Chapter Text
Boy Jerry returned from the other room, holding an unassuming, medium-sized cardboard box. Grace wasn’t sure why the sight of it gave her chills.
She took a step backward and ran immediately into Girl Jeri, who grabbed both of Grace’s arms and wrestled them behind her back, hurting her wrists.
“Stop—stop!” Grace cried, squirming against the grip despite the pain it brought. “Let me go! Please—just let me go!”
Her words flew through the air unheard, as Jerry set the box on the ground and began to rummage through it. Jeri spoke calmly, as if she wasn’t actively holding Grace against her will.
“Which one shall we start with?” She asked. Jerry hummed in response, seemingly contemplating.
Grace cried out again, begging for someone, anyone, to save her. She screamed for her parents and she screamed for her friends and she screamed for Steph, but nothing she said made any difference.
“I can’t focus with her shrill, sinner’s voice,” Jerry hissed, shooting her a withering glare. Jeri seemed to perk up, an idea forming.
“Why don’t we start by silencing her then, dear?”
A chill ran down Grace’s spine and she stilled immediately. Jerry smiled, a sinister and vile look on his face.
“Great idea, Girl Jeri.” He praised, digging through the box with purpose now.
Grace’s breath quickened.
They were going to cut out her vocal cords. Just like they’d threatened. Just like she’d feared.
“No—no, please,” She begged, her body beginning to tremble. “Please I—I’ll stop I swear—I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good—“
“Cram it, Jezebel,” Jerry hissed, pulling some small items out of the box and beginning towards her. “Jeri, lay her down.”
Before Grace could react, she was dragged harshly to the ground, her limbs slamming onto the floor painfully. Girl Jeri had let go of one of her arms so they were no longer pinned behind her back, but the moment Grace hit the ground Jeri had grabbed them again, wrenching them over and pinning them onto the floor around Grace’s head.
Jeri held her by the wrists, clearly recognizing that it was a weak spot that Grace couldn’t escape from.
Tears flooded Grace’s face as she muttered prayers and begged pathetically. Boy Jerry approached her, dropping down so he was sitting on her chest, essentially pinning her legs and torso down with his body weight as he directed his attention to her face—or, more specifically, her mouth.
“Please—“ she whimpered. “Please—I-I’ll be good. I’ll be good—just please don’t—please, my vocal cords—“ She broke off into useless sobs. Boy Jerry scoffed, looking down at her.
“As much as I’d love to rip your throat out of your mouth and silence your sinner’s mug for good, we’ve thought of a less permanent solution.” Jerry sneered.
Grace could now see what was in his hand—the item he’d pulled from the cardboard box. It was a long thin needle, the eye of it already threaded and knotted with a red, vaguely elastic-looking string.
“Usually sewing is a women’s job,” he continued, “But I can make a pretty decent ladder stitch.”
Jeri giggled lightly, as if reminiscing. “Must be all those years of making wallets!”
Boy Jerry smiled and nodded in response, before looking back down at Grace, still pinned helplessly underneath him. He held the needle up, bending over her face until he was hovering just above it.
“This will hurt no matter what,” he whispered. His voice was warm against her face, but caused her to shiver. “But if you struggle, it will be worse.”
He backed up a bit, staring at her as if assessing his prey. He looked away from her mouth, staring her in the eyes as a smile crept onto his face.
“I hope you struggle.”
The needle glinted in the light of the living room, the sight sending a terrified, icy chill down Grace’s whole body. Jerry pinched a part of Grace’s lip with one hand and raised the needle in the other, preparing to begin his unwanted operation.
Grace whimpered and sobbed but didn’t try to say anything more, simply letting Jerry do what he was going to.
It hurt like hell.
Each new piercing into her flesh caused a fresh incision of pain that fluctuated throughout her entire face.
She would often unconsciously flinch or try to pull away, which only worsened the pain significantly as the connected string in Jerry’s hand pulled against the freshly pierced wounds.
Blood spilled into her mouth from each entrance point, warm and tasting of iron. She couldn’t spit it out—couldn’t get rid of it—so she was forced to swallow the liquid down or risk choking on her own blood.
She knew she was hyperventilating, but she couldn’t slow her breaths as the pain kept coming in violent waves, the needle piercing over and over again, the thread pulling against tender skin.
She had a little bit of leeway in the thread. Her lips weren’t shut all the way together—she could still breathe from her mouth.
As Jerry finally reached the edge of her mouth, and Grace prayed that this pain would cease, he immediately pulled the thread tight, dragging her lips together in excruciating pain as any given space in the stitching was ripped away, her lips pursed together tightly.
It was the worst pain so far. Each and every tiny piercing in the flesh of her mouth was tugged on at the same time, each wound dragged and rubbed against, stretched and pulled together in an agonizing symphony.
Grace screamed in pain.
(She couldn’t open her mouth for the noise to release)
She registered it distantly as Boy Jerry finished the job off, tying a neat knot and cutting the remaining thread from the needle.
Boy and Girl Jerry rose from the ground, standing over Grace, who no longer needed to be held down.
She knew her place.
“Wonderful job, Boy Jerry! Why, it’s nearly invisible!” Girl Jeri cooed. Boy Jerry smiled proudly.
“Thank you, Girl Jeri!” He glanced back down at Grace, grinning widely with a dark look in his eyes. “Now, how about we get into the actual activities?”
———-
Steph was starting to get worried.
Grace had gone back to her house hours ago, despite Steph’s attempts to convince her to just stay over. She’d seen what they’d done to her before.
Not that she was really worried about Grace, or anything. Just… Interested. In her well-being.
When Grace had gone back home Steph had made her promise to text her the moment she could, and let her know that she was doing okay.
But as the time ticked by and Steph’s messages kept delivering unread, her unease began to grow more and more.
She knew Grace didn’t really want her getting involved. Grace had said she’d stand up for herself, she can take care of herself, Steph doesn’t have to hover over her, she’s fine.
Still, Steph couldn’t get the unease out of her gut.
When midnight struck, she finally gave in, grabbing her pocket knife, sneaking out of the house and taking her dad’s car over to Grace’s.
The house was silent as Steph pulled up; all lights within it were out, the curtains closed, and the building itself seemingly asleep. Steph crept around the building, looking for the window of Grace’s bedroom.
She hadn’t really been in Grace’s room before, but knew it was somewhere upstairs and behind the house, because Grace had talked about her nice view of her backyard when the sun was rising.
As Steph rounded the corner and looked up at the rooms on the second story, she could immediately see one that stood out from the rest. The lights were on and the curtains were only haphazardly closed, a majority of the room still entirely visible and bright in the darkness of the night.
Deciding she was in a gambling mood, Steph picked a pebble up from the ground and tossed it at Grace’s window, hoping that she was right about which room this was.
The pebble made a satisfying little ding sound as it tapped against her window, before it fell to the ground.
Steph waited for a while for Grace to respond, for the curtains to jostle or the lights to flicker, but she didn’t see any movement. Frustrated and impatient (and maybe a little bit… concerned), Steph tossed another pebble at the window and waited.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon enough she realized this strategy wasn’t working and she had to do something else. She had to get to the window, she had to find Grace.
Grace’s house was somewhat unique in the way it was built. The house essentially had two roofs—the second story of the building was smaller than the first, and a small roof with slanted tiles made up the space in between these two stories. If Steph could get up onto the edge of the roof, she could climb over to Grace’s window easily.
Steph dragged their outdoor trashcan over and placed it right by the edge of the roof. She awkwardly hobbled onto the wobbly receptacle, just barely managing to keep her balance as she scrambled onto the Chasity’s roof.
Finally making progress, Steph crawled over to Grace’s window as quietly as she could manage, hoping not to wake her parents if their room was underneath.
Steph crept to Grace’s window and glanced inside through the large gap in the curtains, hoping that Grace wouldn’t be too upset at this breach of privacy.
As her eyes fell on Grace, she could feel her entire body tense.
Grace was laying in her bed, curled up on her side. Her eyes were half-lidded but not closed, her gaze empty and distant, and her lips were pursed together in somewhat of a grimace. Her face was bruised, though Steph couldn’t quite see to what extent.
Grace’s hands were tied together in front of her, wrapped in a mess of rope covered in various fancy-looking knots, pinning her hands to each other and forcing them to stay folded together in a prayer position. A longer rope was attached to the contraption, the other end of it tied to her bedpost and keeping her from leaving.
Blood trickled down her arms, both her wrist injuries unbandaged and clearly angered again, as well as being somewhat forced together from the tying of her hands in a position that was certain to be incredibly painful.
Steph couldn’t see much more from her position at the window, but what she saw was more than enough to terrify her.
Steph said Grace’s name softly, still worried about waking her parents. When Grace didn’t respond, she said it a little louder. This time Grace’s empty gaze glanced in Steph’s direction, her brow creasing slightly as she took in the sight. Steph’s heart jumped in her chest.
Steph tried to pull the window open but discovered it was locked. She could see the little metal latch just inside the window, holding it shut.
She… Hadn’t thought this far ahead.
She couldn’t leave without Grace—obviously—but she couldn’t get into the house to help her. Grace clearly wasn’t in a good enough state to escape by herself, and she clearly couldn’t stay here.
As she assessed the situation, she saw Grace shift in her bed, sitting up slightly without the use of her hands.
Steph looked at the rope tying her to the bedpost. It seemed like it would be just long enough for Grace to make it to the window and release the latch.
Steph knew Grace was likely in too bad of a state to stand and unlatch it, but they didn’t have another option.
“Grace,” Steph said, her voice soft but just loud enough to be heard. “I’m going to help you. We’re going to get you patched up and take you home where you’ll be safe and no one will hurt you.” Steph took a deep breath, Grace’s attention still trained on her. “But I can’t get in to help you. Your window is locked, and if I break it, I might wake your parents up.”
Steph noticed Grace tense at the mention of her parents, her gaze lowering, but Steph continued what she had to say.
“This is gonna suck, I know, but Grace… I need you to come and unlatch the window.”
Grace’s gaze snapped back to Steph at that, her eyes showing an expression of vague bewilderedness, masked by exhaustion.
“I know, I know—I just… You need help, Grace. And… And I think you know that.”
Grace looked away again, her eyes falling to her hands, staring at the bindings around them and the blood trickling down her wrists.
“Please, Grace. It—I know It’ll really suck for a minute but you just need to open the latch and I can help you. You’re strong, Grace—you’re so much stronger than you think you are—you can do this. Please. Please, Grace, just…. Just try?”
Grace didn’t respond, her lips still pressed together in the same grimace. For a long moment she sat, still and quiet, not looking at Steph. Eventually, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shaky breath through her nose.
Grace opened her eyes and looked back at Steph, finally making real eye contact. Her eyes looked wet and glassy. Grace nodded just slightly, and Steph felt a little bit of her tension release.
With great effort, Grace rose from her bed and hobbled very slowly over to the window. Each step looked painful and labored, her breathing heavy and shaky as tears quickly formed in her eyes. Steph could see blood dripping slowly down her leg, though she didn’t know what it was from.
Grace ever so slowly hobbled closer, each step longer and longer apart as she seemed to lose stamina. Steph encouraged her gently the entire time, trying not to let her anxiety show in her voice.
Finally—finally—Grace made it to the window. The rope around Grace’s hands pulled taut and she let out a strained noise of pain with her mouth shut, Steph’s heart breaking at the sound. Tears were falling from Grace’s eyes now, her gaze uneven and blurry.
“You’re so close, Grace,” Steph encouraged. “You’re doing so good, it’s almost over; I promise.”
With a small sob, Grace shakily reached for the window latch, just barely managing to catch the edge of it with the ropes around her hands and weakly pull it upward, the latch falling out and clattering to the ground.
Relief flooded through Steph as she immediately slid the window open. Grace swayed in place, and just as Steph’s feet hit the ground, Grace began to fall: her injuries finally catching up with her.
Steph dropped to the floor and caught her just before she tumbled to the ground, holding the injured girl’s head gently in her hands and pulling her body into her lap.
Grace’s body trembled with exhaustion and shook with her sobs as tears fully streamed down her face now. Her crying was almost entirely silent, as if practiced.
Steph held her close, petting her head and speaking to her softly.
“You did so good, Grace. You did so good. It’s over. It’s over now. You’re gonna be okay.”
Looking closer at the girl, she could better see the damage that had been done. Grace’s arms and legs were littered with fresh bruises and angry red marks. Her face was bruised around her jaw, and there was some bad bruising on her temple. Her forehead was slightly swollen and part of the skin above her eye was slit, a small trickle of blood that had long since dried out clinging to her forehead.
Faded smudges of blood painted the area around Grace’s mouth, almost like lipstick that had dripped down her face but been wiped off.
Steph noticed that as Grace cried, she never opened her mouth or moved it at all, even when the building snot in her nose caused her to struggle to breathe. It worried her greatly, but she couldn’t do anything about it right now.
Steph’s heart felt like it was about to stop at any moment. It beat loudly in her ears as sharp fear and guilt burrowed through her chest, but she swallowed it down for the time being.
She had a job to do. She still had to get Grace out.
After Grace’s sobs had slowed, Steph gently set her onto the ground, freeing her hands so she could reach into her pocket for the small knife she’d packed. She pulled the knife out and swiftly cut through Grace’s bonds, her hands falling limply to her sides as Grace let out a small, strained noise of pain.
Steph noted that her mouth still didn’t open.
“…Okay,” she sighed, ignoring that problem for the time being, “I’m going to pick you up. Is that okay?”
Grace nodded weakly and Steph gently scooped her into her arms, lifting her from the ground and carefully walking towards her door.
She was going to get Grace out of here.