After the drone went to commercial, the drone junkie pointed me in the location of the suburbs.
I did not get far when someone stomped their boots across the road, forcing me to stop. Bald headed, a mountain body, wearing a pink bathrobe, carrying an axe and a grudge against me.
Vil sneered. “Delphine De Astor.”
“Where?” I gasped and looked around. “Where is she? Where is that bitch? I must find her and kill her myself!”
35
I think Vil was still upset about my brother sentencing his brother to prison which in turn led him to dying in the Execution Battle. This was evident as Vil bound my wrists on either side of the table he had forced me to lie down on. He also called me “bitch,” and not in a friendly way.
This was Vil’s second year in the Execution Battle and was yet to find proper accommodation, choosing the less appealing side of town, squatting in an old hairdresser. Faded posters of women with freshly dyed red, blue, blonde and brunette hair peeled from the walls and a family of rats took housing in a hair dryer. I beamed, elated at finding a hair straightener still in its box on the shelf, wondering if it still worked and asked Vil if I could have it.
He said I couldn’t.
“We only got two days left.” Vil took out his blade and spat on it before polishing the steel with a burnt towel. “I wanted more time with you, but I guess we’ll have to make these two days count. I’m going to peel your skin off and make you eat it.”
“Please don’t. I’vejustmoisturised,” I said. “You’ll ruin it.”
“I couldn’t get up there, I almost broke my neck!” Vil’s friend groaned, a female with a nose ring. She wore a matching pink bathrobe to Vil. It was very sweet.
Their main lodgings were on the second storey of the shop, and the only way up was a staircase which had apparently just collapsed that morning. Theydid not appreciate being on ground level because it meant anyone could stroll in off the street and interrupt them. Vil also had all his torture tools upstairs and groaned about having to bring them all down and reorganise them.
“Why don’t you try a ladder,” I said to Vil’s female friend. “Or perhaps some step stools?”
She rubbed her chin. “Yeah, maybe in the kitchenette.”
“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “Try that.”
Vil also nodded. “Yeah, good idea. Go get it.”
Once his lady friend ducked into the back, I wriggled on the stiff table, trying to find a comfortable position. “Hey, Vil.”
“Shut up.” He arranged his blade to point to me. “The only words I want to hear out of your mouth is begging and screaming.”
“Please,” I begged him. “Please, please can you tell me if you’ve seen a young man in a green basketball t-shirt and a young woman with a sling shot?”
“What?”
“Have you seen them? I’m looking for them.”
“Why aren’t you wearing pants?”
“I can’t find those either.”
“How have you managed to stay alive after all this time?”
“Courtesy and regard. Have you seen a young man in a green basketball t-shirt?”
He used the end of his blade’s handle to scratch his stubble. “Yeah, I saw a kid in a green shirt with a girl get stabbed in the arm the other day. I think they were on their way to the suburbs.”
“Oh freckles.” I lowered my head onto the table. “That’s not good.”
He snickered through ugly snorts, scraping the tip of his blade up my bare leg. “Bitch, you got a lot of other shit you better be worrying about.”
He had used zip ties on my wrists and another on my other ankle to stop me from moving around.
This was a problem. Not for me. For him.
