Outside of Time II

The landscape about the island was peaceful; the weather was perfect and the Sun had decided to be a bit more lax that day, offering a pleasant mix of soft beams and cooling coastal breezes. This all came about instantly to Susie, like a badly spliced film or a dazzling ray. She had done it again, the time traveling quicksand had done its job and restarted the day once more.
It was a sensation that Susie could never get accustomed to. In her hundred years on the island, the flash and sudden change always left her dazed. After a few shakes of the head, Susie’s eyes uncrossed and adjusted to the brightness searing her retinas. Her front porch groaned as she shifted her weight while peering over the horizon. Today, the campers were on a scavenger hunt chaperoned by Betsy and Alice on the other side of the island. No one should be bothering her any time soon.
The door to Susie’s cabin swung open to reveal the living room, there was no deviation from status quo. The remnants of a delicious breakfast of almond waffles lay on her coffee table, the dirty dishes and cookware heaped unwashed in the sink. An episode of Gander High sits paused on the T.V., it was the one where Bad Boy Gander had dropped a barbell on his foot and was visiting the emergency room with his brother. Susie’s pile of blankets and pillows were piled on the couch as a nest from the night prior. Everything was as it should be.
With a flick of her right hand, the room began to melt away. The sofa, the T.V., the countertop, kitchen, and even the whole living room dissolved into a swirling mess of colors and static. They all gravitated to the middle of where the house once was, creating a nucleus of chaotic hues reflecting vividly from Susie’s eyes. Slowly, the twisting vapors disseminated, arraying themselves about the vicinity to recreate a room. However, this was no longer her living room. Everything was as it should be.
For the 16th time that morning, Susie glanced to see her captive suspended from the stone ceiling. His bare feet were a mere decimeter from the brick below, the only support against gravity were the tendons pulled taut in his limp arms. All that lie between Max and Susie were a pair of skivvies and undershirt, but they would offer little defense.
Despite being unconscious, the only sign of harm he had was a small trickle of coagulated blood below his nose. This was a souvenir from when Susie ambushed Max on his way to join Oscar and Hedgehog for the day’s activity. While she could have easily hexed him with magically induced sleep, Susie had found that she prefers taking a more hands-on approach.
She remained at the back of the room, taking in the blank canvas before her. Already, she had produced fresco, portraits, carvings, and bas-reliefs; but, she had yet to make a masterpiece. Skill favored repetition, Susie knew that without question. It was not like she was lacking the tools or time to transform the camper before her into a wonderful work of art, rather it was the Muse not properly calling. Susie’s genius had not spoken clearly enough yet, whether by divine design or idiotic probability. One way or another, she was determined to make her masterpiece and have a blast while doing so.
Eventually, consciousness found Max. With what little strength returning to his sore body, he lifted his head wearily up from his chest. The first thing he registered were the two piercing eyes of Susie across from him.
“Susie-?” He barely managed to groan before his words caught fast in his throat. Embedded deep in between his legs was Susie’s foot in a blur of motion. Max sputtered, rasping in pain as he felt her toes digging deep into his groin; his knees collided together out of reflex, doing little to dull the pain churning his stomach.
Susie stepped back to survey her victim rivaling in vain against the tension of his bindings. He swung slightly from side to side as if trying to draw inward to nurse himself from the blow, but his arms remained splayed to either side of the room. Max drew his knees to his abdomen, but gravity finally had its way as he dangled once more.
“Susie! What the-?” Susie cut him off with another kick to his privates, making sure to minimize the contact area as much as possible. Max let out a sharp yelp as he began to feel bile welling up in his throat. His breathing became shallow, saliva dripping from his mouth as he mustered all will power to not vomit in response to the trauma he had been dealt.
Before another word could be said, Susie jammed her heel directly into Max’s boxers, pinning him against the wall. She pressed harder, twisting her foot and causing him to cry out in a broken pitch. Max’s shriek ricocheted back to Susie’s ears from every direction from the rough stone walls. No one would hear him scream; no one will hear his cries for help. Not down here.
The throbbing ache in Max’s lower body managed to coexist with a faint numbness. He closed his eyes tightly shut while his legs dangled limply towards the floor, the fetid taste of his stomach’s contents seated firmly in his mouth. It was getting hard for him to breathe through his nose, and his throat couldn’t seem to ease open to allow him to swallow that morning’s breakfast.
Again, Susie stepped back. Faint efforts were made to raise his knees in defense of his injured parts, but the overall overload of senses was too much for him to bear effectively. Max finally gasped, flecks of spite and vomit flying from his mouth. While catching his breath, he was once again greeted with the sight of her standing a meter away. Two beads of tears were faintly seeping out of his eyes; the façade of a boy who doesn’t cry was breaking, and Susie sought to shatter it completely.
“What’s wrong with you!?” Max yelled as he kicked out towards Susie. He jostled about from the kick, Susie stood out of reach, unwavering. Max, still grimacing in pain, bared his teeth at her: “That hurt!”
“I know.” She replied coolly, taking another step towards him with both eyes locked on his. Max stared back, unwilling to let her get to him with whatever she was doing. However, Susie was not content with letting Max act as tough as he thinks he is.
Susie moved forward, bending her right knee in preparation for anther kick to Max’s privates. Max brought up his knees, crossing his shins in defense. Rather than a foot colliding, it was Susie’s fist slamming full force into Max’s face. She faked the kick, leaning all her weight into the blow. His head recoiled backwards after his nose contorted in a bloody spray of torn skin and cartilage.
Max spit and sputtered through the fresh flow going over his mouth, now gasping for air through his mouth. He’d been in fights before, he’d had his nose broken, he’d taken low blows, but never had he taken them in such a helpless state. Max had thought he’d be able to hold his own, or run away and hide as a last resort; but here, he was powerless.
Max strained against both of the cords around his wrists. They cut deep into his fur, pushing through and onto the skin. The thin ropes were hard and plastic, like the kind used to moor a small rowboat at a dock. As he struggled, the bindings tugged back tighter and tighter. Tuffs of fur began to rip loose, rubbing raw the flesh below. It was apparent that Susie had tied them to tighten the more he struggled.
It was plain as day to Susie when Max’s expression softened, beginning his slippery decline into fear. She was more open about her feelings as she split into a wide grin. Withstanding the fact she had brought Max to agony induced tears fifteen times already, the seed of terror was delicious in her sight.
The stone room around them echoed with Max’s sharp breathing and a faint drip. Light diffused seemingly from all directions, causing no shadow to fall, but causing everything to appear somewhat dark. Even in the grey atmosphere, his blood shone bright red against the bricks below.
“Susie! L-let me go!” he tried to shout menacingly. “The other witches will get you for this! You’re going to get in huge trouble!”
She didn’t merit the halfhearted threat with an answer; rather, she just delivered another kick to Max’s crotch, following through until the wall stopped her, crushing the delicate tissues beneath his clothes. The stone room was filled with howls of pain and stifled sobs. Susie drew back another step to again watch the display before her. Even in the dim light, a damp patch began to grow about the y-fold on his undergarments.
Max couldn’t control himself, like a baby, he wet himself against his will. It bled into his fur, trickling down to his heels and flowing onto the floor. Susie made no attempt to keep herself from laughing, the tough guy Max soiled himself like the dumb baby she always saw him as. She pondered if it was the pain or the physical trauma that caused him to lose control of his bladder; the mystery was sweet to her.
He couldn’t hold back any longer. Max hung his head sobbing towards the floor. Sharp, jagged pain shot endlessly through his overloaded nerves. What little he could feel aside from the pain all felt wrong. It was like he was out of place down there, things didn’t seat properly against one another, and it was as if everything was too low. The blood from his nose mixed with his tears and urine into a disgusting slurry below.
 Why was this happening to him? He knew that Susie was the mean witch, but he never expected her to do something like this. Sure, she might force someone to clean the whole camp or delve deep into a haunted forest; it just seemed so alien that she would directly hurt another camper. How did she expect to get away with this? Didn’t she think that whoever she hurt would go and tell the other campers and witches? She would lose her job, maybe even get arrested.
Maybe she didn’t expect him to make it out to tell the others.
All effort was now put into trying to keep from regurgitating. Rhythmically, Max convulsed with each wet retch. The warm and sticky taste of iron ran into his mouth every time it opened for breath, staining his thin teen to the gum. This, and the salty streams from his tear ducts, did little to assist with Max’s nausea riddle stomach.
It was pathetic to Susie to see his head bobbing up in down to some unknown beat, threatening to make sick at any moment. Now, his entire undershirt was stained red from Max’s nosebleed. Matted sections of his fur surrounded the saturated cloth, but they were slowing in growth. The black, misshapen knob at the forefront of his face had once again decreased into a trickle. It most definitely was not going to stop any time soon, but Susie wanted to speed things up.
Max didn’t see the second punch coming, for his whole mind was devoted to managing the potent mixture of pain and confusion swirling around his brain. She punched with an open palm this time, aiming for area between his gut and diaphragm. Her hand sunk a fathom deep into his stomach, staining the fur on her hand red. A quick skip backwards brought her out of the line of fire coming her way.
The forceful push was all that was needed to tip Max over the edge. He exhaled a torrent of putrid mess from both his mouth and nose. It spilled over, violently spattering the ground before him and drenching his already soaked shirt. Very quickly, the stink of half-digested food filled the air; the acid in Max’s vomit added to his list of woes as it stung his mangled nose and throat.
Susie rubbed her hands together, evenly coating the vile smear across her fur. It was an odd delight, she supposed. The sensation was like rubbing clay between one’s hands in grade school, or washing with a jellied sanitizer before lunch. Maybe she was a dumb baby at heart who still liked playing with squishy things even at one hundred and fifteen years old, she wondered. No, that’s impossible. The only baby in the room was the camper before her.
The floodgates had broken for Max, and expelled most of their contents. He felt dizzy from his long exhale, but no chance was given for him to breathe in. Susie delivered another strike while he attempted to draw breath, it connected straight with his diaphragm, knocking what little wind Max had out of him. His chin jutted to the ceiling, shaking as he sputtered and choked, swallowing bits of phlegm and inhaling bile.
It was several moments before Max could catch enough air to cry again. He hung his head low, completely limp, and groaned out anguished sobs. There was no holding back, the sensation and agony evicted fat tears to wet the only dry portion left on his face. This was a nightmare, this was a nightmare and he would surely wake up. He would wake up, go to breakfast, and forget about the rotten things Susie had done. Max would get to see Hedgehog and Oscar, and they’ll make it as if this never happened. The saving grace of bad dreams was that they are easily forgotten.
Minutes passed as Max cried himself out, Susie sharply watched every sob, sputter, and shiver. This was all good and fun, but she had more plans before the day was over. In a puff of smoke, Susie summoned a container of Peppermint Occasion fresh from her stockpile in the cafeteria. In her other hand were an ordinary pair of kitchen scissors: a match made in Heaven for Susie, one in Hell for Max.
“Stop crying, you dumb baby!” Susie cooed in a sing-song voice, “Doncha think you’ll cheer up with a nice, big scoop of ice cream?”
Max didn’t dare meet her eyes, rather just keeping his throbbing skull pointed towards the ground. He preferred ignorance to whatever she intended to inflict upon him next. This was no dream, at least not one he can wake up from.