CHAPTER SIX
The door creaked open, the rusted hinges making such a screech it set your teeth on edge. Destry, huddled up in the corner, turned and squinted towards the daylight framing the figure standing there. It was cold in that old, dilapidated shack but Destry was not trembling because of that. It was fear that took him in its much colder grip.
“So,” said the man stepping inside, “feel much like talking yet?”
Destry struggled to sit up. His wrists and ankles were tightly bound with leather thongs which bit ever deeper into his flesh every time he moved. “Only to tell you to go to Hell.”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate.” The man moved across the room. There was a rickety table leaning against the far wall. Precariously balanced on three legs, the fourth corner propped up with a stack of wo
