The door gives easily. It’s why I heard her scream from outside. It wasn’t fully closed, or I wouldn’t have heard her at all. That’s the point of the punishment room. No one to hear you. No one to rescue you.

But he took the lock out. The handle lies on the ground. It’s no longer possible to close it.

The sight that greets me is both something out of the past and a thing that should never, ever have come to pass. Mercedes is here. Mercedes is in the room where my grandfather yielded to the monster inside himself. Where beast overtook man.

She’s bound to the whipping bench. Her body stretched too far. Long limbs not long enough.

Her mouth opens on a scream as Theron’s blow lands, but that scream is caught. Halted. She must hear me and know that I'm here. That I’ve come for her. And for one fleeting but undeniable moment, I see hope in her eyes. Relief.

Then her head drops. Her body jolts as my brother lays down one more stroke across the backs of her thighs and I swear I smell the copper of blood. But maybe that’s an old smell that clings to the walls here. Like his cigars.

I charge him then. With an almighty roar and a rage unleashed, I charge him.

But he’s slow to process because he turns his head to me but remains still. He doesn’t run. Doesn’t raise his arms to protect himself. He just watches with the strangest grin on his face. A look of what? Satisfaction? Satisfaction at what he’s done? Breaking a woman half his size? Or is it satisfaction to see he’s unleashed the beast inside me?

Because at this moment, I am my grandfather.

I take him down, knocking the cane from his hand. He doesn’t fight. Not at first. He laughs this strange, madman’s laugh.

Theron’s head bounces off the floor as we crash down, his body breaking my fall.

“What the hell are you doing?” I trap him beneath my thighs and pound my fist into his jaw so violently that I wonder if I didn’t break it. But there’s that sound again. That laughter.

Unhinged.

Insane.

Inhuman.

He turns his eyes to me and in the dim light I see how dilated his pupils are. See the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the unnatural flush of his cheeks. He looks almost ill.

That could be exertion though. From whipping Mercedes to the point of breaking skin.

So I draw my arm back and smash my fist into his temple this time and I don’t give him a chance to recover before getting up, hauling him to his feet and throwing him against the stone wall.