Each maid pinned an arm. The mother gently put
her square hands on her daughter’s chest and stomach and
pushed down. The girl wriggled, kicking her legs, and the
three women struggled to restrain her. The mother
motioned for the father to help and he frantically scurried
off the wall to pin his daughter’s legs. The pressure of four
adults restricted the girl’s movements greatly, though she
still tried to break free. When I pulled out a clear liquid vile
from my bag and swirled it around slowly, her gaze fell
upon me. Her attention was transfixed, and she stopped
writhing. She watched my every move with wide eyes. I
inserted the needle of a syringe into the vile and pulled the
plunger all the way back. Her mouth gaped open,
mesmerized by the clear liquid that seemed to dance in the
candlelight. I slipped the vile back in my bag, squeezed the
plunger gently, and forced some of the liquid out and
down the needle. I approached the girl slowly.
“This won’t be easy. Hold her tight.”
I crossed the room with my right hand
outstretched, fingertips holding the syringe, waving it
continuously left and right in front of the girl. She
followed the syringe with bated breath. When just inches
away, I held the syringe in front of her nose. The girl’s
head lowered, her eyes zeroing in on the silver needle with
clear, glistening residue. As the syringe moved to the left,
her head turned, and I quickly placed my palm on her
cheek, pushing her face into the white satin pillow on
which her head rested. With her eyes deflected, the fight in
her returned, and she began to push and pull her body
more viciously than before.
“Hold her!” I yelled as I rounded my hand under
the girl’s chin, grabbing her neck and digging my pinky
into the jugular on the opposite side.
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