Prologue

            A bone-chilling scream pierced the air as I snapped awake from my sleep.  Where am I?  My blurry vision started to clear a little as I shook my head.  A warm tickling feeling ran down my throat as I coughed to relieve it.  Specks of red flew from my lips.  Blood.  The crimson fluid dripped down my chin.  Fear crept into my body as my heart beat faster and my raspy breathing became heard.  I scanned the room.  Cement walls encased me in a grim like prison.  One single bulb illuminated the area.  I was seated under the dim light, hands tied behind my back in a rude fashion.  My shirt was stained in spots of blood and my cargo pants torn.  Where was I?  Struggling with my bonds my wrists became raw and sore.  I looked around the room once again and chanced upon a small, open piece of paper near my feet.

Small print was scratched upon it.  I bent over slowly, the pain in my back ever increasing.  The words, though faint as they were, seemed to scream out that me.

“Greg Frazier, you are probably wondering why u are here and in due time you will find out.  But first three lessons must be learned.  Lessons of pain.  The scream you heard at your awakening was none other than your lovely wife.  Don’t be alarmed, she’s not dead, yet.  Martha is just one of the many tools that will be used to break you.  Greg, the only way for you to be rebuilt is to be broken, severed, torn in two.  Not only literally, but also emotionally.  You have a son that we know of, yet he seems to keep avoiding our grasp.  Not to worry though, we will soon find him. 

            Now you have twenty minutes to exit the room.  To your right is a small knife.  Cut free and the exit will be open on your left.  Follow the sound of your wife’s screams.  You have thirty minutes in total.  Good luck,

Your Executioner.”

Panic seized my heart as it raced out of control.  I groped around, reaching with my free fingers.  A sharp pain shot up one them as a slow tingling drifted down into the tips.  I had found the blade of the knife.  With the other hand I grabbed the soft, wooden handle and pulled it away from my wounded fingers.  Gripping the end, I drew the sharp edge of the tool through my bonds.  Stiffly I stood and limped to my left.  A grinding sound resounded as part of the seemingly solid wall pulled away.  Without thinking of the traps that might lay behind it I painfully strode forward.

Each step drew a gasp from my mouth.  Dried blood pasted my face as fresh crimson painted my cut hand.  They had my wife.  Who ever they were.  The opening in the wall gave way to a dark hallway.  Cold air breezed out from it.  I tripped as my elbow landed with a dull thud.  Seemingly out of nowhere a small cry reached my ears.

“Greg!  Greg please he’s here!  Please I.. I…”

I staggered upward and rushed forward towards the sound.  As I moved deeper and deeper into the tunnel I could make out stains running along the hard flooring.  They were the marks of a bloodied body being dragged across the cold surface.  The crimson trail ended as the tunnel veered of into two separate paths.  A blood-curdling moan echoed to the right as I stumbled to follow the sound of agony.

There she sat, at the end of the hall, propped up by the darkness behind her.  Her slumped over form looked battered and bruised as her blood matted hair covered her facial features.  The red trail ended where she sat, disappearing under her once white dress.  Tendrils of saliva dribbled down her chin as she gasped at the sight of me

“Oh God,” I exclaimed.  The sight of my wife in such a disheveled and broken state horrified me.

“Martha, what did they do to you?,” her throat pronounced no sounds as she rolled her head to look at me.  Tears brimmed over my eye lids and with much trembling I kneeled next to her.

“Greg?” she mumbled.

“Yes honey its me, I’m here,” I reached my blood covered arms around her.  To feel her frailness tore my heart to pieces.  Anger filled my soul and drove me to my feet.  Yet as I reached to lift my stooped wife I noticed something around her waist.  It was dark, almost shadowy.  It grew and grew, slowly taking shape as a drawing takes form on paper.  It was a spindly hand, with long pointed nails.  It gripped her hard as she screamed in terror.  I reached as fast as I could for her hand, her shoulder, anything that would stop this monster from taking her, but to no avail.  She was suddenly dragged into the darkness behind her, her voice piercing the very walls it resounded off of.

“No!” I chased after her, yet as fast as I ran her frantic calling for help became more and more faint.  Then it vanished altogether.

“Martha!” I called.  Nothing, not a sound.  It was as if hell itself had swallowed her up.  Despair washed over me.  My body was struggling against me, intent on not obeying my commands.  Sluggishly I staggered forward straining with my eyes to catch the slightest glimpse of my taken love.  My gaze fell to the floor as my impaired vision came upon a crumpled form.  The body was huddled on the cold ground in a fetal position, blood seeping from its center.

“No…” My heart was in disbelief, yet my eyes did not deceive me.  The almost folded being was Martha.  Martha!  My sweet love, my life, my very soul here desecrated, bloodied, and scared.  Weak with a pain more deep than any external wound I fell to my knees as anguish overtook me.  Sobs of deep sorrow rang from my dry lungs.  Stretching out my hand I smoothed her once golden locks.

Lifting her gently I managed to pull her limp neck onto my lap.  Methodically I began to stroke her forehead as if she were still here, sleeping silently on my bloodied legs.  Tears came streaming from my eyes like tiny rivers.  They trailed through the dirt that layered over my face.

Then I awoke with a loud scream tunneling down my throat.  My sheets were soaked with sweat as chills ravaged my body.  It was only a dream.  I sat up slowly, trying to take in what just happened.  Was it really only a dream?  I could only hope it was.  I shivered as the recent images flooded my mind as three realities came from them.  One, I had never married.  Two, because of that first statement I had no son.  And lastly, my name was not Greg.

My name was Timothy.