He walks over and stops, leaning down to get right in his face, blue eyes glittering in the darkness. "You're not going anywhere."
Pretending to be unimpressed by Brennan's posturing, Sam leans forward as far as his chained arms allow, trying to get an idea of where he is through the small kitchen window. He sees only trees and a weathered fence leaning drunkenly, it's jagged teeth disappearing into a snowdrift. There's no sign of life, just a blanket of undisturbed snow rising to the horizon. The small piece of sky he can see is dark grey rather than the black of night, but there's no way to tell if it's from city lights or approaching dawn.
Brennan steps back and he relaxes, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.
Suddenly, Brennan shifts and pivots, then drives his foot into Sam's chest, sending the chair toppling backwards onto the floor. Instinctively stretching his manacled hands behind him to break the fall, he hears as much as feels his left wrist snap as he crashes down.
He barely has time to register what's happened before Brennan is crouching beside him and dropping a black cloth over his face. All thoughts of pain and broken bones become secondary as cold fear washes over him. Thrashing his head from side to side he manages to dislodge the cloth only to find his gaze drawn to the jar in Brennan's hand, the water inside sloshing around.
Brennan shakes the jar around and they both watch as the water swirls. "This isn't as showy as knives and power tools."
"But, see...straight up pain gives some people...guys like you...something to fight against, right? Gives you something to sink your teeth into - makes you defiant, angry..."
He leans down and whispers in his ear, as though they're sharing a secret. "Let's you pretend you're not scared shitless."
Straightening up again he continues, relaxed, like they're having a beer and conversation at a bar after work. "I was in the pen, about - oh...twenty years ago, and I grabbed this ratty old paperback off the book cart to show I was "serious about rehabilitating myself". It was by this Green Beret who'd been captured by the Vietcong - he'd been tortured, starved and beaten...but he said one of the worst things they did was what they called The Water Cure."
Brennan tips the jar forward and pours some water on Sam's face. "He said it was the absolute loss of control that made it so horrible."
Brennan's voice remains calm and rational, but there's an undercurrent now. Sam can't decide if it's admiration or anticipation or both.
"See, pain can be blocked out, ignored; but when you're drowning or being strangled, the body automatically fights back. No matter what you do, you can't stop yourself, can't control yourself. Drowning triggers an automatic panic response in the most primative part of your brain. You can try to rationalize it to yourself, convince yourself that you aren't really dying, or maybe that you really want to die, but your brain will still send out waves of panic and your body will still fight to survive. So it's not just the situation you have no control over...you have no control of your body or your mind."
Brennan smiles. "Ironic, isn't it? I had to go to jail to learn true cruelty."
He stands up and crosses to the sink, taking three more jars and setting them under the tap. He speaks over his shoulder as he starts the water running.
"When we did this yesterday I wanted you to tell me who killed my family."
The jars are full when he turns back. "I believe you now, you know - that you don't know anything useful. Didn't do your homework, did you?" Crouching beside him again, he picks up the black cloth.
"Yesterday you still thought you could get out of this. You thought if you stayed tough, kept talking, your buddies would save you or you'd get a chance to escape." He nods and grins, approving...then shakes his head in mock sorrow. "You came close. You should've hit me harder with the shovel. If you'd tried to kill me, you might be home safe now. Instead you tried to knock me out...disable me...bring me in to pay for my crimes." His tone is mocking now and when Sam looks in his eyes he sees only rage.
"I can't get justice for my family. I accept that now. But I can still get vengeance."
"Someone is going to pay for my family."
"Someone is going to feel the pain and terror they felt before they died."
Lifting the black cloth he drops it over Sam's face again, pressing down and forcing his jaw open.
When the water pours over his face, in his nose and down his throat, he tries to relax, tries to imagine the water is filling him up to carry him away. He tries to welcome it.
Brennan's words cut through the darkness and drop like weights.
"You get to be that someone."
The sun edges above the horizon, flooding the snowy landscape in icy, pink-orange light. Trees on the edge of the property cast skeleton shadows, their dark fingers reaching toward the farmhouse. As he watches, a breath of wind sends a handful of snowflakes spiralling skyward where they turn into weightless, sparkling gems.
He'd woken suddenly a few minutes ago, finding himself upright again.
His throat feels swollen and raw and his head simultaneously throbs and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. He welcomes the disembodied feeling - Brennan had drowned him over and over, allowing him to catch his breath just long enough to refill the water before starting again, interupting the rhythm only to force him to throw up the water he'd just swallowed.
His body is the last place he wants to be right now.
A gust of wind rattles the window pane, briefly drowning out the intermittent patter of water still dripping off his clothes. He shivers involuntarily and a cloud of frozen breath hangs in the air in front of him for a moment before disappearing.
"This was Maggie's parents old place." The voice startles him and he's instantly alert.
Brennan's standing in the doorway leading to what seems to be the living room, slapping a wooden baseball bat against his palm. "No power here, but that's okay. It's nice to get back to basics sometimes, isn't it?"
He squints at Sam for a moment, appraising.
Stepping further into the room, he hefts the bat, feels it's weight, then takes a couple of practice swings. He nods in approval and grins, "Oh yeah."
Even though he knows what's coming, Sam's helpless to do more than hunch his shoulders and brace himself.
In one smooth motion Brennan brings the bat back against his ear, takes two steps forward and slams the bat into his chest.
A wall of pain shudders through Sam like an electric current and all the air in his lungs is forced out. He swears he feels his heart stutter as every muscle in his body seizes up. Doubling over in agony, he tries desperately to keep hold of himself but can no more control the reactions of his body than he can control the weather.
He's going to die here. He feels it down to his bones. He's never been a guy who just gives up but he's sure this is his last day.
Right now he just wants death to hurry up and get here.
After an eternity his lungs loosen enough to allow air back in and he manages to suck in a mouthful of air. The relief is temporary though, as something broken inside him shrieks in protest. His body wars between the two extremes until his oxygen-starved muscles lose the battle and he can draw in a few gulps of air. After long minutes he has enough energy to straighten up, taking the pressure off his shoulders and chest, allowing him to breathe more easily.
At the edge of his vision he sees Brennan's still there, patiently waiting, the bat swinging lazily from his right hand.
Brennan continues speaking as though there'd been no interruption.
"When they died a couple of years ago, it went to her. It would've cost more than it's worth to fix up but Maggie didn't want to sell it. She wanted to keep a part of them."
Brennan's staring at him but it's clear his thoughts are miles away.
As he begins pacing slowly around the chair, Sam struggles to keep him in sight but he can't twist his head far enough and he disappears into the darkness behind him. Even that small movement sends pain shooting through his skull, so he drops his head down and closes his eyes until the pain recedes somewhat, leaving sharp slivers behind his eyes.
Brennan's voice drifts out of the dark; it's dropped an octave and is no longer matter-of-fact, but menacing, sinister...
"You were right before. When you said I didn't deserve them. I tried to straighten up and fly right, but at the end of the day this is me."
As he finishes speaking he lunges from behind Sam who has just enough time to see the bat arcing overhead and brace himself for impact. Brennan has all his weight and momentum behind the swing and when the bat smashes into his left knee it generates an incredible explosion of pain that starburts outward, lighting up every nerve ending his body.
Throwing his head back as a roar of agony forces itself out of his throat, he doesn't see the bat swing down again, just feels his kneecap shatter. Instead of the sharp cracking sound of the first blow, a hollow thud reverberates through the room followed by a wooden clatter as the bat breaks in two in Brennan's hands.
He swallows the rest of the scream as a wave of nausea surges through him. Fighting to hold himself together, he clenches his teeth against the bile rising in his throat. He's afraid if he lets go, he won't survive - it seems he wasn't as resigned to death as he'd thought.
Despite his best efforts, he loses the battle against his churning stomach. Turning his head to the side he vomits buckets of pink-tinged water onto the floor. With each involuntary spasm, his damaged ribs send out a new wave of pain, creating more nausea. The cycle of misery continues until he's so weak he's barely conscious.
He feels like he's been turned inside out and then dropped from a great height.
His head is suddenly yanked up by a fist in his hair and he squints to make out Brennan's face looming in front of him. Sam can see his lips moving but the sound seems to be coming from underwater. If he could just pull his thoughts together and concentrate he might be able to understand the words but he's honestly too tired and wrung out to care.
Brennan must realise that he's wasting his breath because he lets go in disgust and moves away. Sam presses his eyes tightly closed and takes as many long breaths as he can manage. His heartbeat, which's been pounding like a triphammer, gradually begins to slow as his body stops shuddering.
In the sudden quiet he can hear only his own painful, labored breathing and the quiet ticking of snow against the windowpane. The old timbers of the farmhouse creak and groan as wind gusts along the faded siding.
Brennan is leaning with his hands on either side of the sink, looking out the window at the frigid, awakening day. Looking over his shoulder and contemplating his prisoner for a moment, he nods to himself, seeming to come to a decision.
A vein in his temple pulses and Sam sees he's holding the picture of his wife and daughter. "I thought I could change. When I met Maggie I wanted to change. Right? If I turned over a new leaf, it meant I deserved her...deserved them."
"I should've known it was too good to be true. Guys like me, we don't get that lucky. My father was a con, he and my mom hooked up when he was on the outside. I only saw him a few times outside of lockup. He got shot trying to steal fifty bucks from a gas station."
"You wanna know what my mom said when we heard? 'Once a con, always a con. I bet you're gonna be just like him.' I was fifteen and she already had my future written. I don't know who I was trying to kid, thinking I had could escape destiny."
Suddenly, Sam has had enough. "What a fucking cop-out." His voice is so hoarse and weak he has to clear his throat and repeat himself.
"Excuse me? I'm a cop out?"
"Yes. What bullshit." Pulling himself up straight, his voice gets stronger. "Of course you're a fatalist. Typical. Every low life criminal I've ever met says it's destiny. Fate. Society made me. What a cop out. You say you learned to be cruel in jail. Bullshit. That cruelty was already there, inside you. Millions of people read about cruelty and torture and don't go out and do it to others. Countless others experience it and are still decent people."
He knows he shouldn't be provoking him, but right now he really doesn't care. He's not going to just sit here and go down quietly while Brennan passes the buck to everyone else.
"You blame destiny so you don't have to blame yourself. Bullshit. We make choices. We're responsible for our own fate."
Brennan smirks. "So you only have yourself to blame for this." He gestures at Sam. "If you had just left me alone I'd still be trying to stay straight."
"Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn't, but my choice was to try to get justice for the innocent people you killed."
Brennan snorts. "They weren't all innocent".
"Nora Wilson was. Her kids were. You destroyed that whole family but you sit here and feel sorry for yourself because someone killed your family for something you did? What a hypocrite! You have no one to blame but yourself. Not me. Not anyone but you."
Brennan snarls at his last words. He fists the front of Sam's shirt and punches him so hard his head snaps back then grabs his hair and slams him backwards onto the hard tile floor. A sun bursts in front of his eyes before receding to a pinprick, then...nothing.
Bursting through the door behind Chris and Oliver, Andy sweeps her gun across the room, then advances slowly inside. Letting Oliver clear the room on her right while Chris does the same on her left, she makes her way down the hall until she enters a large room. Keeping her weapon trained in front of her, she can see a seated figure silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through the high front window.
Sweeping her hand across the wall beside her, she snaps the overhead light on. The sudden glare forces her to close her eyes, but not before she gets a glimpse of the body in the chair...
Andy jerks awake abruptly, a scream tearing from her throat. It takes a moment of sheer horror for her mind to register that she's still at The Barn, Sam is still missing, and that the bloody, dead body she saw wasn't him - it was only a dream.
She had gone into the break room to sit down for a few minutes. She just needed to get away from the noise in the rest of the station so she could breathe and clear her head, but after being awake for more than two days straight she was completely exhausted and must have nodded off.
Closing her eyes again, she takes half a dozen long, deep breathes to calm her racing heart.
Looking at her watch now she sees she's been asleep for over three hours. Feeling sudden panic, she rushes out of the room, nearly colliding with Dov who notices her panicked state and holds his hands up to stop her.
"Woah Andy! Slow down, nothing's happened, there's no news." Grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her pushing past him he waits until she looks at him. "I was just coming to check on you, but we were letting you get some sleep. I would have woken you if there had been any reason to."
Andy takes a deep breath and nods. She was exhausted and has to admit that the sleep has done her some good. She isn't refreshed by any means, but she at least feels that she can focus again.
Running her hands over her face and through her hair she forces her mind back to the present.
There has to be something they've missed. They're still going through and interviewing every employee, associate or business contact, legitimate or criminal, that Jamie Brennan has ever known but the list is long and so far they've come up empty.
To all appearances he's been running a straight operation but they know there has to be something he's hiding or why risk kidnapping a police officer?
There's the possibility that Sam hasn't been made and Brennan has taken him for some other reason but no one's been able to come up with what that reason could be. Every person whom they suspect Brennan has killed has been business related.
They just have to keep digging and they'll find the answer. Andy knows that and she isn't ready to give up, she just prays they won't be too late.
Someone's shaking him, rocking him from side to side, but he's so tired he ignores it until someone slaps him hard enough to make his head spin and he comes fully awake.
Blinking hard, Sam makes out a figure looming above him before he's suddenly yanked upwards as the chair he's in is set upright. His head swims and flops forward onto his chest - he has no energy to do more than breathe. After a moment he feels something hard pressing against his chest, nudging his head up. When he cracks his eyes open again and focuses, he sees it's a gun.
When he's sure he has Sam's attention, Brennan steps backwards until he's leaning against the wall. They stare at each other for several minutes before Brennan starts speaking.
"Do you know what its like to give all of yourself to another person and then that person dies? Do you know what happens? They take half of you with them and leave behind only memories and regrets."
"But I don't have enough memories of them. We didn't get enough time. I thought I could live without them, go on. I tried to stick to the straight and narrow for them. Then you came and you know what you brought me? Hope. I thought I could finally get my revenge for their deaths. But I can't...and it wouldn't make a difference anyway."
"Maggie told me that she didn't care about my past, only our present and future. Well, she'd be sickened by what I've done here. You were right. It is my fault. Mine alone. I'm tired of living with regrets. I'm just tired. There's nothing left for me here."
"I was going to kill you but I've changed my mind. It's such a fucking cliché but only because it's true - death is easy, life is hard. You seem to be a stand-up guy so I'm going to give you a chance to live."
Sliding down the wall until he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, Brennan meets Sam's eyes and gives him a tired smirk. "No hard feelings".
Leaning his head back against the wall he puts the muzzle of the gun in his mouth, closes his eyes and without hesitation, pulls the trigger.
