Truth-scented Candles

He kept the woman in another room, close enough to allow her screams to reach her husband and let him know she was still alive. The chair he dragged into place cut two new clean trails over the pattern of footprints on the dusty floor.

"Let me see my wife you bastard!"

The man writhed against his bindings, but the ropes tied to the decaying furniture kept the chair upright as firmly as they kept him seated in it. His captor sat in his own chair and slouched with his arms on his knees, resting his chin in one hand. "What a way you have with words. Would you like to tell Bastard all about this woman? Her deepest fears and weaknesses, that kind of thing."

"If you hurt her I'll-"

"Wandering off topic," he shook his head at the bound man, but smiled at him nonetheless. "Perfect. We are now ready to begin testing."

He rose from his chair and reached for a crowbar on the floor.

"Wait! I'll tell you about myself. If you just leave her alone I'll tell you whatever you want to-"

"Of course you will. Who in his right mind would volunteer his loved one's deepest secrets to a deranged killer? You don't-"

CLUNK

"-'strike' me as the mentally ill sort."

The bound man moaned and pulled away, eyes cast downward. He flinched when his captor grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head up into better lighting.

"Oh, look at that. Head wounds bleed like devil don't they? All that blood rushing from your brain makes you dizzy."

The bound man stared up from the corners of wide eyes.

"Next step, apply medication."

He threw the crowbar aside and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a lump of something yellow. He tossed it in the air and caught it. "Candle. Made it myself, which probably explains why it looks like a piece of shit. Never was much of an artsy craftsy sort."

The captive could now see that the misshapen thing did indeed contain a wick. When this was lit the room blossomed with a harsh scent, as if a chemical factory had caught fire.

"There you go. Nice scented candle custom made just for you. Sniffy sniff."

He held it under the man's nose and watched him squirm and cough. The man spoke between gasps with the strength of new anger in his voice. "Do whatever you want to me. I'll never tell you how to hurt her!"

"Yes you will. Just breathe. Take it in and you'll feel better in no time."

The man was too distracted to see the fear in his eyes or the concentration that came over his face as he fought to stay focused. The burning aerosol offered a temptation he could not afford. It unearthed memories of pleasures that threatened to rot the brain. He shook his head to clear it.

"Who are you anyway?" the bound man asked, offering him a lopsided grin and a gaze from half-lidded eyes.

"Ah, I see that all the blood pouring out of that gash has done the trick. As for titles you may refer to me as Sombra. Are you ready to talk about your wife now?"

The captive nodded. "Sure, Somber. She's a good gal, Jane is."

"What is she most afraid of?"

"Oh, woman-y things. You know how it is. Spider on the floor. 'Kill it kill it!' Heh."

His grin widened and his head flopped down. Sombra grabbed his chin and brought his face back up so he could study his eyes and see how far gone he was. Between the dehydration, head trauma, and blood loss the effect was even greater than he had anticipated. He blew out the candle and put it back in his pocket.

"Spiders," the man said slowly, eyes glazed over and no longer focused on the face in front of him. "Isser kryptonite, yannow?"

"What else bothers her? Is there anything worse?"

The man started to drool. Sombra let his head fall limply to his chest and wiped his hand on his jeans. He wouldn't be able to get anything else from him today.

The air was hot and stuffy and Sombra could taste the chemical-fire tang on his tongue while it burned his nose and lungs. As he rose to his feet and stepped back from the man in the chair he swayed and leaned against the wall to keep from losing his balance. He smiled at no one in particular and let himself slide down the wall until he sat propped against it, a sea of tranquility drowning out his thoughts.

A single thought refused to fade into the haze engulfing his mind. Anxiety punctured the cloud of bliss with a shot of adrenaline and sent him stumbling for the nearest window. It stuck, and in his panic he broke the glass with a punch.

Cool air poured into the room, and he put his face to the hole to breathe in the freshness that some dim awareness told him would clear his head. Memories and sensations flooded back to him. The experiment was a failure and there was blood on his hand. He tore a strip from his shirt to wrap around the cuts and took the foul smelling lump of wax from his pocket. With a sneer he tossed it out the hole and watched it land with a satisfying splat on the weed-infested pavement below.

Maybe he would regret wasting it later. Maybe not. Now was not the time for making big alterations to his plans. A couch in one of the downstairs rooms called to him with the promise of rest, so he left the bound man to his babbling and the door open to let the air circulate.

He still had some chemicals left and the test subject would suffer no permanent damage from the concoction itself. Tomorrow would be a better day. Tomorrow he would work out the correct concentration and be ready to leave this hideout for the next step of the plan and all the fun it would bring.