Author's Note: The long wait is finally over. This is the promised sequel to Wounded and Scarred. If you'd like to read or reread that, feel free to do so, but it isn't necessary to understand this story. I apologize that it took me so long, but this story is much more complex than the last one. It is rated M because it contains some very mature themes. Thanks to redrider6612 for helping me brainstorm through writer's block and for all her editing. Thanks to FauxMaven for her editing and helping me come up with chapter titles. Thanks to luli27 for her legal input. All errors are my own.
Brennan leaned back in her chair, sighing in relief that she'd finished the next chapter of her latest book. Her agent was pushing her to finish the whole thing, preferably as soon as possible. Thinking back over the last few weeks, she decided it was entirely understandable that she was a few chapters behind.
When she and Booth informed Cullen that they'd decided to pursue a romantic relationship, he hadn't split them up as she'd feared, but they were on probation. Between their heavier-than-normal caseload and a few dates with Booth, her writing time had been severely limited. Plus, she'd met Celia for coffee a few times.
Speaking of Celia, Brennan glanced at the clock on the wall. If she didn't leave right now, she'd be late meeting her new friend for lunch. Grabbing her jacket and purse, she headed toward the exit.
She zipped her coat against the nippy fall air and picked up her pace, hurrying toward the deli that had recently opened next to the Circuit City. She had been looking forward to introducing Angela to Celia, but the artist had come down with the flu.
Opening the door of the deli, Brennan stepped into the warmth. It only took her a moment to spot her friend sitting at nearby table. She shrugged out of her coat as she walked toward the empty chair.
"Hi, Celia," she said.
"Hi, Temperance. What's up?"
"Nothing much. Just the usual writing and working."
The other woman laughed. "Yeah, meeting me for coffee, and a few dates with Seeley. Speaking of Seeley, when are you two coming swing dancing with us again?"
"We've had so much work, we can hardly find a moment to ourselves. But it looks like things might be slowing down, so maybe this weekend?"
"You know I'm gonna hold you to that!"
The waiter cleared his throat to get their attention. "What can I get for you today?"
Both women ordered the soup and salad special.
"I can't believe it's only been a month since Sam and I met you guys at that dance club," said Celia. "I feel like I've know you forever."
Brennan smiled. She didn't normally make friends this quickly, but something told her she could trust this woman. They didn't have a lot in common, but they were both independent and career-oriented.
"I can't believe I didn't know that Booth could dance like that. You two totally amazed the crowd."
Celia giggled. "You know what? The place was packed more than usual the next weekend, and last week the owner asked me if 'that guy I danced with' was going to be back."
"If you're going to drag us out dancing regularly, maybe I'd better take some lessons."
"Why the sudden interest in dancing? I don't get the idea that you love it."
Brennan shrugged, not willing to say why. Booth was a good-looking guy, and there was no way she was going to watch him dancing with other women. If she had to take a few lessons to catch up, so be it.
The waiter arrived with their food, and they began to eat. The rest of lunch passed pleasantly for both women. Conversation flowed easily and the food was tasty. As they stood to leave, Brennan looked out and saw the wind had begun to blow. She shivered thinking about the walk back to work.
Noticing the direction of her friend's gaze, Celia offered, "I could give you a ride to the Jeffersonian. My car is just around back."
Brennan nodded gratefully, and they exited the restaurant and turned into the narrow alley toward the parking lot in the rear, chatting about the fall weather and an upcoming dance recital at Celia's studio.
Perhaps that's why neither of them noticed the furtive footfalls behind them. Brennan felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of her neck the moment before strong muscular arms jerked her backward against a man's body. Her attacker pressed a cloth to her face. Immediately, she held her breath, trying not to inhale whatever chemical was on the cloth. She reached for the arm around her chest to throw him, but he tightened his grip forcing the air out of her lungs, causing her to gasp and inhale the cloying smell of chloroform.
When Brennan regained consciousness, her body ached from being in an uncomfortable position. As she moved her arm to relieve the tension in her neck, Celia groaned.
"Celia, Celia," Brennan said, gently nudging her friend. "Are you okay?"
The dancer groaned, "My head is killing me and I feel nauseated, but otherwise I think I'm okay."
Brennan smiled at her in relief and then the two turned and examined their surroundings. They were in a large concrete room, without windows. The single double-door looked very sturdy and there were oddly shaped openings near the floor similar to pet doors. A clock, a speaker, and a thermometer hung directly above the door. Apparently the room was fifty-eight degrees. 'And a bit chilly,' she thought.
"The only way out is the door," Brennan told Celia.
Pointing to the far corner, Celia noted, "There's no privacy. The bathroom's right out in the open and there's no curtain for the shower."
"That corner could almost be a movie set from a 'Spaghetti' Western. The only thing the saloon's missing are chairs and tables and those swinging doors."
The corner to their right was empty.
The room was brightly lit by an unusually large number of lights affixed to the ceiling and upper walls.
"Afraid of the dark much?"
"I don't know what that means."
"Well, there's no need for this much light, so somebody must be afraid of the dark."
"Oh, right. That makes sense I guess."
"Those poles can't be supporting the ceiling," Celia said.
Brennan glanced toward the center of the room. Several poles stretched from the floor to the ceiling, but none of them looked sturdy enough to be supporting the ceiling. Plush area carpets of various colors and patterns covered the cement floor.
"There doesn't seem to be any logic to the way this room is decorated. I don't think it could even be considered eclectic. Did you notice the bed?"
She and Celia were sitting on a very strange bed which occupied the last corner. A large triangular prism sat diagonally across the mattress and the two of them were propped against it. Smaller ones ran across the head and the foot of the bed, and protruding from each were three wedges. The sheet covering the odd bed was made from a variety of white fabrics inexpertly stitched together, flannel next to cotton next to corduroy next to satin. Brennan nudged the prism in the center of the bed. It didn't move.
Giving up on the bed, she said, "We might as well see what else is here."
She got off the bed and went to examine the bar, systematically opening drawers and finding only swatches of diaphanous fabrics of varying dimensions.
"Other than a few pieces of fabric, there's nothing here. And the cups and bottles are painted."
Meanwhile, Celia riffled through the vanity. The drawers held the usual things including toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, soap makeup, hairdryer, curling iron and an electric razor.
"All that's in here are the usual toiletries."
Looking around the room one last time, Brennan finally acknowledged the first details she'd noticed, but hadn't really wanted to think about. Cameras covered the room like flies on a corpse.
"Temperance," Celia called, her teeth chattering, "I'm getting really cold."
"I take it you don't handle the cold well?" she asked with a smile, heading toward the bed.
"Nuh uh, never have," Celia answered.
"Muscle movement creates heat."
Although the comment was cryptic, the dancer understood what her friend was saying.
"So we should do something aerobic."
After a long while, Brennan began to tire. "I've had enough."
She sat down on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. A few minutes later Celia joined her and they huddled together for warmth. With nothing else to do, they talked for a little while. Then conversation gave way to silence.
"I think I'm going to take a nap. I'm tired," Brennan said. "It won't help me keep warm, but it will conserve energy."
When they woke up a few hours later, the room was much colder, and Celia shivered almost constantly.
"What are they doing… running the air conditioning?" Celia asked sarcastically.
Literal as usual, Brennan replied, "That's a reasonable assumption, given the current temperature."
"Huh?" the dancer said in confusion.
Brennan pointed at the thermometer over the door. It was now thirty-five degrees.
"What happens if the temperature keeps dropping?" Celia asked.
"Hypothermia, followed by death," Brennan answered succinctly. "Although I doubt they went to the effort of creating such an elaborate setup with the intent of freezing us to death. There must be another reason we're here."
The presence of the cameras gave Brennan a few ideas, but she kept them to herself. None were pleasant and they'd probably find out soon enough.
She sat quietly for a moment, letting the details about what happened trickle through her brain. They'd been taken from behind near the deli after lunch and had been brought to this elaborate, but oddly staged room. Her eyes took in the details of the room once again and then settled on the speaker. Clearly their captors intended to communicate with them. But there was no way for she and Celia to communicate back, was there? Maybe the cameras contained microphones.
'There's only one way to find out,' she thought, before saying loudly, "Excuse me, but it's getting rather cold in here. We would appreciate some warmth."
Celia looked at her as though she was crazy, but a moment later her hypothesis was proved correct when a male voice answered her, "I'd be happy to give you some heat, but you'll have to do something for me in return."
Acting as though this was reasonable, even though she had her doubts, Brennan replied, "Okay. What do you want?"
"Take off your clothes," the male voice demanded.
"What?" Celia shouted in outrage. "It's freezing in here. Taking off my clothes will only make me colder!"
Brennan looked at the other woman and shrugged. "We're not going to do that," she said firmly, knowing that eventually they would have to. But for the moment, she wanted to test the limits.
She got off the bed and checked the carpets. Maybe they could wrap themselves in one and stay warmer for longer. To her disappointment, they were all firmly attached to the floor.
She returned to Celia, climbed on the bed and snuggled up, rubbing her hands up and down Celia's arms and legs trying to warm them with friction. The temperature slowly continued to drop and Brennan's efforts weren't enough to keep her friend warm. She tried to start a conversation, but after a while the other woman lost the ability to reply coherently.
Becoming concerned, Brennan decided to examine the cameras in more depth. A number were recessed in the walls behind small panes of glass. Others were surrounded by strong mesh frames with openings for the lenses. Unfortunately, the cameras were recessed far enough inside their protective covering that she couldn't reach them, not with her hand.
She ground her teeth in frustration. Whoever had set this up was very through. She wasn't strong enough to break the glass or the mesh frames with her bare hands and she had nothing long enough or strong enough or small enough to reach them. There was no way she'd able to break any of the cameras or their lenses.
"Celia, we have to do what they said," Brennan said. "You're exhibiting the initial signs of hypothermia."
"No," Celia chattered her reply defiantly.
"You'd rather keep your clothes and die?" Brennan asked harshly. "We're getting out of these clothes now."
Brennan began to strip off her own clothes and shuddered when the cold air touched her skin. Then she reached for Celia and began to undress her.
The dancer fought back, but the anthropologist asked, "Do you trust me?"
Celia nodded.
"Then do this for me. Forget about the cameras and everything else. This is about our survival. He says he'll give us heat if we do this. The only thing we can do is test him and see if he's telling the truth. If he isn't then we'll just die a bit sooner," she told her friend.
The other woman must have seen the logic of her argument, because she tried to unbutton her blouse. Her cold fingers made it difficult, but eventually she too stood naked in the room.
The male voice said, "Ah, so you finally decided to believe me. Very nice. You are both very attractive women. Excellent."
But the leer in his voice made their skin crawl; neither doubted that he had an excellent view.
Then he continued, "Now take the clothes and shove them through the flap in the door. You won't be needing them anymore."
Brennan shrugged at Celia and moved to comply. They needed the heat more than they needed the inadequate protection of their clothes. As sshe watched, the thermometer began to show the room temperature rising and Celia's shivering slowly abated.
The idea for this story began when I was reading a so-so kidnapping story and thinking to myself that a lot of kidnapping stories were very similar. The perpetrator was always someone connected to their cases, Booth's past, Brennan's past, or her parents' past. I asked myself what would happen if their kidnapper wasn't one of those things. This story is the answer. I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter. The story is completely written and I will be updating at least once a week.
