Ollie, Ollie Oxen Freeze
Gosho Aoyama respectively owns Detective Conan. This chapter may get a little violent. If you don't like reading those kinds of things, then don't read this.
When Conan found his way out of a dark, swirling mass and opened his eyes, he was in the back of a car, buckled in the middle of the seat. Gin was driving and Vodka was staring out the window.
"Try anything funny, and you'll find yourself missing some fingers." Gin growled without even looking back to see if he was even awake. Conan shivered. He wasn't dead yet, so they must need him for something. That, or Gin just really liked killing his victims in private.
Conan took in his surroundings; the car was clean, other than some cigarette butts in an ashtray on a cup holder between the driver and passenger seat. This meant the victims were not killed in the car. The windows were tinted. A passerby would not see Gin or Vodka pointing weapons at their victims. The glass was thick, most likely soundproof. He couldn't scream for help and kicking a soccer ball (if he had his belt) would be useless. The only gadgets Conan had were his watch and his bowtie tucked safely into the waist of his pajama bottoms. The seats were leather, feeding the cold into Conan's bones through his thin clothes and stealing what little warmth he had.
After a few hours (Conan was watching the built-in clock), they reached a cabin in the woods. That didn't scream horror movie. Conan feared unbuckling himself would cause Gin to snap, so he allowed Vodka to unbuckle him. His stomach clenched when Vodka's fingers brushed his belly. Conan slid out of the car, looking at Gin's knees for fear of meeting his eyes.
The two killers led Conan to the cabin, Vodka dragging Conan by his arm to make sure he didn't run off. But he wouldn't dare run off anyway. Gin would just kill him without batting an eyelash. Better to die facing death than getting shot in the back. The cabin was small. Right when you walk in you enter the living room. To the right was a small computer room; straight after the living room were two guest rooms, and to the left was a little kitchen with a tiny refrigerator and a cupboard most likely full of non-perishable items. Conan was brought to one of the guest rooms and kneeled, not too gently, on the ground in front of a twin-sized bed with thin sheets. Gin motioned for Vodka to stay put while he went to grab something from the living room.
Vodka smiled sadistically at Conan and kneeled to his level. He got in close to Conan's face, but he refused to back away. His breath smelled minty.
"Do you know why you're here?" Vodka grinned like a shark. Conan stared blankly at him, unfocusing his eyes so he wouldn't have to stare directly into the chiseled man's face. Vodka shrugged, squeezing Conan's shoulder harshly until he winced.
"You'll know soon enough."
Gin came back, holding a sheathed hunting knife in his left hand. Vodka chuckled, moving out of the way. Gin unsheathed the knife, kneeling down to Conan. He waved it in front of Conan's face so fast; Conan could feel a slight breeze as it went by. Conan forced himself to stay blank faced.
Gin stopped suddenly, realizing he wasn't getting a rise out of the child. A normal child would be in tears by now. Yes, he did try to scream, but he soon learned to stop and patiently wait. This boy was not normal.
Gin slammed the knife swiftly, blade down, only a few centimeters from where Conan was sitting. The shear suddenness of it caused Conan to jump slightly, eyes widening, and then compose himself. So the kid was at least human.
"I believe my partner has asked you if you know why you're here." His voice was deep, dark, evil. As if he was born to be a criminal. Conan didn't trust his voice. He nodded.
"You didn't answer him." Gin stated, plucking the knife easily from where it had dented the hardwood floor. Conan stared directly into Gin's eyes, for fear of giving himself away by looking at the knife was too strong.
"No." Conan said. His voice was stronger than he felt. Without blinking his eyes, Gin grabbed Conan's mouth and shoved him onto the ground, stabbing his knife into Conan's arm. Forgetting everything for a moment, Conan screamed. It was muffled by Gin's large hand, but loud enough that Vodka smiled when he heard it. Vodka so wanted Gin to remove his hand so he could hear the unresponding child's screams more clearly, but knew asking anything from Gin would only get him a glare and punishment later.
"You're here," Gin whispered into Conan's ear, "because I want you to be." Gin wrenched the knife out of the boy's arm, hoping silently for another scream, but the boy bit his lip to hold it back. Gin lightly stood up and flicked out a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the child's blood off his prized knife.
"Do whatever you like to him while I make some phone calls, Vodka. Just don't maim him too much. Ano kata wants him to still be pretty, whatever that means."Gin muttered the last part under his breath as he closed the door to the guest room.
Conan laid breathing shallow on the ground, trying to calm down. His arm was numb; he would probably never be able to use it again. At least it was my left arm. He tried to think positively. Vodka pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and leered at Conan.
"So many ways to hurt you," He mused, "But you're so small; I would probably kill you if I did what I wanted to. Y'know, you look a lot like that poor high school detective we killed at that amusement park two years ago." Conan's breath hitched. This man had an amazing memory. Conan swallowed his fear and tried talking to the killer to postpone his torture.
"Do you remember everyone you kill?" Conan's voice was quiet. The air in the room felt cold and heavy.
"Mainly the children. All adults look the same to me. Kids have that specialty about them. Hard to forget when you murder a child. But, then again, it's more fun to kill children." Vodka bent lower to whisper to Conan, "Honestly, I wish we'd done more than poison him. The screams were like songs of Angels to these ears, but a little more blood, a little more carving would have made it that much better." Conan felt sick.
"H-have you ever done anything else?" Conan wondered, fearing the answer. Vodka gave him that shark-like grin once again.
"You mean like touching the children? Are you afraid I'm going to touch you?" Conan swallowed. This man was frightening. Even if he used his watch to escape Vodka, he would still have Gin to deal with (who turned out to be surprisingly resistant to his sleep darts.).
"Please don't hurt me." Conan begged, squeezing his eyes shut. The blood had clotted, but he could feel the burn in his arm even stronger than before. Vodka stepped on his injured arm hard, making his bones groan in protest. Conan winced, but refused to cry out. He already showed weakness twice, he would not do it again.
"I don't really want to hurt you. I just want to hear you scream. So when you hold back and try to brave it like a man, it just makes me want to hurt you more." Vodka said, as if talking about the weather, while pressing harder into Conan's arm. Conan refused to give.
"Fine: I guess I'll just have some fun." Vodka stomped very hard on Conan's leg, breaking it. Conan let himself scream.