When the person turned around, the plague mask did nothing to calm him down. Yeah, that visual didn’t help his freakout, at all.
In fact, it only made it worse.
All around the room, candles were lit, and they illuminated the place in a glow-y light.
There had to be a good sixty candles, placed all over, haphazardly lighting the space. It was eerie, and it was terrifying.
“Let me go!” he said, looking around at all the things in that damp, dark room. “Did my wife put you up to this? Is this because I slept around? That bitch! She used my money to buy a hit on me!”
That was funny.
And it made the shrouded figure laugh.
This man was beyond amusing.
“I’ll pay you double if you go get her, and do to her what you planned for me.”
Oh, he was mistaken.
There was no way out of this.
If anything, loyalty mattered—especially in certain lines of business. You couldn’t leave loose ends, and this man…he was one.
As the figure moved closer, he tried to get away from him, but he couldn’t.
His body was locked to that table, and shortly, the fun would begin. He was completely naked, simply so he had full access to his body.
Someone had some creative drawing to do.
With a bowl in hand, the plague doctor began doing his deeds. Those particular symbols were written on his naked flesh, and as they were, he began hyperventilating.
Then, praying.
Then, began doing anything he could think to get free from this.
Only, all that he managed to do was bruise his wrists and exacerbate the situation.
“Please don’t rape me,” he whispered.
There was even more laughter.
“Sorry, but you’re hardly my type,” the voice said, softly whispering so the voice was undetectable to the man. He wouldn’t see who was behind this until he was on the cusp of death.
And with good reason.
Chanting began with each symbol placed on his body.
Just in case.
The entire time, the man lost his shit.
“You’ll make yourself pass out, and I wouldn’t want that. What’s coming matters when it comes to you being awake or out cold.”
Samuel Padilla didn’t like that.
Not.
At.
