Not Easily Forgotten
Astrid Keddle knew well enough to know that the streets of London were not safe for a lady of fine-breeding such as herself, particularly so after dark. And though she had begun her day with the intent of simply strolling the West End shops, chaperon at her side, a strange series of events fell in to place, beginning with a stumbling horse and ending with her faithful family servant being carried off to the West London Hospital on King Street.
Though her girlish fantasies brought to mind ideas of some valiant prince coming to her rescue and providing safe passage to her family estate, Astrid knew well enough once again to seek safety at the home of her dearest friend Mary; the other young woman's family sent a message to the Keddles, to let then know that their youngest daughter would be joining the Harcourts for dinner and then be driven home. Unfortunately, Astrid's younger brother James missed the message by mere minutes, and took to the streets himself in search of his sister.
It happened too quickly for him to stop them, or even react. It was as though the stale-smelling satchel had just been placed over his head when he was thrown to the ground and the thundering of hooves on cobbled streets drowned out his cries for help. When they finally freed his senses and removed the satchel that had been blinding him, James was surprised to find himself in some darkened chamber that reeked of some sour stench... old sweat and blood. He gasped for air as though starved for it, and grimaced from the odor as his eyes strained to adjust to the dim light. An oil lantern set upon a nearby crate cast naught but a somber, flickering glow; a small flame in the fireplace grate that seemed to overflow with strange instruments glowing red in the darkness cast no more usable light.
"What is this?" James spat out angrily. He was seated in a chair, his arms tethered to the arms of the chair itself and his chest and ankles similarly bound. "What is going on? Release me and let me go on my way, or you'll suffer the consequence!" They ignored him, the shadowy figures in the room speaking softly amongst themselves and one donned a heavy glove of some sort and went to turn the instruments in the fire, as though counting or checking them over for heat. Moving to again protest, James barely released a murmur before a thick piece of leather was forced into his mouth, the thick handle of a whip. One of the shadowed men stood behind him, holding the leather whip handle in place with both hands.
"True greatness of the mind comes only at great cost," the man quietly intoned. "Your sacrifice will not be easily forgotten."
His words had distracted the bound man just long enough for another figure to move from the fire towards the torture chair, heavily padded glove holding a long, thin needle that glow white hot in the dimness of the room. Screams of pain were muffled by the gag held in place as the needle was slowly threaded beneath the nail of a right index finger. By the time the man at the fire had completed his work and each of the captive's fingernails had been plied with needles, James' screams had become strained and tired. His face wet with tears and saliva that had dripped from his mouth, pants stained with urine, teeth grinding notches into the leather handle as the faint aroma of cooked meat filled the air.
He was trembling uncontrollably; only the tight bonds that held him in place could keep any part of him still as he skin shivered and bones rattled in shock and pain. Steam still rose from his hands, where the needles, now only faintly glowing red, clattered on the arms of the chair as his hands shook. Screams dying away to a constant, rasping moan, James hoped the men who held him had achieved whatever purpose they had set out to achieve, though in his heart he knew they must not truly be finished, as the one who had brought forth the needles again moved towards him. A student of history, James recognized the heated device the man brought forth as a Heretic's fork, and his screams began anew as his neck was forcefully tilted backwards.
Hours later, the unfortunate man gave silent prayer of thanks as the thick-handled saw began slicing into his forehead, grateful that death would be coming at long last.