I can’t fucking do it. The pain has overloaded my body, depleted my energy.
I throw the box cutter as I scream, “FUCK YOU!” I’m not capable of stringing together anything other than two words as I continue screaming them. The pain I craved has taken over, successfully shutting me down. Only it hasn’t made my mind numb like I’m accustomed to. It’s made it feel too much. Overwhelmingly so.
She waits until I stop screaming and calmly asks, “Are youchoosingto reject our help?”
69
KANE
“No,” I grit as more blood flows from the cut.
“Continue. Take it at your own pace.” She’s encouraging me like I’m a child doing their homework. “If you fail, your life belongs to me, and no one will ever find the Leroux girl.”
My vision blurs as I lift the saw. I have to hold the pulpit to prevent falling. More bile decides to rush up my throat. I turn in time, barely missing the open box. The pain of moving my arm even an inch makes my stomach churn, like an eternal loop of fucking misery.
I don’t know how long it takes me to return to the task but wax slowly drips over the sconces as the flames thin.
Delilah.
I pick up the saw.
Delilah.
I place it in the cut I made with the sharp box cutter, my flesh burning at the intrusion, begging me to stop.
Delilah.
I roughly pull the sharp-toothed hacksaw back?—
Delilah.
—then push it forward.
Delilah.
My shoulder burns along with my throat, arm, every fucking nerve in my body. But I keep sawing through the flesh and chips of shattered bone as I scream out an unintelligible sound.
Delilah.
Delilah.
Delilah.
Delilah.
It’s all for her. I’ll find her. I’ll keep her safe this time.
Delilah.
Delilah.
Delilah.
Delilah.
Score marks form in the stone as I continue sawing.
Sawing.
