August 22, 2007
By J.D. Cook
Chapter VII Torture Chamber
It had been many hours since Wellington had been left alone in the darkness of what he assumed was a basement. Sleep had come and gone many times since he was tied down, and now he felt energy inside himself again. He started to try to reach for the belt buckle above his wrist, but he couldn’t get it. He kicked against the belts on his feet, but again met with defeat. Then as he was about to use all his force against the belts the door opened, and the Dominican walked in.
“I apologize for the wait, but I had to make sure my wife was at work” said the Dominican, walking closer and flipping on the lights.
“I don’t want to waste anymore of our time so I’ll get right to it.”
The Dominican walked over to a bench Wellington had just noticed a second before. On it was an assortment of many shiny objects, but off it the Dominican pulled four clothes pins.
“I’m going to be nice first – and if that doesn’t work then it’ll get rough. Got it?” asked the Dominican as he tore off the tape around Wellington’s mouth.
“Did you kill a man named Hector Lopez?”
Wellington shook his head no.
“I’ll be honest I knew the answer to that question I just wanted to see if there was anything in you that wanted redemption.” The Dominican moved towards Wellington, and used the clothes pins to pry his eyes open so he could not close them.
“Here are some pictures taken just before you killed Hector!” yelled the Dominican picking up some pictures off the bench with the shiny objects. He held one of the pictures up to Wellington’s face. It showed him, and another, younger latino man at a bar drinking together. Then the next picture showed him and the same man walking down a street in Philadelphia. The last picture was of the young man dead in the street.
“Now here’s my theory – Hector came on to you at that bar. You may have toyed with him for a bit at first, but when he got too serious you got cold feet. You tossed him in front of a moving car, and now he is dead! Because of you my son is dead!” The Dominican’s voice cracked a bit, and Wellington felt water running down his cheeks half from sorrow half from his eyes being held open.
“Not even going to defend yourself?” asked the Dominican.
Wellington attempted speech again, but still couldn’t form words.
“That’s fine it makes this easier for me.”
The Dominican went back over to the bench, and came back with a pipe.
“My son had six broken ribs!” exclaimed the Dominican as he pounded Wellington in the chest six times. He then dropped the pipe, and went back to the bench, and returned with brass knuckles on his right hand.
“Four large bruises!”
The Dominican hammered Wellington four times with the brass knuckles.
“They said his brain was in pieces, but I don’t want to kill you just yet so I came up with a little idea of my own.”
The Dominican walked behind Wellington.
“Your government is so fond of this thing called water boarding that I thought I’d give it a try with my own twist.”
Wellington heard water fire from the hose behind him, and then the Dominican released a lever on the back of the chair sending his head to a lowered position. Water came in torrents upon his nose, and mouth. Just when he thought he would drown it stopped, but only for a few seconds as he caught his breath it went right back on.
“I wish I could make you feel the pain I’ve felt! No father should have to bury there child!”
The time passed slowly as the Dominican continued to find more ways to make Wellington feel pain. His finger nails and toe nails were soon gone. Clumps of his hair were ripped out.
But in the fray of torture, the Dominican failed to notice the pipe next to the chair Wellington was tied in, or the fact that when he did the water boarding the chairs arm belts broke enough that with a little force Wellington could get loose. The Dominican at last stopped the onslaught of torture, and collapsed on the floor crying.
“I always resented my son for being gay, but I never stopped loving him! Because of you I’ll never tell him that I loved him! I’ll never have the chance to tell him that I don’t care that he’s gay!”
The Dominican stood up.
“Before you die, I want you to know that Hugo Lopez was the one that killed you! I was a man of peace before this, and will be after. You drove me to this when you killed my son! And when your American government could not give me justice, I sought my own!”
Lopez turned around to grab something, and Wellington knew this was the moment to act.
He broke free of the belts on his arms, grabbed the pipe, and threw it with all his force at Lopez. It hit the door with a resounding boom missing Lopez by inches. Lopez took that as a sign and wasted no time in turning around with the silenced pistol firing one perfect shot at Wellington piercing him threw the head. Wellington’s body went limp, and lost all life.