Starved Beast. Part 8

I sank into the dirt, overwhelmed with shock, emotion; and I brushed my aching shoulders against long discarded cobwebs, twisting and turning and hurtling through years. Oh Jesus. It was sharp and alive, and the memories were poignant. The past was so near that I could reach out and touch its warm fabric and horror.

Now through the tunnels and wormholes of time I hear the muffled screams of the women the Marquis had tortured - my women: my immediate and extended family: Isabelle, Esme, Nicolette, Adalyn and dear wonderful Ann Marie; also my friends and various servants.

I hear the terrified moans and cries as their bodies are torn apart with pliers and knives, as chisels are wedged between bones. Most of them were naked by the time I'd seen them, their clothes ripped to confetti, their bodies brutalized and bleeding in terrible ways.

They'd used pincers to tear into nipples, and spikes to plunge into holes; hammers to smash against toes and vile iron vices to pulv