job; it's more that there are other things I'd rather be doing. Still, this shouldn't take too long. I learned a lot when I mutilated the first body, so this one should definitely go a little faster. Heading back through to the bathroom, I crouch by the corpse and -
The hand twitches.
I stare, waiting to see it moves again.
Nothing.
Finally, I reach down and press two fingers against the body's neck. At first, I don't feel anything, but finally I'm able to detect the faintest pulse. I thought my second victim had been dead on the bathroom floor for a few hours, but the poor miserable bastard is still clinging to life. Sure, he's unconscious, but there's definitely a flicker of life left in him. My first instinct is to panic, but slowly a faint smile crosses my lips. Working on a corpse would just be repetitive; this time, I'm going to copy Sam Gazade much more closely. I'm going to torture a living person.
The Doll part I
Joanna Mason
"Are you sure about this?" Dawson asks as we wait in the governor's office. It's way past eleven, and Sam Gazade is due to be executed at midnight. Although he's been mostly quiet since we arrived, Dawson has been constantly watching me, as if he expects me to suddenly break down in tears.
"Why wouldn't I be sure?" I ask, grabbing a magazine from the coffee table and flicking through page after page of advice about interior design. Everything in the magazine looks so dull and pastel-colored, but I guess there must be people out there who like this kind of thing. Whenever I look at images from normal people's home - which isn't often, I have to admit - I feel as if I'm looking at pictures of a different species.
"I can go in if you like," he continues, his voice filled with concern. "If it's too much for you to see him, I can be the one who actually goes in and -"
"Why would it be too much?" I ask, carefully keeping my gaze focused on the magazine.
"I mean -"
"It's been a while," I point out, turning to him. "I can handle it."
"Sure," he says, before pausing for a moment. "If you change your mind, though, you don't have to come in with me."
"Who said you're coming in with me ?" I ask. "I'm the one who has a connection to Gazade. I'm the one who should go in there. Alone."
Dawson stares at me for a moment. "You're kidding, right?"
"Why would I be kidding?" I ask. "If you think about it straight for a moment, you'll see that it's the best option. The chances of Gazade opening up are already slim, so we might as well do our best to see if we can make him talk."
"And you can handle seeing him again?"
"Jesus," I mutter, putting the magazine down. "Gazade's not gonna open up with you in the room, is he? He doesn't know you. The guy only talks to people who make him feel comfortable, or whatever the hell it is that goes on in his sick mind. The point is, he responds to people he's met before, and he responds to women. He never talks to men, and if you're in the room -"
"I can stop him manipulating you," he says, interrupting me.
"I'm not a child," I point out. "I can look after myself." I pause for a moment as I feel a twinge of pain in my chest. I need to take a pill, but I can't do it in front of Dawson without letting him see that something's wrong. "If there was another way, I'd say go for it," I continue, "but there's isn't, so we can't."
"But -"
Before he can finish, the door opens and Governor Hazel Lockley steps into the room. There's a pained, concerned look in her eyes, as if she wishes Dawson and I would just vanish into thin air rather than cause her any more problems. I don't blame her. The eyes of the nation are on this prison tonight, and any fuck-ups could cause serious embarrassment.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she says, clearly distracted.
"So I can see him, right?" I say, getting to my feet.
She opens her mouth to reply, but something seems to be holding her back.
"This is a matter of life and death," I continue. "We believe that Sam Gazade has
The hand twitches.
I stare, waiting to see it moves again.
Nothing.
Finally, I reach down and press two fingers against the body's neck. At first, I don't feel anything, but finally I'm able to detect the faintest pulse. I thought my second victim had been dead on the bathroom floor for a few hours, but the poor miserable bastard is still clinging to life. Sure, he's unconscious, but there's definitely a flicker of life left in him. My first instinct is to panic, but slowly a faint smile crosses my lips. Working on a corpse would just be repetitive; this time, I'm going to copy Sam Gazade much more closely. I'm going to torture a living person.
The Doll part I
Joanna Mason
"Are you sure about this?" Dawson asks as we wait in the governor's office. It's way past eleven, and Sam Gazade is due to be executed at midnight. Although he's been mostly quiet since we arrived, Dawson has been constantly watching me, as if he expects me to suddenly break down in tears.
"Why wouldn't I be sure?" I ask, grabbing a magazine from the coffee table and flicking through page after page of advice about interior design. Everything in the magazine looks so dull and pastel-colored, but I guess there must be people out there who like this kind of thing. Whenever I look at images from normal people's home - which isn't often, I have to admit - I feel as if I'm looking at pictures of a different species.
"I can go in if you like," he continues, his voice filled with concern. "If it's too much for you to see him, I can be the one who actually goes in and -"
"Why would it be too much?" I ask, carefully keeping my gaze focused on the magazine.
"I mean -"
"It's been a while," I point out, turning to him. "I can handle it."
"Sure," he says, before pausing for a moment. "If you change your mind, though, you don't have to come in with me."
"Who said you're coming in with me ?" I ask. "I'm the one who has a connection to Gazade. I'm the one who should go in there. Alone."
Dawson stares at me for a moment. "You're kidding, right?"
"Why would I be kidding?" I ask. "If you think about it straight for a moment, you'll see that it's the best option. The chances of Gazade opening up are already slim, so we might as well do our best to see if we can make him talk."
"And you can handle seeing him again?"
"Jesus," I mutter, putting the magazine down. "Gazade's not gonna open up with you in the room, is he? He doesn't know you. The guy only talks to people who make him feel comfortable, or whatever the hell it is that goes on in his sick mind. The point is, he responds to people he's met before, and he responds to women. He never talks to men, and if you're in the room -"
"I can stop him manipulating you," he says, interrupting me.
"I'm not a child," I point out. "I can look after myself." I pause for a moment as I feel a twinge of pain in my chest. I need to take a pill, but I can't do it in front of Dawson without letting him see that something's wrong. "If there was another way, I'd say go for it," I continue, "but there's isn't, so we can't."
"But -"
Before he can finish, the door opens and Governor Hazel Lockley steps into the room. There's a pained, concerned look in her eyes, as if she wishes Dawson and I would just vanish into thin air rather than cause her any more problems. I don't blame her. The eyes of the nation are on this prison tonight, and any fuck-ups could cause serious embarrassment.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she says, clearly distracted.
"So I can see him, right?" I say, getting to my feet.
She opens her mouth to reply, but something seems to be holding her back.
"This is a matter of life and death," I continue. "We believe that Sam Gazade has
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