Rebellion

Mallory rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and listening to Toby’s breathing from across the cell. He was sleeping again. Just as well, though Mallory. Whatever he’s dreaming about, it has to be better than being awake.

TOBY DID NOT get to sleep for long.

A QUIET BUZZING sound made Mallory open an eye. Not that it made much difference in the dark. But the buzz... it sounded like...

Bright light exploded across Mallory’s field of vision, making him wince and turn his head away. The sound dimmed, faded... and so did the flare of light.

A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the middle of their little cell. It swung gently back and forth, throwing rapidly shifting shadows on the dingy walls. Mallory’s eyes, accustomed to the dark, protested as he took in the room.

It was longer than he had imagined, and there was a steel door: patched and welded, but solid enough. Toby was curled into a small ball on a trestle bed at the end of the room. The walls were concrete, chipped and scuffed and generally the worse for wear. Something was smeared along one of them, dark fingermarks distinct on the grubby surface. There were bolts set into the walls at several points, and more in the floor, but only the bolt closest to Mallory was being used. It certainly explained how Toby was able to come across the room to him: he wasn’t restrained. What would be the point, looking at him? It wasn’t like he was going to give them any trouble. Had he, Mallory wondered, before he had given up and turned in on himself? He doubted it. He didn’t look like a fighter.

There was a scrape outside the door, followed by the sound of bolts being drawn back, and the rattle of a key in a lock. The hinges squealed as the door opened inwards, grating against the concrete floor.

And who should walk through the door with a smile on his face but Rimmon?

Mallory was on his feet and lunging for him in a heartbeat... but the chain was too short, and abruptly wrenched him back by his wrist. Rimmon beamed at him.

“How’s life on a leash, Mallory?”

“How about you come a little closer and I’ll fucking show you?”

“Temper, temper.” Rimmon’s smile stretched a little wider and he disappeared back through the door, leaving it open. He reappeared a moment later, carrying a chair; the wooden seat and back splintered, and one of the metal legs so thoroughly rusted through that it very nearly fell off when Rimmon banged it down on the floor, his eyes never leaving Mallory. “I thought you boys could do with a little company.”

“Brilliant. When do they get here?”

“Why does it always have to be like this with you, Mal?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because after all this time, you’re still a little shit?”

“You’re going to regret that.” Rimmon wagged his finger at him, and spun the chair so that it faced Mallory, before sitting down on it – still just out of reach. He rested his elbows on his knees and examined his fingernails.

Mallory sighed. “The only thing I regret is not having killed you when I had the chance.”

“Well, you won’t get another one,” Rimmon said, not looking up from his nails. “Not now. I tried to help you, remember. I gave you a chance.”

“And I gave you an answer.”

“You tied me to a fucking tree, Mallory. You tied me to a tree, and you shot me. And then you had that little bitch burn me.”

“And yet you still don’t seem to get the message...” Mallory’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I got the message alright. You’ve chosen your side, and now you can rot there. I just wanted to say... you know, no hard feelings.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mallory laughed. It was not a happy laugh. Rimmon sat back in his seat and pulled out a thin-bladed folding knife from inside his coat, and slid the point of the blade underneath his nails to clean them, wiping the knife on his knee after each one.

“If I were the vindictive type,” he began, the knife scraping at his nails, “I might use this opportunity to level the scores. To repay some of the kindnesses you’ve shown me.” He snapped the knife shut, and with one hand pulled up his shirt, exposing the side of his ribs and his abdomen. Scars rippled across his flesh; some long and jagged, some like a starburst.

Like a bullet hole.

He lowered his shirt and smiled at Mallory. “But I’m not the vindictive type. You made me what I am, after all.”

“You made yourself what you are. You made your own choices.” Mallory held his gaze. He had enough scars of his own.

“Well, that’s where we’re going to have to agree to disagree, I’m afraid. Still, this has been fun!” Rimmon tapped his hands on his knees and winked at Mallory, standing up and laying his hand on the back of the chair. Seeing Mallory frown, he made a show of looking surprised. “Oh, wait... you thought I was here for you?” He lifted a hand to his chest. “Mallory. That ego!” Another grin. “I’m here for him.”

He pointed to the crumpled heap of Toby at the far end of the room, and his smile twisted into something much uglier. His fingers closed around the back of the chair, and he tipped it onto its front legs and dragged it across the concrete. The noise was awful, driving into Mallory’s skull like a spike... and again, Mallory was straining against the chain, pulling at it – tearing at it now – because he knew exactly what Rimmon was about to do.

“WAKEY-WAKEY!”

A wave of freezing cold water hit Toby in the face, snapping him back to consciousness.

“There you go. Can’t have you sleeping through and missing the best part of the day, now can we?”

Toby realised he was sitting in a chair. His hands were tied behind his back.

“Well. I say ‘best part of the day.’ Best part of my day, I mean. Yours? Not so much.”

A hood was pulled roughly over Toby’s face, plunging him into darkness, and he heard Mallory shouting. Even through the hood, Toby could hear the anger...

And all Toby could do was wonder what it was he had done to make anyone hate him so very much.

MALLORY DID NOT stop wrenching at the chain that held him back – even though he knew it was pointless; even though the manacle bit into his flesh, scoring it almost to the bone. He would heal. He got it. He would heal, whatever they did to him, and Rimmon would make him watch as he worked on the boy. He couldn’t reach him, couldn’t help him.

Rimmon had finally been able to do what the rest of the Fallen never could. He’d found the perfect torture for Mallory.

RIMMON STOOD BACK and admired his handiwork. He was sweating, pale in the light of the single bulb that still swung back and forth above them. Careless, he clipped the rim of the bucket he had dropped with the edge of his foot and it rolled away from him across the floor, its handle flopping over and over. It didn’t matter. It was empty now.

He picked up the rope at his feet and wound it around his shoulder. The heavy knot at one end hung down to his waist, brushing against Toby’s arm as he leaned forward to rip the soaked hood up and away. Toby flinched at the touch and whimpered. His eyes were screwed shut, and as soon as the hood came off he turned his head away; down... anywhere except towards Rimmon. He was shaking so hard that the chair rocked on the floor. The legs juddering against the concrete made a sound like teeth chattering.

Rimmon took in the boy’s terror; the bruises rising on his cheeks, the water dripping from his chin and his hair... and he smiled.

He turned around, and walked straight into the bucket Mallory had flung at him. It smashed into his nose, breaking it. Blood dripped into his mouth, but he was still smiling.