Not For Your Eyes

"I hope you don't think me satanic. Or even just insane. I'm not, you know," she told the man, pacing slowly in front of him. Her face was shadowed, her eyes hidden from him, and her hair reflected back fragmented shards of light coming from above them. If he hadn't been so scared of her, he would have been attracted to her. Dangerous, mysterious, sexy, she radiated power in each stride.

"Then again, I could ask why satanic? I don't look like I worship the devil, do I? Tell me, honestly!" she turned toward him, a sinister grin carving itself into the shadows on her face. She looked demonic when she smiled, with the long scar down her face already throwing unnatural shadows over her features. The man trembled slightly, as she looked at him with unseen eyes. She cocked her head to the side, as if studying him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the two huge black pools of darkness where colour and lashes should have been.

"Nothing?" she asked, her voice mocking. What could he have said? His face was gagged, a thick tar painted rope knotted around his head. The rough material grated against his lips, tearing the chapped skin a bit. She shrugged and turned away, swishing her long black leather trench coat.

"You know, I'm not doing this for me. I don't give a fuck who you are, and I'd rather be somewhere else right now. But, you did something wrong, y'know. That's why I'm here," she said, turning back to him with a grin. In her hands, both clothed in black fingerless gloves and tipped with poison green nails, she held a long metal nail, the surface pitted with rust. His eyes looked at it fearfully. He knew who she was working for, why she was here. He just didn't know who she was.

"I was sent. No questions, no story, just an order. So I come, and I came. You know why I'm here, don't you?" she asked, spinning around and walking swiftly over to him, jumping up and straddling him, her face still bathed in shadow. He groaned, her weight crushing his legs against the chair frame. His hands were tied behind him in enough chains to sink a ship, his legs similarly chained. The chair, he knew, was bolted to the floor.

"You know what you did to earn this kind of punishment," she said softly, walking two of her green fingernails came the side of his face, digging into his sweaty skin. He bent his head away, the points forcing him to. She grinned evilly, biting her lip. She tucked the nail into the folds of her sleeve.

"Come on. You know why he asked me to do this. By He, I do not mean Satan. Satan doesn't exist. He does," she told him, digging her elbows into the soft cervices of his shoulders, earning her groans from him. She grinned again, and jumped off him. Instead she stood behind him, resting her hands on his shoulder gently. His eyes caught the light glinting on her evil nails.

"You know what you did," she teased in his ear, her voice high and singing softly. "You know what you'll get,"

Slowly her hands ran up either side of his neck, over the rope gag and into his hair, stroking the bump on his head. He groaned a bit louder, wincing.

"Hit you hard, didn't I? That was nothing! Shall I show you the toys Daddy let me play with?" she giggled, disappearing around to the front. He saw her return, with a metal hardware box in one hand and still grinning. Her eyes were still hidden, making her still dangerous. She stopped and dropped the box with a loud crash. Her smile dropped and he stopped breathing. She looked even more terrifying when she was frozen in front of him.

"I'm not sick. I don't do this just for fun. I'm told to, so I have to. I don't know you, I never did and I don't know what you did to deserve me," she said. "I'm sorry, but I can't and won't let you go. You're gonna die here, and I have orders. But…" she trailed off, smiling to herself. "This is fun,"

The man felt tears slip out of the sides of his eyes. He would never see his wife again, his beautiful blonde lover. He was going to die here and this woman would kill him, while enjoying it.

He needed to be sick.

The woman, satisfied she had explained enough, knelt down, and opened the box.

"You know why you're here, so you know who you pissed off. So you probably have a very good idea what I'm gonna do to you. My toys hurt so much, no one ever realise they're screaming," she smirked, taking out a baseball bat, the end cracked off to leave a jagged end of splinters. The man's eyes widened and his stomach knotted in fear.

The grin came back.

"Scares you doesn't it? I love fear, it makes everyone equal. Makes everyone weak," she laughed, twisting the bat in her hands. "This is what I beat people with, see?" she said, holding it closer so he could see the end was stained red and dark brown.

"It makes such beautiful colours and lines," she giggled, running her finger down the waxed surface gently. He shook in the chair, chains rattling.

"I love pain," she said, letting the word slip out of her mouth like the name of a forbidden God, or the name of a lover. "It shows us who we really are inside. Strong, or weak. I can see you're weak, spineless. Everyone who pisses off my boss is," she hmphed, as if a prize had been stolen from her.

"My toys are designed for pain, not effectiveness. Like these," she said, drawing out a jar full of safety pins, nails, pins, tacks, all sorts of sharp objects. Among them were several more long rusting nails.

"They say the worst pain is fingernails, the area underneath them," she shrugged, opening the jar and removing a single pin. It flashed in the light. He closed his eyes, wishing her away, but all that did was hide her from him. Like having a wasp in the room, you needed to see it to know where it was going to sting. He heard her behind him.

He grunted, shaking his head in panic as she took his cold hand, grasping a single finger with her sharp nails. He felt a sharp prick on his fingertip. Then the point travelled, ripping under at the soft tender flesh under his nail. She was right; he could barely register his screaming over the pain clanging through his skull. He tried to clench his hand, tear it from her grasp but she held on tight, digging her nails in. She pushed the pin further up his nail, scraping through muscle until it jarred against the bone of his first knuckle. Her face was set in hard lines at his screaming, her brow furrowed. Blood welled up under his nail and dripped off the fingertip, turning her nail vanish black. She stood up, leaving the pin under his nail and walked away a bit, listening to his screams.

"Ahh…" she sighed, holding her bloodstained fingers to her mouth and licking it away softly. The taste infected her taste buds and she grinned again. His howls continued, with every twitch of his hand making the pin jab again, scarring the nerve cells to the point of rupture.

She turned back to him, her grin spread across her face.

"Such music!" she laughed, holding her arms up and beginning to waltz slowly in front of him. "What music!"

She dropped her arms and went back over to her toolbox, sucking her fingers again. A CD player sat next to the box, and she pushed it into action. Loud, clashing heavy metal ripped through the screams and filling the small dark room.

"What music," she said again; touching the wall and feeling the cold tiles vibrate as both walls of sound hit it. She turned back to the man, writhing against his bonds, gasping in pain between howls.

"Shut up, or I'll use this," she yelled at him, picking up the baseball bat. He instantly quietened to a shuddering whimper, tears dripping off his face, along with the release of his bladder. She smirked, knowing it happened to all of them when the pain was so excruciating.

"You'll never bleed to death from that, you know. I've got so many other ways to hurt you," she called over the music. He shook his head, his eyes pleading with her.

"You earned this, fucker," she laughed, dropping the bat to the floor and reaching into the box once again. His muscles clenched, his screams emitting again. She held the power drill in her hands, twisting it in the light.

"Oh, come on. You don't even though where I'm gonna put it yet," she grinned, switching it on and walking slowly towards him as he tried, in vain, to wrestle himself to freedom.

Hours later, so many long hours later, the man was finally dead. The creature that had dispatched him leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands clean with a wet towel, smirking to herself. The room was now silent, except for a gentle drip drip drip of unfallen blood leaving his body. He wasn't recognisable. His face was red and blistered, the tar of the rope in his mouth still burning. His upper teeth glinted like pearls in the black stump left of his upper jaw. His eye sockets wept blood, the soft jelly dribbling down his cheeks. They had burst in the heat, her favourite part.

His body was untouched, clean. She hadn't marked it in any way. His fingertips resembled pincushions, the sharp metal implements stained red and dripping slowly. She remembered his screams with pleasure as she had taken the power drill to the back of his knees, piercing them over and over as the drill splattered blood across the tiles in grotesque paintings.

It was almost artistic.

He had finally dying, screeching as the flames licked his feverish skin.

"I'm not satanic, I'm not insane, and I'm not sick. Ok, maybe I am, but who cares?" she told his corpse, as she finished off her revolting mission. She removed the nails from the now empty jar and gouged two of them into his shoulders, grinning at they split skin, crunched against bone and slipped through cold muscles. He didn't bleed, which was her favourite part. She had to use the power drill to hammer them through the bone, the dull thuds giving way to cracks

Why did she do this? She didn't know what it meant, but she knew she was meant to. He had taught her to.

Next came her own mark, something she did to every soul left to be judged by her. She drew a silver thumb ring from her pocket, slipping it over her clean finger. She held the sharp point up to the fragile light, her face finally bared to the probing illumination.

Dark eyes, heavily framed in black lashes and swimming in brown beheld the silver ring with lust, running her pointed tongue over her lip. On her left eye, a vertical scar sliced down over her eyebrow, cutting it in half and scarring the skin down to mid cheek. The scar tissue was worn and smooth, and what once had been bloody and revolting, was now part of her unconventional beauty.

She stepped over to the corpse, licking her lips hungrily, before gently running the metal across his naked torso. It was so bright in the gloomy room; it attracted her like a moth to the flame. So clean, so apart from the gruesome scene that had once been his face. Slowly, her hand trailed down his chest, easing over the hardened muscles, the body far from warm. Fingers grazed flesh, over his collarbones, his ribs. As the metal touched the dipping flesh between his collarbones, the soft hollow of his throat, she stabbed with the point, piercing the flesh cleanly, before slowly dragging it down, over his breastbone, cutting the skin as if with a knife. The white split apart to reveal blissful red, and she sighed, her eyes lovingly looking at the webs of dark red sticky blood over muscle and bone. Cut again, across the chest this time, and carve out a cross on his body. Mark him for the beast. She stood back, the ring now flashing with dead crimson.

Her work was complete, a masterpiece as all others. She left the room slowly, taking the box with her and standing in the door behind him, looking calmly at the beautiful puddle of blood beneath him, blood clots darkening. She sighed again, grinning.

"Say hi to Satan when you see him," she whispered, before kicking shut the door of the small room and looking through the window. What a beautiful piece of work…she sighed once more as she leaned over and pressed a code into the control next to her and bolted the door.

"Tell me what's the temperature's like in Hell," she said as the room she looked into filled with beautiful orange flames to destroy every trace of human existence, save the chair and the chains and two rusting nails.