5,387 soldiers, under Lord Mountcashel.

"5,387 soldiers, under Lord Mountcashel, went to France as part of the Wild Geese and later formed the nucleus of the Irish brigade."

The gathered crowd stood and applauded. The swaying of the seas underneath made it difficult for the few hundred in attendance, to stand and clap.

Percy Griffiths was the toast of the ship tonight.

The chief historian of the Irish Battlement Society, nodded in recognition with the rooms' eyes on him. Sitting proudly with chest puffed out, he pulled a comb from the inside pocket of his blue blazer. 

The gold buttons on his jacket reflected brightly off the crystal chandelier hanging overhead. Live piano music played from the foyer beneath.

Percy sleeked his salt and pepper hair back under his pink shirt collar and adjusted his cravat. A final brush of his neatly trimmed moustache reassured him. He was starving after delivering his impassioned speech.

The inviting smells of rosemary and cooked meats wafted from the kitchen. As his reward to himself for addressing the Historical Societies, he wanted to order off the set menu. He had asked at reception for steak this morning - they didn't say no.

Percy fancied a peppered Angus steak, cooked rare. His mouth salivated with anticipation.

Their top table was served first. A plate of chicken and potatoes in a bacon and cream sauce was placed in front of Percy.

"What the hell is this? I wanted a steak!" shouted Percy at the waitress.

"My apologies sir! Did you ask for something different off the set menu?"

"I certainly did. Angus steak, cooked rare. Get with it quickly girl!"

"I'll check with the chef sir."

The waitress scurried back to the kitchen and delivered Percy's request. She came back with her head down, informing Percy that he would have to eat the chicken dish.

"Get me the chef!" ordered Percy of the waitress.

A petite woman in pristine whites, came storming out of the kitchen's double doors. She made a beeline for the Percy's table.

"I am the Head Chef Caroline. Are you the gentleman who wants to order off the set menu tonight?"

"I was told I could order what I wanted, when I wanted. I'm on a cruise ship and I'm sitting at the top table tonight. I'm with IBS."

"I understand that you can order what you want sir, but tonight we are serving over one thousand people in two sittings, in five hours. We have to stick to our set menu tonight as we can't cater to each individual's personal requirements. No matter who you're with or whatever medical condition you suffer from."

"I am ordering the steak. I am Percy Griffiths, head of IBS. I don't suffer from IBS you idiot! I can order what I want when I want!"

"Well I'm sorry for the misunderstanding about your acronym sir, but we can't accommodate you tonight - and I have final say on the matter."

"How much will it take little girl? Here's one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred - there's five hundred! Will that be enough for me to get what I want?" Percy peeled off several green bills from his pocket.

Caroline picked up the money and placed it in an empty glass in the centre of the table.

"I'm going to take your money sir. Do you want to know why?"

"To subsidise your paltry wages onboard?" sniggered Percy.

"I'm donating it to the first charity when we get to the next port. I'm taking the money as payment, not for the steak, which I'll happily cook for you - but for all the birthday presents you never bought me as a child. You were always too busy to even visit me or even send a card, Godfather."

"Your name is Caroline? As in daughter of Maureen and Michael?"

"Yes Uncle. It's me, your niece, Caroline. You're eating the chicken. And you're still an arrogant ass."

Within seconds, Percy was hyperventilating with embarrassment.

The waitress who bore the brunt of his acid tongue, passed Percy a brown paper bag and advised him to breathe slowly.

Know your enemy.

A single shot was fired through a pillow, sending white feathers through the air. It struck flesh, causing Alex to fall backward. Blood stained the newly painted white wall.

The silhouette of a man inched across the shiny new wooden floor. Alex moved into the adjacent kitchen, retrieving his bowie knife from the top drawer.
Breaching the living room through another entrance, Alex caught his assailant unawares. Coming down hard on the intruder’s hand with his knife, Alex knocked the gun from his grasp – but also lost his own knife. 

A flurry of heavy contact blows were swapped as both men grappled for control. Alex saw the glint of the blade as he fell back to the floor. The distraction gave his invader an opportunity to land a right fist to Alex’s left eye. 

Alex reached the wooden handle and swiped in retaliation. It cut cloth and flesh across the mans’ torso.
His attacker scampered for cover. The heavy blows were fast closing his left eye. Alex lashed out at anything that moved, slicing the heavy six millimetre plastic covering the new furniture. The smell of fresh paint mixed with the musky odour of sweat.

The assailant shuffled accidentally into a standing ladder and fell down steps into the kitchen. Alex took the opportunity to wrap up his opponent, using masking tape to initially tie his hands behind his back.

Alex grabbed rope from the bottom kitchen drawer and pulled the man onto a kitchen chair. Alex looped it around his chest and hands – maintaining control.

The two men panted heavily, adrenaline sapping from their bodies.

“Let me go you bastard!” cried the bound intruder. He tried to wriggle from the rope around the brown wooden chair.

“Fuck you – you broke into my home! Waving this at me!”

Alex waved the Beretta 92G handgun in the air. He bent over, inhaling deeply. He placed the gun on the kitchen countertop, laying the knife beside it.

“Kiss my ass Alex Collins – I lost everything because of you,” added the intruder.

“Whoa! How do you know my name?” enquired Alex.

“You ruined my entire life!”

“I don’t even know you! Why are you trying to kill me?”

“Killing you was the only option I had left.”

“Why? Why me?” asked Alex.

His intruder stayed silent.

Hurting and bleeding, Alex turned from his trespasser and cupped water directly from the kitchen tap. He winced as he stretched his arm. The single muffled shot had grazed his upper left arm. His left eye was almost closed, affecting his equilibrium.

“Tell me how the hell did I ruin your life?” probed Alex.

The restrained man spat out a mouthful of blood on the pale kitchen floor tile.

“You’d better start talking!” added Alex.

“Well you’d better ring the authorities! My DNA is everywhere! My lawyer won’t look kindly on your free flowing fists or these crazy cuts you’ve made,” threatened the invader.

“Since when did you start dictating terms? Like hello? You’re tied up! Who are you?”

Despite his restraints the intruder needed to take control – and quickly. Alex was fit, if a little stupid.

Alex paced the kitchen, walking through some dripping blood. The red footsteps contrasted sharply against the cream parquet tile.

“Any chance you could loosen these knots a little?” asked the cocky invader.

“Tell me your fucking name first.”


“Okay, my name is James Kelly – former CEO of Lancer Insurance.”

“Lancer? Aargh! Aargh! As in the fucking company that refused to pay my fucking insurance claim, Lancer?” said Alex, a little incredulous. He tapped the side of his head for the first time.

“That was a simple misunderstanding that got, a bit out of hand.” James stayed cool and calm.

“How do you get a simple insurance claim so badly wrong?”

“I blame myself. I hold my hand up there. But you! You go on social media and drag the good Lancer name through the gutter!”

“I had every right to do so. I was wronged and I put it right. But if you had paid out, you wouldn’t be here now. And force me to radically change my plans.”

“What kind of plans?” asked James.

“You’ve fucking messed everything up – aargh! Why didn’t you pay out? This isn’t right, not right at all…”

Alex chewed on the stubs of his nails, biting skin at the corners. He started stretching his neck muscles. Breathing slowly through his nose, he calmed himself.

“You’ve ruined everything – do you know that?” stated Alex.

“This can all be sorted out. All it needs is a clean up and for you to forget this mess. I can make it worth your while to forget about this entire misunderstanding.”

“Mess? Misunderstanding? That’s a bloody understatement! You have no clue what I was planning for later tonight – do you? Maybe it’s only apt that you have landed on my doorstep?” stated a torn Alex.

“I’m not following you – what are you pissed off about?” James questioned.


Alex scratched his lower arms, tearing at his tattoos. He glanced at the small clotting pools of blood on the floor. He frantically mumbled to himself, tapping the side of his head once again.

“You broke your contract Alex – simple as that. The law is on my side. We were well within our rights to deny your claim,” James said simply.

“Quoting the law at me now? Really? Oh, the law will be of no help to you now!”

James needed Alex to make a mistake – distract him somehow.

“I read your report. Your contract simply states that if a private property is water damaged through extinguishment of a fire – no person is allowed to enter until an assessor gauges the estimation of repairs,” continued James.

“Do you live in the real world Mr Kelly? Don’t you realise that some things are so vitally important to some people? Aargh!” More consistent slapping of the side of his head.

“I’m not sure I’m following you,” said James.

“Let me show you then!” said an excited Alex, with eyes aflame.
Alex opened a door that led downstairs to the basement. The hinge creaked as he turned the brass knob.

James wriggled frantically with his captor disappearing. The rope loosened around his hands.

The sound of feet on wooden steps postponed his struggle. Alex dumped an old brown suitcase on the kitchen table. He got up close to James’ face.

“I had to go begging to the bank to renovate. So on top of your company not paying out, I had to remortgage my old mothers’ house! And I nearly lost these! My most prized possessions!” said an emotional Alex.

“What’s in it?” James twirled his wrist clockwise and anti-clockwise.

“These, could give me trouble. But I can’t live without them.”

James’s wrist was nearly free.

“What are they?” asked James.

“You really have no idea who you’re dealing with – do you?”

“You’re an asshole, I know that. Your actions cost me my company, my wealth and my wife. I have fuck all left in life – all because of you, Alex.”

Alex took a second, biting his lower lip, trying to stifle instinct. His neck tic had returned. That confirmed his gut. Despite the personal setting, the ritual would continue. Maybe this was fate intervening.
Just as James pulled his hand free, Alex grabbed the knife. In three fluid moves he slashed at James. The sharp blade sliced into his cheek, face and shoulder – cutting downward.

Mother would not have approved of more blood being spilled in the kitchen.

Alex roared aloud after he swung thrice.

“You FOOL! I had to evacuate at 4am after a fire from next door burned my living room. Firemen pumped enough water through my front window to fill a small reservoir! I thought on my feet, passing through your scene to collect all that is precious to me. I wasn’t thinking about insurance procedure – I was more concerned about these!”

Alex turned the case around to a screaming James. Arterial spray gushed from the open wound around his neck.

Facing James were seven digits with rings on each finger. Prizes held neatly in styrofoam.

“So that’s why you breaking into my home was a really bad move. You have forced me into changing my routine – I never bring my shit home. You should really know your enemy before going into battle, Mr. Kelly.”

Alex retrieved a pair of pliers from the top drawer. James tried cursing out loud – but a gurgle of anxiety from a half severed tongue was his last verbal utterance.

Alex snapped James’ wedding finger off.

James passed out.

Mother would not have approved of such mess – but Alex was in control now. Plastic was covering much of the chaos anyhow.

Alex’s ritual was in its eighth year.

Rage.

The comfort of having my former husband behind bars, brought about my long wait for justice. But it also brought out a trait in me that I didn't know I possessed.

And even though I understood what I did was stupid - I enjoyed the emotion of retribution for more than a millisecond.


Three days after he was jailed, I drove to the mall on a chilly December morning, and saw red.

A few seconds earlier, there was no one in my rear view mirror. Then I saw a big pickup truck.

He was so close to my rear bumper that he might as well have been sitting in my back seat. I could see the whites of his eyes and his smug, toothy grin.

His dirty, scraggly blonde hair poked through the sides of his baseball hat - contrasting sharply against his bright blue football shirt. His thick neck muscles bulged with impatience.

He weaved in and out, trying to get by me. He tried to undertake me twice but the slippery grass verge on the inside prevented him doing so. His loud music filled the cool winter air.

I was getting sick watching his pickup truck weave in and out. Then came a small gap in the traffic flow. He didn't hesitate. He passed over a double white line with minimal clearance gliding by my car. There was probably only inches between our vehicles.

That's where I made a mistake.

I jumped on my horn. I shouted "Asshole!" as he passed. I know he heard me.

The car in the opposite direction flashed his hi-beams as he barely scraped by. He stuck two fingers out his window in salute.

Two minutes later, as I turned into the mall parking lot,  my hands shook. I kept reciting his numberplate out loud. I tried to remove my keys from the ignition, missing once.

His car appeared abruptly in front of me. Less than twenty feet away. He pointed at me with his fingers. In the shape of a gun. And then mock fired.


Revving his engine loudly, he sped away with white smoke billowing from his tyres.

He had definitely caught my registration plate. My car colour, make and model. Every part of me shivered.

Once I stepped inside the mall I rang the local Police station. I recalled the details ten minutes later to a young female Police officer. She said that they would follow it up straight away.

Returning to the car, I pulled flyers off my windscreen - I couldn't think of shopping. I threw them on the passenger seat. As I opened my home front door I picked the mail off the floor. Throwing all of the paraphernalia on the kitchen table, there wedged between two bills and a free newspaper, was a piece of blank white A4 paper.

Opening it up, I collapsed to my knees. The feeling of helplessness was returning after a brief sojurn.

"WATCH YOURSELF YOU COCKY BITCH! NEXT TIME I'LL PUT YOU IN HOSPITAL!"

I didn't sleep for two nights. My mind raced. My skin itched. I second guessed myself doing mundane everyday things. I lived alone. The lack of a home alarm in my new house didn't help with my new found insecurity. I became a curtain twitcher. Watching my back, checking my shadow.

A week passed and I had heard nothing from the Police. I even dropped into the station to see if the Police officer had anything new on my case - she didn't even remember me.

The fact that she didn't seem bothered, re-lit a dampened fire in me. I had fought back once, on my own, and won. Despite the incompetence of others, I had persevered.

It was simple. Considering his supped up vehicle, most likely he hadn't bought it new. So I looked up his make and model on used car websites.

Playing the "I want to buy a big noisy pickup" line - I got the address of the current owner without breaking sweat. A sultry voice can work wonders.

With headway being made and vengeance in my veins, I parked my car out of sight and surveyed the suburban address. Within one hour, I spotted the same red Ford F-150 truck pull into its drive.

And there he was. The same jerk who had near shunted me with the same smug grin. With a few seconds of chauvinism and idiocy I almost went back into my shell. He clambered out of the driver's seat clutching a cardboard box of cheap domestic beer. He was nothing to be afraid of - if anything, he was to be pitied.

I waited for three hours before all the lights went out. The street went eerily quiet. A light breeze blew wisps of errant rubbish from over-filled bins. Wearing dark clothes, I crept low toward his house. Constantly checking around, I only heard the faint noise of a whining dog.

Using the local foliage for cover and latex gloves for my own protection, I pulled a sharp blade from the pocket of my hoodie. I started slicing, cutting all four tyres beyond immediate repair. Air hissed slowly, like a release on both the rubber and my inner self.

I keyed the word "ASSHOLE" into the bonnet.

My final act was to write on the back of his note. I put it back through his letterbox, before I scurried back to my own car. I added my own veil of intent.

"LEARN TO DRIVE PROPERLY ASSHOLE. AND REMEMBER - I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE NOW."

Creative Daily Scribe: Beverly.With her eyes closed, Beverly felt he...

Creative Daily Scribe: Beverly.




With her eyes closed, Beverly felt he...: Beverly. With her eyes closed, Beverly felt her left hand twitching. Flicking impatiently, moving from side to side. Her mouth was bo...

Beverly.




With her eyes closed, Beverly felt her left hand twitching. Flicking impatiently, moving from side to side.

Her mouth was bone dry and her lips were locked together. She rolled her tongue around in her mouth, swallowing hard. It tasted salty. She took in a deep breath while her other senses stalled. An overpowering acrid smell of rotting flesh and burning filled her nostrils.

She tried opening her eyelids, but it was terribly difficult to do. Suddenly, the odd sensation in her hands abated and she felt sensitivity in the tips of her fingers. They were cold and wet. She rubbed her forefingers and thumb of her left hand together, which were sticky.

Behind her, she could hear the dull clicking of a nearby clock. Drips within the vacuous room filled the voids left in between the ticks and tock of the clock.

Beverly tried speaking, but all she could manage was a bare grunt. It took a lot out of her to make the effort. Every movement and thought was draining her. She felt her head droop to her right hand side and felt a heavy dullness overcome her body. She was drifting back to sleep — but her eye opened for the briefest of seconds — revealing the colour red on the floor.

And then, for the barest of moments, she was sure she heard and felt something scuttling around  beneath her feet. She knew someone else was in the room.




Beverly wasn’t sure how long had passed since she last was awake. She remembered, through the fog, that her eyes were tightly shut. She strained once more, and yellow cake from her right eye loosened. She blinked rapidly to dislodge it. The lack of aqueous fluid in her eye stung badly, as she bore it to the dull light of what she assumed was nighttime.

Breathing was laborious. Having the ability to see once more was causing her heart to race unexpectedly. She closed her eye, breathing deeply to slow her heart rate. Having composed herself, she remembered that the floor was red. Opening the eyelid slowly, she saw that the floor area, although unorganised and scattered with debris, was relatively clean.

Out of the silence, she heard a muted thud. Not too close, but within the building. Beverly tried moving her head back to centre, to look back at the ceiling. The movement hurt all the way down her spine, tingling her every nerve. She screamed, realising that her mouth was covered by some form of gauze and something on top of it.

The door burst open, she heard scuffling of shoes behind her and the feeling of helplessness quickly returned.




Her fingers tingled before she knew she was awake. This time, she heard voices. Speaking in a language she vaguely recognised. She had taken a flight to Budapest for cosmetic enhancement of her breasts and lips.

The words were terse, stunted and it sounded like they were arguing. Two men talking in two different rooms. The space in one echoed while the other was metallic. She could hear water flowing.

Beverly tried opening her eyes again - this time her left eyelid started to open for the first time. The effort left her breathless and tired.

The thirst was becoming unbearable. Her right eye opened further than before. Breathing deeply, Beverly saw something new.

She saw a row of grey cupboards, with two doors hanging off their hinges. Small vials of labelled medical fluid filled one open cabinet, yet the other was full of dirty, bloodied towels. Beverly shivered.

She tried moving her head once more. Despite her yoga core strength, she barely moved more than an inch. Frustrated, Beverly started to cry. Except the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t.

An alarm above her started to bleep and she heard footsteps behind her.

The greyness of sleep returned.




The awakening this time was far more brutal. Beverly saw someone she thought she recognised. She was kicking and screaming. She was bleeding. Two grown men in white jumpsuits were trying to restrain her.

Her blood dashed upon their whites. She could see everything. Her senses, previously dulled were wide awake with adrenaline.

She was handcuffed to a gurney. Every sinew of hers was moving as it should. She was fighting against the restraint. The skin around her wrists chafed against the cold metal.

Despite the language barrier between English and Hungarian, she heard curses that resonate in every language. Beverly recognised the gravelly voice and striking ice-cold blue eyes that had greeted her in the hotel lobby. Instead of being kind, open and disarming - they were grey and functional like the theatre around him.  

Before the calmness of sedatives and induced sleep took hold, she heard the muted sound of a thump.




Beverly woke, sitting upright. Her chin and head were flopped down, looking directly at her breasts. The oddest first thought struck her - my boobs haven’t been enhanced, she noticed.

The reactive part of her brain reminded her of the impending situation. She tried to lift her head but it was restrained in place by a studded black leather strap. The studs were pointed and silver in colour.

The strap went around her head and looped around both of her thighs, which were partially blood stained. She was naked apart from the strap. Her shoulder length brown hair had been brushed and tickled the sides of her face.

Her mouth was still covered by the gauze and what she now saw was another thin black leather strap. Her hands were tied behind her back. She sat in what reminded her of what her dentists chair felt like — plastic and uncomfortable.

The flickering light of the fluorescent bulbs above cast a shadow in front of Beverly that she hadn’t seen before. The tall lean figure of a medical drip on a stand. She had noticed that she wasn’t thirsty anymore.

The temperature had been turned up in the room. Beads of sweat formed on her brow. She could hear faint chatter in the background. Definitely one woman and two men.

In front of her, she saw the glow of a red light flick on. She heard a whirr and footsteps behind it.

Beverly tried using her ujjayi breath that she had been taught in yoga classes to calm herself down.  

She had an inkling of what was coming next.




Beverly woke this time facing a pool of pink fluid on the floor in front of her. It took her a while to realise that it was her saliva, mixed with blood. Her skin was on fire, yet cool air kissed her naked body.

She lay face forward with her head lower than the rest of her body. Breathing was extremely laboured with her face taped downward. She lay on what seemed to be a masseuse table. Except she could feel cool air lick her stomach.

But it wasn’t air.

A grey haired man with red ringed eyes stared back at her. Beverly tried to fight. She was restrained tightly from head to toe. Her energy reserves were depleted.

She could see small droplets of blood dripping into his open mouth. He enjoyed every drop, laughing loudly as Beverly endured physical and mental torture. The nearby dull thud returned — from what seemed like next door.

This time, exhaustion took over and lulled Beverly beyond the depravity underneath her.




Beverly felt forward movement of the gurney. The sudden jerky movement caused further friction on her ankles and hands. She knew she was bleeding, but screaming out loud would be pointless.

She was moved into a far smaller room with better lighting. She didn’t want to open her eyes for fear of seeing something she didn’t need, or want to see. The room smelled clean - like an industrial solvent.

Opening her eyes gradually, she was looking out through a viewing window into the hallway of what looked like a hospital. Except this hospital was more akin to a prison.

Ceiling tiles hung loosely above her. Damp stains lined the walls and floors. Flies lay dead on the sill of the closed window. The air hung thickly, like an invisible shroud would swallow any of her faint and tired screams.

Beverly listened intently for any sounds that she might recognise. All she could hear was the constant hum of a nearby motorway. If she could get there. She was strong, despite her situation.

Lifting her head, she gazed down at her fifty year old body and the situation she faced.

Her hands and feet were tied down by handcuffs. Her bare legs were taped down at the midway point of the thigh. A thick black leather strap was fastened underneath the gurney, holding her stomach down. Finally she had the gauze and leather strap over her mouth.

As Beverly lifted herself for a second time, the strap on her stomach shifted downward.

It revealed a large open wound beneath her ribcage, cauterised at the edges.

She passed out.




Beverly woke with the blue and grey eyes staring directly at her. She was still in the small room that smelled clean.

She couldn’t hear what he was saying. His lips moved the dirty pale blue surgical face mask. His eyes spilled out hatred and vitriol. She had no idea why he was angry at her. Until the haze of medication wore off and the volume of his rant near popped her ears.

He was raving at the western woman’s need for body perfection. He was gesticulating wildly about how women should act their age in broken English. Beverly was sure she heard the word “whore” at least five times.

She was calm. This man had multiple personas. She had a chance.

When Beverly had met him on both occasions - prior to waking up on a gurney in this hell - he was polite and atypically Hungarian. He said that he knew reputable doctors that could do her type of surgical procedures for half the price that she was initially quoted.

Beverly thought that his crazy pitch in a hotel lobby was odd. But she didn’t want to waste all of her father’s inheritance on herself. She wanted to put away a portion of it on college funds for her two grandchildren. The more she saved, the better chance they had. So she cut a corner and here she lay.

Beverly plead with her eyes. She grunted “please”. He slapped her hard across the face, snapping her head violently to the side. Then he unhooked the thin leather strap that covered her mouth. Beverly gasped, tasting the cold air for the first time in some while. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, French kissing her deeply.

Revolted by his action and purely by accident, Beverly’s stomach wrenched. She got sick into his mouth.

He overreacted. Slapping her hard across the back of her head, she fell unconscious.




Beverly woke with a major headache. She smiled, knowing this meant she could feel pain. She was staring at the ceiling of the theatre again and couldn’t move her head. It was held in position by straps and restraints both under and above her head. But there was no gauze or impediment on her mouth. She could lick her lips.

Glancing around she could see the shadow of the tall drip again. She felt lucid. The room around what she could see looked empty, previous to before.

A heart monitor beeped above her. A finger encasement on her right index bleeped back the information to the monitor. A needle leading to the drip led into the crook of her left elbow.

The handcuffs were gone. Black cable ties replaced them at her wrists. She could even feel bandages where the skin had been removed.

Moving her head ever so slightly, she saw that she was wearing a gown. It was a dull white colour with a button flap over her chest. She even saw a butterfly motif on the gown. It was a yellow butterfly with black edging.

Beverly started breathing heavily, getting a little excited.

The excitement didn’t last.

Another woman dressed just like Beverly, was wheeled in beside her.




Beverly woke to chanting, cheering and humming of male voices. Pretending to be asleep, she slowly
flicked an eyelid open. They were waiting for her. She could hear the audible whirr of a camera.

Six men, dressed in surgical blue gowns, stood on Beverly’s left with excitement in their eyes. In their hands in front of them, were long sharp blades. On Beverly’s right was the other lady, who Beverly had got a brief glimpse of. She lay motionless.
On a loud command from a loudspeaker, they moved in unison around their unsuspecting victim.

They gathered around her like the hours of a clock.

Beverly noticed the large glass jars on the counter. They were filled with formaldehyde and body parts. The woman’s face looked grey and lifeless.

They raised their blades high into the air.

Upon second command, they plunged their knives deep into various parts of the lady’s body.

Beverly turned away, bringing her hand up to her face. She knew the camera was on her.

She wasn’t restrained.