Through this pain, she glided back from the past into the here and now, to the bottom of the strange cellar of Constantin Summersby.
Unfortunately, the pain on her wrists did not diminish even in the present.
The tie wraps still resisted machining with the blade and rubbed painfully at her sore skin.
Laila would probably still work on those things when Summersby stood over her with a triumphant smile and blew out the light.
But in her crazy life she had learned that fate took an unexpected turn whenever one least expected it.
Fate sometimes went strange ways.
So the family of Jessica's murderer was the main reason why she was allowed to lead a life in freedom after less than a year after her arrest.
She remembered the trip to the police station well.
A young Mexican policeman had sat next to her during the drive, looking at her with stealthy glances.
Indifferent, Laila let go of his detailed pattern and tried to ignore the disgust in his eyes.
The man just did his job.
He did not care what drove her to the bestial act.
Laila could hardly believe that she had so easily and brutally wiped out another life.
At some point she closed her eyes and tried to empty her head and think of nothing.
Scraps of conversation from the front of the car crowded into their meditative silence.
She literally sensed more pairs of eyes looking at her, as if she were something slimy, crawling out of some cave and finding her way into the real world.
Defiant, Laila pushed her lower lip forward.
Should they think what they wanted? The pig had forfeited his right to live as he brutally extinguished the light of her beloved Jessica.
From the passenger seat, she heard soft words.
"That's no mistake. Did you see what she did to him? No normal person is capable of doing that. He was so messed up ..."
The man cleared his throat hoarsely.
"... I almost did not recognise him. The boss will be crazy."
He can not afford such a press shortly before the election.
The answer was probably the driver, because of her neighbours was still no sound to hear.
"There will probably be no trial, as I judge the boss. He'll probably sink her with a nice concrete block on his feet in some lake when he's done with her. He does not understand fun with his family."
The speaker laughed shrilly.
"Hey lady, you could not have picked a more inappropriate victim for your scissors, you know that?"
She tried not to show emotion to the outside, but the grinding of her cheekbones told the attentive viewer that she nervously clenched her jaw.
'What did the guy say? With his family he does not understand fun? '
She leaned her head back against the neck support of her seat, looking desperately at the dirty white ceiling of the car's interior trim.
It is quite possible that the perverted pig was related to a policeman.
No, what had the driver answered? With his family, the boss does not understand fun.
Shit, she had probably killed the favourite uncle of the police chief.
Their future prospects were not very rosy.
The promised trial, which did not take place, also worried her very much.
Desperately, she hid her face in her hands and took a deep breath.
The handcuffs rang softly.
She still smelled his blood and urine on her skin.
Disgusted, she looked at her hands.
Maybe she had a chance to talk herself out of insanity.
In many thrillers she had seen, the defendants had come through with it.
But that would have seemed like a betrayal of Jessica and her agonising death, and she vigorously pushed that thought aside.
Laila looked the policeman to her right.
The man was quite young, barely older than her.
Again and again he gave her stealthy glances.
As soon as Sam made eye contact with him, he looked out of the window and looked at the busy, nocturnal city.
The girl tried to remember where the headquarters of Politician Investigator Ministerial, the Mexican policeman, lay.
'Was not it outside the city?'
She tried to estimate how long the journey would take.
Probably not more than 15 minutes.
How depressing, a car ride where no one talked to her and they all considered her a monster.
As a crowning glory, she awaited a choleric police chief whose relatives had tortured her to death. Would she experience the next morning?
Laila listened to the monotonous singing of the tires on the asphalt.
Suddenly it seemed very important to her to see another sunrise.
She squinted and tried to remember the last one.
But there was nothing, she felt drained and weak.
A deep tiredness overcame her.
But she could not spend the last hours of her life sleeping, which was almost blasphemous.
Speaking of God, he had turned away from her at least that night.
The Girl felt small and lost.
She woke as her forehead made a rough acquaintance with the neck support of the front seat in front of her.
The monotone sounds and the mental and physical efforts of the night she had dozed off briefly.
The driver turned to her, smiling coldly.
"Pardon scissors lady, has the colleague forgot to strap it?"
"Sorry, my mistake."
His two colleagues grinned furtively.
All three policemen got out.
Moments later, the back door of the car opened and she stepped into the cool night.
As Laila straightened up beside the police car, he came to her driver and stared at her.
"Turning around, apparently, my colleague not only forgot to buckle up but also to look at weapons."
He pushed her roughly against the car.
"Stretch out your arms and put them on the roof of the car. Spread your legs. And—no antics."