Evil Origins by JD Simser
chapter TWENTY FIVE
Renaud
“Is that all you got?” I spat out as his fist connected again. Each time they hit me the tingling inside me head grew like a spider web and the pain became a little less. It was always followed up by an even harder one blow, but that was to be expected.
“Is that hard enough for you?” he snarled. Before I could answer he punched me so hard it rocked the chair back. “Is it, boy?”
The chair rocked forward, forcing my whole body to jerk and tremble. This beating was nothing compared to what I had already been through over the past fifteen years. I’m not one of those idiots who believes that pain makes them stronger or handling torture with elegance somehow makes it noble. I’ve just have been through much worse for a lot longer.
“Oh come on now. I’m quite disappointed. I thought that crime lords were professionals.” A loud clapping sound echoed as his hand struck me again. Blood was flowing out of every place possible and the side of my head burned like hell. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. That one caught my attention.”
“Just sign over the company. You don’t even want it, why are you making me hurt you so much?” The man looked like he was ready to fall over from exhaustion. They called him “The Crippler”, but I’m sure that his reputation was earned decades ago. He was a big man in his late fifties who could only hobble along with the support of braces. When he first entered the room I thought that he was one of those lawyer types. He carried an old scuffed up leather suitcase and a clipboard with a typed paper with a letterhead that said "Carminati Paper Company Inc." He looked tough, but used-up. Like a rope that had frayed edges and was about to snap. At first, he just sat there across from me and slid the paper over like any lawyer would.
Passing a pen across the table he said, “Now Mister Barthélémy, I’m aware that this isn’t exactly the way you usually conduct business and it’s not the way we prefer to do business, but showing up the way you did makes life a little bit complicated.”
Being the charming bastard that I was, I chuckled at that.
“You think your life is complicated. Try sitting on this side of the table.”
He burst out laughing. “Oh yes, I think you must be quite overwhelmed by everything that’s happening.” Leaning back in his chair he crossed his arms, “You stepped right into the middle of something big, Mister Barthélémy. The King has invested a lot of money into buying the company and then you stepped in and stole it right out from under him.”
“I am stealing the company out from under him? Is that how he sees it?” Of course that’s how they were going to spin it. I was making them steal it back. The strangest thing was I didn’t have any attachment to it, but it seemed to me that the only thing keeping Jenny safe right now was the fact that they didn’t own it and were too afraid that hurting her would make things worse.
“That’s how The King sees it.” Opening his hands, he said “It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or not. The King sees things his own way and once he decides something, nothing can change his mind.”
Grabbing a hold of the collar of his shirt I pulled the fat bastard closer.
“Tell ‘your highness’ that soon enough he will meet an even bigger monster. Whoever owns my brother’s company won’t matter then.”
“This might be a problem. A big problem for you, Mister Barthélémy. The King never backs down and right now he wants this business taken care of.” I took the liberty of breaking The Crippler’s nose and that’s when he stopped being a spineless lawyer and put on his big boy pants. That’s what brought us here.
The beatings went on for what seemed like hours. The poor bastard seemed to be getting the worst of it since hewas used to beating mortal men. I am no longer what one could consider human and I can endure more pain than most. The voice inside my head kept whispering, “Si vis vincere dolorem respirare discant vivere” to dull the pain.
Finally, he leaned over and whispered, “Are you going to sign the paper or not?” He opened the leather briefcase and started searching through it until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small ballpeen hammer and set it on the table. “Now we have ways of making you do as we want, but then it begins to get messy.”It was a little shiny silver hammer that still had blood stains around the edges.
“I have used this little tool in many negotiations.” He was bouncing it off the palm of his hand as he continued, “It’s never failed me.” He pounded it on the tabletop making a loud, ringing noise as it connected. Everyone in the room jumped back including me, with the exception that my hands were chained to the table. “I am getting too old for the tough stuff, but it seems to me that you are determined to make this more a fight amongst warriors then a civilized negotiation between men.”
This little room was the perfect place for my kind of fight. Small, cramped, and hard to move in, making it easier for my kind to use magic to break bones and immobilize the men around me. Unlike the other room, in the middle of this one there was only one small steel table, two chairs, and a barred window that faced the river. They were only three men in the room besides me. The Crippler and the two men guarding the door.
The hammer connected to against the metal table again, sending vibrations straight up my arms.
“Which hand is your writing hand?”the Crippler asked. I didn’t want to carry the burden of three more souls with me. I didn’t want to add their blood to my own torment, but they were making it impossible. Tapping the hammer against the palm of his hand he marched back and forth, never letting his eyes leave me. “Mister Barthélémy, you will sign the paper one way or another, or you’ll just disappear like you never returned. Why make it harder on yourself?” He slammed the hammer a hair’s width away from my hand, smiling. “I truly must apologize for the way things are going to go down now, but you leave me no other options.”
When the hammer came down a surge of pain shot up my shoulder like lightning. I screamed out at the realization hit me that the pain was real and my calming spell wasn’t working. My arms trembled and it seemed like whatever strength I had in my limbs had been stolen. Struggling to keep hold of my hand he kept talking.
“I know it’s not money that stops you from signing because we checked out your financial records and you are rather wealthy in your own right. You don’t have any attachments to the company itself or great love for family or your brother’s memory so why make me hurt you? Why endure this type of pain just because you’re being stubborn?”
I couldn’t think of the right words for this situation. It was like the pain numbed my brain and stole the collection of useful words that I had built up over my lifetime.
“I can’t,” was all I could manage to whimper out. I didn’t know why I did it, because before the words even left my lips I knew that it was probably going to lead to something more severe. “I thought that you would be more creative. Pulling fingernails, slicing my skin with knives, or maybe even a thousand paper cuts.”
Smiling, he said “I must admit, I like your spirit. Most men would have crumbled by now, but you seem to have something inside you that is bigger than the pain you are currently feeling. I will ask you again. Why not make things easier and just sign the paper.”
I was still watching the blood trickling from the gash in my hand, trying to stop my hand from trembling and praying that my mind would give me a single word to take away the pain or save me.
“I can’t,” was the only words I could think to say.
“Yes, I know it hurts, but ‘I can’t is not a valid answer, Mister Barthélémy. It’s an excuse men use when they don’t have a reason for what they do, but they do it anyway.” My knuckle was twisted and broken and my hand started going numb as the shock set it. I was trying to push a word from inside the vault, but like my memories they were scattered and warped to the point where it seemed like every word was missing a letter or two.
“You see I know exactly why I am doing what I am doing. I have a job to do and a short
timeframe to do it in,” he said as he quickly drove the hammer into my second knuckle, shattering the bone and forcing a whole new explosion of agony through my body.
Struggling to yank my hand away I cried out, “I can’t do it. If I sign…”
“If you sign, what will happen? What’s so important that you will endure this type of pain? Who do you think you’re protecting?” Hitting the tabletop, he shouted, “That’s it isn’t it? You are trying to be the gallant knight protecting the damsel in distress.”
He stood up and started walking toward the door.
“Now I know how to complete this task. I think I might have to get more creative. I only hope that you care more about Mrs. Bailey then you do your own well-being.”
I jumped up, feeling the chains digging into my skin,
“What?” This was the first time I ever thought of Jenny as more than just a ghost from the past. She was that skinny girl who sat on the edge of the river dangling her feet in the cool river water, splashing against the waves. She had this sad look in her eyes,
“Do you feel loved?” she had asked. We were sixteen and I didn’t know exactly how to answer her question because with Jenny it was either all love or all misery. She had a habit of using her beauty against me and each time she broke my heart. I knew that men would want her. I wasn’t blind or stupid so if I loved and wanted her why wouldn’t others. The thing that hurt the most was that she always made sure I remembered that fact like I should be thankful for the limited time she offered me.
Squeezing my hand, she kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you more than anyone else, I just don’t always show it.” I think that was the last time she ever told me that she loved me and I believed it.
The Crippler stopped just before the door and pulled a little silver knife from his pocket.
“Do you think that you could watch the love of your life cry out as she is sliced up or raped by the men that live in this place? Do you think your selfish pride is worth her pain and humiliation?”
“Do you believe in Hell?” I spat out as I stood up, challenging him. A spell popped into my head and I quickly uttered, “Infernum!”
“Mister Barthélémy, I don’t have to believe in Hell when I bring it to those who deserve it.” A smile filled his face as he spun the knife in his hand, “You aren’t in a position to threaten me and certainly I don’t see how you are going to help Mrs. Bailey. The King already sees her as his and he does what he likes with his toys.”
The handcuffs began to glow as the heat from the fire inside my soul spread through my entire body. It wouldn’t take long before I could break the bonds that trapped me here.
“So do you believe in Hell?” I asked again. He wore a crucifix around his neck and I was hoping that it meant he was a good Catholic boy, rather than it being just a symbol he wore. “Our sins follow us. Do you want to see how heavy a burden your sins are? Have you had a glimpse into your eternal afterlife?”
I opened my arms, sending little pieces of glowing steel flying across the room as I screamed out, “Testis!”
An image filled his mind as the words left my lips. A memory that haunted me from my time spent locked away.
“Confess,” the child said he stuck a small piece of wood between my knees. The human world would call this The Iron Boot, but my ancestors called it the first stage of their torment. In the Crippler’s eyes, he had the metal boot wrapped around his feet and would feel the agony that I chose to share with him.
“Confess to what?” he said as the panic set in. He was just as confused as I was the first time I woke up and found myself in this position.
Driving the piece of wood deeper between his legs the boy snapped, “Confess,” as he added in a second piece of lumber. Pushing the second piece, it began to scrape off the skin as it went down. “The sins of the Father are the sins of the Son.”
He cried out as the sides of the boot cut into his flesh and the bones in his legs began to crack.
“What sins?” he cried out as the child added another thin piece of wood between his knees.
“Confess that you are a servant of the Devil and this all goes away,” the child said. His sharpened teeth looked like daggers sticking out of his mouth and his eyes were filled with blood.
“Confess!” he cried again he pounded the stake downward, shattering the bones in his legs.
The Crippler cried out as he looked down and saw the blood come gushing out, painting the floor with a pool of flowing red.
“What sins?” The boy had two larger pieces of wood that he forced between the others. The Crippler began weeping as he pleaded, “What sins? Tell me what they are and I will confess. Just tell me!”
The boy smiled, “So you confess?”
Pleading he begged, “Yes I confess. Just tell me what I did and I will confess to anything.”
That’s when they started dragging out a giant cross. Holding out his arms the boy shouted, “The witch has confessed!” He was laughing and dancing as he stomped around. “The only way to save him is to crucify him and then burn the darkness from his soul!”
I watched him fall to the floor in the fetal position. All men think that are stronger than their sins, but never realizedthat their sins are like steps in a staircase. The more sins you collected, the higher you must climb. This was just the first step of my sins and The Crippler had more steps than I could have ever had. I leaned over and whispered, “Do you believe in Hell now?”
Renaud
“Is that all you got?” I spat out as his fist connected again. Each time they hit me the tingling inside me head grew like a spider web and the pain became a little less. It was always followed up by an even harder one blow, but that was to be expected.
“Is that hard enough for you?” he snarled. Before I could answer he punched me so hard it rocked the chair back. “Is it, boy?”
The chair rocked forward, forcing my whole body to jerk and tremble. This beating was nothing compared to what I had already been through over the past fifteen years. I’m not one of those idiots who believes that pain makes them stronger or handling torture with elegance somehow makes it noble. I’ve just have been through much worse for a lot longer.
“Oh come on now. I’m quite disappointed. I thought that crime lords were professionals.” A loud clapping sound echoed as his hand struck me again. Blood was flowing out of every place possible and the side of my head burned like hell. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. That one caught my attention.”
“Just sign over the company. You don’t even want it, why are you making me hurt you so much?” The man looked like he was ready to fall over from exhaustion. They called him “The Crippler”, but I’m sure that his reputation was earned decades ago. He was a big man in his late fifties who could only hobble along with the support of braces. When he first entered the room I thought that he was one of those lawyer types. He carried an old scuffed up leather suitcase and a clipboard with a typed paper with a letterhead that said "Carminati Paper Company Inc." He looked tough, but used-up. Like a rope that had frayed edges and was about to snap. At first, he just sat there across from me and slid the paper over like any lawyer would.
Passing a pen across the table he said, “Now Mister Barthélémy, I’m aware that this isn’t exactly the way you usually conduct business and it’s not the way we prefer to do business, but showing up the way you did makes life a little bit complicated.”
Being the charming bastard that I was, I chuckled at that.
“You think your life is complicated. Try sitting on this side of the table.”
He burst out laughing. “Oh yes, I think you must be quite overwhelmed by everything that’s happening.” Leaning back in his chair he crossed his arms, “You stepped right into the middle of something big, Mister Barthélémy. The King has invested a lot of money into buying the company and then you stepped in and stole it right out from under him.”
“I am stealing the company out from under him? Is that how he sees it?” Of course that’s how they were going to spin it. I was making them steal it back. The strangest thing was I didn’t have any attachment to it, but it seemed to me that the only thing keeping Jenny safe right now was the fact that they didn’t own it and were too afraid that hurting her would make things worse.
“That’s how The King sees it.” Opening his hands, he said “It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth or not. The King sees things his own way and once he decides something, nothing can change his mind.”
Grabbing a hold of the collar of his shirt I pulled the fat bastard closer.
“Tell ‘your highness’ that soon enough he will meet an even bigger monster. Whoever owns my brother’s company won’t matter then.”
“This might be a problem. A big problem for you, Mister Barthélémy. The King never backs down and right now he wants this business taken care of.” I took the liberty of breaking The Crippler’s nose and that’s when he stopped being a spineless lawyer and put on his big boy pants. That’s what brought us here.
The beatings went on for what seemed like hours. The poor bastard seemed to be getting the worst of it since hewas used to beating mortal men. I am no longer what one could consider human and I can endure more pain than most. The voice inside my head kept whispering, “Si vis vincere dolorem respirare discant vivere” to dull the pain.
Finally, he leaned over and whispered, “Are you going to sign the paper or not?” He opened the leather briefcase and started searching through it until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small ballpeen hammer and set it on the table. “Now we have ways of making you do as we want, but then it begins to get messy.”It was a little shiny silver hammer that still had blood stains around the edges.
“I have used this little tool in many negotiations.” He was bouncing it off the palm of his hand as he continued, “It’s never failed me.” He pounded it on the tabletop making a loud, ringing noise as it connected. Everyone in the room jumped back including me, with the exception that my hands were chained to the table. “I am getting too old for the tough stuff, but it seems to me that you are determined to make this more a fight amongst warriors then a civilized negotiation between men.”
This little room was the perfect place for my kind of fight. Small, cramped, and hard to move in, making it easier for my kind to use magic to break bones and immobilize the men around me. Unlike the other room, in the middle of this one there was only one small steel table, two chairs, and a barred window that faced the river. They were only three men in the room besides me. The Crippler and the two men guarding the door.
The hammer connected to against the metal table again, sending vibrations straight up my arms.
“Which hand is your writing hand?”the Crippler asked. I didn’t want to carry the burden of three more souls with me. I didn’t want to add their blood to my own torment, but they were making it impossible. Tapping the hammer against the palm of his hand he marched back and forth, never letting his eyes leave me. “Mister Barthélémy, you will sign the paper one way or another, or you’ll just disappear like you never returned. Why make it harder on yourself?” He slammed the hammer a hair’s width away from my hand, smiling. “I truly must apologize for the way things are going to go down now, but you leave me no other options.”
When the hammer came down a surge of pain shot up my shoulder like lightning. I screamed out at the realization hit me that the pain was real and my calming spell wasn’t working. My arms trembled and it seemed like whatever strength I had in my limbs had been stolen. Struggling to keep hold of my hand he kept talking.
“I know it’s not money that stops you from signing because we checked out your financial records and you are rather wealthy in your own right. You don’t have any attachments to the company itself or great love for family or your brother’s memory so why make me hurt you? Why endure this type of pain just because you’re being stubborn?”
I couldn’t think of the right words for this situation. It was like the pain numbed my brain and stole the collection of useful words that I had built up over my lifetime.
“I can’t,” was all I could manage to whimper out. I didn’t know why I did it, because before the words even left my lips I knew that it was probably going to lead to something more severe. “I thought that you would be more creative. Pulling fingernails, slicing my skin with knives, or maybe even a thousand paper cuts.”
Smiling, he said “I must admit, I like your spirit. Most men would have crumbled by now, but you seem to have something inside you that is bigger than the pain you are currently feeling. I will ask you again. Why not make things easier and just sign the paper.”
I was still watching the blood trickling from the gash in my hand, trying to stop my hand from trembling and praying that my mind would give me a single word to take away the pain or save me.
“I can’t,” was the only words I could think to say.
“Yes, I know it hurts, but ‘I can’t is not a valid answer, Mister Barthélémy. It’s an excuse men use when they don’t have a reason for what they do, but they do it anyway.” My knuckle was twisted and broken and my hand started going numb as the shock set it. I was trying to push a word from inside the vault, but like my memories they were scattered and warped to the point where it seemed like every word was missing a letter or two.
“You see I know exactly why I am doing what I am doing. I have a job to do and a short
Struggling to yank my hand away I cried out, “I can’t do it. If I sign…”
“If you sign, what will happen? What’s so important that you will endure this type of pain? Who do you think you’re protecting?” Hitting the tabletop, he shouted, “That’s it isn’t it? You are trying to be the gallant knight protecting the damsel in distress.”
He stood up and started walking toward the door.
“Now I know how to complete this task. I think I might have to get more creative. I only hope that you care more about Mrs. Bailey then you do your own well-being.”
I jumped up, feeling the chains digging into my skin,
“What?” This was the first time I ever thought of Jenny as more than just a ghost from the past. She was that skinny girl who sat on the edge of the river dangling her feet in the cool river water, splashing against the waves. She had this sad look in her eyes,
“Do you feel loved?” she had asked. We were sixteen and I didn’t know exactly how to answer her question because with Jenny it was either all love or all misery. She had a habit of using her beauty against me and each time she broke my heart. I knew that men would want her. I wasn’t blind or stupid so if I loved and wanted her why wouldn’t others. The thing that hurt the most was that she always made sure I remembered that fact like I should be thankful for the limited time she offered me.
Squeezing my hand, she kissed my cheek and whispered, “I love you more than anyone else, I just don’t always show it.” I think that was the last time she ever told me that she loved me and I believed it.
The Crippler stopped just before the door and pulled a little silver knife from his pocket.
“Do you think that you could watch the love of your life cry out as she is sliced up or raped by the men that live in this place? Do you think your selfish pride is worth her pain and humiliation?”
“Do you believe in Hell?” I spat out as I stood up, challenging him. A spell popped into my head and I quickly uttered, “Infernum!”
“Mister Barthélémy, I don’t have to believe in Hell when I bring it to those who deserve it.” A smile filled his face as he spun the knife in his hand, “You aren’t in a position to threaten me and certainly I don’t see how you are going to help Mrs. Bailey. The King already sees her as his and he does what he likes with his toys.”
The handcuffs began to glow as the heat from the fire inside my soul spread through my entire body. It wouldn’t take long before I could break the bonds that trapped me here.
“So do you believe in Hell?” I asked again. He wore a crucifix around his neck and I was hoping that it meant he was a good Catholic boy, rather than it being just a symbol he wore. “Our sins follow us. Do you want to see how heavy a burden your sins are? Have you had a glimpse into your eternal afterlife?”
I opened my arms, sending little pieces of glowing steel flying across the room as I screamed out, “Testis!”
An image filled his mind as the words left my lips. A memory that haunted me from my time spent locked away.
“Confess,” the child said he stuck a small piece of wood between my knees. The human world would call this The Iron Boot, but my ancestors called it the first stage of their torment. In the Crippler’s eyes, he had the metal boot wrapped around his feet and would feel the agony that I chose to share with him.
“Confess to what?” he said as the panic set in. He was just as confused as I was the first time I woke up and found myself in this position.
Driving the piece of wood deeper between his legs the boy snapped, “Confess,” as he added in a second piece of lumber. Pushing the second piece, it began to scrape off the skin as it went down. “The sins of the Father are the sins of the Son.”
He cried out as the sides of the boot cut into his flesh and the bones in his legs began to crack.
“What sins?” he cried out as the child added another thin piece of wood between his knees.
“Confess that you are a servant of the Devil and this all goes away,” the child said. His sharpened teeth looked like daggers sticking out of his mouth and his eyes were filled with blood.
“Confess!” he cried again he pounded the stake downward, shattering the bones in his legs.
The Crippler cried out as he looked down and saw the blood come gushing out, painting the floor with a pool of flowing red.
“What sins?” The boy had two larger pieces of wood that he forced between the others. The Crippler began weeping as he pleaded, “What sins? Tell me what they are and I will confess. Just tell me!”
The boy smiled, “So you confess?”
Pleading he begged, “Yes I confess. Just tell me what I did and I will confess to anything.”
That’s when they started dragging out a giant cross. Holding out his arms the boy shouted, “The witch has confessed!” He was laughing and dancing as he stomped around. “The only way to save him is to crucify him and then burn the darkness from his soul!”
I watched him fall to the floor in the fetal position. All men think that are stronger than their sins, but never realizedthat their sins are like steps in a staircase. The more sins you collected, the higher you must climb. This was just the first step of my sins and The Crippler had more steps than I could have ever had. I leaned over and whispered, “Do you believe in Hell now?”