He endured the dull throbbing agonies and the searing pain she had promised him.
Vinny had been determined, until now, never to give it up to Frieda, it was too valuable to lose the very thing that allowed him to encase it. It was part of his identity, it made him complete, he couldn't bear thinking of living without it. He knew if he allowed her to get it from him, every day he would feel the gap it would leave.
But, as he considered living through more days with the ever-increasing agonies, he knew that Frieda had won. He had already suffered too much and she had promised him the fierce tortures would be his until he relented. Now he was again reluctantly led to her lair to be laid out once more under her control.
Frieda as always remained detached from her victims but never failed to be delighted by practicing her craft to perfection. She smiled smugly down at the face now staring nervously up at her.
She'd hoped this one would be lain here again for some further ministrations of her skills. There was so much more she could now do to him. He was such a sensitive victim, scared beyond measure of the pain. It was good therefore that she knew just where to attack for the best result.
Vinny lay helpless on her alter, mortified and becoming immobile. A syringe, half emptied of it's load was balanced in her hand, it's pointed shaft already slightly smeared with his blood. His head, braced as it was, meant all he could see were her ice-blue eyes watching him coldly from her mask.
Her domain was designed with meticulous method. The instruments of her torture were stacked and racked, laid out to intimidate and for tauntingly easy access. Tools were there to pierce flesh, to grip, constrict and tear. All displayed to instil a terrible fear in even the most bold. Central in her den was the workbench upon which Vinny found himself supine. Just by itself this visually grotesque piece of furniture bought dread to any occupant. Those who found themselves here knew many before them had suffered on this altar of fear and pain, and many would follow.
On a given day, Frieda's targets for torture would be brought to her lair and exposed to the horror of it's contents. Each would be tortured in varying degree depending on their level of corruption. As her door was opened for them the apparatus on which they were to be laid was boldly presented in the centre of her den. It would threaten them simply by it's design and form. Immediately apparent were it's lights, electric weapons, the ominous tubes, clubs, tools, hoses and pipes. Attachments were arrayed for the binding, grinding , flushing, inserting and suctioning of things best not contemplated.
Vinny lay with his fear and searing pain, enduring the residual agonies that Frieda had coolly told him would be returned on him, relentlessly, unless he agreed to her wishes. She had only ever wanted him to give up his treasured possession, and now he was here, for what he thought would be the last time, and she was going to break his face to drag it from him.
He looked across and could see she had set out before her the weapons she would use on him for torture and his sensory defeat. Spikes and band vices, wheels with teeth, probes and rods with points and grooves. Pliers and forceps. He was powerless to prevent the inevitable. Her tools lay in obvious threat, ready to pierce, compress and to pull relentlessly so as to extract from Vinny the demon he had contained for months.
In a way he had already relented, just by being here he had provided Frieda the upper hand. It was from a sense of the inevitable that he had fought against her up until today. Fought through his doubts, fought through his fear, but finally he accepted he would have to surrender to his nemesis.
'So, Vinny,' Frieda said cloyingly, a sickening calmness. She looked down on him in triumph. 'Let me explain, in detail, vhat I am going to do to get this out of you'
'Omnmphff ' Vinny dribbled, his face not able to respond as the drug took rapid effect. His terror heightened.
'Today, I am not going to take your looks from you.' Her eyes were sparkling with glee, her thick Scandinavian accent smoothing the words.
Vinny looked at her, not comprehending, it was not a sentence he had expected.
'Vhat I am going to do is dig at your nerve.'
This was worse.
'You see,' she continued from behind her mask, 'It is going to dead you.,. No.,. I mean, it is dead to you'
Vinny tried to get his stressed-out mind to comprehend what she was saying. He knew he must keep aware.
' Ay bontd undafand.' Vinny mouthed
'What don't you understand?' Frieda stared, her eyes wider now, somehow surprised he would question. Then suddenly a hint of soft expression in the icy stare, she glanced at a chart. 'Oh, I'm so sorry, let me explain,' She condescended. 'I looked at the x-ray again and think it possible to can save the tooth. But it requires scraping works to root canal. I thought receptionist has told this to you when she take the booking for you?'
'Yogody shed anifing oo e'
'Nobody said anything to you?'
Vinny was amazed how dentists could understand, perhaps they took Novocaine language courses as part of their training.
'Again, I sorry.' Frieda said and leaning back she lowered her face mask. She was pretty for a dentist and Vinny, attempting his most winning smile, gurned up at her. 'Oh, good.' she smiled back, 'You must be fully numb now. Tell me if you feel this?' She enquired as she re-raised her mask and deftly picked up a vicious probe to stick into his gum.
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