Harry refused to open her eyes. The weight of Liz's death was suffocating.

She couldn't believe she had managed to go to sleep. They had strapped her to a chair in the room next to the one where she'd been forced to lie in her own bodily fluids, and after a short interrogation had left her alone with her own self-sabotaging thoughts.

"Harry, you have always seemed quite reasonable since I've come to know you," Matt had said, while strapping her to the chair. "Why don't we save us all some energy and you some pain? All you need to do is agree to give me the amulet the moment tomorrow's moon is up. You should be able to see that I'll get what I want one way or another. Why delay it?"

While he'd still spoken softly, his attitude was smug and confident. The dawky, insecure facade that he had used at school, and that Harry had come to come to associate with plain, Matthew Smith, the man with the average sandy hair and the average nose, was incongrous with the calculating man exuding power who had stood in front of her. He was now anything but average.

"Go ahead and kill me, and take it," she'd taunted. "Oh, that's right, you can't. You need me to be able to finish your little ritual, don't you?" Matt had looked at Sam coldly. He'd obviously not expected Harry to know that bit of information. "Oh well, you may as well kill me anyway because there's no way I'm helping you after what you've just done to my friend."

Matt had finished binding Harry's feet and shoulders, and left her be.

She had thought of Liz. She'd thought of herself. She'd thought of her family and students. Harry had thought round in circles until the exhaustion had become too much and she'd drifted into a fitful sleep.

When she'd woken, the crushing weight of her guilt had overwhelmed her once more, and she'd tried to will herself back into slumber. She didn't care how unpleasant her dreams were; anything would be preferable to the personal torment she was currently feeling. She may have justified many of her recent actions behind thin excuses of 'not knowing' and 'for the greater good,' but Liz's death could not be pushed aside and forgotten by her so easily.

She wished they could just kill her too and get it over with. She didn't have the strength to keep going. To know that she was responsible for the deaths and the suffering of people she cared about was more than she could bare. She had almost reached the final straw.

If she were certain that Dupret would still be forced to keep Charlie's secret if Harry was no longer in the land of the living, she would happily let them end her pathetic existence and let them struggle to find someone else to open the gates. Clearly the necklace's pick this time around was a mistake and it hopefully wouldn't make it again. Next time it would choose someone with stronger moral fibre, someone with the strength to do what needed to be done no matter what.

Harry could sense one of them watching her. They had been ever since she'd woken up, roughly ten minutes earlier, but she refused to look to see which one.

She was so angry with herself for trusting both of those men. She didn't know which relationship made her more angry. She had known exactly what type of person Dupret was, yet had allowed herself to believe he was different with her, that she might actually be able to change him. While she didn't love him the way that she did David, she would be lying to herself if she denied there were feelings there, some kind of attraction that kept her thinking he was worth saving. Matt, however, had completely blindsided her. She had never misread somone's character more than she had his. The sweet, simple man, who wanted nothing more than to assist the local rabble to make something good out of their lives was an utter fabrication. He was the one who had been toying with the half demons at school. He was the one that even Dupret had to obey, and the other demons were terrified of. He was the one that had slept with her friend one weekend and murdered her the next, as if it were nothing.

She couldn't give in, even if Charlie had not been a factor. She needed to avenge her friend; and she needed to keep the half demons safe; and she needed to make sure that no more of these beasts could ever escape Hell to wreak havoc on humanity. She needed to see to the demons' final destruction.

While she was no longer in the death room or the vomit room she could still smell the sick, and death, and ash, all seared into her skin. It was a smell she would never be able to remove from her nostrils.

Slowly, she opened her eyes to stare at her captor. Sam sat across from her. He lounged on a computer chair, a magazine positioned in front of him though Harry hadn't heard the sound of a turning page since she had woken.

"I'm sorry about Liz," he said, the despair in his voice matching the haunting stare from his glazed onyx eyes. His normally pristine suit was ruffled and his hair was in disarray. He was still too beautiful for words.

Harry didn't care if he felt bad for Liz's death. He didn't deserve to feel any relief for what he had done. Whether his actions had been of his own accord or not, it had been his knife that had slid across her skin, and for that, she would make sure he was punished severely.

He looked at her imploringly. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I can't stop myself. I'm powerless against his commands." Harry looked away, refusing to meet his gaze while he made excuses to ease his guilt. He grabbed her wrists and a flood of anxiety flowed between them. His anxiety. The intensity of it forced her eyes back to his.

"I don't know what he's going to do, but I have a feeling it's gonna be bad for you. I can't help you, so, please, d..." His speech was cut off, like he had been physically stopped from saying whatever he'd wanted to say. He thought for a moment before speaking again. "Be smart, Harry. Consider the consequences of your actions before you do anything."

Harry couldn't tell if what he was saying was a threat or a warning, but the feeling of concern that came with it suggested the latter. While the concern was mostly for himself, there was an undercurrent of fear for her as well. But that was irrelevant. It wouldn't save her. Sam was a puppet and Matt would pull his strings as he saw fit. She wouldn't allow herself to feel sorry for him. That was 'being smart'.

She turned her head away from him once more. Dupret withdrew his touch and moved back to his computer chair.

A moment later, the sound of the doorknob turning announced the entrance of another person. Sam strode into the room. He looked down upon her, grinning. She straightened herself as much as she could, refusing to let herself appear more vulnerable than absolutely necessary.

"Good morning, guys. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he said, chuckling as if it were a joke only he was privy to. "What's the chance you've changed you mind?"

Harry gave him her most scathing stare.

"I take that for a 'no'?" he inquired. "As much as I want this done quickly, I was really hoping you'd say 'no'. We're gonna have some fun!"

Harry looked at Dupret. If he was attempting to hide his fear about what was about to come, he was failing to succeed. Matt caught the direction of her attention and turned to look at Sam.

"Don't worry, Samuel, I haven't forgotten you. You can join in with our fun and games too!" Matt's eyes looked up at the ceiling and he tapped his finger against his chin. "The question is, do you get to participate or merely watch? I definitely want to do the first, but maybe you can do some later ones. We'll just need to put a few little rules in place to make sure things run as planned."

Sam stood in horrified silence. Though her heart thudded, Harry felt empty inside. She knew by Matt's smile that whatever he'd planned was going to be painful, but she couldn't give in.

The day she'd put that necklace on she hadn't been chosen, she'd been damned. "Just get it over with," she sighed.

He flashed her a menacing smile and held up the tool box he had in his hand. Harry hadn't noticed him holding it, but he must have been carrying it the whole time.

"Let the trials begin!" he announced.

He dragged over a medium sized fold out card table and locked the legs into place. The table top had holes drilled into it, near the edge of the side that had been positioned closest to Harry, and the ends of a plastic cable tie poke out through the holes. "I made this especially for this occasion," he commented proudly.

He placed a variety of tools on the table: a small hacksaw, a pair of pruning shears, a small knife, some vice grips, a hammer, and an array of screw drivers in a variety of sizes. He organised them precisely, then turned his attention to her.

He moved in close to her and enveloped her right hand with his palm, constricting the mobility of her fingers.

"Come here, Sam," he beckoned. "Grab that knife and slice right here." He pointed at the gaffa tape restraining her right wrist.

Harry wondered if Matt's delivery of the instruction had been intentional. There could be no misunderstanding of what Matt wanted, and no way that Sam could work around it, freeing her in the process, assuming he wanted to.

Sam laid his fingers lightly on her upper arm as he sliced the tape. The feelings of calm he attempted to transfer to her still had undertones of fear. Harry was pretty sure she knew what was coming, and she softened towards him momentarily as she realised how he was trying to reduce the psychological effects. 

As soon as her wrist was released, Matt wrenched her hand forwards into the middle of the card table. He held her still, clenching her hand so tightly she felt like her metacarpals were cracking under the pressure.

"Now fasten the cable tie, so that her right wrist is secured to the table. I want it tight enough that she can't slide her arm up and down at all, understand?"

Sam nodded his head reluctantly. His hands shook slightly as he threaded the cable tie upon itself. He pulled it tight and she felt a nip as it snagged against her skin. He pulled it tighter. It cut at her joint. A light ring of blood seeped at the plastic's edges.

Matt sat a brick either side of her forearm and stepped back. "Go on, try and move your arm... Try and lift the table." His eyes glinted with the knowledge that she wouldn't manage to move.

She didn't even bother trying. The way she was restrained to the chair combined with the angle of her arm would have made it difficult for her to lift the weight of the card table alone; with the bricks it would be impossible. She stared at him appearing bored, and waiting for him to continue.

"Still not ready to give up?" he asked. Harry yawned in response. "Suit yourself," he sung, his lips turning up at the corners as he selected his torture instrument.

It was the exact tool Harry had expected. He jiggled the pruning shears in front of her, then pressed down on her hand. Straightening out her index finger, he brought the blades toward her, considering the best angle from which to cut. She steeled herself for what was about to come, blocking out the sounds of Sam shifting nervously in the background.

"Watch!" Matt commanded him, but Harry didn't meet his eyes.

The sheers slid on either side of her finger, the blade nicking her skin at the base of the phalange. She heard a whimper escape the back of her throat and pushed it back down.

Matt started softly whistling the tune of Once I caught a fish alive. His whistle was slow and deliberate.

One... two.. three, four, five.

He toyed with her.

Once... I... caught a fish... alive...
Six... seven... eight, nine, ten.
Then... I... let it... gooo... again.

The shears began to slowly tighten.

Whyyyy... did... you let it go?
Cause... it bit... my... finger so.
Whiiiiich... finger... did it biiiite?

This little finger on my...

Despite the quietness of the action, Matt's final squeeze drowned out the sound of his last whistle, then a scream exploded, filling the room. It was deafening. It took Harry a moment to realise the sound was coming from her. The guttural, bone chilling wail was more foreign to her than the agonising roar, which had been drawn for her while she'd delivered Charlotte. She couldn't make it end. Her throat was raw, yet the howl continued. Only when she was too hoarse to emit a sound did it finally stop.

By then, her tear ducts had already dried up, leaving empty riverbeds trailing down her face, parting the gunk that layered her cheeks, neck and chest. She continued trying, with all her might, to shrink in on herself and clutch the wound, though she knew her struggles were pointless. She was no more able to move any part of herself now than she had been ten minutes earlier. The best she could do, was bow her head, allowing her hair to fall over her face, giving her some semblance of privacy while she dealt with her pain.

She sobbed silently. Even though she had seen what he'd mad Sam do to Liz, and had heard his multiple warnings, somewhere deep inside, she had still doubted he would actually go through with his threat towards her. She had no such illusions now.

She felt hot and cold at the same time. Even the stagnant air stung against the raw stump.

Another eight fingers, two thumbs, and ten toes. Would he stop once he'd finished with her right hand? How quickly would she heal when body parts were being hacked off? She hoped it wasn't too fast. If she healed fast enough that blood loss wasn't a concern, he could keep going indefinitely. She wondered how long it would take until she broke.

"Shall we go again?" he asked?

Her expression was deadpan, and she willed herself to produce a cracked response. "Do what you must."

He didn't have a lead in this time. He lifted her fingers up roughly. She winced as the movement rippled through the bloodied nub where her index finger should have been, producing another small smile from Matt. He knocked it again with the pruning shears. She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea passed over her. She kept them closed when it ended.

Matt sliced through her middle finger, pausing when he got to the bone. This time he removed the shears without going all the way through. Harry opened her eyes to see what the hold up was. Matt placed the shears back on the table and picked up the hacksaw. He forced the blade into the fresh incision, making Harry cry out once more. He dragged it backwards and forwards against the bone, drawing her torture out for as long as possible. It wasn't long until she'd exhausted her ability to scream once more. She felt so light-headed from the pain that she'd lost the ability to concentrate anyway.

When he'd finished he put down his tools, and sat her finger on the table beside the other one.

"Your turn, Samuel. Give her some time to recover then go again until the whole hand is done. Do not attempt to comfort her, or ease her discomfort. Unless, of course, she agrees to open the gate for me tonight, and then only if she agrees to open it for ME. If she tries to make a deal with you, you are to cut off her left hand's fingers too."

Having plugged any possible loop holes Sam could use to assist her, Matt flopped on the computer chair Dupret had been sitting in earlier. He then turned back to his underling. "Have fun breaking the spirit of the one human you are actually attached to. Let it be your lesson about what happens when you actually grow to care for them."

He opened the magazine Dupret had been holding earlier and flipped through the pages, leaving Sam to take his place in front of her.

Harry tried to concentrate. He poured some water down her throat, and took Matt's position behind the card table. There was anguish in those dark eyes as he lifted her fingers. He wasn't gentle (Matt's instructions had made sure he couldn't be that), but he wasn't rough either.

He picked up the shears gave a quick count of three, and cut; it was the same way she went about clipping Ranger's toenails, only she accompanied the in between segments with reassuring words.

After the first amputation, he didn't look at her. He stared at the appendage in his hand (her pinky), and her blood splattered on his palm and fingertips. He then gouged his nail into the wound he'd just made. She was shocked, and moaned pitifully as result of the agony it caused.

"That's the spirit!" Matt encouraged. "See, isn't this more fun than chasing some unattainable human woman?"

Dupret raised his fingers to his lips. "Infinitely," he replied dryly, as he sucked her blood from his each fingertip, then slowly licked his palm.

Harry was repulsed. She tried to look away, but found herself looking back into Dupret's eyes. They had hardened as had the emotions she felt when her grabbed her hand again. He began counting once more, this time cutting on two. As before, he sat the finger on the table, dug into her mutilated flesh, then, in some weird ritual, consumed her blood.

Matt grinned from ear to ear as Sam did the same for her thumb. He looked like a father whose son had just scored his first goal, after months of failing to be able to even kick the ball.

He turned his attention to Harry and her now fingerless hand.

"So, what's next, the left hand?" Harry asked flippantly.

"No, I think you've got enough of an understanding of pain for the time being," he said. "It's time to try something new. I'll be back in a minute. I just need to get something from the van out front..." he paused and moved in close to look her in the eye. "Just remember, Harriett, your lack of compliance has brought this about." He turned and exited the room.

Dupret looked perplexed. "Matt doesn't own a van," he said.

Harry let out a snort. "Who gives a shit about his car?" she said hoarsely.

He looked at the door, then deciding the coast was clear, rushed towards her. He knelt down and sucked on her fingers hungrily.

"What the Hell is wrong with you? Get off me!" she demanded, writhing on the spot, unable to move away. As footsteps pounded back downstairs he leapt away, like a child caught with their hand on the freshly baked cookies meant for the church.

Harry tried to think of a whitty quip to give when Matt re-entered the room, to prove her spirit wasn't broken. She forgot them all the moment the door swung open, revealing the 'thing' Matt had gone to get.

Standing there with sunken eyes, a bruised face and bound upper body was David, and standing beside him looking healthy, but both tired and terrified was Charlie.

"Mummy," she screamed as Matt kicked her into the room.

Harry's heart leapt into her throat. Matt had shown her the pain of torture as a preview.

That was what he was about to do to them.