This is part one of the Get Out Alive Trilogy; if you haven't read the Preview, please do so (But you don't have to).
Warning for Slight Violence.
I don't own Criminal Minds!
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Those who plot the destruction of others often perish in the attempt. ~ Thomas Moore
The housing market had been hit hard by the recent economy, and this small suburb outside of Boston was no exception. There was a small abandoned housing development; some of it was populated with junkies and prostitutes looking for shelter and a bed, either to pass out in after a high, or for conduction business.
Each of these houses was big, about the size of a small mansion. There were three levels: a large ground level with spacious kitchens and living rooms with the master bedroom off to the side. The second floors were large lofts that overlooked the lower level, also with a bedroom on one end. The basements were large and split into various rooms; some of the walls were completed, and some were just studs of wood separating each room.
But among the empty houses, there was one at the edge of the posting. It was one of the few that were actually completed; it was supposed to be the model house and was furnished with couches, chairs and plastic food, television and computer screens.
A group of men, about 25 of them, were spaced throughout this one house. About ten of them were resting in the loft area of the house, watching a movie on a laptop or sleeping. Another seven were resting in the main living room, playing cards or watching movies on the stolen television one of them had commandeered from the drug lord they had shot when they had stormed the house.
In the basement were the last five. They were pouring over maps and official-looking documents, discussing battle strategies. Among them was an older man, obviously the leader of the houseful of men, who watched the proceedings like a hawk, his face showing no emotion.
One of the men, an older man who appeared to be the same age as the leader, turned to the man. "How's the prisoner?"
The man stared at his lieutenant. "I'm going to check on him," was the short reply.
The man nodded, watching as the leader left the small group and walked toward the back corner of the basement.
When the man reached a door, he inserted a key hanging from his belt and let himself into the room. The only furniture in the room was a wooden desk and a mattress stripped of the mildewed blankets that had been laid on it when the house was new. On the bed now was a figure, his face hidden from his captor by the darkness of the room. The older man reached up, pulling a thin string connected to a single, bare light bulb. The man once again looked at the figure.
Though he was still in shadow, the other person in the room could still be seen as a dark silhouette in the corner. While the figure's clothes were unidentifiable, it was clear the he was blindfolded, his hands were bound behind his back, and his ankle was shackled to the footboard of the bed.
"I hope you have found the accommodations to your satisfaction," the older man jeered as me moved toward the figure on the bed. The figure didn't move; his head was turned away from the older man and was facing the wall the door had opened from.
"It doesn't matter," the shackled man replied in a low monotone. "I'm not telling you. I don't know anything, and even if I did, I still wouldn't tell you."
In response, the older man slammed his fist on the surface of the dresser. "Tell me!" Ian Doyle snarled. "NOW!"
The younger man turned his blindfolded head toward his captor. "I don't need to," he whispered. "They're coming for me, and you won't stand a chance when they arrive."
Doyle responded by whipping his gun from his belt and cracking it across the face of the person in front of him. "When they find you," he hissed at his bleeding, whimpering hostage. "You will either be dead, or my human shield to keep me alive."
….
A/N: Yikes! ...Who thinks this should be rated M?
Please review! :D
*~N_CBAU~*