God, the sound of his fucking voice is going to make me kill him before we get any information out of him. I step out of his line of sight and Scott takes my place. I stand there, clearing my head. I need to calm down. It isn't time to take his life yet. He has so much information to give, whether he realizes it or not.
I will have the answers I need before I leave the state of Mississippi. There is no question. I give Scott a nod and exit the room, sealing the heavy metal door behind me. Reaper is seated in a rocking chair in the shop that houses this room, watching the flat screen TV hanging on the wall beside the room.
His nonchalance makes me audibly laugh as I walk past him. He never checks up, eyes locked in on some action movie on the TV. I walk out to Scott's truck and retrieve the five gallon bucket we prepared just for Gater. The movement inside lights a fire inside my soul. I'm fucking elated at what I'm about to do. I've never seen it done before, only heard of it and seen it in movies. But I'm about to have a front row seat to the horrors of this method of torture.
I pack the blow torch in one hand and the handle of the bucket in the other. I walk past Reaper and he looks over in my direction. "Oh, man tell me that's what I think it is," he grins, rubbing his hands together.
"If you think that there are jars and a few live animals inside this bucket, then yes. Yes it is exactly what you think it is."
"Care for an extra set of eyes, or hands?" he asks.
"Would love the company, brother. After you," I say, motioning toward the door.
Reaper opens the door and I walk through, setting the blow torch and bucket down with a thud, the glass of the jars clankinginside the bucket. The sound of claws on the plastic is eerie and gives me chills. Like the screech of nails on a chalkboard, I know that the screech that will leave Gater's mouth will make everyone's ears hurt. Mine will ache with joy.
The look of pure excitement on Scott's face mirrors the way that I'm feeling.
"Time's up, motherfucker. You're going to answer the questions we've been asking one way or another. Since one way wasn't working for you, let's try the other," Scott says with that smug smile he always has on his face.
I open the lid of the bucket and remove one of the glass jars from it. I lift it up, inspecting the small creature contained in the jar. I feel a slight twinge of guilt for the torment I'm about to inflict on this creature, but it's quickly wiped away by the benefit that will come of it.
Reaper picks up the blow torch and follows me around to the other side of the room where Gater can see us. His bruised and swollen eyes widen when he sees the jar in my hand and the blow torch in Reaper's. Scott's chuckle is the only sound in the room.
"What the fuck, man?" Gater shrieks.
"Did you think this was a fucking joke?" I ask, handing the jar to Scott while I search the metal cabinet and shelf on the other side of the room for something to hold this jar onto his stomach. Reaper walks over to point me in the direction of duct tape. I guess what they say is true, you can fix anything with duct tape. I'm about to fix Gater's unwillingness to cooperate. And get a little bit of joy out of the deal in the process.
Scott unscrews the lid to the jar while I rip Gater's torn shirt from his body and toss it onto the floor. It'll help catch some of the bloody mess that will be spilt. Conveniently already maroon in color, it'll be turning a deeper shade of red today. Gater begins thrashing and hollering, begging and pleading to be spared of the imminent torture.
"Answer the questions," Scott deadpans.
Tears stream down Gater's face, streaking through the dried blood on his cheeks. "I'll answer!" he shouts.
"Where is Asher?" Scott asks.
Gater is quiet, mouth closed tight as we wait in the silence that lingers in the room.
"Hold him still," Scott demands. I grip his legs, holding him firmly in place while Scott attaches the jar to his bare stomach. Gater tries to buck free of my grasp, but I barely budge against his erratic attempts at movement.
"Fuck!" he yells.
"We haven't even gotten to the fun part of this party yet," Scott says calmly. A quirk he's always had since I've known him is this ability to remain calm no matter what he's feeling. He doesn't raise his voice, he doesn't ever show much irritation no matter how angry he may be. He's the strong silent type, and we all give him hell about it, but this is what they mean by strong silent type. The ones who can slit you from ear to ear, quietly, without reacting, and leave you to bleed out in an alley while they calmly walk away.
Once the mason jar is secure on Gater's stomach, Reaper lights the blow torch with one click. The static sound of it blasting can barely be heard over Gater's whimpers. For someone who has no loyalty to anyone, he sure is willing to go a long fucking distance into this without ratting on them.
"Light him up, Reap," I give the command and watch the excitement spark in Reaper's eyes as he inches closer to the end of the mason jar with the flame.
The rat inside immediately runs the few inches from the back of the jar toward Gater's stomach. He begins digging into Gater's skin viciously. Gater's shrill screams echo as blood begins to pool into the jar. I hold my fist up for Reaper to stop.
"Ready to start answering questions now?" Scott asks.
The rat is still scratching on Gater's stomach and Gater finally concedes. "Yes. I'll answer whatever you want. Just get this fucking thing off of me!" he cries.
"What do you know, once a traitor always a traitor," Scott chimes.
"Before I remove it, answer the first question," Reaper demands, still holding the blow torch nearby. He almost looks a little disappointed he didn't get to utilize it more.
"He's dead. I killed him before I ever left the Hounds. He wasn't the leader that they needed. He didn't know how to lead and get shit done," Gater heaves.
