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Trial Of The Tormentor
by Featherfiend

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Chapter 1

Baghdad, July 5th. The new Iraqi government had started the prosecution of war criminals, under the protection of a few dozen MP’s. Some of the people on trial here had made victims among the American forces as well, so they were here to avoid possible tensions in and around the court. The first man to be led in was one of the most notorious. Dr. Fawzali took a seat in his booth with a composed look on his face. The judge read the conviction:

Judge: “Doctor Abbas Fawzali, you are here to be tried for the torture of several Iraqi civilians and American soldiers. Where is the attorney that will represent you?”

Fawzali: “I am quite capable of attending this mock trial without the help of your government’s lackeys, Your Honor.”

The Iraqi government was being represented by young American lawyer, Marc Andrews. He read the file concerning the doctor’s case once more, and shuddered at the contents. The judge called the courtroom to order and the trial began. Doctor Fawzali had made known that he would not call any witnesses, so Marc’s turn was up already.

Marc: “The first witness I call to the stand is miss Veronica Hendriksen, psychologist of Yale University, who conducted the mental examinations on Dr. Fawzali’s victims.

A good-looking young lady approached the stand, swore the truth oath and sat down.

Marc: “Could you describe, miss Hendriksen, what had happened to the poor people you examined?”

Veronica: “They were in a very poor state indeed Sir. They suffered at the hands of Dr. Fawzali, or at his implements of torture, and most were badly traumatized in the process.”

Marc: “Please go more into detail, miss, how shocking they might be. How were they interrogated?”

Veronica: “Well (ahem!) they had been tickled.”

A collective surprise filled the room, and many of the attendants felt something like a stroking chill caress their bodies.

Marc: “Where exactly had they been tickled?”

Veronica: “Their feet.”

Marc: “Would you say this was cruel, miss Hendriksen?”

Veronica: “Obviously it is very cruel. Research conducted on a great deal of men and women at my department in Yale University showed that only a small percentage of them could stand even to be lightly stroked there. And Dr. Fawzali did far more than that.”

Marc: “Have you got any idea as to what the consequences were for these victims up to this date?”

Veronica: “They all suffered from a fear of being touched, but on the other hand they were all very reluctant to respond to humor. It’s like the very concept of laughter fills them with dread, but I’ll surely have to look into that further.”

Marc: “I thank you for your time, miss Hendriksen.”

The prosecution calls Mr. Henry Jones to the stand.”

A shy young man approached the stand, with a nature that seemed unbecoming to his body, which showed that he spent many hours a week at the gym. He vowed and sat down.

Marc: “Could you tell my why you are here, Mr. Jones?”

The witness looked around until his eyes met with those of Dr. Fawzali, and then he muttered …

Henry: “Cause he tortured me! I was c-c-captured, with my squadron, on May 18th, and they brought us to him, to get the whereabouts of our base camp out of us.”

He got all red in the face and looked like he was twitching to get rid of an itch in his boots.

Marc: “Mr. Jones, do you think you could stand to watch an exhibit video of what happened to some other captive marines, and tell us whether this happened to you as well?”

Henry: “I th-think so yeah. If it’s not too long…”

Marc nodded assent and he gave a tape, marked “Exhibit A” to the bailiff, who put it in a

VCR. The first images appeared on a projection screen and a rumbling noise was heard overhead.

Marc: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must warn you of the graphic nature of this footage, but you require to sit it out until the end to realize what a monster Dr. Fawzali can be.”

The images lightened and Dr. Fawzali appeared on the screen.



Chapter 2

The camera moved and Dr. Fawzali said to it, in Persian with English subtitles by the court translators:

Fawzali: “The first interrogated spy must extract information concerning whereabouts base camp, use the harsh measures as haste is required.”

The camera now moved towards a padded chair, much like a dentist’s, on which a young, all-

American looking soldier was tied up. He was shackled at the wrists and the ankles, and just above the knees to secure him tightly. Fawzali proceeded in English:

Fawzali: “Your name is Jim Smith, is it not?”

Jim: “Yeah it is. Now let me go!”

Fawzali: “We will, as soon as you tell us where your base camp is. Let’s arrange this peacefully, or we must make you a bit more uncomfortable.”

Jim: “I can’t tell you and I won’t! Go to hell!”

His slightly trembling voice revealed less conviction of his heroism than he’d like to show off. Fawzali then gave some orders in Persian to the soldiers, which didn’t need any subtitling, as they quickly responded by untying his bootlaces and taking the boots off, along with the socks. The immobilized soldier was staring very nervously at his insteps, while the torturer was checking out his bare soles. They were high-arched, smoothly ranging in color from slightly pink to slightly yellow and had rather long toes. Another advantage was the size of the feet, which were big indeed. To the horror of the captured man, the Dr. now picked up a long, flexible gray eagle feather. He sat down on a stool at the wretched feet and stroked the feather up and down the soles, from toe to heel, from heel to toe, from toe to heel and so on. Before he got to the heel the first time the soldier was already reduced to a hysterical pile of giggles, and the second time he was laughing full-on. He got halfway through a “Stop, please!” when the VCR was shut off.

Chapter 3

Henry Jones had stopped to look at the film from the moment the captive’s feet were bared. The sounds afterwards however left nothing to the imagination. He remembered when he had sat there. Barefoot, hysterical, with the demoniac dusting his toes…

Marc: “Mr. Jones, I realize this is hard for you, but could you tell me whether you received a similar treatment?”

Henry: “Yes, yes I did.”

Marc: “How long did it last?”

Henry: “About four hours. That’s when I passed out.”

Marc: “Do you hear that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? Four hours of incessant tickling, something not very unlikely to drive a person to permanent mental imbalance, just like Miss Hendriksen explained to us before.”

Jones was excused from the stand. Marc called in his second exhibit. Exhibit B. It was a small book.

Marc: “I’d now like to read for you some excerpts from the Interrogator’s Handbook, written by Doctor Fawzali for his assistants. It contains several passages describing the treatment that he recommends for captured ‘spies’. Most involve the treatment you’ve just seen on video.”

He leafed through the booklet until he got to the desired page.

Marc: “The captive’s feet should be tightly secured and then bared in a slow way to get the nerves of the captive already going. Some men say the anticipation of torture is worse than the actual torture itself. I don’t agree, but it does no harm exploiting the effects nonetheless. The captive should also be shown the implements of torture before you actually start on him. These can be the specially chosen feathers, brushes or your fingers. The feathers should be flexible, but stiff, with a soft end. You can use them for stroking the freshly bared soles, as later on some numbness occurs that makes the feet less sensitive to the agonizing nuances. This can easily be helped with resorting to your fingers, lightly scratching the soles and toe crevices with your fingertips. The brushes are ideal for ‘dusting’ the toes. Carry this on for some hours. By now the interrogated spy will be usually more than happy to oblige to your wishes.”

He put the book away. And turned his view to the jury.

Marc: “You see, ladies and gentlemen, this man is a plain monster who knew very well the suffering he was inflicting. He needs to be judged appropriately, not only because…”

Now a very loud explosion was heard, and a scene straight from a western seemed to enter the court hall. Dozens of masked soldiers entered the room and fired at everyone. A few of them ran towards Marc and a second later he felt a bump on his head.

Then nothing more.

Epilogue

Marc woke up tied to a chair that was much like a dentists. To his horror, it was the same he had seen on the video. The door opened and he heard a familiar voice.

Fawzali: “Ah, Mr. Andrews, you seem to be awake now. The good rebels were so kind as to save us from that boring courtroom. I suspect that you’ll want to take those loafers off. Or, as they say it in your country, cootchee-cootchee-coo…”