Distorted Mirrors


Chapter 2


Bash could hear his captor's footsteps outside in the corridor.

Although he felt as if every bone in his body must be broken, he slowly rose to his feet and made his way to the door of his little cell, peering out into the dark corridor in hopes of assessing Enjolras's mood before the man lashed out at him. Sure enough, although he could not yet make out Enjolras's facial features, he could see the torchlight bobbing toward him.

Within a moment or so, Enjolras was in front of his cell, and his mood became clear when his first movement was to strike out at Bash's hands on the bars of the cell with a whip.

Sharp, new pain lanced across Bash's knuckles and he drew in a sharp breath, clutching his now-bloodied fingers to his chest and reeling back as the door flew open with a loud clang.

"Why hasn't the king paid the ransom yet?" Enjolras demanded, advancing on Bash.

Although Bash had, of course, seen him fly into his tantrums before - for Enjolras was rather like a child in some aspects of the word - he had never seen him quite this angry. "I sent it out last week! And I've had you here for a month! Why doesn't Francis pay it?"

Bash, not wanting to risk upsetting his captor further, attempted to keep his voice calm as he responded.

"Perhaps Francis knows that you do not intend to release me, should he pay it. Perhaps he knows you love me." Yes, Bash knew of his captor's absolute insistence that he was in love with him. At first, Bash had tried to convince him that this was not so...that the way Enjolras treated him was not...love. He had quickly given up on this venture, once it was clear beyond a doubt that his captor was insane. "Perhaps he has not received your note. It could have been lost, or -"

The whip flew out again, this time slicing into Bash's cheek. "Shut the hell up, Bash." Enjolras snarled out the words, his appearance positively demented by now.

Bash knew better than to speak again, and so he was quiet this time, his head bowed.

"Don't ignore me!" Enolras half-screamed. Again, the whip shot out, missing Bash by only an inch or so. This time, Bash realized, his captor was not just in the midst of a childish tantrum. This was true anger, and his life could be at risk.

"Make him pay it, Bash!"

"I - I can't -" Bash spluttered, truly beginning to fear for himself for the first time in some time. Before, he had merely believed that Enjolras was mad, that he was infatuated with him. Not that he was a true danger. "I'm here with you, I can't even contact -"

"Then I'm going to make him."

Quite suddenly, the anger was gone from his face, replaced the smile of an absolute madman, and he was kneeling on the floor next to Bash.

After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm going to make a package for Francis," he said, and strode to the door.

It was not until Enjolras returned with a metal rod - clearly heated in a fire, judging by the red glaze to it and the heat he could feel even from here - and a knife that Bash began to realize what that could mean.

"I'm going to show him what I can do to you," Enjolras told him, that smile still in place, and he pressed the burning fire poker to Bash's shoulder.