"Booth? It's me!"
Booth pushed himself up from his king sized hotel bed. He crossed the room and opened the door adjoining his room to Brennan's. "Of course its you, Bones. Who else would it be?" He mused.
She didn't seem as happy. "Can I come in?"
"Of course." He moved aside. She trumped in straight to the edge of his bed and sat down. Booth cautiously followed her steps. "What's wrong?"
Exhaling, she looked up at him. "Why am I here?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not helping, Booth. She's not leaving behind any forensic evidence. These men keep turning up dead, murdered, because I can't help."
"That's not your fault. She's tricky."
"I'm useless."
"Hey," he said sternly. He sat down next to her and put an arm around her. "You are never useless, Bones. Never."
She looked at him with sorrow in her eyes.
"We'll find her. With or without forensic evidence." He tilted her chin to look at him. "Don't give up on me, all right?"
Booth's body jerked awake as a steel toed boot crashed into his ribs. He rolled onto his back. Expectantly he looked upwards at the woman standing over him, showing her no emotion. In an act of both rage and defiance she kicked him again. Again Booth gave no reaction.
She sighed. The woman went through the usual routine of producing a syringe from a bag strapped vertically around her chest. Dropping to her knees, she jabbed the needle in his arm and injected the liquid. "That'll hold you till tonight." She capped the needle and dropped it unceremoniously back into her bag. Her boots shook the floor as she stomped across it and back upstairs. The door slammed behind her.
That'll hold you till tonight. Those words sent a small sliver of worry down his spine. Tonight would entail more torture. It meant beating or burning. Every night was the same. That was one of the reasons why he didn't show much emotion. He didn't have the energy. Living wasn't about survival anymore. It was holding on for reasons he couldn't explain.
Booth was having trouble remembering a time before this prison he'd been placed in. He didn't understand why "she" was keeping him alive. Every day was a new round of abuse. Somehow she'd gotten herself inside of his mind. She mentally and physically injured him. As time passed he felt more and more of the effects. The isolation was warping what was left of his sanity. It'd been a year since he'd seen anyone else besides her.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position. The drugs sent a rush of blood to his brain. He was weak and dizzy most of the time due to the sedatives she pumped him full of on a daily basis. He supposed it was to keep him from being able to break free. It only added to his desperation.
He looked up the wall at two windows perched above him. They were small, with just enough room for a body to wiggle through. The frosted glass kept him from being able to see what was outside. Once he'd come close to getting out of one of them. "She" had walked in right in the middle of his attempt. She'd stunned him with a taser, then watched him helplessly fall to the floor. After that she'd rigged both the windows with wires attached to an electrical device. Anytime he touched the window frame he was hit with an electrical current.
It wasn't long after that that the hopelessness he felt took over. He began looking for ways to end his life. He'd attempted to cut himself with a butter knife. For obvious reasons that hadn't worked. Next he'd broken into the bathroom that took up one of the corners of the basement. He'd managed to break the lock on the cabinet underneath the sink. Before she could find him he'd drank what he could of some sort of cleaning product. It hadn't killed him, but it'd burned his throat and vocal cords. He spent the rest of the night and much of the next day vomiting. Since then he hadn't spoken a word. His throat still ached with every breath. Every swallow of food.
Sleeping was one of his only real saviors. He was able to return to the life he'd led. In his dreams he worked. He played with his son. Often he dreamed about Brennan. He dreamed of her kind touch. Of embracing her. Even of the few brief kisses they'd shared over the years. Where was she? Was she missing him as bad as he was missing her?
Again he looked to the window and entertained the thought of getting free. But in all reality he had no idea where he was. Who was to say what was outside was any better? During her civil moments "she'd" tried to convince him of that.
"You're lucky I take such good care of you."
Then again, she'd said this while pressing a hot lighter down against his skin. He absent mindedly rubbed at the scar on his arm. His stomach turned sour. Back down on the hard cement of the floor he laid. Sleeping was all he did anymore. There wasn't much else to do even if he felt like it. Boredom alone had near killed him during his first few months of captivity.
Booth wondered what new Hell "she" was dreaming up to put him through that night. He was curious as to where she went during the day. As if on cue he could hear a car door slam overhead. Whomever "she" was, she held down a full time job. No one must of suspected who she really was.
He had to figure she had something to do in the medical field. How else would she get such easy access to syringes and drugs? Most of the time he saw her she was in scrubs. Closing his eyes, he tried to think if he'd seen any emblem on her uniform any of the times she'd come into close contact with him. It was useless. All his mind could flash on was the things she'd done to him.
His heart pounded in terror. Could he really survive much longer like this? What could he do to get himself out? As already proven he had no means of taking his own life, and "she" obviously had no interest in doing so despite the evidence to the contrary. His colleagues most likely had stopped looking for him ages ago. Did anyone believe he was still alive? Did Bones? Had she given up on him?
Whether she had or not was irrelevant. He had no one to count on but himself. He climbed up on dead legs. The world dipped and swirled as he went to one of the windows. Without any hesitation he touched the window frame. A bright shock of pain shot through his fingers and down to his elbow. Next he touched the actual window itself. Nothing happened. The coolness of the glass soothed his finger tips.
His mind got working as he absorbed the pain. The sting hadn't been as bad as he'd expected. It seemed that just the window frame was electric. If he could break the window could he climb out fast enough before the jolt disabled him?
Just then his legs gave out on him. He fell into a heap on the floor. For the next twenty minutes he didn't move. His gaze stayed fixated on the window. By the time he got the strength to get up again his mind was made up. Frail or not, dangerous or not, he was making an attempt at escaping. If it was the death of him then so be it.
First he had to figure out how to get the window open. There were no levers or buttons. He pushed on the glass. In the wall he could hear the frame bang against a lock. Again he looked everything over closely. Either "she" had hindered the lock or he just wasn't finding it. No matter. There was one way he knew of to open it.
Taking a step back, he slammed his fist into the glass as hard as he could. Nothing happened, expect the dry skin on his knuckles popped open and began to bleed. Refusing to be deterred, he did it again and again until the glass gave way and smashed. He cleared the remaining fragments away. The sharp edges cut his already damaged hands even more. By the time he finished he was a mess of blood.
Now came the tricky part. Somehow he had to hoist himself up onto the window ledge. His once muscular arms had become damn near useless. Inspiration stuck him in an odd form. "She" had never given him anything but a few blankets to sleep on. Booth retrieved them now, folding them up until they made a makeshift stool. He stood on top of them and sank a few inches. But it was just enough. Readying himself, he put his hands on the window still and hopped up. Taking a breath, he pushed himself up and out the frame.
The constant electrical current running through his body nearly blinded him. He scraped his back along, gritting his teeth as he wiggled his way outside. In order to get out he had to climb up a small steel tunnel that was made to catch rain water. Pale light from a clouded sky washed over his face. He knew he was getting close.
At last he popped up over the soft green grass. Away from the house he crawled on his stomach until he couldn't anymore. He collapsed in a matter of yards. In amidst of gasping he looked at the area around him. He was in a residential suburban area. As it was the middle of the day no one was around. No one could help him. Then again, he had no idea who he could trust. This was "her" territory. He had to keep going. Somehow he pushed himself up onto his legs.
Aimlessly he wandered in a daze until he ended up in a wooded area. The sun was beginning to go down. The atmosphere cooled. Booth was exhausted. He trembled hard as he walked barefoot over sticks, stones, and dirt. He barely had the strength to put one foot in front of the other.
And then, he didn't. He fell down into the grass. Within moments he was out cold.