The Office - Part 2

So here is part two of the story. I'm not quite sure if it lives up to part one...you will have to let me know.

The irony, I suppose, is that I need him to survive this current situation also.  That being said, I must help him to do so.

                I place my left hand on his right ankle and begin to push;  Push down towards the table and—though  it is, no doubt, uncomfortable for him—the relieved tension on the piano wire strangling that leg seems to ease him for a moment.  Glancing back, I can almost detect a hint of gratitude in his eyes.  The sudden, upwards, jerk of my right hand removes that look completely.

                The skin separated easily at first—then it became taught.  A tendon at the center of his arch was hanging on for dear life.  I had to pivot myself upon the left in order to make headway with the right.  The crack of his ankle shattering was barely audible above the tear choked wail now issuing from his mouth.  The skin began to slip between my fingers—blood lubricates, and flesh is flimsy.  I had to bunch what I had already loosened into the palm of my hand to get a better grip.  The tendon gave way and the rest of his flesh departed.

                I waited a few seconds while he gathered himself.  Once the tears subsided—and his breathing abated—he composed himself enough to look directly at me.  He was trying to place me; thinking to himself that there must be a reason for this thing that is happening to him; thinking that he knew me somehow.

                He was also thinking that he only had a few more moments to go.  I could see it in his eyes and it pleased me to know.  The clock was directly behind me and—as he pretended to look to me, helplessly, for answers—what he was really doing was biding his time.  Somewhere—deep within him—all of the hatred of his miserable life was culminating into a determined will to survive.

                The plan was working perfectly thus far.  He was too smart for his own good—that is what I had counted on.

In his mind the body could be repaired—as long as it is still breathing.  That was his only line of thought and—if you were lying, bound on a table, in your own office—you would think exactly the same thing.  Human nature—especially in crisis—is far too predictable.

                He was now beginning to understand the rules of the game.

                Yes—make no mistake—this is most definitely a game.

                The rules—as he understood them—were simple.  The lunatic in the room with him wanted to have his sadistic fun for as long as possible before someone came to stop him.  He figured it did not matter whether or not I intended to kill him before that happened.  In fact, he was gambling on the fact that the shear lunacy that it would take for someone to undertake an operation such as this in a prominent businessman’s office—moments  before the start of the work day—all but guaranteed the fact that I did not give a flying fuck whether or not I got caught.  All he had to do was survive the onslaught…

                …and to be sure—the onslaught was coming!