-1WARNING: This story concerns Domestic Violence and is rated M
Gil Grissom and all other characters and situations related to CSI: still belong to CBS, Anthony Zuicker et al
The remaining characters and situations are all too common in this world.
Thanks to W. Shakespeare for the quotes, including all titles.
No profit will be made from this work.
Jayne's POV
There's a stranger in my living room.
I don't know who he is or why he's here. My husband, John, stopped letting me in on his plans years ago.
All I do know is that the man isn't here by choice. He's tied into a wheelchair and there's a black bag tied over his head. Judging by the silence he's also been gagged in some way.
John was late getting back from work, it's not unusual, but a problem for me, I'm expected to have his meal ready and edible whenever he gets in, although I have no way of knowing when that will be.
Tonight he got back and, when I went to greet him as I'm expected to, he shoved me back into the kitchen telling me not to come out until he came for me.
Ten minutes later he dragged me out of the kitchen and pulled me next door into the lounge. He pointed at the stranger and told me not to touch him or speak to him. I'm not even meant to go into that room unless John is with me. I must have looked horrified, but my husband just told me to be grateful that I won't have to clean in there for a while. Then he shooed me back into the hall and told me to get on with dinner. When I tried to ask if I should prepare any food for the man I got a punch in the stomach. I wasn't told to include the man, so I should have known I wasn't meant to.
Finally it's bedtime. John forced me to participate in the usual routine, and now I'm lying staring at the ceiling. I need to go to the bathroom and clean myself up, but it's downstairs, where the man is. John always comes searching for me if he wakes up and I'm not in bed. I know if he does that tonight he'll assume I've been talking to his captive, even if I go nowhere near him.
My bladder is forcing a decision; I creep downstairs and go straight to the bathroom, past the closed lounge and kitchen doors. I use the toilet and clean myself as best I can, then set off to make the journey back up to our room.
I can hear faint sounds coming from the lounge as I pass. Against my instincts I find myself opening the door, as silently as possible, I don't want to risk disturbing the man upstairs.
I creep inside the familiar room furnished with old office desks and chairs, housewarming gifts from John's uncle, just to get us on our feet in our first home. John's never considered it important to replace them with proper furniture in the last fifteen years, until they actually fall to bits I don't suppose he ever will. The room is illuminated by the orange glow of the street lamp outside. It picks out the holes in the walls chased out when John rewired the house when we first moved in, but never got around to filling in afterwards. For a moment I'm glad that the stranger can't see, because I am ashamed of the state of my home.
The man in the wheelchair is unaware of my presence, the thick cloth of the bag over his head must have muffled any sound I made. For a few moments I watch him as he rocks his body to and fro, apparently trying to get the wheels to move. He's doing pretty well, something will happen in a minute.
Then I see it. I grab the handles of the chair and hiss "Stop" as loudly as I dare. The captive freezes. I apologise for scaring him, I'm very good at apologies. Then I explain what I've seen to the man.
John's 'thing' is electronics, he's not any kind of genius, but he can be pretty good if there's not much imagination needed. He has alarmed the wheelchair. Thin wires are everywhere, over the places where the man is bound, through the chair's wheels and even threaded through the loops around the bottom of the hood. Breaking or straining any of the loops would set off an alarm and alert John to what is happening.
I know that if he hears the alarms go off the captive and I will both pay. I place my hands on his shoulders to keep him still and beg him not to move again. Eventually the heavy black bag moves as the head inside it nods. I touch his hand gently and thank him. I just wish I was brave enough to find another way out.
I leave the room and creep back upstairs. Even in sleep John is controlling, he has managed to leave just a narrow strip of the queen size bed to sleep on, and the entire king-sized quilt is wrapped around his body. I try to get what sleep I can, but cold, discomfort and anxiety all conspire to keep me awake for the remainder of the night.
I spend most of the next day trying to keep out of John's way and wondering what to do. I suppose most people would wonder why I don't just call the police, but I've had sixteen years of training in what will happen if I disobey John, even unintentionally. Besides, the only telephone in the house is my husband's cell, kept securely in his pocket.
I can only avoid him for so long. In some ways I've been lucky today. Often he insists I stay in the same room as him, just sitting, waiting to be told what to do next. As always when John has a new 'toy' he has barely noticed my existence today, but now he's started getting hungry.
I make dinner for both of us. As we finish eating John stares at the leftovers.
"There's too little to bother freezing. Bring the dish, a spoon and a glass of water... Put a straw in it." he adds as an after thought.
I follow him from the kitchen-diner to the lounge. I put the food and water on the nearby desk as John removes the bag from his captive's head. As it comes off I see I was right about the gag. I'm not surprised to see it's made up of strips of electrical insulating tape.
The captive is at least ten years older than us, maybe his late forties or early fifties? I've never been good at estimating age. His hair is thick and curly and the bag, combined with what is probably anxious sweat has left it matted and increased the contrast between dark and white strands. Beneath a furrowed brow two dark blue eyes blink and squint, trying to refocus after so long in the dark.
Before he removes the tape John makes clear the consequences of either of us making a sound or any other attempt to communicate. The hostage nods his understanding, the gag is removed and I begin carefully spoon feeding the man, offering him sips of water between mouthfuls.
Once the food is gone I reach for a tissue so I can remove stray bits of food from the man's face and beard, but I've exceeded my remit and I'm swept sideways by a blow which knocks me to the floor.
As John follows up with a fist to the side of my head the man in the chair shouts "Stop.". John does, but only so he can concentrate on punching the bound man a couple of times before replacing the gag.
Dazed, I push myself up on my elbows, I wish once again that the previous owner had chosen something other than thin brown carpet tiles for the floor. I'm fighting the strong urge to crawl under the office desk beside me, trying to escape only irritates John more.
In spite of his own pain John's victim's eyes seek out mine. There's sympathy there, but I sense he's also willing me to have the strength to stop just surviving and fight. He's relying on me to get him out of this and I break the contact in shame, I have nothing left to offer anyone.
I finally force myself to look at the stranger again, now I see anger and frustration in his eyes too. Nausea is starting to build inside me. When I see that emotion in John's green eyes it is the precursor to violence. Now the wildness of John's stare is focussing on me as John turns to check what his victim is looking at.
Enraged that we seem to have found a way to communicate despite his warnings, John flies into one of his rages. Too livid to direct his fury at a specific target at first he kicks out, sending the wheelchair backwards despite its brakes.
Suddenly a piercing siren shrieks through the room. John dives to reset the alarm, and I try and see what he does, but I automatically removed my glasses and put them safe when I was first knocked down and now I can't see the details of John's actions.
As soon as the noise stops John whips round to focus on me again. I see the madness in the green eyes behind the black framed glasses and instinctively curl up, using my arms to try and protect my head. His attacks have left me with temporary hearing problems before, I don't want them to become permanent.
The blows rain down and I try to put myself in a different place for a while. My vision turns white, sparkling lights flickering in front of my eyes, there's a roaring in my ears.
Suddenly it's over. There was a time when John would cry at this point, apologising and swearing it would never happen again. He doesn't bother with any of that now, just like I eventually stopped bothering to believe him.
I should have left him then, but I had no friends, no confidence and, by then, no job. I want to weep for who I once was, but there's no time for that now.
The front door slams, he often heads out after one of these sessions, unfortunately it's impossible to know how long he'll be gone.
I look up at the hostage. At some point while I was unaware of the world John has replaced the hood, but as I shakily replace my glasses I realise he hasn't bothered to wire it back into the alarm.
Struggling to my feet I stumble toward the man and remove the bag. I pull off the tape too, but keep it carefully, I'll need to put it back over his mouth before John returns.
The man adjusts to the light more quickly this time. He looks at me with concern and asks me if I'm OK. I nod, but don't meet his piercing gaze. As usual my ribs, spine and abdomen have taken the brunt of it, very little shows elsewhere.
"What's your name?" he asks me.
"Jayne," I mumble, but his gentle tone encourages me to meet his eyes once more.
"I'm Gil."
He's looking at me without judgement. I can tell he's afraid, but he's not asking me to help him. He must realise how terrified I am.
The very fact that he's not pushing me makes me determined that, just for once, I am going to do something. I duck down beside the wheelchair.
"What are you doing?" He asks.
"Screwing my courage to the sticking place" I reply, squinting up at him briefly from where I'm trying to locate the alarm box.
A lopsided smile appears on his face and he blinks slowly as he reassesses his initial view of me.
"Shakespeare, Macbeth." he identifies correctly.
Managing to remember that quote is a confidence boost. It gives my brain the impetus to speed up a little as I stare at the alarm, trying to overcome years of conditioning to hide any signs of intelligence. John does not like it when I solve problems faster than him.
After a few minutes of double checking I take a risk, soon I place a nine volt battery in Gil's hand. Carefully I start to trace wires, trying to find any back up power supply. As I do so Gil asks if I know why my husband chose to abduct him.
"A dare probably, or maybe a bet."
I explain that, provided you're male, John is easy o manipulate.
It started with minor challenges to steal things, not necessarily valuables, but things that were hard to conceal, like a tray from a burger bar. John would do anything suggested in this way so he could be part of a group. His electronics skills led to challenges like perpetual 'phone cards or reading and altering information encoded on magnetic strips.
Eventually a guy named Anthony came on the scene, and I started to notice that John's challenges were moving in less 'harmless' directions. I didn't dare mention that to John. Noticing things he hasn't is one of the worst things I can do.
If anyone knows why John has kidnapped Gil, it's more likely to be Anthony than John.
Finally, I'm as sure as possible that the alarm has been disabled. I managed to get back on my feet, then tell Gil I'm going to the kitchen to fetch a knife. I can't wheel him with me, despite the alarm no longer working the wires pass through the wheel spokes and will need to be cut if the chair is to move.
I hurry back quickly and manage to saw through the wire and ropes restraining Gil's right hand before I freeze. There are footsteps on the sidewalk in front of the house and when I look towards the net-curtained window I see a far too familiar shape.
We have a couple of minutes at most before John walks in. I look at Gil, there's no way I can make it look like I haven't tried to free him.
Turning back to the window I stand, paralysed by fear...
A/N The second and final chapter of this story will be going up immediately, I want to split the story here, but not for cliff-hanger purposes.
