Chapter Eight

Taliah

I t’s too quiet in this fucking room, and my thoughts are way too loud. Bouncing around in my brain, and forcing me to think way too much about things I can’t change. Locked in this room is the least of my worries, honestly. The images of the other people being held in those cells flash in the forefront of my mind. Queasiness and guilt work their way through my stomach and mind for being able to have this nice room opposed to the barren cells of the others. I wonder how long they’ve been here. If their families sold them off like cattle too.

Looking down at the carpet beneath my ratty converse, I see the tracks where I’ve been pacing since the doctor locked me in here. With a sigh I head over to the desk and grab the TV remote, then fling myself onto the bed. I bounce a few times before I settle myself against the pillows, and switch the TV on. At first it’s just static, but then the picture starts to focus. On the screen is a room with a concrete floor and steel walls. In the middle of the room is a medical exam chair with a naked woman attached to it.

The woman in the chair piques my interest, and something in my brain screams that I know her somehow. I slowly get off of the bed and walk closer to the TV so I can get a better view of the woman. She’s frail with bruises littering her body, and her brown hair is missing in patches. She’s thrashing around in the chair, saying something that I can’t hear. I point the remote at the TV and turn up the volume. The panicked voice of the woman reaches my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Please doctor! I’ve been good! Please don’t do this!” She screeches out into the empty room. Whoever she’s talking to must be on the other side of the camera. What a strange movie, I think as I’m about to switch the TV off. Before my fingers have time to reach the power button, the remote slips from my fingers, bouncing off the plush carpet beneath me.

Within the mix of the woman’s pleas are footsteps echoing around the room. A man comes into view of the camera as he walks up next to the flailing woman. His back is facing me, and what a nice back it is. It’s broad and strong, as the fabric of his dress shirt stretches across his shoulders. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms are covered in black ink. Dress pants stretch over his ass and thighs perfectly. I’m so lost in how good this man looks on the TV that I forget about the screaming woman. Until she screams a name that has my heart stopping in my chest.

“Dr. Logan, no! Please, I swear, I’ll do anything you want. Dr. Logan, just don’t do this!” The woman screams into the room. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and goosebumps prickle my skin. That’s when I realize where I’ve seen the woman. She was in the first room I saw on my way down the hallway. The man in the room walks behind the woman’s chair and stares directly at the camera like he knows I’m watching him. He smirks as his eyes sparkle with something like glee.

My heart beats faster as I realize that this isn’t a movie. It’s live feed and happening somewhere in this building. I slowly back away from the TV as my breaths come out in shorter puffs. I watch as Dr. Logan reaches over to the tray next to the chair and picks something silver up. It’s bulky and square and almost looks like a large stapler. He walks down towards her feet, slamming the silver contraption against her leg. She lets out a scream so loud I cringe. A large silver staple now reflects the light from the ceiling off of it. Dr. Logan repeats the process as he moves up her leg.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the gruesome scene in front of me. The woman’s screams have turned into heart breaking sobs as she pleads for him to stop. Her blood is seeping from the wounds in her body and trickling onto the floor. Dr. Logan never stops his assault on her body, and I can’t seem to stop watching the horror show either. Watching how meticulously he’s working does something to me, and I’m not even sure how to explain it.

He places the stapler on the tray next to him and picks up the knife next. Grasping the handle in his hand, he drags it up the woman’s thigh, splitting her skin. I watch as the blood flows freely from the gash, hypnotizing me as it spreads out under her body on the table. Watching as it falls over the sides and splashes onto the floor. I look up, and Dr. Logan is looking straight into the camera again. I hold his gaze through the TV as he drags the blade of the knife through her pussy lips, not yet cutting her.

He holds the blade there as he stares at the camera. Something in my stomach starts to flutter, and a weird tingle starts between my legs. Dr. Logan drags the blade up sharply through her pussy lips towards her torso, effectively splitting her open. Blood splashes all over his chest and the floor with a sickening sound. A gasp leaves my lips as the tingle between my legs gets worse, crossing my legs to try to alleviate the weird sensation.

I never realized just how much blood the human body could hold until now. When I think her body is empty, more just seeps out of her wounds splashing onto the floor. The woman has stopped screaming and thrashing around. I’m sure she’s dead at this point. I think I should be sad that she’s dead? Or maybe happy so she doesn’t have to deal with the torture anymore. But all I feel is the tingle between my thighs and my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

Dr. Logan throws the knife onto the tray beside the cold, dead woman. He slowly strides towards the camera, locking eyes with me through the screen. He’s covered in blood, and maybe I should be afraid of that. But the way he looks so disheveled and covered in the red liquid makes him look sexy as hell. What the fuck is wrong with me? I mentally scold myself. He cocks his head to the side, smirking at the camera almost like he knows what I’m thinking.

“I hoped you liked the show, Taliah. Until next time.” He says in a deep voice before the screen goes black and then the static takes over.