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Autobiography	By : tartausucre Category: 1 through F > Firewall Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Firewall is the property of Warner Bros. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 34
- 35
The hour passed. The single slowest hour of Margaux Butler’s life.
When they came for her, she ran. Robert caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground, ignoring the fingernails that clawed at his arms. She didn’t know where she’d expected to go.
He forced her into a chair at the kitchen table and held her by the shoulders until she stopped struggling. Bill watched from the doorway with a blank expression.
After the sounds of the struggle and the desperate, wordless screams stopped, the silence seemed to press in on them like fog. Robert walked calmly to the other side of the table and sat down.
A moth flew into the kitchen bulb with a muffled chinking sound.
He unzipped the kitbag on the floor and took out a dull silver roll of duct tape. Margaux moved back in her chair.
“That won’t be necessary. Really. I’ll cooperate.”
“I’m having a little trouble believing that.”
“I will. Honestly I will.”
Rob put the tape on the table between them and looked over her shoulder. Somewhere behind her she could feel Bill’s presence like heat.
“Let her try,” he said softly. Absently. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Robert stared at him.
“What’s the problem, Rob? Afraid she’s going to overpower you?”
His mouth tightened into a thin line, then he shrugged with forced indifference. As he looked down to fish something else out of the bag, Margaux noticed a tattoo beneath his hair, too overgrown by short, dark bristles to make out. “Are we resolved on what’s coming off?”
“Margaux?”
She shook her head, watching Robert line up his kit on the table: a short, viciously curved knife; cable ties; scissors; tape; and a bottle of cheap vodka. This last he pushed towards her.
“I— I can’t think about it. You’ll h-hhave to decide. Not—” she interrupted herself, holding up a finger. She could feel her eyes widening and stinging with barely contained panic. She continued in a quiet, trembling voice: “Not the ear. There’ll be too much blood loss. O-okay?”
“Okay. Drink the vodka.”
“I guess there’s no anaesthetic.”
“You guess correctly. Sorry.”
“Oh, no. No. It’s fine!” She caught herself in a hysterical laugh and fell silent. After a heartbeat she drew the bottle towards her.
The cheap metal cap scratched her as she unscrewed it, and the first swig went down like glass cleaner. Margaux pulled a face.
“Not much of a vodka drinker.”
“I guess not.”
Robert was turning the little knife in his fingers. The size of those olive-skinned hands made it seem even smaller.
“That doesn’t look like it’s up to much.” She was thinking of how long it would take to saw through flesh and bone with such a tiny blade. “Wouldn’t a cleaver be faster?”
“Too imprecise. I might take off more than I mean to. I didn’t think you’d like that.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
She felt like she was dreaming. This conversation wasn’t happening. It wasn’t.
“Now.” He set the knife down and frowned at her theatrically. “No need for sarcasm, sweetheart. We can do this kicking and screaming if you prefer.”
“I’ll be five minutes,” Bill said suddenly. He started up the hallway without waiting for a response. A door closed. Impossible to tell which one with her back turned.
The man seated opposite her immediately grabbed her wrist, and she was filled with the awful certainty that she was about to say goodbye to a piece of herself.
“Didn’t give you much time off, did he?”
“…What?”
“Ol’ Bill. Didn’t exactly give you a day’s grace.”
“…No.”
“I would have.”
God forbid she be allowed to focus on just one awful thing for a little while.
“Yes. You said.”
His brow furrowed a little.
“In the bathroom. This morning.”
“Right. Yeah.”
His grip on her wrist was making her feel small. Fragile. If Bill was a tiger, Robert was a bear. She was neither skinny nor particularly delicate, but he could snap her like a twig and they both knew it.
A door opened in the hall. Robert shoved her arm back at her as if it had burned him.
“Alright?”
Margaux met Bill’s eye as he walked back into the kitchen and immediately looked away. As he stood over her, she caught a warm breath of his cologne.
“Are you ready, Margaux?”
“Yes.” She took a long swig from the bottle. “Fuck it. It’s not going to get any easier.” The words came out sounding a lot more confident than she felt, and she saw herself putting out her left hand and spreading her fingers as if someone else was doing it. She was starting to feel strange. Light-headed. She wondered if she was going to faint.
“You’re sure?”
“Just—” She took another swig and cradled the bottle on her lap, holding it by the neck. “Just do it. Before the Dutch courage wears off and I come back to my f-ffucking senses.”
Margaux looked away, struggling for control.
“Here.” Bill’s voice from behind her. A familiar jingling. His belt moved into her field of vision, folded in two.
One of them took hold of her wrist — just which, it was difficult to say — and she bit down hard on the leather strap, screwing her eyes tight shut in anticipation of that first awful violation. A tear escaped and ran hot down her cheek. She felt Bill take the bottle from her hand.
Warm, thick fingers took hold of hers. Cold plastic wound tight around her little finger. When she flinched, two hands held her arm in place. Another pinned her hand to the table.
“If you’ve got a Happy Place, love, now would be the time to go to it.”
For a split second there was nothing.
Then it came.
Seething, twisting, blistering agony, burning up the tendons of her arm. Her back seized and stiffened, and she screamed around the belt.
Robert’s voice, suddenly, with an air of disbelief:
“Jesus Christ…”
As abruptly as it began, the pressure stopped. The pain did not.
Buzzing. Then, a familiar ring. When she opened her eyes, Margaux was blinded by her own tears. All she could see was red. So much red.
Her voice cracked a little as she whimpered:
“Is somebody going to get that?”
- 34
- 35
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Autobiography