impatience and dirty crockery – the unholy trinity. This is not going too well is it, my friend?” he said, as he scrubbed the cup thoroughly and made himself a brew.
Harold started the interrogation by asking a single question which was about Lynda and Terry Jackson and the man she lived with. He simply wanted to know everything Nigel knew about these people. He genuinely believed that he knew something and was determined to get it out of him, and torture was the only way he knew of getting the right answers. The only problem was that Nigel knew absolutely nothing about Terry or Lynda Jackson, having never laid eyes on them.
Harold unsheathed the pliers from the pouch and placed the jaws of the pliers either side of the second joint of Nigel’s little finger.
“Now, in your own words, tell me all you know about Lynda Jackson,” Harold said.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, honestly I will, but you have to believe me when I say that I have never heard of her.”
Nigel began to beg for mercy and his heart was pounding out of his chest. Harold slowly removed his large cap and turned toward him, and Nigel was now fully acquainted with his tormentor. Harold was completely bald apart from a few strands of pure white hair which were flattened across the top of his skull, which sported a huge crevasse running from front to back. It looked as if his head had been smashed in with an iron bar. His entire scalp was covered in crusty peeling flakes of dead skin, and a number of large, shiny red pustules had sprouted from the diseased head. He just stood and stared at Nigel with his spiteful, merciless eyes.
“Unfortunately for you, I think you do know something, and now we will find out what that might be,” Harold said, as he twisted half a dirty tea-towel deep into Nigel’s mouth. He then proceeded to crack Nigel’s little finger like a walnut; so powerful was the bite from the jaws of the pliers that the end of the finger was completely cleaved off. The rest of the fingers on the same hand swiftly received a similar fate. After a few minutes he slowly unfurled the gag from Nigel’s dry mouth and Nigel managed to blurt out a few words.
“You’re evil, pure evil, please no more, please have mercy, I don’t know who she is, I swear to God I’m new here. I’ve only been here for two months,” Nigel muttered, as Harold reached for a scalpel.
“God will not be able to help you here, my friend. Now I am going to ask you another simple question, do you know the whereabouts of Terry Jackson?”
“I’ve told you, I’ve never met him and I don’t know him. The only Jackson I have on my list was a Lynda Jackson whom I never met, and her partner, John Kane.”
“John Kane?” Harold said, as he tossed a cup of cold water into Nigel’s face. “You’ll need to tell me more about this John Kane,” Harold said, as he screwed the dirty dry tea towel back into his mouth, he then slowly began to slice Nigel’s ear in two. “It’s the cartilage, you know. It’s the gristle, that does it, it’s always a very stubborn substance. Ah, there we are,” Harold said, as he sawed through the last piece of sinew of Nigel’s ear.
He briefly showed the ear to his victim and placed the severed lug onto the table next to the tools. He waited for the excruciating pain to wear off a little and for his victim to regain consciousness, calmly sitting at the table sipping his tea. He checked his watch. After five minutes he pulled the gag from Nigel’s mouth and held the scalpel an inch from his eyeball and waited for an answer.
“John Kane, you want to know about John Kane. He was Lynda Jackson’s partner. You’ve just missed him. He was here a few minutes before you came in, you must have walked right past him.”
“Really?” Harold said.
“Yes, he was here, I swear, he came to collect his money from the sale of his cottage.”
“What did he look
Harold started the interrogation by asking a single question which was about Lynda and Terry Jackson and the man she lived with. He simply wanted to know everything Nigel knew about these people. He genuinely believed that he knew something and was determined to get it out of him, and torture was the only way he knew of getting the right answers. The only problem was that Nigel knew absolutely nothing about Terry or Lynda Jackson, having never laid eyes on them.
Harold unsheathed the pliers from the pouch and placed the jaws of the pliers either side of the second joint of Nigel’s little finger.
“Now, in your own words, tell me all you know about Lynda Jackson,” Harold said.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, honestly I will, but you have to believe me when I say that I have never heard of her.”
Nigel began to beg for mercy and his heart was pounding out of his chest. Harold slowly removed his large cap and turned toward him, and Nigel was now fully acquainted with his tormentor. Harold was completely bald apart from a few strands of pure white hair which were flattened across the top of his skull, which sported a huge crevasse running from front to back. It looked as if his head had been smashed in with an iron bar. His entire scalp was covered in crusty peeling flakes of dead skin, and a number of large, shiny red pustules had sprouted from the diseased head. He just stood and stared at Nigel with his spiteful, merciless eyes.
“Unfortunately for you, I think you do know something, and now we will find out what that might be,” Harold said, as he twisted half a dirty tea-towel deep into Nigel’s mouth. He then proceeded to crack Nigel’s little finger like a walnut; so powerful was the bite from the jaws of the pliers that the end of the finger was completely cleaved off. The rest of the fingers on the same hand swiftly received a similar fate. After a few minutes he slowly unfurled the gag from Nigel’s dry mouth and Nigel managed to blurt out a few words.
“You’re evil, pure evil, please no more, please have mercy, I don’t know who she is, I swear to God I’m new here. I’ve only been here for two months,” Nigel muttered, as Harold reached for a scalpel.
“God will not be able to help you here, my friend. Now I am going to ask you another simple question, do you know the whereabouts of Terry Jackson?”
“I’ve told you, I’ve never met him and I don’t know him. The only Jackson I have on my list was a Lynda Jackson whom I never met, and her partner, John Kane.”
“John Kane?” Harold said, as he tossed a cup of cold water into Nigel’s face. “You’ll need to tell me more about this John Kane,” Harold said, as he screwed the dirty dry tea towel back into his mouth, he then slowly began to slice Nigel’s ear in two. “It’s the cartilage, you know. It’s the gristle, that does it, it’s always a very stubborn substance. Ah, there we are,” Harold said, as he sawed through the last piece of sinew of Nigel’s ear.
He briefly showed the ear to his victim and placed the severed lug onto the table next to the tools. He waited for the excruciating pain to wear off a little and for his victim to regain consciousness, calmly sitting at the table sipping his tea. He checked his watch. After five minutes he pulled the gag from Nigel’s mouth and held the scalpel an inch from his eyeball and waited for an answer.
“John Kane, you want to know about John Kane. He was Lynda Jackson’s partner. You’ve just missed him. He was here a few minutes before you came in, you must have walked right past him.”
“Really?” Harold said.
“Yes, he was here, I swear, he came to collect his money from the sale of his cottage.”
“What did he look
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