Free Carved in Darkness by Maegan Beaumont

terrified, but not of him or what he would do to her. No, she was terrified because the words she’d fought so hard to keep to herself were near the surface, threatening to break free. She was on the edge, he could see it. All she needed was a little push.
    “It’s there, right there on the tip of your tongue. Can you feel how close you are?” he said into her ear, and she shook her head against his grasp.
    “I won’t … I won’t … I won’t … ”
    “Yes, you will. Where. Is. She?” He was close enough to feel her heart slamming around in her rib cage. It beat so hard and fast he was surprised it didn’t burst through her chest. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment before she exhaled.
    “No,” she said, but they both knew this was her last stand. The next words out of her mouth would be the ones he wanted to hear.
    “Have it your way.” He straddled her and yanked her head to the side to wedge the jagged edge of his knife into the crease behind her ear. “Tell me, Miss Lucy. Tell me where she is, and I’ll stop,” he said, but he knew the promise was a lie. There was no stopping now, not even if she talked. She said nothing, and he took her silence as another refusal.
    He began to saw the knife back and forth. The serrated edge bit into the tender flesh behind her ear and chewed. Blood bloomed, a bright red flower behind her ear, and ran thick and warm down her neck.
    He stopped for a moment, wiped sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. He caught sight of her arms, still bound to the chair. Her hands fluttered rapidly, like the tiny wings of a frightened bird. Music still flowed into the kitchen, and he imagined she was moving them in time with the melody.
    He forced the knife deeper, separating the fleshy cartilage of her ear from the meat and bone of her skull. He pulled on the lobe and cut the last bit of if free, tightening his fist around her ear. It felt warm and wet in his hand. Her hands were suddenly still, and she stopped screaming. She’d passed out again.
    Blood poured from the jagged hole and coursed down her neck. It soaked the front of her faded house dress, but she didn’t make a sound. He reached for the towel again and brought it, salty and wet, to the side of her ear and squeezed. Still nothing.
    He stood back to drop the towel into the bowl and tossed her ear on the table. He’d do the other one next and maybe start on her fingers. She’d tell him where Melissa was soon enough. First, he needed to wake her.
    He traded knife for extension cord, fashioned it into a makeshift noose, and slipped it over her head. He gave it a sharp yank, tightening it around her throat until it disappeared into the soft skin of her neck. Seconds passed. The sudden loss of air did nothing to rouse her. He jerked it again and her head tipped forward, her chin hit her chest with no resistance and stayed there. Something close to panic settled into his chest.
    No, no, no, no. He dropped the cord and lunged at her. His fingers fumbled at her throat, looking for a pulse. Nothing. The blood covering her chest was cool and tacky against his hand. She wasn’t breathing. He slipped his hand under her chin and tipped it upward. Her eyes were open but empty.
    She was dead.
    This wasn’t happening. No fucking way was this happening. He shook her, slamming her head against the back of the chair with each thrust. What the hell happened? A heart attack? A stroke? Who the fuck knew? He didn’t really care. She was dead, and she hadn’t given him what he wanted.
    “Selfish bitch, she’s mine . She belongs to me, and I want her back!” He gave her a final, neck-cracking shake, but it did nothing to staunch the steady flow of rage coursing through is veins.
    His field of vision narrowed, all he could see was her face, all he could hear was the roar of blood pounding in his head. His knife was suddenly in his hand and he brought it down again and again, ripping into her soft flesh, tearing the