In chapt 2 Quentin was tied to a chair and managed to anger his mentaly unbalanced captor, Lenny into action. We left it with the knife at Quentin's throat and Lenny thrusting it forward.
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Panic, of an intensity he would scarcely have imagined, swept up from his gut. In it's palsied grip, dragged behind it, came nausea. The bastard was cutting him, sawing with the knife.
Just as the clenched fist of his bowls sprang open, Quentin simultaneously pissed himself.
He bucked wildly, frantically leaning away from his attacker, wondering somewhere on another planet why he felt no pain.
"P-Please don't" he croaked, "please don't kill....."
He was barely aware of speaking. The words registered as an inadequate vibration against the stronger, pneumatic drill-like, shuddering felt in his neck as Lenny continued to saw.......as he MURDERED him.
His mind, pregnant with images of Barbara and her own ordeal just seconds ago, was suddenly wiped clean. Now only blind, personal terror resided there, evicting all other considerations with the most extreme malice.
But Fear's tenancy would be short, of that Quentin was certain. The buttocks of his own dispair only warmed the seat for oblivion.
Unable to discern what was being said, he was, nevertheless, vaguely aware of shouting. Loud yet foreign, the words presented themselves merely as a disturbance of air around the vicinity of his face.
Then blessed release.
The terrible back-and-forth twisting of his head, at the insistence of the knife, abruptly ceased.
Falling now, weightless. Blurred colours oozing sideways as the room slowly tilted.
Numbness, the colours rushing faster, now entertaining blackness around the edges.
So this is it? Quentin thought, vaguely aware of his skull impacting against something. He could no longer feel his legs, nor any other part of him. Absent too, the booming insistence of his heart.
Like sediment in a jar the colours infront of him slowly settled and the blackness charged confidently from the wings to plunder his last moments.
But before the dark consumed him entirely, one last moment of clarity......and Quentin hated the bastard for it.
"There." came Lenny's voice through the murk, "That should make things a bit easier buddy."
And as Oblivion kicked the carcass of Quentin's terror to the floor and sat down, it removed something from it's tattered robes and offered it to Quentin.
From it's blackened, outstretched claw came the creak of hinges followed by the sound of Lenny's docker boots -heavy and deliberate- ascending the stairs.