“Dima, this is your chance to save yourself,” I tell him as I roll up my sleeves and push over my trolley that holds my bag of tools. I roll the kit out slowly and let him see all the objects.
“Like everything in life, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you.”
He spits but doesn’t say anything. I take it as a no; he isn’t talking.
That’s how these things normally start out. They end a different way.
I take out a small knife. “That’s okay. I don’t like to rush in either.” I grin as I throw the knife. It grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pole he’s tied to.
I pick up another knife and throw it into the air before catching it. I’ve used these knives since I was a kid. They are like an extension of me.
“I grew up in Camp Cempt.”
Fear grows steadily in Dima’s eyes. It wasn’t a known fact about me. I only told that fact about myself to the people I knew would never reveal this about me.
Dima never would get to tell anyone. He would never leave this basement, no matter what he said.
“We were taken into the woods. It was always freezing, not that our beds were warm.” I point the knife at Dima. “But they gave us something that the wooded landscape couldn’t.”
I let the knife fly, and it clips off some of Dima’s hair which sails past his face and lands at his feet. Sweat drips down the side of his face.
“Ask your questions.” His voice still holds too much control.
I return to the trolley and pick up another knife. “They gave us an escape from General Obshcheye.”
Once again, Dima’s fear grows.
“We had to move through the woods without making a sound and hit the targets on the trees with our knives that he had set the night before.” I had lived for those moments in the forest.
Dima is glancing around the room.
“I feel insulted, Dima. Here I am sharing something personal, and you look bored.”
Dima’s gaze returns to me as I release the third knife that grazes his other ear. Blood trickles down his face.
“I never missed a target. General Obshcheye was a great teacher.”
I return and pick up another knife. “Some of the boys were so cold that they weren’t able to hold the knives. The noise of the knives hitting the ground spelled their doom.”
He had broken a boy’s arm for dropping his knives. He had killed a few during my time at camp.
I release the knife. Dima tries to shift against his chains before a scream of pain pours from his mouth.
The knife sticks out of his calf.
“How long do you think it will take for you to lose enough blood to die?”
Now more fear fills Dima’s eyes, and that small amount of anger and control is nearly gone.
“All we had to do was make sure all the security were in one area at a certain time, and all the girls were taken safely off the ship. That was it.”
I pretend that I don’t hear him as I return to my throwing knives.
“What was that boy's name?” I toss the knife a few times into the air. “Maksim.” That was it.
I face Dima, whose skin is paling further. “The General had broken his arm only a few months before. This day, it was colder than all the rest.”
I grin at Dima. “I’m not going to lie; even I felt the cold.”
I toss the knife in the air. “So when Maksim dropped his knives, instead of staying and taking his punishment, he ran.” I release the knife, and it embeds itself in his thigh.
His screams feed the beast inside me.
“I swear that’s all I did. I have no idea where they took those girls.” Drool pours from his mouth; his chin rests on his chest.
I pick up another knife, and he sobs. “The General had chased after Maksim, and I remember feeling like I was watching a lion chase a deer. I got a front-row seat, and I couldn’t look away.” I take a step towards Dima. “I couldn’t look away, even as the General grabbed Maksim by the scruff of his neck. The force rattled him like a rag doll.”
I reach Dima now and shake him as violently as I can. When I stop, I hold the knife to his eye.
“The General took out his hunting knife.”
Dima’s eyes grow wide, his face turns gray as he stares at the knife only a millimeter away from his eye.
“I want a name now, Dima.”
His breathing is harsh as he stares at the knife. “The Torpedo. That’s who we handed the girls over to.”
When I don’t react, he glances at me. “I swear on my mother’s life.”
He was telling the truth. “I believe you.” I grin, and he starts to half cry but doesn’t move. The knife is too close to his eye.
“When the General held that knife to Maksim’s eye, I knew he wouldn’t drive it all the way through; he would just make him suffer.”
Dima’s breathing grows more erratic, and I do what the General did. I pierce Dima’s eye. His roars are louder than Maksim’s were.
The General had turned to us all and made us come over one by one and look at the wound. Some boys threw up. I remembered when I had stood up to Maksim, so I couldn’t help but want to see the wound fully. I had forced him to open his eye, inflicting more pain on him.
The pride in the General’s gaze, I ate up that day.
Dima continues
