She had gone through her own hell. And he’d acted as if what had happened to her was unimportant. Just because every good thing had been beaten out of him, leaving him only an empty shell, that didn’t mean he had a right to inflict his bitter dregs on to others.
The knock on the apartment door broke him out of his self-indulgent pity. What the hell good did any of that do? Best thing that could happen was for him to find the shithead who’d sold them out, deal with him, and then get out of her life for good.
It was with that grim, nasty thought that he opened the door.
“I must say you don’t look any happier than you did the last time I saw you.”
“Thank you for coming, Albert.”
“Anything I can do to help, Declan, you know I will. I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to try.”
“I wanted to talk with you before Sabrina arrived.”
“Of course.” Though pushing seventy, Albert still had that keen look of intelligence in his eyes. Most people who met him probably thought of him as just a somewhat absentminded elderly man. But if they looked beneath the facade, they would see a man who’d had more kills and captures in the Agency than anyone else since its existence.
Declan waited until Albert sat down before he said, “I need your input…your ideas on who did this to me.”
Albert opened his mouth to reply, but Declan held up his hand. “There’s something else, though. It’s been chewing at me since I got back.”
Knowing Albert would wait patiently, Declan took a few moments to put his thoughts together. Even though he still had some doubts about Albert, this man had trained him to take any kind of torture or coercion possible. Albert would know.
“My captivity…I was tortured—beaten, whipped, the works. Almost every shitty thing one human can do to another...I got the royal treatment.”
He appreciated that Albert didn’t express his regret or spout platitudes. What was done was done. “Thing is, I survived them. Not only did I survive them, I never gave anything up. What I learned from you saved my life.”
“I’m glad, my boy...very glad.”
“But they did something else to me, and for the life of me, I don’t know what it was.”
Again, Albert waited for Declan to continue.
“I believed…had no doubt that Sabrina set me up, sold me out. I don’t know how they put that in my head or when it happened. I just remember waking up one day and knowing for certain that she was the one. Hating her, wanting to make her pay was the only thing that kept me alive. When I took her…” He swallowed hard, the horror of his words sticking in his throat. “I planned to kill her.”
“I see.” Though there was no real shock on Albert’s face, sorrow darkened his eyes.
“I don’t know how they made me believe that. Every time I get to the point of thinking of it, questioning it, I get this fierce headache.” Talking about it now had made that headache start pounding again.
“And you came to believe it was only Sabrina who did this to you? No one else?”
“Yes.” He had wondered if they’d used Albert against him, too. But the pounding, insidious headache only occurred when he questioned himself about Sabrina’s involvement.
“Were you able to form an opinion on why she did it? Did you wonder if she planned this for months? Had the plan from the beginning when you first started training her? What was her motivation? Money? Revenge? Did you think she’d been playing you all along? That everything had been a lie?”
“Hell, I don’t know. I’ve asked myself the same questions thousands of times. I. Just. Don’t. Know.” Declan pressed his fingers to the agony now pounding at his temples.
Albert was quiet for several moments, his eyes assessing. Even though the pain had become more intense, Declan forced patience. He saw something in Albert’s expression that gave him hope.
“There’s a new drug. Experimental for right now. Probably won’t be approved by the FDA for years, if ever. Of course, it’s already out on the black market. Its purpose is to help people overcome drug and alcohol addictions. Supposed to help people with severe OCD problems, too. But anything good will always have its downside. It can be used, in conjunction with extreme coercion, to make a person believe the pain is coming from a specific person.”
No, that didn’t sound right. “I never believed Sabrina was actually doling out my torture. I believed she sold me out…was responsible for my abduction and torture.”
“The drugs, used in conjunction with brainwashing techniques, sleep deprivation, and severe pain, could convince you of her guilt. It doesn’t work the same way on everyone. They could have altered the drug. Possibly blended it with a hallucinogen. You and Sabrina have an unusual bond, and she is your one vulnerable area. They could have used that to create the illusion that she was the cause of everything.” Albert lifted a shoulder. “Controlling the mind is still a mystery.”
“And mankind has found a way to screw it up in every conceivable way possible.”
“Sadly, that is often the case.”
“So could the drug still be in my system?”
“You no longer believe she had anything to do with it?”
“I have residual thoughts that she did, but I can fight them now, knowing the truth. But that’s usually when the pain intensifies.”
“I have a suggestion...you may not like it.”
“If it’ll help me figure out what they did to me...help me find the pricks responsible, I’m all for it.”
“I’d like to have a psychiatrist put you under hypnosis.”
Shit. Somebody digging around in his psyche sounded about as much fun as lying in a bed of fire ants. But he’d been through worse shit. “Let’s do it.”
“I’ll set it up. We can—”
The door opened, and Sabrina rushed in like a whirlwind. “Sorry I’m late. Hi, Uncle Al.”
“Sabrina, my dear. Don’t you look lovely.”
“Thank you. It’s good to see you. Thanks for agreeing to help us out.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear.”
Concerned with the dark look on Declan’s face, she asked, “Everything all right? Did I interrupt something?”
“Not at all,” Declan said. “In fact, Albert was just giving me some insight into what might have happened to make me believe their lies.”
“That’s great. What do you think happened, Al?”
“I believe, in conjunction with his torture, he was given a drug to make him believe you were the traitor.”
“But what would be the point in making him believe that?””
“That’s something I can’t explain.”
“Albert made a suggestion of hypnosis to help me try to remember what they did.”
“Is that safe? Won’t that bring you more pain?”
“Can’t be worse than what the SOBs did to me.”
“The doctor would monitor you,” Al said. “If it becomes too painful, he can pull you out immediately.”
“Let’s do it then,” Declan said. His eyes locked with Sabrina’s. “I’d like you to be there.”
“Me? Why?”
“Since you’re the one I blamed, seems only fair.”
Before she could reassure him that there were no hard feelings, he added, “And because there’s no one in the world I trust more than you.”
When he said stuff like that, she wanted so very much to tell him that his words sounded like the old Declan. Since she knew he’d just deny that, she gave a small nod and said, “I’ll be happy to be there with you.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Sitting in the doctor’s office three days later, Declan wasn’t so sure of his decision. In theory, finding out how he’d been brainwashed would be helpful, but going through that shit again sent nausea roiling through him.
Sabrina, who sat in a chair across the room from him, looked about as happy to be here as he was. Would he be hurting her further by allowing her to hear this? It seemed only fair that she be
present. After all, she was the one he’d almost killed because of what he had been forced to believe. He owed her.
And he’d told her the truth. She was the only one he trusted completely. Crazy, since every time he thought about her innocence, his head wanted to explode. This shit had to stop.
What about Albert? Just because the man acted as if he were on the up-and-up, Declan could no longer take chances. Albert had arranged for this session. How did Declan know this wasn’t just another way to get information?
“Declan?”
He jerked his head around. Sabrina stood before him. Hell, he hadn’t heard her move…hadn’t seen anything but the doubts clouding his pain-dulled mind.
She sat on the arm of his chair, put her hand over his. “You don’t have to do this. Finding out what they did to you probably won’t reveal the real traitor.”
“Maybe not, but I damn well need to know how it happened. I would think you’d want to know, too.”
“Not if it’s going to hurt you more.”
“After everything I’ve done, why do you still care?”
A riot of emotions, including anger, showed in her eyes before she concealed them. “We have a history, Declan. Just because you don’t feel the way you once did doesn’t erase my feelings.”
“Everyone ready?”
Declan turned to Dr. Desmond Horatio. Tall, thin, with a shock of brilliant white hair and a long thin nose, the doctor looked exactly how he envisioned a psychiatrist should look. Angela had checked the doctor out and uncovered nothing but glowing credentials and excellent references.
If he and Sabrina had still been as they once were, they would’ve been laughing their asses off about the guy’s pretentious-sounding name. Unfortunately, nothing about this was funny.
Albert stood at the door. “Declan, I’m going to step out. We’ll talk after your session is over, if you like.”
The man knew of Declan’s distrust. A part of him felt guilty for that, especially if Albert was innocent. But that didn’t mean he wanted him in the room.
With Declan’s quick nod, Albert gave Sabrina an encouraging smile and then left the room.
“Okay, Declan,” Dr. Horatio said, “I’d like you to recline back in the chair, get as comfortable as possible. We’re going to go deep into your memories. However, you will be an observer only. It will be like you’re watching a movie.”
Declan frowned. “So I won’t know it’s me? How? Why not?”
“You want to find out what they did to you. However, you don’t need to relive the pain and the trauma of those events. There’s no reason to put yourself through that again.”
Okay. That sounded a helluva lot easier than he had anticipated.
He gave the doctor a grim nod. “Let’s do it.”
“Very well. Empty your mind of everything and concentrate on being at peace. Beautiful puffy clouds in a sea of light blue skies float overhead, you’re lying on the beach, and all you hear is the peaceful rhythm of the ocean waves hitting the shore. It’s warm, the sun is on your face, and peace surrounds you.”
As he spoke, Dr. Horatio’s voice went softer, lower. With his eyes closed, Declan felt as if he were floating with the clouds, the warmth of the sun gently heating his face…he drifted.
“Declan, you’re going to go back and witness what happened in that prison. This man is not you. You can’t feel the things he feels. You’re watching this but you’re not personally involved. Nothing can hurt you. Those men cannot get to you. You are perfectly safe. Repeat after me. This man is not me. I am safe.”
Declan mumbled, “This man is not me. I am safe.”
“Now, count backward from one hundred. At ninety-six, you will be back in that prison, but remember, you will be observing only.”
Following the doctor’s suggestions, Declan began: “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety…”
He opened his eyes to horror.
It was as if he were levitating above the room but still part of it. He could smell the sour odor of unwashed bodies. The ripe and pungent stink assaulted his nostrils. Two beefy men, wearing dark pants and filthy-looking T-shirts, stood looking up at something.
Declan moved his gaze and swallowed hard. A man hung from the rafters. His face was swollen from bruises, but he looked familiar. Who was he? The brutes on the ground shouted up at the man, speaking various languages, cursing him, calling him names. The hanging man, dripping with blood and sweat, stared them down. Declan couldn’t see his eyes but could tell the man’s expression was cold, emotionless.
Snap! Declan jerked at the sound, and the hanging man winced as his body swayed violently. That was when he realized another man stood behind him holding a cane. Another snap sounded. The man’s body swayed again, but this time he made no grimace, no expression. The blows continued, the man continued to sway. The taunts, name-calling, and curses went on. Yet the man stayed staunch. The only movements were from the beat of the cane as it ripped into his skin and the sway of his tortured body.
Finally, a male voice shouted, “Release him.”
The man dropped to the ground and lay there. Was he unconscious? What did these people want with him? Why were they doing this? Why did this guy look so familiar? One of the men, giant-like, jerked the tortured man up and threw him over his shoulders. He carried him down a filthy, dark hallway and threw him onto the floor of a cell. The door clanged shut.
Declan was torn. For some reason, he wanted to stay with the man, find out who he was. But he also wanted to follow the big brute back, find out who these people were and why they were torturing someone.
Another male voice, this one kind but insistent and coming from somewhere above him, said, “Okay, Declan. Let’s go to another day. Same location. Tell me what you see.”
As if he were watching the same program but on a different channel, Declan saw a deep pit covered by a giant grate. The same man was inside. Face dry and cracked, lips swollen, his body was rail-thin, emaciated. He barely looked like the same man, but somehow Declan knew he was—the one he’d seen beaten before. Declan could almost feel his thirst...his pain. A roar of thunder exploded, and a torrential rain beat down on the man. For a few minutes, he didn’t think the man even knew he was being rained on. Then, he looked up and blinked. His lips were so swollen it was hard to tell, but Declan thought he smiled.
Rain gushed down over the man, and Declan could almost feel the poor guy’s relief. The man opened his mouth and allowed the rain to slide down his throat. He took great gulps of it and then used his hands to wash his face, then his body. What horrible thing had this man done to be treated so horrifically? Someone needed to stop this.
As Declan continued to watch, he saw something the man had yet to notice. Water was filling the pit. The depth was knee level now, but what would happen if the rains continued? Would the man drown? Maybe the bastards who’d beaten him would return before then and get him out. It was obvious they wanted some kind of information from him. Surely they wouldn’t let him die.
Hours or days later, Declan didn’t know how long he had been hovering over the guy who was now even more miserable than when he’d been dying of thirst. The water had risen to his neck. No one had come to check on him. The man had yelled until he was hoarse, but no one came. Suddenly, the pit was filled to overflowing, and the man’s head was buried beneath the water. Declan felt his own heart thud in panic...or was that the man’s heart? It was almost like he was in the pit with him. He felt the cool water on his skin. It seeped into his bones. Cold permeated his entire being. Where was the man? Was he dead?
Declan struggled to maintain his objectivity. This wasn’t real. The man wasn’t dying. Just a movie.
A face appeared at the grate. The man was still alive. He was breathing through one of the grate’s openings. Trying to keep himself from sinking, his fingers held tight to the steel frame.
Declan was relieved for the guy but wondered how long he could hold on. Then the man disappeared
. Had he given up? Was he allowing himself to let go? Declan held his breath, fearing the worst. Then the face reappeared again as the man took in more breaths.
Was it hours or days that Declan watched him, wondering each time he submerged if this would be the last time? A deep, violent hatred seethed inside Declan. How dare anyone do this to another human being?
“Remember, you’re just an observer. This man didn’t die...he did not die. Regulate your breathing…take slow, even breaths. You’re all right, Declan. You’re safe.” That voice, kind but firm, pulled him away from his fury.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for the day. Let’s—”
Declan jerked away from the voice. No, he wasn’t leaving. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t leave yet. He had come here to learn something. He hadn’t learned it yet. He would not leave until he had.
Somehow, despite the voice’s insistence, he was back in the prison cell. The man had apparently survived, because he was seated in a chair, bound by rope and duct tape. He looked even worse than he had in the pit. Murky blue eyes dilated and glazed. Drool oozed from his mouth. His hair had grown well past his shoulders. Someone had put it in a ponytail and then tied it to the chair, effectively keeping him from being able to drop his head.
A voice—familiar, feminine, husky, sexy—sounded through the room. He knew that voice. Sabrina...it was his lovely Sabrina. Her voice was filled with life and vitality. He saw the man try to shake his head. Heard him mumble, “No, no, no.” Why? What was...
And then he finally paid attention to Sabrina’s words. Her confession, telling him she had sold him out, that she didn’t love him, had made millions by selling him to his captors. She told him he had nothing to live for. That he should reveal everything, and then they would let him die in peace. She said the same words, over and over and over.
Running On Empty: An LCR Elite Novel Page 24
