“Matthew?” Aysha gasped as she saw the state her dear friend was in.
Matthew’s hands were tied with chains that were bolted to the ceiling, keeping him in an upright position on his knees. There were small remnants of his shirt around his torso, and it, and his pants, were covered with his blood.
Martha ran to her husband and knelt in front of him. His head was hanging forward, and Martha gently touched his cheeks and whispered his name, but he didn’t respond. Aysha walked behind him, and even though she knew what to expect, nothing could prepare her for what she saw, and she gasped and put her hands over her mouth.
Matthew’s back was torn to shreds, and judging by various healing stages of the wounds, he had been whipped every day, probably until he passed out. Aysha’s eyes started to
