Author's Note:

Jayne, I finally found the piece you were asking me about. Here it is. Please be patient with me, you are asking me to sort through countless chapters of a story I began writing more than three years ago. If I'd known this was going to happen, I would've assigned numbers to each title so I could put them in numerical order. I'm also in the midst of All in Good Time –which is not a loosely Scarpetta based AU, but rather a JAG one. As I have time to locate and properly organize the chapters of this story, I will put them here for you and anyone else who wants to read them.

For everyone else who isn't currently familiar with this body of work, this chapter alone isn't going to make a lot of sense as there is little context to base it upon. Things will become clearer as I have time to post.

Brief summary-

Much of this story deals with the life and times of Michele Wesley, Benton Wesley's oldest daughter. Although she is not an original character of mine technically-she was mentioned in two of the earlier Scarpetta novels- However, she was mentioned so briefly that for the most part her character and personality are my own creation. For those of you who are familiar with Patricia Cornwell's work, in this little AU villain Temple Gault did die as written by the original author, however, before he died he sired a son who grew up to become every bit as malignant as his father. Junior holds Kay Scarpetta and Benton Wesley personally responsible for his father's death, and he wants revenge. What follows is an excerpt from an epic that began in 2010 and still continues today. In this work, Michele is held captive by Junior who erroneously believes that her father has entrusted her with evidence that will see him locked away forever. He and his hell bent ballerina girlfriend are trying to torture her into giving up this evidence that she doesn't possess. In the first portion of the chapter (the part that is italicized) she is restrained, drugged, and in the throes of a terrifying nightmare brought on by the psychological torment of her captivity.

As I said before Janie, there will be more of this story posted as soon as I have time to sort through it all. Right now my first priority is to All in Good Time, a story which will continue as soon as I remember what I did with the most current chapter in progress.

Be advised, before you precede, this particular chapter was violently disturbing and contains some vile language.

Closing The Door to Hell

POV- M. Wesley

I hear someone calling to me, telling me to wake up; a kind, warm voice with strength in its depth. Who's calling me? I can't make out the actual words. I just have the sense that he, whoever he is, wants me to wake up. Who's there? Dad? Kelley? The sweet old widower who lives next door to me in Richmond? I can't tell. He calls out more loudly and there is worry present in his voice.

"Michele. Michele! Can you hear me Michele? If you can hear my voice answer me; please. Where are you Michele?"

I call out, "I'm here. I hear you."

"Come to me Michele."

I want to obey the warm frightened voice calling out to me, but I can't. I can't move. Why can't I move? I yell. "I can't! I can't move. I'm stuck. My legs don't work. Help me!

"Try harder Michele! We can't find you!"

"We? Who's we?"

Suddenly the one voice becomes many.

Michele we want you … to open the door. "My neighbor's voice calls out from behind the large door that materializes out of the damp mist that surrounds me. I pull and pull as hard as I can at the knob but the door won't budge. In frustration, I pound and pound on the door until my fists hurt. Defeated I sink to my knees; scared and sobbing.

"Please come find me. I'm lost. I'm scared. I'm hurt. I want to go home."

I turn; hearing yet another familiar voice. I'm nine with skinned up knees and a sun burnt nose, and Mom is mad at me. "Michele, how many times do I have to tell you not to wander off?"

"Aww, please don't be mad Mom. I didn't mean to get lost….Wait….. Mom; slow down! Don't leave…please. Come back!" I stare at my dirty old sneakers; trembling and squeeze my eyes shut.

Another voice and I look up again. I can't see anything at all. It's dark and warm, and I smell…. wood…. Yes wood…Cedar maybe, but I don't know for sure. I'm trying to be quiet. I'm trying not to giggle. I hear him. I hear Daddy. He's home. I have to be quiet. Like a mouse. Be little and quiet like a mouse. Don't move. Don't wiggle. Don't laugh. Don't even breathe. He'll find me.

I hear him. "Connie, where's Michele? I can't believe she actually let me get in the door without throwing herself around me."

"Who knows? That girl has been an imp all day. For some reason she's taken to playing hide & seek."

I hear Daddy laugh. "Well, what's wrong with that? Six year olds do that; don't they?"

"Sure they do, but most of them tell you when they're going to hide. But, not your daughter! No…she just crawls into some dark hidey-hole and waits to be found. She doesn't bother to tell me that we're playing a game, and by the time I go looking for her she's gotten tired and fallen asleep, so she doesn't answer when I call her. It scares me Ben, and she doesn't listen to me. You go find her, and talk to her. Make her stop doing this."

I can hear him looking for me; hear him playing the game. "Michele….. I wonder where she is. Come out; come out wherever you are.

Don't move. Shhh. Be still. Don't wiggle. I bury my face in the quilt inside the chest at the foot of their bed to smother a giggle.

He's in my room; looking in my closet. "No luck. Where can she be? Nope, not under the bed. Connie, I think she ran away. I can't find her." He says in a silly voice. I hear him coming closer; walking down the hall. His bedroom door squeaks on the hinge. I hear him walk around the room checking lots of spaces. I know he's close.

"I guess we've lost her Connie." He teases, "We need a new kid." He declares opening the lid to my hiding place. I see him. He smiles down at me and kneels. "Never mind I found her. He calls over his shoulder; reaching down to lift me from the folds of quilt. I know he will hug me before he fusses at me for scaring Mom. I reach out for him but the lid slams shut and when I try; it's too heavy to lift. It won't budge .

"Daddy! Daddy let me out! I'll be good. Let me out! Please." The walls of the chest start to narrow in on me, and I scream choking on the bile that rises in my throat…

"Michele, It'll be alright" I hear Kelley say as I choke on vomit. "You'll be alright. Don't hold it in Freckles. Let the poison out so you can get better and we can go home. He holds my hand, and watches me wretch, and whispers nice things. I am in the hospital after that idiot kid at the Purple Spoon made me sick to get back at me for stopping him and his cousin from hacking into AFIS. I know that there will be a trial. I know that that particular nightmare is over even in the midst of this nightmare. I know it's only a bad dream I'm having, but I can't wake up. I can't open my eyes.

I did open the door. Mom did not leave me. Dad did open the lid of the chest. They did not leave me; abandon me. I know I got better. I know I left the hospital with Kelley. This is just a bad dream. I will my eyes to open, but they are sealed shut. I don't want to finish this nightmare; don't want to see what hell my drugged mind will offer up next, but I am powerless too stop it.

The day to leave the hospital finally comes, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid Kelley won't come to get me. He does come. He smiles at me and I want to hug him, but his face goes hard and cold and he slaps me and screams at me. "Shut the hell up, bitch! Quit your god damn screaming. You're gonna wake Temple up. You don't want to do that. Do you?"

My eyes finally fly open, and Kelley's face changes shape. He becomes Helena. She is shaking me violently and slapping my bruised face. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the hell up!"

What she was saying while I dreamt registers. Not Kelley; He didn't hit me. it was her; she slapped me; not him. I finally hear myself screaming and I bite my trembling, swollen lip hard to silence myself. She punches me in one inflamed shoulder, bringing me fully awake.

Forgetting my restraints, I try to sit up, and the pain makes me stop instantly. "I'm sorry. I'll stop now. I'm okay. Can I please get up I have to use the bathroom."

"No."

Please! I have to pee!

I watch her shrug. "So pee then, but Temple won't like it." She warns me staring at her own badly bitten fingernails.

I hate her. I've never truly hated anyone before this; but I hate her! Rage coils inside me. C'mon Michele think! I order myself. Damnit! I've got at least fifty pounds on this stupid, battered, twisted, anorexic little freak! She may be meaner than me, but damn it, I'm smarter and can think for myself. She's nasty mean but Temple controls her every move and she's weak-minded enough to let him. In between her damn beatings I have watched them. Even in my diminished capacity it's clear she's afraid of his wrath.

"No he won't like it if I wet the bed Helena, but if I tell him you were here and allowed it to happen; knowing how he hates germs. Who's he going to be madder at; me, or you?"

I watch her consider this. "Shut up, bitch." She hisses as she starts to untie one ankle restraint. She stops and glares at me as I look longingly at the open basement door. "You give me any trouble; I'll save Temple the effort and beat you to death myself! You hear me?" She retrieves the walking cane she's been beating me with from a corner of the basement, and I can't help but tremble.

"No trouble Helena. I swear. I just want to go to the bathroom."

She glares again but sets about untying me. She watches me like a hawk while I hobble to the dark, tiny closet-size half bath in this obsessively clean rotten basement. If I live, I'll never again smell Clorox without remembering this hell. She stares from the open doorway even while I relieve myself. Finishing up, I ask, "Can I wash my face.

She gives me a nasty look, but shrugs. "Wash clothes are in the drawer." She turns her back while I look at my battered face in the mirror. The sight makes me want to cry. One eye is swollen shut. My lip is split and fat. There's hardly a space anywhere on my face that isn't puffy or bruised. My jaw hurts badly. I barely recognize the face I see, and I guess that is why she turned away. She can't look at what she's done to me. I hate her and my blood boils as I fight for control of my drug- addled brain.

I wet a cloth and pick up the soap in the dish. Underneath the soap I find a sweet gift that nearly makes me weep with pure unadulterated joy, but somehow I tuck the emotion away and quickly hide the gift away in my palm before I go about washing my bruised face.

"Enough!" She barks trying to sound like her man, but failing.

She yanks me from the bathroom back to the bed, washcloth still in hand. Water droplets splatter; making a wet mess on the floor, and she comes at me with the cane, but I have a surprise for her. I use all my will power to move my tortured arm; sliding the soap-caked razor blade I found across her neck.

The cut is not deep enough to be fatal, but it accomplishes exactly what I wanted. I catch her off guard. Shock silences her and she drops to her knees, clutching at her own throat. I see fear in her eyes and a lightning bolt of satisfaction rocks through me, but I have to move fast before shock dissipates, and she realizes that the wound won't kill her and starts to scream. I wrench the cane from her other hand. Hanging from that damn meat hook for hours did nothing good for my shoulders, and I know it will hurt like hell, but adrenaline drives me onward. I lift the cane to my left shoulder. I dig deep for every ounce of power within me and swing for the fence like the ball player I am.

If the blow had missed; if it had not connected with her forehead, I would be laid out on the floor too; my own momentum toppling me. I drop the cane as liquid fire scorches through my shoulders and arms. I kick at her to be certain she is truly down and out. Satisfied I glance at the open door at the top of the basement stairs. Temple must sleep like the dead. I could tell he was in pain himself earlier when he stopped the last beating. I hope he overdosed on a damn horse tranquilizer. I start to just bolt for the door, but the adrenaline surge has my muddled mind clearing a bit. I thank God she fell beside the bed. I won't have to move her. I grab the ligatures previously used on me. I wrap both her arms around the bottom portion of a bed post and bind her wrist together. I stuff the wet washcloth in her mouth and tie another ligature as a gag so she can't force the cloth out when she wakes. I use a third one to bind both of her ankles together.

I approach the door slowly. Going up the stairs is pure hell. I'm pretty sure at least one of my ribs is broken. I can't breathe deeply without horrible pain, but the sweetness of freedom calls me forward. I peek out and see nothing to alarm me. I hear nothing…. except for the god awful sound of Temple Gault, Jr. snoring in some dark recess of the house. As I brave my way into the kitchen at the top of the stairs; I change my mind. That sound isn't awful. It's glorious! I stand in the dark kitchen and look around. I see an exterior door and for a moment I am so giddy that my knees start to buckle. I slowly shut the basement door and lean on it for a moment gathering my wits and my strength. There is a key sticking out of the lock on the basement door. I lock the door and drop the key in my shirt pocket. Hopefully I'll have a while before he wakes. My body is on fire, and I'll have to move slowly. A locked door with no key, might give me a minute longer.

I wish I knew where my slacks and shoes were. I woke up without them when I first got here. He took them. The shoes to hinder injury to himself, and the pants he took, no doubt, as a means of humiliation. I want them but, I'm not about to waste precious minutes looking for them. My underwear and blouse will suffice.

Squaring my mind on the next step, I approach the back door praying there is no alarm. I don't see a key pad nearby. I turn the deadbolt. I hold my breath. Gault snores. I open the door; waiting for the shrill tattle-tell cry of an alarm. There is none. I step out into the warm night air, and close the door to hell behind me.

I have no idea how long I wandered around in the woods beyond the clearing his house stood in. But I am beyond fatigue and miserable with pain when the sun begins to kiss the horizon. I have no idea where I am. I sit to rest a moment and am so weary; I decide I may just give up. I'm away from him and his bitch, but I have no shoes, no pants, and no phone to call for help. Soon he will wake, and come looking. He will be pissed, and I cannot fight him. I'm dehydrated, and I'm battered. My left side throbs worse with each shallow breath. I start to cry dreading that he will get me again, and kill me. Or worse, that he will get me again and not kill me. The crying makes the pain in my side worse, so I tell myself to suck it up. I try to focus on breathing easy. Slow shallow breaths that don't hurt…..much.

When my breathing slows I hear it, and for one terrifying moment I think it can't be real. I think I'm hearing things. God, am I that far gone? I'm losing my mind. I sit perfectly still and listen to the beautiful sound of tires humming along pavement not far away.

I'm not hearing things. To the right; just beyond those trees…. Roads with tires on them mean cars. Cars with people in them! I almost smile, but it makes my battered face hurt even worse. One last shot of adrenaline blazes inside me and I'm up; crashing clumsily through bushes and tree branches that snag at my skin, but I don't care.

Suddenly the road is under my feet. I hear a car horn blare, and brakes squeal in protest of a sudden stop. I smell pavement scorching rubber. I become dizzy and fall to the ground. A car bumper is mere inches from my face, when I hear a car door slam and a woman's voice saying "Holy shit!"

She kneels on the payment and looks at me. "Sweet Jesus! Michele is that you?"

I can't see her clearly because one eye is swollen shut, and I'm crying again, but her voice is oddly familiar. I mumble, "How….. you know my name?"

"Michele, it's Dana. Agent Dana Bellisaria."

I will myself to focus on her and the effort drains the last drop of strength in me. "Oh, hi Dana. Can you take me home now please… and maybe call Kelley too…I really want to talk to him please."