My large, shirtless body fell to the snowy ground in a heap of blood, guts, and agony. I imagined I looked like the trash bin in the back of a pizza restaurant after closing; a mass of pudgy flesh mixed with red liquid and whatever else was on the menu. Opening my weak, pain-stricken eyes I could see my long, matted hair, falling over my field of vision. I could taste years of overgrown facial hair sweating into my mouth. Except this wasn't sweat, this was water.
I parted my lips desperate for a taste. Was it tears? To my surprise it was ice water, melted snow. The refreshing sensation felt absolutely heavenly. I swallowed slow, savoring the cold, but the question remained, 'Where am I?'
For what seemed like an eternity, I had been trapped in a dark, torture dimension; think Fifty shades of Grey, meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre, with a dash of Mean Girls, all without any of the love or friendship. I could still feel everything; the whips, the blades, the chains, all of Susie's favorite playthings. So, really, anyplace would be better.
In the distance, I could hear someone calling my name. "Jeff? Jeff is that you?" The voice was female; cheerful and sweet. Was it my mother? After forty years of life and sixty years of Hell was I finally going to be permitted to die?
"Jeff, it's me, Claudette!"
I couldn't say I was disappointed, nor was I pleased. I was still residing in Hell just at a different level. This particular teammate was a college student half my age, who specialized in pain relief. How and why someone like her could end up in Hell, I'll never know. Claudette Morel was a true angel in this world of darkness.
"Jeff!" she cried. Her voice calling out over the rush of the wind. Claudette was a small, slender woman in her early twenties. She was a beautiful mix of afro-French-Canadian, wearing her shoulder-length hair in adorable dreadlocks, pulled back in a low ponytail. "Jeff, is that really you?" The moonlight glimmered off her wireframe glasses. She was an exotic beauty (with a hint of scientist chic.) More than anything, Claudette looked so innocent, and kind, the polar opposite of what I had just endured.
"Claudette?" I spoke in a pain-stricken whisper. It had been so long since I'd heard my own voice. Susie had preferred to keep me silent during our playtime. (Sometimes she'd use a ball gag, other times a knife.) 'Susie,' the very thought of her name made me want to cower in fear. Looking at my chest I could see I was covered in bruises and dried blood (my blood). I was surprised that my skin was still intact. Perhaps my body pulled itself back together upon arriving in this new area.
"Where have you been, Jeff?" she asked in her usual sweet, cordial tone. "I kind of hoped you had escaped."
"Escaped?" I couldn't help but chuckle. I didn't escape, I was thrown out with the trash.
"Yeah, I mean, you were gone for a while. Where were you?" she asked as she calmly treated my physical and emotional pain with the use of her spiritual touch.
"I was someplace," I said, blinking tears from my eyes. Someplace where I had been tortured within an inch of my life. The last thing I remembered was being secured to a bed frame, while Susie, the masked sexual sadist engaged in a lifetime of aggression and fantasy. She made sure to break my wrists, before tightening the restraints. I assumed this was an effort to strip me of any and all hope; even if I willingly broke my body, my fate would always be in her hands. Only after she had her fun, she pulled a lever, dumping my broken body down a dark shaft. "I just remember I awoke here, back in this Hell with the ones I love."
"Funny." Claudette held my hand, drawing my attention to her eyes. "You're so sweet." She moved my fingers to her face letting me touch her soft skin. She was real. "I really missed you. I made a new set of pencils out of tree branches and ash. Maybe when we get back to camp, we can draw together." She started to trace a flower design on my shoulder, down my arm. "I forgot how beautiful your tattoos were."
My tattoos were nothing to write home about, just solid black tribal-style imagery, like something out of the late nineties. Claudette's kindness was intense, overpowering. I could feel my chest tighten as I choked back tears. Then I had a realization: I had landed in the snow. "Are we in a trial?" If this was another test, there was were three other participants and one main killer, prowling the arena.
"Well, we're not in the hub world," the former medical student said with a sigh. "Let me see your chest, I think you might have some broken bones." She already had her healing kit out. As usual, Claudette carried the cheapest, default kit commonly used for campers, bandages, ointment, antibiotics, etc. The kit would be empty after only a few uses, but she was so gifted at healing, that with just the pressure of her hands she could ease any discomfort in record time. "Lay back I'm just going to examine your ribs."
I flinched when she touched my chest. She didn't look like Susie, nor did she sound like her. (Susie's voice was squeaky, yet guttural, and broken.) Still, the feeling was too familiar; they were both small females with delicate hands.
Claudette walked her fingers down my skin, gently pulling away while still applying the medicinal magic. "What did she do to you?"
"She?" I asked with a tone of fear. How did Claudette know that I had been with a female assailant? I knew she hadn't been there. Was this all part of my torture? Was I still in the room, nailed to the bed with a red-hot poker drilling into my chest?
"I heard you left with Susie," she said, checking over her shoulder. "I think we're still safe. I can actually see the exit from here."
"I actually did leave with Susie; I'm ashamed to admit, I walked straight into her trap."
Claudette stayed focused on her work, speaking casually as if we were just two friends catching up. "Well, you're here now, that's all that matters."
