Time to think, time to ask the same question over and over. Who was he? And why was he holding her captive? What unspeakable thing had she done in her life to make a complete stranger treat her this way? I'm a kind and caring person, aren't I?
What type of person kept a woman locked up in a hellhole like this?
He tortured her with silence when he brought her food, if you can call week-old bread food. She had tried different ways to get a reaction out of him, shouting, reasoning, even her pitiful attempt at begging had fallen on deaf ears. His sneer, and the way his dark eyes roamed her naked body in response, made her skin crawl.
Now her own thoughts had started torturing her. Her aching limbs cried out for warm lavender-oil filled baths, if only to wash away the urine stinging her legs and the faeces clinging to her behind. She felt utterly degraded. It was a far cry from her usual opulent lifestyle.
Every waking minute dragged into agonisingly long hours. Please, when will this nightmare end? How will this nightmare end? She asked her maker, repeatedly.
Water dripped constantly in the corner adding to her torment. She blocked the noise out by reminiscing happier moments, hoping it would help prevent the craziness threatening to seep into her mind. Fearing her life would soon come to an end, she prayed endlessly that her dead husband would be there to greet her when she finally passed over. How wonderful it would be to feel his comforting arms around me now.
Her heart leapt into her throat when the hatch door swung open. The sudden rush of daylight hurt her eyes, causing them to water. She winced and was swiftly reminded that her right eye was swollen from the beating she had received a few days earlier.
The man gingerly made his way down the precarious ladder, followed by another person.
The imprisoned woman's pulse accelerated, furiously gathering momentum. He crossed the stone floor and stopped in front of her.
"Please please let me go," she pleaded, in a childlike voice.
The man stared at her for a moment before the vilest of laughs escaped his lips. "Why? Tell me why I should let you go?"
"I beg of you, please, tell me what I have done?"
He smirked, and circled her chair in a menacing manner. "Ah, ignorance is a blissful thing."
Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it back down. "Please, I'm begging you. Please tell me what I've done wrong?"
Through clenched teeth he said, "If only you had done something. Helped in some way, but you didn't, did you? It was far easier to just leave us there. To let us rot in that shithole for years. Well, now you know how it feels."
The man's words and aggression made her flinch. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you mean. Do I know you?"
"You're all the same. You avoid helping those who cry for help. Your kind makes me sick." As though filled with a terrible venom, his lips turned down, then he jerked his head and spat on her face.
"You and your ilk think you're all so mighty. But you're no better than the shite you're sitting on. You're all full of it!"
Tears ran over the bruises on the woman's cheeks as he ranted at her.
"You're a filthy, whimpering, bitch! What are you?"
She bowed her head.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
She held up her head.
"Now what are you?"
"I'm a filthy..."
"Yes? You're a filthy what?"
Snot ran into her mouth as she said, "I... I'm a filthy... whimpering, bitch..." Her throat tightened for want of a sip of water. She needed to wipe her nose.
His laughter filled the room.
"Please, could I have a drink of water?"
"Oh, madam would like to quench her thirst?"
"And how about something to eat? You must be hungry. No?"
The man pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped his hands into them. He then moved to the back of the chair.
She couldn't figure out what he was doing but when he stood in front of her again he smiled. She gulped at the sight of what he had in his hand. Her heart pounded.
"Open your mouth."
"Please don't..." Her brow furrowed.
"But you're hungry. Right? You said you were hungry. Now open your mouth. Wide."
Eyes stinging, she opened it, and the wider she did so the more her already-chapped lips cracked.
"Yes, your kind are full of it."
He moved closer and shoved a handful of faeces into her mouth.
"Now chew and swallow it!"
Between gagging and sobbing, she consumed her own filth.
He looked at her pubic area. "You really are a filthy bitch." He removed the gloves and tossed them on the floor.
Between bouts of hysterical laughter, he continued shouting obscenities but his words seemed jumbled to her already confused mind.
Still very much amused, he turned and walked towards the ladder.
Oh, thank God he's leaving. For a moment, she closed her tired eyes, but when she opened them he was on his way back. It was then she noticed the metal bar in his right hand.
Oh, God, Is this the end?
 "You disgust me!" He shuffled closer.
Covered in goose-bumps, and teeth chattering, she peered up into the evil, black, eyes angrily eating through her flesh.
"Did you hear me?"
"I I don't understand. What have I done to deserve this?" she mumbled, through cracked, soiled lips.
"I have had enough, you stuttering, smelly, bitch."
The bar raised, the woman's piercing scream filled the tiny room, but her screams were lost in his madness. The bar crashed down and in one blow smashed her skull wide open. Her life's blood ebbed away.
He continued hitting her as images of his childhood ran through his crazed mind. Strike after strike, he punished her, unaware that her last breath had left her body five minutes before.
 Satisfaction overwhelmed him.
A large saw lay in the cellar corner, and as though about to reach an orgasm, he grabbed it and positioned it on the woman's lifeless neck. Back and forth, back and forth, he pushed it, faster, faster, and as he cut through the tendons and bones he clenched his teeth until her head fell onto the floor.
The third person had silently observed the proceedings and stepped out from the shadows.
Turning to look at her, he could tell by the way her face lit up, she was pleased with the precision and the eagerness of his actions.
"The first part of the puzzle is now in place," said the man.
"Yes, and we both know there's no turning back, now."
"Yes. This is just the beginning..."

Available on:
Amazon US 
Amazon UK
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Mel Comley is a thriller writer who has created a British national treasure, DI Lorne Simpkins. Lorne is featured in a trilogy of ‘Justice’ thrillers. Last year Mel also released a couple of romance novellas too. See all her titles here:

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