T.M. Hanson

This is a short story I wrote in response to a prompt (which happens to be the title) and belongs to the crime series that I started writing and developing in my teens. I wrote this a few years back as a little homage to this shelved story idea, as it’s been quite a while since I’ve worked on it.

For a little context: Faye is a retired doctor and the other characters referenced (Diana and Frankie) are her sister and brother-in-law. Mickey, the unfortunate guy below, is a character who appears briefly who works for the family. I hope that makes sense!

Tw: blood, bodily harm, light torture.

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From below came the slightest whimper of pain, a small indication of the agony he was in. She had been considerate. In her own way. Injecting him till his cries were no louder than a sigh, a soft weeping into the still, cold air. Though she had not injected him enough that he could not feel the pain. She wanted him to feel it; else what was the point?

Faye continued to saw, the hand beginning to droop away from the wrist. Frankie had inquired into whether she wanted a more updated version- some mechanical saw that did it for her. She had declined, despite her interest. Even in her old age, she did not mind the gruelling work. Besides, it wasn’t like she would complete it in one go. She wanted to prolong it as much as possible.

Her doctorate in medicine had come of use, not only in her career but in her personal pursuits. At first, she had been unsure, but over the years, she had become indifferent to it. She would do whatever was required of her. If Diana asked, she couldn’t say no and Frankie had done more than enough to support her over the years.

What was a little torture in recompense?

Mickey Calhoon was staring wildly into the bright lights above, though his head hardly moved- the high dosage of drugs had helped with that. He was tied to the steel table, though there was hardly any need. Barely moving, the only indication that he could was the involuntary twitch that seized him sporadically.

Faye did not mind. Yet, his twitching was becoming more severe as time went on and she knew that the last dose was wearing off. Putting down the saw, she reached for the ready-prepared needle beside her, resting atop the glistening silver tray.

Her hand reached out and gently took hold of his arm, a trained eye already knowing where to inject him. The bloodied gloves making a faint mark on his skin. It hardly mattered; there was blood everywhere.

She injected him, hearing a sharp hiss in response. Ignoring the sound, she placed the needle back and returned to the saw. The bone was nearly cut through. Not long now until she could finish for the day.