by S W Vaughn
Slade slowed his pace.
With the opportunity to breathe came an urgent, painful need to urinate. Before he could figure out the best way to phrase a polite request, Slade faced him and seemed to read his mind.
“There’s a bathroom there.” Slade pointed to a sliding wood panel set in the opposite wall. “Go use it, and be quick.”
Asking to be released from the cuffs would be an exercise in futility, and probably earn him more pain. He nodded assent and moved toward the indicated door.
He shut himself in and heaved a shuddering sigh. At least Slade hadn’t sent the hulking Apollo into the room with him. An unseen fan whispered from somewhere near the ceiling. To the right was a pedestal sink, and over that, an ornate oval mirror graced the wall. A plush chair stood against the far wall. There were no windows.
He shuffled to the toilet and fumbled with the drawstring at his waist. The loose pants puddled around his ankles, and he wiggled free of his briefs.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Maybe his bladder had seized during the night. Then a stream of scalding urine shot into the bowl. His knees buckled, and he leaned on the tank to keep from collapsing.
Panting, he shifted his cuffed hands to the side and pushed the lever down. The yellowed water swirled down the drain, and bile rose in his throat. He willed the nausea away and struggled to his feet to re-dress.
He faced the sink and labored to turn the cold water tap. The handcuffs jarred against the metal faucet and produced loud, echoing clinks in the tiled room. The tap spun slightly and emitted a small stream of water. He cupped his hands awkwardly beneath the flow and caught some fluid, brought it to his lips and drank what he could before it slipped out, enough to ease the sandpaper dryness that coated his tongue and throat. After splashing water on his heated face, he raised his head to mirror level and inspected the damage.
A thoroughly beaten man looked back at him. A wicked multi-hued bruise surrounded one eye, a bright green slit, just visible through a web of dried blood. Above it, a deep gash scored the impact of Nails’s gun. Below, the welt from Jenner’s antenna drew a raised line from his temple to the bridge of his nose. Another bruise darkened the opposite cheekbone, compliments of Slade’s vicious backhand. Dirt-streaked skin and stiff, tangled black hair heightened his wretched appearance.
He straightened, slid the door open and stepped out. Apollo stood directly to the right, an oversized guard dog. Slade’s piercing eyes looked him over, studied him for what seemed like minutes. Maybe he’d done something wrong.
At last, Slade turned and strode through yet another door. He followed without prompting, and refused to look at the meat mass behind him.
The short hallway ended in a spacious hotel-style kitchen devoid of life and movement. They proceeded between an island counter and a bank of shining steel appliances, veered left and entered a large dining room where round oak tables flanked by captains’ chairs rested on a carpet the color of red wine. Curtains of the same shade draped a row of tall, arched windows, and at the center of the domed ceiling hung an ornate crystal chandelier.
The pungent odor of cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils. A lone man seated at a table by a window didn’t bother looking up to see who had intruded on him. He stared outside, his sock-clad feet on the edge of the table. A lit cigarette dangled casually from the hand resting on his propped legs.
He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. Slade cleared his throat. The man tipped his head back, blew an idle stream of smoke at the ceiling, turned and at last regarded them with clear brown, smiling eyes.
“Seth,” Slade said. “Nice of you to join us.” The edge in his voice dulled when he addressed the man, and he almost sounded friendly.
Seth’s smile migrated to his mouth. He ground the cigarette out in an ashtray, swung his feet to the ground and approached.
Slade waved a hand. “This is the boy I told you about. He’s had a rough night. Get him something to eat, then bring him upstairs and have a look at him. I’ll come for him later.” He produced the ring of keys, unlocked the handcuffs and removed them. “Do what Seth tells you, boy, or I’ll find out about it. You won’t like what happens next.”
Slade left the vague threat hanging in the air, but he hadn’t needed clarification.
After Slade walked out, he glanced at Seth and dropped his gaze. This guy seemed friendly, but he doubted he’d stay that way. He waited for the inevitable insults, mockery, or pain.
Seth offered him a warm smile, but not his hand. “Why don’t you go and sit down over there, and I’ll fix you a sandwich or something.”
He couldn’t return the smile, but moved past Seth and walked to the indicated place, lowered himself onto a cushioned seat and propped his arms on the table.
Seth entered the kitchen, returned promptly with a plate in one hand and a mug in the other and set them down in front of him.
Without bothering to examine the contents of the sandwich, he picked it up and bit into it. He barely tasted it, and ate only to stop his trembling muscles.
The other man stared, then shrugged and resumed his window watching until he’d finished eating. He lit another cigarette. “So,” he said through a cloud of blue smoke. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Gabriel.”
“Got it.” Seth started to grin. “Gabriel. My favorite angel.”
He sprang to his feet. “Don’t say that!”
Fast as it had taken him, the surge of adrenalin drained and he slumped back down. Slade would find out and grant him another visit from his sadistic sidekick—or worse, punish Lillith. Shit. He had to control his damned temper.
“Whoa. Okay, kid. Sorry.” The perpetual smile lingered on Seth’s face, and hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe Seth wouldn’t report the little outburst to Slade.
Seth gave him a curious look. “Do you want to tell me why not, though? I have to admit, you got my attention.”
“Jenner calls me that.”
Seth’s eyes widened. The cigarette drooped in his hand. “You’ve seen Jenner already?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.” Seth whistled softly. “Do you need anything—drugs, maybe?” At his questioning glance, Seth said, “I’m a doctor. Well, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“It’s complicated.” Something in Seth’s expression closed, like a light turning off, and his attention drifted to the world outside the glass. He didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t push for details, and after a few thoughtful drags, Seth turned back. “Cigarette?”
“Sure.”
Seth picked up the pack from the table and shook one loose, which he extracted, then picked up the blue plastic lighter. He hadn’t smoked since high school, but he figured it was just like riding a bicycle. Once you learned how, you could never unlearn.
He spun the wheel, touched the end of the flame to the cigarette, inhaled...and discovered he was only part right. His body remembered the method, but his lungs had forgotten how to deal with the invasion. He began coughing with the first inhalation. His eyes watered. Smoke seemed to come not just from his mouth, but his nose and ears as well, burning like vaporous fire.
Amusement danced in Seth’s eyes. When the coughing subsided, he said, “First time?”
“It’s been a few years.” He wheezed, flashed a sheepish smile. Seth laughed, startling him, but after a minute he joined him.
He managed to relax a little and finished the rest of the smoke without incident, then snubbed it out in the ashtray between them. Seth stood and waited for him to get up. He rose, and the man sighed. A frown emerged on his pleasant face.
“Kid, I have to tell you something.” The frown deepened. “I don’t approve of what Slade is doing with you, but I’m not going to make waves either. Just so we get things straight between us. I won’t make things any harder for you while you’re here, but I can’t make them any easier. I don’t expect you’ll understand, but I can’t. So don’t ask. All right?”
“Right.” The fragile shell of comfort that had built in the past few minutes shattered. He hadn’t really expected anything in the way of help, but he had at least hoped this self-professed doctor would treat him like a human being—something no one else in this place seemed inclined to do.
Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Chapter 6
“You’d better walk in front of me. I’ll tell you where to go.” Seth kept his back to Gabriel while he gave orders, as though he couldn’t bear the sight of him. “Head back through the kitchen, same way you came in.”
The constant throbbing ache of his injuries made him slow, restrained his movements as he moved past him and retraced his path to the lobby. He knew he should pay attention to where they were going in case some miracle allowed him a chance to find Lillith and get out, but the effort seemed futile. They headed up a flight of stairs and through a hushed and darkened hallway of closed doors. Exhaustion stalked him, sapping his strength and his will. At the end of the hall, he stumbled through an open door the doctor indicated.
He stood on legs made of rubber and waited for Seth to come in and close the door. The room resembled a school nurse’s office. To the left of the door, a massive desk displayed an oversized paper calendar stuffed into black vinyl corner tabs. At a right angle to the desk lay a low bed made with military precision: pillow square and full, blanket pulled tight without a wrinkle. Beige metal cabinets lined the right-hand wall. A door near the end stood open on a darkened bathroom smaller than the one in the lobby below. Directly opposite the room entrance, a deep blue curtain hung in another doorway.
Seth brushed past him to open one of the cabinets and rummage through its contents. “Get undressed, kid.”
With trembling hands, he reached for the drawstring of his pants. If the treatment he’d received so far were any indication of the new life he’d been thrust into, he couldn’t expect anything good now.
Rage threatened to overtake him. Lillith.Remember, they’ll hurt Lillith.
He stepped out of the pants and managed to tug free of the shirt. Seth turned to face him, a syringe in one hand and a vial of amber liquid in the other. “Got to give you this first, just in case...you...” Seth trailed off after the first glimpse of his injuries.
“Jesus, kid, how are you still standing?” Concern flooded his eyes, and he took his elbow and steered him to the bed. “Here. Sit.”
He perched gingerly on the edge of the mattress. Seth put the syringe and vial on the desk and went to the cabinets, muttering under his breath. “...frigging goons...didn’t need to...bad idea...told him not to...”
Seth stalked back to the desk and deposited an armful of supplies. Selecting an alcohol wipe from the pile, he tore it open and swabbed a spot on his upper arm, then filled the syringe. “Antibiotic,” he explained, lightly grasping below the disinfected area. He plunged the needle in. The liquid burned, made him grimace.
“Sorry. The best way to do it is fast. You’ll need another few doses of that. Damn.” Seth crouched to eye level with him and sighed.
“I know Jenner didn’t do all this. He messes with minds, not bodies.” He waved to indicate the bruises blanketing his torso and stomach, and the damage to his face. “I suppose you have Apollo to thank for it.”
He shook his head. “That was Diego and Nails, mostly.” He touched the corner of his mouth. “This was Slade.”
A brief spasm of anger crossed the doctor’s face, but fled quickly. “And those?” he asked, pointing to the gauze around his wrists. No longer white, the bandages were crushed and stiff, rust-brown with dried blood.
His lips pressed together at the recollection. “I was tied. Rope. I didn’t know what was going on, so I wanted to be ready in case I could get out. I...”
“You what?” Seth gripped one of his forearms, pulled the wrist closer and touched one of the bandages. Pain sizzled through him and drew a wince. “You’re telling me you did this yourself? Did you try to break the ropes or something?”
He nodded and looked down. “I almost had my hands out. If Slade had waited just a few more minutes...” Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to take him down, but if he could have… Damn it. Lillith had been right outside the door. So close. This nightmare wouldn’t be happening if he’d only gained that last inch. He had failed.
“Marcus, you greedy son of a bitch,” Seth said through his teeth. He released him abruptly and stood. “We’re going to have to soak those bandages off. Who put them on?”
“Jenner,” he whispered. “He made me... He had a needle. Stuck me right through here.” He held a hand over his chest, but didn’t touch the tender spot. “Made me put the chains on. Told me not to sleep. Left me there all night.”
“I’m sorry,” Seth said at last. “He shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”
Yeah, you’re sorry. Bitterness nearly choked him. But you won’t do anything about it.
“I have to check you before I can start fixing you up. It’s going to hurt. Do you want to take something first? I have codeine, Vicodin, Percocet...”
“No. No drugs.”
Seth favored him with an odd look, shrugged and stood. “I’ll be right back.” He entered the small bathroom. The light came on, and water rushed in a sink.
Run!
He was halfway to his feet and measuring the distance to the door when realization clobbered him and he collapsed back on the bed. He couldn’t find his way out, barely knew where he was. Besides, if he did manage to achieve freedom, what would happen to Lillith? He had to bide his time, to find out more about this place and the people in it. And he had to learn where they were keeping his sister.
Seth returned carrying a plastic basin half full of water, brisk and economical in movement, professional in demeanor. A doctor, despite his casual attire. He set the basin on the desk and knelt in front of his patient.
Cool, skilled fingers skimmed his ribs. He grunted and gripped the edge of the bed.
Seth probed and frowned. “Abrasions, a few small fractures—here, and here. Christ.” The professional mask slipped for a moment. “Nothing I can do for broken ribs. They’ll have to heal on their own. I’ll wrap them, though. That should help control the pain.”
Seth straightened and grabbed a wide roll of elastic bandage from the desk. “I’ll need you to stand up and raise your arms.”
Taxed shoulder muscles sent sharp, stabbing needles down his back as he complied. He stifled a groan.
“Sure you don’t want any drugs?” Seth asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Your funeral.” Seth wrapped the bandage taut around his ribs. The compression shifted the dull ache in his torso to a pitched groan, and he clenched his teeth, felt perspiration bead at his temples and streak down his jaw line. At last, Seth secured the end of the bandage with two metal butterfly clips and stepped back.
He let his arms fall.
“All right. You can sit down, and we’ll take care of those wrists.” Seth fetched a folding stool from the cabinets, placed it in front of him and transferred the basin to the stool. “Here. Soak. Make sure both the bandages are immersed.”
He lowered his hands and wrists into the warm water. The pain intensified, then the water soothed the sting. The doctor assembled peroxide, ointment, and fresh bandages. Maybe he could find out something more about this place if he talked to the guy. “So, how did you end up here?”
Seth froze. Without looking at him, he said, “You mean what’s a nice doctor like me doing in a place like this?” The statement held unmistakable bitterness, but Seth seemed to recover quickly. “Sorry.”
Seth glanced into the basin, where dissolving blood clouded the water. The frayed ends of the gauze drifted and wavered in gentle motion. “I was—I lost my license,” Seth said. “I treated prostitutes, in the open. People didn’t like it. I screwed up some meds, I guess, and...a couple of girls died. Take your hands out.”
He lifted his arms clear. Seth whisked the basin awa
y and placed a towel on the stool, snagged a small pair of scissors, cut a section of the sodden gauze and began to unwind it. Pain choked Seth’s voice when he continued. “I knew a girl that used to work for Slade. She brought me here. I offered to keep taking care of the girls. I still had contacts for supplies, drugs. This is going to hurt.” He reached for the peroxide, opened it, tilted the brown bottle and splashed clear liquid on his abraded skin. Foam hissed and bubbled at the wounds, and he clenched his jaw against the sting. “You’ll have scars here. I don’t have the right stuff to prevent it.”
He gave a slow shrug. He had other scars. Two more wouldn’t matter.
“Slade offered to pay me a lot to stay here, play doctor and keep my mouth shut.” Seth used a clean towel to pat the excess moisture away and began to wind a new bandage around the wound. His eyes came up. “End of story.”
Both remained silent while Seth repeated the process with the other wrist. He cleaned and dabbed ointment over the open skin on his face, stood, and cleared the supplies away. Finished, he sat in the wheeled chair behind the desk. “Well, turnabout’s fair play, right? So even though I already know, what are you doing here?”
“I came for my sister. But how could you know that?” Frustration chipped at the deliberate barriers he’d set to keep his temper in check. “How does Jenner know so much about me? And why was Slade looking for me? Damn it, none of this makes sense!”
“Whoa. Breathe, kid.” Seth inhaled sharply, as though he were demonstrating the process. “I can’t tell you much. Jenner—he’s a psychiatrist by day and a lunatic by night. No, he’s a lunatic all the time. Unfortunately, he and I have more in common than I like to think about. As for Slade...let’s just say he’s well connected. You haven’t exactly been discreet looking for your sister, right? It’s a matter of leverage.”
“But why? Why me? What does he want from me?”
“Whatever he can get.”
