The dark room was lit by just a single dim bulb, her captor’s face screwed into an evil grin. The simple wooden chair she was bound to creaked with her every shudder. The room, packed with the collections of several lifetimes, left only standing room between them with a small path towards the ladder leading to the floor below. A ladder, it did not seem she would be in any condition to use. The dim illumination provided only enough lighting to make out the two figures clearly. He was standing close over her, the scalpel in his hand glinted as he turned it over and over again, catching the light and reflecting it in her huge, terror-filled eyes. She appeared to be holding back a scream, a terrifying sound held inside her by the tight gag that held her silent.
“I like to draw it out, nice and slow, beautiful” he crooned into her ear.
In spite of the gag, a whimper could be heard as the girl shook her dark ringlets in a desperate plea, kicked her lace up boots against the floor and scooted the chair a few inches away. His gloved hand stopped her short.
“You’re not moving, love. There’s nowhere to go.” He smiled and began to stroke her hair. She dropped her head and shook all over, sobbing.
“Oh, no. No, look up.” he grasped her chin with one black, gloved hand as he brought her face in line with his. “Look at this. You fear it and you love it,” his eyes took on a glazed look as he softly ran the side of the scalpel down her cheek and then back up again, collecting her tears without yet drawing blood. Her chest was heaving and her breathe was coming too quickly. Her nostrils flared and her eyes bulged, and her ivory skin flushed with panic.
He knelt down, and placed his head upon her lap, the soft silk and black lace of her skirts soft against his cheek. She was looking down upon his head of silken ebony hair, but helpless to do anything but stare. She looked around a final time, looking for an escape but not much could be seen in the cluttered room. He had obviously shoved antique trunks, costumes, props, mannequins, and other theatrical equipment aside to provide just enough room for her chair, bindings, and the stainless steel medical tray that held the other implements she knew were intended for her.
“You know, you’re not the first, but you’re special,” he murmured from her lap. He slowly stood up, seeming to gain a certain stature and confidence.
“Look at me!” he commanded. She brought her tear-stained face up and looked directly into his maniacal eyes.
“Lift your chin higher!” His mannerisms were cool, but his eyes were beginning to look frenzied.
She shook her head vigorously and refused.
He lifted her chin with his hand yet again, harder this time, bringing the scalpel down and across her throat in one quick movement. Her head slumped and blood began to flow towards the collar of her velvet burgundy dress.
The curtain fell, applause rang throughout the theatre. A small portly man walked out in front of the curtain.
“Thanks you, thank you for your applause. A brief intermission and we will move into the final act, ‘The Villain Condemned’.
The audience rose, murmuring amongst themselves, as they scattered in search of refreshments and other necessities.