Pieces

[Jay Carpenter]

The man dug around in the basket on one of the two beaten up old trays, before pulling out a pair of braces, which he attached to the back legs of the chair Jay was strapped into; it was also a chance to double check the bindings himself. Once done, he somewhat awkwardly lifted and tilted back the chair, leaving Jay seated at an angle, balanced on the rear legs of the chair, anchored in place by the heavy weights on the floor and the braces mounted to the back legs.

Confident that they would hold, Jay was lowered back to the floor, all four legs once more resting in the restraining weights. He ignored Jay's question, for the moment at least; he wasn't there to learn anything. Just to hurt the man, as creatively as he could without killing the cocky idiot.

Minutes passed, and the group of thugs returned with buckets of water, and a large basin, which was placed behind Jay's chair, the buckets to one side. The water was murky, fetid stuff, likely pulled from the old building's water tanks. Below that smell of rust and decay was a tinge of bleach; a few drops into each bucket to shock it. Just enough to shock the water, sterilize it a bit. Not drinkable by far, but less likely to cause illness from water-born diseases.

"I am paid a very nice sum of money to do things to people." He nodded then, and Jay was again leaned back in the chair, now with two of the thugs bracing it so he wouldn't be able to tip it over easily if he struggled. The blue-eyed man then pulled the towel from his shoulder, and pressed it into one of the water buckets, making sure it was good and soaked before it was thrown over Jay's face and the third thug grabbed Jay's head, holding the towel in place.

The sound of a bucket lifting from the floor, that brief scrape of metal against concrete floor. The creak of the handle in its hinges, the subtle slosh of water, the pitter-patter of drops falling to the floor, soaking into Jay's pants. And then began the slow, tempered pouring of water onto that towel, robbing Jay of air, the sense of drowning conflicting with the sense of being able to breath. Blind and bound. The water coming fast or slow, stopping occasionally to let Jay try and take gasps of breath through the soaked towel through which no air could be drawn. Only foul tasting water fighting its way in his nostrils, his mouth, weighing heavily against his eyes, his throat. Muffling what little he might have been able to hear, closing him in to hear only his laboured, useless breathes.