WARNING

This is adult content, and not the kind you're used to!

This short story aims to create a fictional story that provokes shock and critical thinking about sensitive adult themes. Under no circumstances does the author support or accept any kind of mistreatment, aggression or torture of another human being, whether physical or psychological. Any resemblance of actual people or events are merely coincidental.

That said - Here's the latest chapters

The Boiler Room Ordeal - Prologue: The Last Reflex of Broken Dreams

The Boiler Room Ordeal I - Sacrificial Lamb

The Boiler Room Ordeal II – Struggling on Quicksand

The Boiler Room Ordeal III - Bare Ideologies

The Boiler Room Ordeal IV - Feminist Struggle

AIDE MUSIC

"Ave Maria" by Charles Gounod (Bach/Gounod)

Amélie’s body was racked with pain, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. The brief respite gave her just enough time to brace herself for whatever new torment they had in store. The air in the boiler room felt heavier, thick with the scent of sweat and dampness.

 Dominique, now stripped of his jacket and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, stepped forward.

 —It's time to talk about your faith, Boucher. Tell us, how devout are you to your Catholic beliefs?

 Amélie’s head throbbed, and she struggled to focus on his words.

 —Catholic beliefs what-— But she stopped, realizing provoking them would only make things worse. She decided to take the absurd question seriously. —I believe in God, but I'm not fervent. I have my own interpretations of the Bible.

 Étienne, his tie now removed and his shirt collar loosened, looked at her with a mixture of incredulity and contained fury.

 —A-and what exactly are your interpretations, Boucher? Do you pick and choose what pleases you, l-like it was a c-cookbook?

 Amélie knew the trap they were setting. She needed to be careful.

 —No, I read it and interpret it, sometimes I discuss with my priest some passages. I believe in compassion and understanding, not fanaticism.

 Lyonel, now down to just his trousers, laughed mockingly.

 —You interpret? Compassion? Understanding? That sounds awfully weak for someone in your position. He stepped forward with the car battery again, attaching the device to her right hand. —Let me show you my interpretation of the Bible.

 The first jolt hit like a lightning bolt. Her fingers clenched into a tight fist, muscles spasming uncontrollably as the current surged through her hand. It felt as though a dozen needles were piercing her flesh simultaneously, each pulse a wave of searing pain that traveled up her arm.

 Amélie bit down on her lip to keep from crying out, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the burning agony that radiated from her palm. Her hand twitched and jerked against her will, a macabre dance of suffering that seemed to go on forever. She gritted her teeth, her muscles tensing involuntarily.

 It finally ended; her right hand felt numb.

 Dominique watched her closely, his eyes coldly judging her.

 —How do you reconcile your actions with your faith, Boucher? Do you think God approves of your choices?

 Amélie’s vision blurred, the pain making it hard to concentrate, but she forced herself to answer.

 —I-I believe God understands my intentions. He knows I'm trying to do what's right.

 Lyonel smirked impishly, removing the electrodes from her right hand and attaching them to her left hand.

 —No, no, please no more... Boucher tried to plead, but she suddenly stopped her useless attempts for mercy and braced herself for a new electrocution session, as Lyonel activated the switch again, sending a new electric discharge through her. The pain felt like a puncture in her left hand and traveled throughout her body. Amélie’s body convulsed, teeth clenched, her fingers and toes tensing into a curl. It finally ended, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pain subsided.

 —You think you know what’s right? Lyonel sneered. —How convenient.

 Étienne, loosening his shirt further, stepped closer, a hint of desperation and ire in his voice.

 —W-what about the Church’s teachings, Boucher? Do you believe in them, or do you reject them?

 Amélie’s mind raced. She needed to buy time, to find a way to endure, or she wouldn’t last.

 —I-I respect the Church, b-but I believe some of its teachings are outdated. We need to adapt to the times. She managed to finish the sentence.

 Dominique nodded to Lyonel, who adjusted the electrodes to her right foot this time. The metal felt icy against her skin, sending a shiver through her already trembling body.

 —Please no, let me rest just a bit more! Boucher pleaded.

 —You had your rest, Dominique said bluntly. —You pick and choose what suits you, then, his tone cold. —Let’s see how adaptable you are.

 The next jolt pounded her foot like a nail, its current traveling up her body, pinning her against the metal chair. Amélie’s body jerked violently, and she let out a strangled cry, unable to suppress it any longer. Her mind reeled from the agony, but she forced herself to stay conscious, to keep fighting.

 —Scream all you like, Boucher, Lyonel taunted. —Do you want to call your father? Ask him to take you out from here?

 Dominique leaned in, his voice a low growl.

 —Do you think your selective faith will save you now? Do you think your God is watching over you?

 Amélie’s breath came in ragged gasps.

 —I... I believe in a just God. One who sees the truth in our hearts.

 Lyonel snorted, attaching the electrode to her left foot.

 —Then let’s hammer the last nail, shall we?

 The electricity surged through her again. It felt like her foot was being torn open, the current traveling all through her body from the ground up. Amélie’s body convulsed uncontrollably, the pain ripping through her like fire, her bladder screaming for release. She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood, fighting to stay conscious.

 When it finally stopped, she was left gasping, her vision dimming. She convulsed and was about to crumple over herself when Dominique slapped her hard on her right side, his knuckles tearing her skin and drawing blood. She tensed straight on the chair because of the sudden pain, her breath coming in quick gasps while her chest heaved up and down in quick succession. She made an inhuman effort to retake control of her body. Dominique pulled her hair down, forcing her to look straight into his eyes, his expression inscrutable.

 —You have spirit, Boucher. But let’s see if it lasts.

 Amélie’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder that she was still alive, still fighting. She knew she had to endure whatever came next. The interrogation was far from over, but she refused to break. Not yet.