her dark purpose.
“Get that down,” she indicated one of the cadavers to Franco. The monk prayed louder. Ivan backhanded him into silence.
Franco pulled down the ancient corpse, throwing the body to the ground, unwinding the chains that had held it up. Natasha turned to the monk.
“This will be your fate unless you tell me where the book is hidden.”
He shook his head. Natasha nodded at Ivan and he punched the old man hard in the stomach, winding him. The monk went down, clutching his stomach, next to the corpse. Natasha pushed his head while he was still off balance and he fell face first onto the desiccated body, his hands sinking into dead flesh. She stepped on the back of his neck, pushing his face down into the human decay, her stiletto heel marking his skin.
“Breathe deeply,” she said, her voice echoing around the crypt. “For this is what you will become.”
The monk was panicking, trying desperately to get off the body. Natasha stepped back and Franco wound the chains around his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back and then began to hoist him.
“This is an ancient form of torture,” Natasha said. “We’ll keep lifting and your body weight will break your arms with excruciating pain and eventually you’ll suffocate. But not before I peel the flesh from your old bones."
Natasha removed a knife from her handbag and showed it to the monk, as she caressed the ivory handle. She held it out, the point towards his right eye as he tried vainly to pull away from her.
“This was given to me by my father. It’s a sacrificial knife from the tomb of an Egyptian Queen, the great Hatshepsut, used for thousands of years to inflict pain and death, and to perform sacrifice.”
The monk was choking with the dust from the dead body. He wheezed and coughed as Ivan began to wind the handle, pulling his hands up behind him and forcing his head downwards towards the knife as Natasha calmly held the blade towards his face.
“Where’s the Devil's Bible?” she demanded. “I will torture and kill more of your brothers if you don't reveal the location to me."
The monk rasped and wheezed his reply, finding resolve deep within.
“Better is the day of death than the day of birth.”
Natasha smiled. “Ecclesiastes, my favorite book. How appropriate.”
She nodded at Ivan who yanked the chain hard so the monk’s face was jabbed down onto the knife and it pierced the flesh under his eye. Blood poured from the wound and he moaned in pain.
“We can do this all night, you know. You have plenty of time to contemplate the scriptures and your own end.” She leaned in. “Where’s the book?”
The monk shook his head again. This time Natasha dragged the knife down his cheek, slowly, so blood welled up in its path. She looked into his eyes. “The dead know nothing, old man. They have no further reward, and even their name is forgotten.”
He wheezed again, as blood dribbled into his mouth.
“You know the scriptures and yet you do evil to seek evil. I will not send you further into this sin.”
“But you will, I will see to that. Can’t you see that I love my work? I enjoy carving bodies, sculpting them.” She bent and lifted the bottom of his robe. “I particularly enjoy cutting off the useless parts, the offensive parts.” He was struggling now, trying to get away from her, attempting to pray but she could see from his eyes that this was his weakness. As all men, she thought. So fragile in defense of their bodies, so weak.
“Where’s the book?” Natasha asked again as Ivan yanked up the chain and she stepped closer, pulling the monk’s robes up and holding the knife point to his groin. The fight went from his eyes, the wheezing worse now.
“What’s the use?” he said, “I’m protecting nothing but a lie told for generations. The book isn't here.”
“But I was told it was sent here by the Vatican,” Natasha replied with indignation.
“Get that down,” she indicated one of the cadavers to Franco. The monk prayed louder. Ivan backhanded him into silence.
Franco pulled down the ancient corpse, throwing the body to the ground, unwinding the chains that had held it up. Natasha turned to the monk.
“This will be your fate unless you tell me where the book is hidden.”
He shook his head. Natasha nodded at Ivan and he punched the old man hard in the stomach, winding him. The monk went down, clutching his stomach, next to the corpse. Natasha pushed his head while he was still off balance and he fell face first onto the desiccated body, his hands sinking into dead flesh. She stepped on the back of his neck, pushing his face down into the human decay, her stiletto heel marking his skin.
“Breathe deeply,” she said, her voice echoing around the crypt. “For this is what you will become.”
The monk was panicking, trying desperately to get off the body. Natasha stepped back and Franco wound the chains around his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back and then began to hoist him.
“This is an ancient form of torture,” Natasha said. “We’ll keep lifting and your body weight will break your arms with excruciating pain and eventually you’ll suffocate. But not before I peel the flesh from your old bones."
Natasha removed a knife from her handbag and showed it to the monk, as she caressed the ivory handle. She held it out, the point towards his right eye as he tried vainly to pull away from her.
“This was given to me by my father. It’s a sacrificial knife from the tomb of an Egyptian Queen, the great Hatshepsut, used for thousands of years to inflict pain and death, and to perform sacrifice.”
The monk was choking with the dust from the dead body. He wheezed and coughed as Ivan began to wind the handle, pulling his hands up behind him and forcing his head downwards towards the knife as Natasha calmly held the blade towards his face.
“Where’s the Devil's Bible?” she demanded. “I will torture and kill more of your brothers if you don't reveal the location to me."
The monk rasped and wheezed his reply, finding resolve deep within.
“Better is the day of death than the day of birth.”
Natasha smiled. “Ecclesiastes, my favorite book. How appropriate.”
She nodded at Ivan who yanked the chain hard so the monk’s face was jabbed down onto the knife and it pierced the flesh under his eye. Blood poured from the wound and he moaned in pain.
“We can do this all night, you know. You have plenty of time to contemplate the scriptures and your own end.” She leaned in. “Where’s the book?”
The monk shook his head again. This time Natasha dragged the knife down his cheek, slowly, so blood welled up in its path. She looked into his eyes. “The dead know nothing, old man. They have no further reward, and even their name is forgotten.”
He wheezed again, as blood dribbled into his mouth.
“You know the scriptures and yet you do evil to seek evil. I will not send you further into this sin.”
“But you will, I will see to that. Can’t you see that I love my work? I enjoy carving bodies, sculpting them.” She bent and lifted the bottom of his robe. “I particularly enjoy cutting off the useless parts, the offensive parts.” He was struggling now, trying to get away from her, attempting to pray but she could see from his eyes that this was his weakness. As all men, she thought. So fragile in defense of their bodies, so weak.
“Where’s the book?” Natasha asked again as Ivan yanked up the chain and she stepped closer, pulling the monk’s robes up and holding the knife point to his groin. The fight went from his eyes, the wheezing worse now.
“What’s the use?” he said, “I’m protecting nothing but a lie told for generations. The book isn't here.”
“But I was told it was sent here by the Vatican,” Natasha replied with indignation.
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