"It seems you've made quite the impression on my daughter," Ed remarked, closing the door behind him. His tone was callous, calculating. Frank smiled.
"It seems she's taken a shine to me."
The door clicked as Ed pulled the lock. He approached the bed purposefully, his stride confident and composed.
"And why is that, exactly?" He asked, sitting at his bedside.
"My good looks. My winning personality. Who really knows?"
"Let's not play games," Ed interjected. "I only want to know one thing. Tell me now, and – "
"You'll make it quick and painless, but if I put up a fight, you'll torture me to no end? I invented that line, you know. But tell me, Officer Wilson, what kind of devices do you use? Knives, guns – no, guns would be too obvious, unless you have a silencer. Or perhaps you're creative? Acid maybe, or a paperclip and lighter. The options really are endless."
"I'm going to make you talk," Ed said. "And I don't need any fancy devices. All I need is this."
From his coat pocket, Ed retrieved a small clear salt shaker. Frank paused, smiled.
"So you are creative." He grinned, but the sweat was beginning to pool under his arms, run down his back. "You can't break me."
"Don't be so sure," Ed whispered, peeling back the bandages.
Frank winced.
"Well then," he said. "What are we waiting for?"
© A.G. Travers 2018