Sunday 12th August 2012
An unpleasant plucker
JACE, whom I had met only seconds before, was no longer suffering from pain, but inflicting it.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen, sister.”
He cackled, lying next to me, pressing the side of the knife blade against my cheek, his breath sweet with the heat of alcohol.
“We’re taking you somewhere safe and quiet for a bit of dee eye why surgery. Make you more human, more like us. That’s all. Nothing to worry about. But in case you might be thinking of shouting or jumping around, we’re going to truss you up like an oven-ready turkey. That’s what we all do at Chris Muss. Everyone likes turkey. So, all you’ve got to do is keep still while we make the bird ready. Then we won’t need do any carving till we get there. Got me?”
His eyes glistened, moist with excitement. I dared not look away, nor move, even though one of the pins holding the wig in place was digging into my scalp.
I heard a ripping sound, of material being torn. A wide ribbon of grey and white, held by what must be the thin man, hovered for a moment before my eyes before being pressed over my mouth and adhered to the skin of my cheeks. I could breathe only through the nose.
My arms were pulled down against my legs, a rope lashed around my right wrist, pushed under both thighs, wrapped tightly round the left wrist and drawn over the backs of my legs, digging into the flesh. I winced. Jace’s tongue darted over his bottom lip.
“Can we have a peep? A little look see?” I heard the thin man ask.
“Better had,” Jace grinned. “Case it’s not her.”
My pullover and vest were tugged up, exposing my back. The thin man whistled. Jace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m not the pheasant plucker, I’m the pheasant plucker’s son. And I’m only plucking pheasants till the pheasant plucker comes.”
“Know what? I’ve never said that before without getting it wrong! Right. Put that tarp over her till we get there. And sit on her, just in case.”
Then everything went dark.
END OF PART THREE