November 26, 2001
"For Marquesa - The Execution"
The Execution
"Please… Don’t do this.”
With a smile, Marquesa slipped the noose around his neck and drew the coarse rope taut against his throat. She then circled him, examining her captive and his predicament. His nude body bore the scars of the days of interrogation she had put him through. Raw marks on his back where the whip had eaten into his flesh, burns from the electricity and bruises from the beatings she has ordered. His wrists and ankles were bloody from the ropes which had bound him since her guards had dumped him at her feet.
There were other wounds also. Ones which the closest inspection would never find. Scars on his mind from the terror which would remain long after the physical wounds healed. If, indeed, he lived long enough for them to do so. That seemed unlikely at the moment.
“You’ve left me no choice, My Pet,” she purred. “I’ve been very patient with you, but I’m afraid I can wait no longer. If you give me what I require, I’ll spare you. Resist any longer and I’ll have to execute you”
She held up the slender remote control which could open the trap door beneath his feet. One perfectly-manicured nail tapped the button lightly. Reminding him that his entire life was subject to her fingertip.
He trembled. He was tired. He couldn’t go on any longer.
“I’ll tell you everything.”
His reward was one of Marquesa’s radiant smiles. She turned on the tape recorder and listened as he gave her the information she had been demanding of him. The account numbers, the locations of various keys and combinations. He answered questions she hadn’t even asked, giving her far more than she had expected. She was accustomed to how such interrogations ended. Once the subject was broken, once his pride and dignity had been cracked, he surrendered utterly. Having heard everything, Marquesa turned off the recorder.
“Very well, Darling. Now, I want you to listen very closely to me… One… Two… Three.”
Instantly, he was elsewhere. No longer on the gallows. No longer beaten or abused. No longer with a noose around his throat. He was bound into a chair in the small basement room in which Marquesa had confined him. She had created the other place in his mind. He had never left this small room.
Marquesa reached into her bag and pulled out a leather hood. She slipped it over his head and zipped it shut. There were holes through which he could breathe, but Marquesa covered them. Unable to breathe, in darkness, he felt her hand caressing his bare chest.
“Thank you for your cooperation, My Pet. Sweet dreams.”
He heard the tapping of her heels against the concrete floor as she left to make the arrangements for emptying the accounts he had given her. Then there were only the sounds of his futile struggles for breath. Then there was nothing at all.