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’ The melodic tones hit my spine with the impact of sledgehammers, making me sit straight. ‘Quote not Milton to me Mikha’el.’ Disgusted, I looked at the tall figure standing next to me. ‘He was one of mine in body and in soul, and his words are too sinful for your pious tongue to bear with any style, least you offend the very meaning of them … with thy sanctimonious prattle.’ Taking my cigar from my mouth, I blew a thick ring of smoke into his face. But of course it passed through him undamaged and continued till the lazy spinning ceiling fan broke it up. Leaning back on the bar, I picked up my glass of scotch and looked at him, the being I had once called brother. He stared back at me with eyes that bespoke of his pity of me, and that sight brought up a gruel-thick miasma of disgust. I felt it arising into my throat a bitter Pease Porridge. The very sight of him an offence to my eyes! ‘What do you want, Michael? Is your time not better spent raining fire upon the heads of sinners? Or. You are no longer a person. You are simply a threat to the lives of their citizens. You are a threat to this country. You are a target that must be eliminated. You have no rights. You are a piece of fuck meat. You are my reward. You are my prize. You are my toy to play with, to use, and to kill.”Her screams fill the air. You nod to one of the two men standing in the background. He walks up to her and covers her nose and mouth with a chloroform rag.She kicks frantically and screams for help, but her cries are muffled under the rag. Her movements become more and more groggy. It is not long before her body stops flailing. Her head drops. She is unconscious.A few hours later, Trish wakes up. She has been disrobed. She is lying face-up on the frigid stone floor of her basement. It is cold and dark. She cannot see anything.She tries to move, but she notices that her arms are tied behind her back. She notices that her legs are spread apart. She tries to move them, but they are being held.
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