When I positioned myself over his body, his wide, empty eyes appeared to stare at me, mocking the level of crazy I was exhibiting with my actions. It took me several tries to position the knife in my unsteady hands so that it would slide under the bottom lip of his eyelid.
In an effort not to cause damage to the eye, it took me several more fumbling attempts, where I accidently jabbed the tip of the blade into his lower brow and cheek before finding the sweet spot at the bottom of the socket.
My unsteady actions had left deep gashes in his skin and the blade had sunken in deep enough to tap the bone. Since his heart no longer beat, blood didn’t seep from the wounds but pooled at the surface of their openings and sat there like murky dark water in a decaying pond.
The knife pushed into his socket, causing me to cringe at the unnatural feel of my impromptu surgery. The blade edged in, making the eye bulge the deeper it sank. The wet slide of the sharp metal cutting through his tissue made my skin tighten on my bones. The haunting sight, the sticky wet sounds, and the stench of blood and death was a bold combination that gave my gag reflex a run for its money.
The rusted scent wafted up my nostrils in waves that had grown so thick, I was forced to pause my actions, turn my head away, and suck in a few breaths of air. My body lurched with tension when I stopped a dry-heave in my throat and held it there.
I plunged the knife deeper, cutting a thick cord of tissue under the eye that force me to apply more strength. The sharp intrusion must have struck his nasal passage because a moan escaped and the man appeared to have come back to life for a moment.
Regardless of the sick feeling churning in my stomach, I kept cutting. I slide the knife in and out while shoving forward with just enough applied pressure to rip away the tissue’s stronghold it had on the eye. The eye protruded with each push, pull, and slice until it detached and appeared to float in the hole of damaged tissue surrounding it.
Finally,I mouthed and burped down the waiting blast of my stomach contents. The eye came out with a low sticky pop when I picked it up. When its slippery surface caused it to slide up my fingertips, I opened my hand and allowed it to fall into my palm.
The man with the neck wound sat in a slump with his legs extended in front of him near the door. His neck and chest were covered in blood that continued to seep from the wound I had opened.
The grip he had on his neck started to slip. His hand fell like it was packed with lead and hit the floor. The rattle coming from his throat indicated he was taking his last breaths. When his chin dipped low enough to touch his bloody chest and he froze, I limped past him on my way out the door.
My drug-induced state impaired my ability to put more speed in my movements, but the sight of the word “STAIRS” illuminated above that door put a crooked smile on my face. Winded and dragging my weak leg behind me, I sounded like a zombie and imagined I looked like one too.
I staggered, losing my balance, but the sterile white wall caught my right shoulder and was the only thing that kept me on my feet. I paused, sucking in deep breaths to stave off the nausea that threatened to overtake me.
My shoulder remained pinned to the wall and I dragged myself along on legs that wobbled and felt like overcooked noodles. However, my determination to make it to those stairs was endless.
“Stop! Drop the gun and put your hands up!”
The words came behind me, but I ignored them. They shouldn’t have let me know they still needed me alive. Therefore, they could shout those damn orders to someone else.
I was about ten feet from the stairs when the doors flew open in my direction and stopped me in my slow-moving tracks. Rushing towards me were two more guards with their weapons drawn and their faces pulled into tight frowns.
“Drop the fucking gun, lady!” one of the two guards yelled as they continued to close the distance between us. The boots of the ones at my back drew closer before the sound of their heavy breathing registered.
“Drop the fucking gun, or I will shoot you!”
I heard the zapping sound before my body started seizing and the pistol fell from my jerking hand. It was a damn taser. The voltage shot through my body in hot, painful waves that caused me to grit my teeth so hard that I was sure I was chipping off pieces of enamel. My body was no longer mine. It belonged to the currents.
When the asshole finally stopped his electrical assault, I slumped to the floor, my cheek kissing the cold, shiny, white tile. Drool spilled from my mouth while I lay there exhausted and beaten.
“The crazy bitch has someone’s fucking eye in her hand!” One of the men yelled when they flipped me over. Of course, I had an eye. How else was I going to get out of the damn doors? I must have been losing time to unconsciousness because I hadn’t even heard their approach.
“You should see her room. Looks like a fucking crime scene gone wrong in there,” a deep voice informed.
“She killed Mitch and Jack. We need to kill that bitch!” another deep voice barked.
“You will do no such thing,” a female voice broke through the testosterone-fueled circle standing over me.
“We still need her. If you all had been doing your fucking jobs, she wouldn’t have been able to take out your men. And the fact that she did it while drugged speaks volumes about your complacency and lack of training.”
The bitch who had shoved the first needle in me stared down on me, flashing a dominating smirk. “You’re not Parris, so stop trying to be her,” she taunted before she bent down and shoved another needle in my arm.
Fucking bitch!