Je Ne Regrette Rien

AN: is it bad that I enjoyed writing this chapter? That this just may be my favorite torture chapter of the fic? And it’s the last torture chapter… oh………

Suggested Listening: Shiver by The Birthday Massacre; Into The Nothing by Breaking Benjamin

Chapter 11: Cut

Bright light shown into his eyes and he was forced to blink a few times before his eyes focused on the blurry figures in front of him. "Good now we can get started." He vaguely felt the straps on his left arm being loosened slightly. But he did feel it.

What he didn't know was why they were doing that.

He could barely lift his head anymore though he knew that the laptop was probably there, it always was. He didn't know what more they could do to him. They had gotten frustrated when the last two things hadn't worked, so he could only assume this one was just as bad.

He was currently strapped to a chair, a minor improvement over the table, and only just conscious. All he could seem to do lately was sleep. Sleep, get beaten and sleep. He had no energy and the week or more of sleep deprivation had stolen what little strength had remained.

That nasty torture had ended a few days ago, or what he thought was days ago... it could have been hours or weeks for all he knew. The only thing he did know, was that his body couldn't take much more of this treatment.

He had trouble thinking anything more than basic thoughts most of the time; mostly all he could seem to register was the pain.

The sharp lingering pain from whatever they did.

“Look up at the camera detective.” he knew his couldn't comply even if he had wanted to so he didn't bother trying. An irritated sigh came and gloved hands forced his head to tilt up.

“I suppose your answer is still going to be no?” he managed to quirk his lips into a half smirk, just enough for them to have their answer. His chin was dropped letting his head sag foreword once more; greasy hair falling into a clumpy mess by his eyes.

He grimaced at the state of his hair. It was longer than he'd ever had it and was a disgusting unwashed mess, just like the rest of him. Though they had previously kept his 'burn' wounds clean and cared for, it hadn't extended to the rest of his hygiene. At least not often...

“You saw his reaction, he's as good as said no. Shall we see if this will get him to talk today? ”

Something sharp sliced at his left middle finger leaving the stinging sensation as a paper cut would. Glancing over his eyes widened at the metal object hovering by his hand. If he was correct, and he prayed he wasn't, he had seen a woman detective tortured to death like this.

He tried to control his actions, his breathing, tried not to give them anything to work with.

His heart was thudding painfully inside his chest and the fear and anxiety of the situation was finally getting to him. The other tortures were nothing like this, because before he hadn’t been in danger of actually loosing anything.

“Is it recording?” there was a soft affirmative response before his finger was twisted in such a way that he heard bone crack more than he actually felt it. He sucked in a breath and choked on the air as his whole left arm seized in pain rather than just the one spot.

“It snapped that easily? Well this certainly will go quicker.” his mind registered the softly spoken words though he was sure they weren't meant to be recorded.

His mind swam with thoughts and bile rose in his throat as the knife was raised once more. A few more inches and it would be in his flesh, tearing at him, cutting him, taking away a piece of him.

“No!” he yelled just as the knife touched his skin.

Time seemed to freeze as he realized his mistake. He squeezed his eyes tightly together to block out the smirking face before him. His jaw clenched in anger and his lips trembled. He had given them a reaction. He had given them exactly what they had been hoping for.

Had shown them there was something he was afraid of, something that could be used against him.

Instead of saying anything to him he watched as the knife descended into the space between the broken bits of bone and tissue. His vision blacked out and it was as if he could feel the knife cutting through each individual nerve, vein and piece of flesh one by one instead of the swift effective cutting.

He couldn't move, he couldn't breath, he couldn't think.

He watched with horror as the finger was removed and tossed to the rollaway table across from him. Blood was streaming from the empty spot his finger had once occupied and it only took one actual look at it before he turned his head and heaved; stomach contents splashing to the floor.

He was shaking, gasping for air and couldn't seem to stop the fear from clawing its way across his mind.

“I will ask you one last time now that you know what I intend to do with the next two. Will you give us L's location?”

Two?

Two more? He was going to loose...

He couldn't stop his lips from trembling. “No.” he whispered, sealing his fate. But knowing what was coming, after enduring the previous amount of pain, made his body react before his mind could tell him to stop.

The second the gloved hand, white now stained with red, grabbed at his ring finger he began to struggle. The strap was loosened just enough on that wrist that he was able to make it hard for the man to keep a hold of his hand; but in the end his efforts were futile.

This time, in spite, the man didn't bother to break the bone first and instead cut right into the finger, just below the final knuckle. The man kept the grip on his ring finger taut as he pressed the knife harder through the flesh and muscle.

He screamed as the fragile bone finally gave way and snapped under the ministrations. The finger was wiggled side to side and blood flowed easily from the damaged appendage. The remaining muscle and tissue were roughly cut away leaving tears to slip unnoticed from his eyes.

He was dizzy, cold and was in so much pain that the word 'pain' wasn't even relevant anymore.

There were no more questions asked this time, that really had been his last chance. He squirmed tiredly in the chair as the third finger, his index, was clutched in slippery hands. The knife's shiny metal was slicked and coated with his blood and the edges dulled.

He couldn't choke back another scream and felt awful knowing that they were recording this; that others were going to watch him loose it.

By the time the final finger was removed he could do nothing more than stare blankly at his hand, the adrenaline having long since been removed from his veins, pouring out along with vital blood onto himself and the cement flooring.

-End Cut-

AN: I'm usually really squeamish concerning fingers but I think I did alright with this, right? Review and tell me?!!!