Chapter 23

Brook inhaled the savory aroma of food simmering. She was warm and comfortable, her familiar aches and pains dulled to the point of disappearing. Looking down, she was surprised to see Lance at the end of the bed tying each of her legs to a sturdy wooden bedpost. The rope was scratchy and chafed against her skin. She tried to sit up but felt as if heavy weights were holding her down. She realized she was bound at the wrists, and a rope stretched across her chest pinning her to the bed. Panic struck her and she struggled against her restraints. Her body was unresponsive, her cries faraway and faint to her ears.

“What are you doing?” Her words were slurred; her mouth would not cooperate. She was drugged.

“Oh, just making sure you can’t move,” Lance said in a friendly voice. “Those feet are infected. They’re going to have to come off.” He reached down to the floor and held up an impossibly large hunting knife. It glinted from the glow of the lantern on the bedside table.

Lance ran a finger along the length of the blade, testing its sharpness. “Probably should use an ax, or a saw, but I don’t feel like going out to the shed, so I think we’ll just make do with this. It’ll take a little longer, but just bear with me. We’ll get through it.”

“Oh god!” she cried, her heart slamming painfully in her chest. Adrenaline surged through her in an electric wave. “Please don’t cut off my feet. Oh god, oh god! Please don’t!”

He wiped a rag across the bottom of one foot and it exploded in pain. Showing her the cloth, he said, “Look.”

It was covered with bright red blood and sickly yellow pus. She screamed again and he thrust the soiled rag roughly into her open mouth. Tossing her head from side to side, she gagged on the slimy mess.

“Oh, come on,” Lance cajoled. “It’s no big deal. You’d think I was going to cut off both your legs, for chrissake. It’s just your feet. Don’t be such a crybaby." He smacked his lips. “Hey, I've got a great idea! I’ll add them to the stew! I never waste a good piece of meat.”

He howled in glee, and shook his head, tossing his long hair around like a madman.

“I just love this part,” he cackled as he lifted the knife. “It’s what I do best.”