He smiled widely at her as they practiced the song they had been working on for the past two days. He hummed along to the little tune the girl was playing on the guitar.
Compared to his visible enjoyment; she looked absolutely terrified. Her eyes kept glancing back and forth between him and the door he’d left slightly open.
It was her one and only chance to escape. His eyes were closed and he was nodding along to the music as he played an accompaniment on the piano at the corner of the small white room.
She stood up slowly, making sure to keep the music going. She wasn’t very adept at it as he had just taught her to play two days ago.
For the last stretch of her journey to the door, she looked only at the door and not at him.
Without her noticing; his eyes opened and he watched her approach the door. Just as she was prodding it open with a foot, he stopped playing and asked quietly, “Now, why would you want to do that?”
She froze and turned around slowly hoping to pacify him. “I was only closing the door?” she tried.
He shook his head slowly, disappointment clear on his face as he stood up to his full height so that he was towering over her.
“I was going to give you a quiet death, a very quiet and peaceful death. It’s not time yet, it had to be perfect. You had to die on the fourth day…”
“But what if I don’t want to die?!” She screamed at him. He ignored her and kept mumbling with a feverish glint in his eyes as he walked over to her.
For every step back she took, he took three steps forward until she was backed up against the now-closed door.
Her knees grew weak as he stood in front of her mumbling about perfect death and sunny, calm days. The latter she may never see again. But only if he gets his hands on her.
With a sudden surge of strength, she raised the wooden guitar above her head and smashed it against his face.
Not waiting for a reaction from him, she scrambled for the door handle and struggled to keep a firm grip on the handle.
Just as she was getting the door open; he pulled her back by her hair, opened the door and dragged her to the corner of his large study.
She allowed herself a small feeling of satisfaction when she saw that the right side of his face was badly bruised.
The feeling didn’t last long when she saw him opened a big book and bring a sharp knife from a gaping hole where pages should have been.
All the fight went out of her as he pushed the knife against her throat. She swallowed loudly and croaked out, “Can we try one more time? I’ll get it right this time” she pleaded with a strained smile on her face, referring to the music they were playing earlier.
He shook his head slowly and guided her through a trap door and into a sterile room, very similar to a hospital room.
He laid her down on the operating table and she winced from the pain as he injected her with a green liquid from a vial in his pocket.
The green liquid made her paralyzed and she couldn’t move anything except her eyes. “Don’t struggle now, miss…or it’s going to be unbearably painful.” He whispered, proceeding to get a few surgical knives from a large box on the floor.
“Now,” he said gleefully while spinning a knife in his right hand. “Where should I start?” he asked, already stretching the blade to her pale face.