A Very Good Man

by P. S. Power

  If he'd been healthy, unwounded and in much better shape... it still would have been out of reach. The cuffs and chains were just too short. Brian thought he could have balanced on his knees, maybe, if he could get up on them. That just didn't seem likely at all. The best he managed in this state took him to a wall, screaming again from the effort. He couldn't even work himself part way up, much less rise enough to be of use.

  Thirst dug in, his throat raw and parched like he'd never even imagined it could be. Inside Brian knew at that moment, if someone would free his hands, he'd commit murder for a big-gulp of Pepsi. Or even Dr. Pepper. Literally bash someone's brains in for it. Or kick them in the groin for some water. He started to chuckle, a low, pain-filled thing that sounded more like a sob. Brian got that the police were bad, evil even, and meant to kill him, but he couldn't understand how come they hadn't done it already. Why torture him first? What did they gain from it?

  It didn't make sense.

  The door finally opened again about a day after that. Brian had gone from just thinking he'd die soon, to wishing for it, just so that he didn't have to put up with this shit any more. In the end Brian just wished he could take the police with him. That kind of evil needed to be stopped. Good people out there trusted these monsters and believed they were actually there to help people. The ultimate con job.

  Brian laughed again, pain stabbing through more places than he could count, but not caring any more, thinking that the ninety percent of bad cops gave the other ten percent a bad name. What really shook him was having spent twenty-three years believing that the police were there to help you as long as you didn't break the law.

  He hadn't, all he'd done was try to save a life. Fuckers.

  Still, when the door opened again Brian couldn't tell if it had actually happened or not. A lot of things had been happening in the dark that he knew weren't real. That he ignored the voice talking to him as well as he had was impressive, though it just told him things like “don't drink the water” and that help was coming. It was a lie of course, his mind trying to get him to live, even when all hope was gone. Was this a dream or hallucination now?

  Probably.

  The silhouette in the door looked big, but then everything did from the floor. It skewed your perception, lying helpless for so long, he'd discovered. Brian tried to ready himself for another beating or possibly something worse. These monsters seemed capable of anything, after all. That they hadn't sodomized him with anything yet was probably just an oversight.

  The man ordered the police to get him out of the cell, barking at them and sounding angry. Gruff and commanding. Powerful.

  This would be the one then.

  The one that killed him and finished what his buddies had started, so long ago Brian couldn't even begin to count the days. Was it a lifetime already? It might be, he knew. Alone in the dark, it was like he'd become something different. Less than human somehow. Broken.

  Still better than the pigs though, so there was that to feel good about. Not exactly something tough to be, was it? Just don't hurt and kill innocent people.

  The police weren't careful pulling him out, just grabbing his arms and dragging. It was agony. One of them kicked him in the leg, hard, when he didn't move, demanding he stand up, even shackled, as an excuse for the extra blow. The bigger man, dressed in a suit, all black, didn't say anything. Instead he just hit the officer, knocking him down. Guns started to come out, but the man laughed at the police and ordered them to put the weapons away in a calm voice.

  “Get the keys for these now. If anyone does anything that even causes this kid to wince before we leave or says anything harsher than “I love you”, I'll drop you instantly. Be glad we're letting you fucks live. We don't have to you know. Mr. Yi is to be shown respect, is that understood?”

  The man leaned down and whispered, “Hang on Brian. Helps coming, it'll be all right now. Keep hanging in there. We need you...”

  Brian cried as they took the cuffs off. It hurt horribly, but his tears weren't about that. Everything had hurt for too long to even consider something so stupid. No, as the pain cut through him, Brian couldn't help but think about the woman and the bar. She'd probably love to just have a little pain now. He should have fought harder for her. Somehow.

  Now that he realized he'd probably live through this it hit him, so hard he sobbed. He didn't save her.

  The big man kneeling close to him whispered that it would be all right, that the pain was going to stop now, soon at least. That got a head shake, and the man looked at him funny for some reason. He got Brian water and helped him sit up, sodden and reeking as he was. The man didn't blink or even try to protect his nice clothes, holding Brian as pain coursed through him, blood and movement returning to the injured limbs on a wave of agony.

  Brian finally drank some water and after a while he spoke, his voice so raw it sounded like dust, not a voice at all. Barely audible even to himself, he forced the words out, feeling like they ripped something from deep inside when he did.

  “She's dead, isn't she?” He asked, not really knowing if the man would know what he meant at all. For all he knew this was a lawyer or some guy from the ACLU. A really tough lawyer, he amended, the officer he'd hit once still sat on the floor, nursing the wound from a single punch. If Brian could have done that, maybe that woman would still be alive right now...

  The man in black didn't ask for any other clarification, just nodded. The answer made the police finger their guns and take a few steps back which earned them a menacing glare.

  “The kid got transported to the site of a Jackal attack, you've read the news lately? Never sure if the police actually require the ability to do that anymore... He fought both of the killers alone, unarmed and without any powers. Fuck, he doesn't even know how to fight. His ability causes him to take the place of people that are about to die, that's all as far as we can tell. His first words after all this crap you fucks put him through is to ask about a crime victim and you want to go for your guns? Seriously? You think he's going to just hop up and start kicking your asses? I'm pretty sure he would have already done that if he could. Though I'm tempted to let him try.” He said all this without menace, but at the same time the police all backed off, most of them finally removing their hands from their holstered weapons.

  Brian sobbed, “I should have done more. It should have been me that died, not her... Why wasn't it?”

  The man dressed in black looked at him and shook his head, but didn't say anything, not even trying to tell Brian that he was wrong. Looking at his wrists, deep bloody wounds rounding them, brilliant red and oozing clear fluid, Brian realized that he could feel them again. He couldn't move them yet, but they burned and ached. That was a good sign, right? Dead things didn't hurt. That must mean his soul wasn't dead yet either.

  He fought to make a fist with his right hand, but nothing much happened. The man saw this and asked him to hang on for a little while, an ambulance would be there soon.

  They took him out the back door through a covered garage, probably trying to keep the press from seeing what they'd done to him. Then again, if a reporter saw him at all, they'd probably just assume that the police had a reason for doing all this. The police only ever hurt criminals right? Thinking about it made him angry again. Not just mad, but rage like he hadn't felt before this whole thing had happened, not ever. It scared him a little. He didn't say anything about it, because he didn't want to frighten the people with him, the tall guy and the ambulance men. They hadn't done anything wrong after all.

  Sitting next to him the nicely dressed man kept talking to him, apologizing for how long it took them to find him and explaining why.

  “The bar... it's in the mid-west, so we focused our search around there first. We didn't think you'd be from two thousand miles away. We found your house three days ago, your roommate told us what had happened, but the police stonewalled us. They knew they fucked up, but wanted a chance to get rid of the evidence before anyone found you. A lot easi
er to cover up a death than a living person that's been tortured like this. I promise I got to you within half an hour of finding out where you were. It would have been faster, but they insisted we call in for verification. Oh! I'm Darrel Lancaster, agent, IPB. You know, the Infected Protection Bureau?” The man's voice stayed casual when he said it, but Brian stiffened all the same.

  The IPB. Fuck, just... fuck!

  They were the ones responsible for taking down the worst Infected. Most of the time they didn't take them alive either. They had Infected that worked for them, their own super team that everyone knew about and, it was rumored, a couple more that did the dirty work that wouldn't look good in the press. Brian wouldn't have even know about that last part, the other teams, except that Carla liked to harp about it to Doug and him, telling them that letting Infected kill the other monsters made sense, because no matter who died, government asset or criminal, everyone else always won.

  Lancaster noticed his unease and gave him a wry expression, “Don't believe the hype, Brian. We don't make grannies and little girls disappear as a rule and if we ever do you can bet they actually did something. Even then, bad press aside, we try to save as many as we can, Infected or not. We're not perfect... but we don't do shit like this to people either.” He waved at Brian's wounds in a general way.

  Yeah. That was true maybe. Brian heard of them killing, but never just torturing anyone.

  That was... oddly comforting.

  They moved him into the emergency room slowly, the doctor on duty glanced at his wounds and wanted to call the police immediately. Brian stared at him but didn't say anything. What could he do if the guy did call them? Running away was simply not an option, since he didn't think he could walk yet. Fear lanced through him, making him feel weak and sick.

  Lancaster laughed, a bitter and dark thing, and recounted everything the police had done and pointed out that it had all been illegal at the time and then told the doctor that if he tried to call the police in on this now, it amounted to aiding and abetting a criminal action.

  When the doctor left the agent shook his head, “That's not true by the way. If he reported it right now it would die in dispatch, hopefully, but nothing would happen to him. I just don't want the police in the area to know where you are yet. Save on problems if they decide to get all worked up. We have other people coming, back-up, they should be here within the hour. After that, it will be less of a problem.”

  They gave him an I.V. and ran tests for hours. They wanted a urine and stool sample, but would have to wait, Brian told them dryly, since he hadn't eaten or had much to drink in... He paused, not knowing exactly how long he'd been held prisoner.

  Lancaster did and told them, his voice sounding angry. “Five days. Held without food or water for five fucking days. He's had about two liters of water since we got him out.”

  They finally moved him into a room at about ten at night, and gave him some really powerful drugs that made him drowsy. He had to sleep with an oxygen mask on, but they let him drink as much water as he wanted first.

  He decided he really liked water now. Before he was more of a soda man, when it came to hydration. Not anymore. From then on, it was the pure stuff if he could get it. It seemed into him... it was wonderful.

  Brian just slept for the first two days, waking up only briefly when a new person came into the room at one point, an older woman, about fifty or so. She stood and watched him, saw him open his eyes and walked to the side of the bed, her voice gentle and soft. Brian didn't really understand her, but he tried to answer anyway. She nodded at whatever he told her and walked away again. Later she came back with a tray of food, just hospital stuff, she told him, but better than nothing.

  Brian realized suddenly that he felt starved, a deep burning hunger that he hadn't consciously noticed until he saw the food in front of him on the green tray. His right hand still wouldn't close, so he used his left to eat, taking it slow, since he didn't want to throw up right now. Cleaning it up would be a pain and someone else would have to do the work. Better to just be careful than make a mess.

  Just focusing on the food for a while, eating one bite at a time, each tasting incredible, even though it was just a beef and cheese sandwich with mayo on white bread and a side of fries, which tasted baked, not deep fried.

  Perfect.

  The lady was dressed nicely, in a turquoise skirt, white top, and a gray sweater with a black pattern woven in that Brian couldn't recognize. Little flowers? She'd also brought him an orange drink, no carbonation, but it tasted good anyway, better than it would have with the sting of bubbles against his still raw throat.

  After the meal was finished he felt stuffed, even if this amount of food wouldn't have even been a snack to him a week ago. Well, he told himself, trying to be honest, it might have been a snack, but not a meal. Certainly not something that left him full. Now Brian didn't think he could eat any more if someone forced him too.

  When he finished the woman next to him smiled and asked him if he'd like more. He told her no, adding “thank you” to it a few seconds later, trying to remember to be polite, even through the drugs. It was hard, the world seemed fuzzy and distant, unreal. Ah, Brian understood in a flash that took minutes, the power of drugs.

  Not anywhere near clear, head swimming and eyes blury, he felt like he'd drifted off, but apparently managed to talk the whole while. The woman sat and asked him questions, her voice staying soft, just loud enough for him to hear. Brian didn't pay attention to most of them, useless things really, as far as he could tell.

  Did he want to harm the police officers that had beaten him? Of course. Who wouldn't? Did he think they deserved to die for it? A few of them probably did, he allowed, trying not to be unfair about the whole issue. The rest should just be put in prison for a while, or better, given the same treatment he was, so they'd learn not to do it to anyone else.

  Would he trade the woman in the bar's life for a chance to kill the police that had hurt him?

  “No.” Brian didn't elaborate, how could he? That just seemed like a nonsense question, who'd do that?

  He laughed at her other questions too, weakly, a breathy sound, since she seemed to be making jokes. Would he trade her life, the doctor's life, to punish the police? To catch the men in the bar? To save the woman? Would he trade his life to save that woman? To save her, the doctor again he got after a few seconds slow and fuzzy thinking, if she were in trouble?

  Of course, he told her, that only made sense. It made him worry about her a little, that she'd even ask such things. Her life was obviously worth more than his was.

  Finally she asked him if he felt afraid of the police. He told her he really did, it wasn't something he wanted to admit, but it was the simple truth. Just thinking about them made him afraid. A deep trembling thing. Terror really. Brian knew it didn't sound very brave, but that really was how he felt. They were monsters. When you encountered that kind of thing, it was best to run away or at least hide, right?

  “One last question then. Let's say the police are here in the hall, and they're going to take one of us to the station and beat them exactly like you were before. They'll take me in your place. If you want me to go, I will. Is that what you want? I don't think you can survive another beating like that right now...” She sounded oddly soft and a little unsure suddenly.

  “No! Don't take her, take me instead...” He tried to climb out of the bed, but his hands and legs wouldn't really work. Brian had to protect the woman if they were coming for her, didn't he? Those evil men would hurt her for sure. Maybe worse than they had him even. A fat guy was a lot less tempting to rape after all.

  His head spun as he searched for something to fight with. He picked up the plastic food tray and held it, barely able to keep it from slipping out of his clumsy half dead hands. Ready to do what little he could, knowing it wouldn't be enough. They had guns and clubs and torture devices. He had a tiny piece of orange plastic. It was too hard to move. He'd gotten halfway to the floor, sliding
on the edge of the bed with the woman trying to stop him for some reason, when Agent Lancaster came in.

  The large man listened to what the woman said carefully, head tilted, something about the police Brian heard, and then walked over to the younger man.

  “Brian, listen to me, there are other agents here now and we took care of the police, they won't come back, Doctor Tull is safe... If they try to hurt her we'll shoot them.” He had to repeat this about a dozen times, but it finally all sank in.

  After they got him back into bed and got someone to fix the I.V. that he'd pulled out of his arm, he fell asleep again. Brian didn't really feel clear for days. Almost ten. He first came back to himself fully as a male nurse, Ken, walked him around the halls to make sure he got what exercise he could.

  They didn't walk long, about ten minutes, his body still aching in places, but not nearly as bad as it had. His legs were stiff and his right hand only closed about halfway, but he thought that if he could close it that far, he should be able to eventually get it back. His left hand was better, but not perfect. Ken walked Brian back to his room and helped him into bed, then asked if he needed anything.