From the little bit that she had said, he was being punished for something he had done. He had done many bad things in his life, but apparently he had done something to this woman who was now making him pay for all his past sins. He twisted his hands behind him without success.

Damn whores, all of them. He hated women. He especially hated prostitutes, with their diseased bodies and worthless minds. He enjoyed hitting them, teaching them the lessons. Sometimes it had gone too far and he had to get rid of a body now and again. Back in his service days it had been much easier, he was never in one place for too long. He had tried to be more careful in the past several years since he had moved to this house, making sure the sluts were still alive when he dumped them out of his truck. He wondered if it was that last hooker that this bitch was pissed about. After dumping her in the river, he hadn't given her a second thought. She was just garbage, trash to be thrown out. Nobody gave a shit about the whores, they were just pieces of wasted flesh and drug addled minds.

His mouth was dried out from the rag she had stuffed in it. He worked his jaw around, trying to push some of the rotten tasting material away from his tongue. He nearly gagged from the taste. Nearly, but hadn't yet. He wondered how it would feel to drown on vomit. The creaking of the stairs alerted him to the woman coming back down. Her blue eyes were cold as she looked at him with disgust. His mind was clearer now, and even though he was extremely angry, fear was starting to snake though his body, and he trembled.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed your break," she smiled icily, and after a pause said, "That was a pun, although I'm sure someone as stupid as you wouldn't grasp the concept."

She walked around behind him and untied the gag, throwing it to the floor. Amundsen tried to spit the rag out of his mouth, but it was so dry that it stuck to his tongue. Her back was to him and she was doing something at the workbench that he couldn't see. When she turned around to face him, she held a jar and a spoon in her hands. She dipped the spoon into the jar and stirred it up. Kneeling down, she began spreading something cold and wet on his genitals. He couldn't see down past the large beer belly he had acquired in recent years. Then she stood and set the jar and spoon back on the bench.

"I suppose you may be wondering just exactly why I am here tonight," she said circling him again, walking slowly. He watched her warily, moving only his eyes. "Well, the thing is, you made a mess where I lived," she continued as he listened to the cadence of her steps. "And you took someone away from me. The mess was cleaned up, but you can't replace people."

What had been cold and wet for the last few minutes was slowly getting warmer, then hotter, then burning. The woman watched as he began gasping, and took several steps back as he puked all over himself. He started screaming at her, lots of profanities but not making much sense. The pain was driving him out of his mind.

The woman went up the stairs. Donald screamed and screamed until he was hoarse. When he finally shut up, she returned with a cup full of water. She held it to his mouth and let him have a few sips. Then she threw it into his face, and he choked on some of it. He could barely breathe. Suddenly he felt a pounding on his back, he coughed and gagged. He was able to breathe again.

"Oh, we can't have you going too soon now, there's still so much to do," she smirked at him. She looked around the cellar for something, he didn't know what. She went back up the stairs again, this time turning out the light and leaving him in the dark.

It was quiet in the dark; his throat was so raw and scratched that he could barely make any more sounds. It felt to him like he had been screaming for hours. Which he might have been, he had no understanding of time anymore. There were only different levels of pain, on a scale of one to ten he had been hovering around eight and nine for what felt like an eternity.