Authors Note: Hey all. Word of warning, it gets dark from here on out.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

"Elena." A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and a scream tore from her throat. Her knees buckled and lost balance. The voices ceased at once, and it seemed there wasn't a breath of wind. She found herself on the ground and glanced up to see Brian kneel next to her.

"Geeze, Elena, you scare easy." He offered his hand to her and she took it gingerly. He pulled her to her feet in one movement though she was still unsteady and her knees were shaking. She ignored him at first, looking everywhere for the animal that was surely about to attack her. But the world was still. A bird chirped happily nearby and in the distance, cicadas started to chant. Slowly she turned to Brian who regarded her with measured concern—and judging by the expression on his face seemed to finally notice the cut on her cheek.

Elena nodded towards the truck. "Shall we?" Without waiting for an answer she walked away.

The first fifteen minutes in the truck were spent in silence. A country station played softly from the radio, slightly drowned out by the windows being open. They didn't pass a soul on the remote rural roads and Brian drove a little faster than usual and did not apologize for some of his hair-pin turns. Elena thought he would have said something by now, but he stayed thankfully quiet. Maybe he thought it was none of his business and she was grateful for it.

"I'll never understand you."

She was wrong.

Elena sighed, choosing not to respond. Brian scoffed, not taking his eyes off the road as he seemed to drive faster. "I know there's a whole battered woman's disease or whatever. But you're not like that. You don't take shit from anyone. Why do you take it from him?"

It was a question Elena was quite familiar with. She asked herself this immediately before, during, and after one of his episodes. Her answer used to come easy—because he would beg her to forgive him. And he loved her. And she loved him. He stopped asking for forgiveness a long time ago. Yet she stayed. Only now it wasn't out of love. She was terrified of him. If she left, he would find her and probably kill her. She could stand occasional beatings, but she would not sacrifice her life. And she knew he wouldn't kill her as long as she stayed—he needed her too much. Needed her access to drugs. She wished she could tell Brian all of this.

Instead, she replied with a shrug, "I guess I have that battered disease."

He shook his head and his fingers gripped the steering wheel like he was imagining choking Ian. "All you have to do is leave. Get out before he kills you one of these days."

"I can't. He would find me."

"Then go to the police, for Christ's sake," He snapped, "You're not helpless. Just show them your face and they'll have him behind bars before you know it."

Elena made a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, and one of his amici will make his bail and he'll kill me. Stay out of it, Brian."

He looked like he was going to say more, but clenched his jaw and looked away. A moment later he turned up the radio to hear it better and Elena knew he would say no more on the subject. Part of her was relieved. Part of her wanted him to keep going, telling her that she could get away and finally be happy. What a fantasy.

They finally reached the farm about ten minutes later. Elena's heart sunk even lower when she realized where they were. Farmer Saudal's. The place was disgusting. Hundreds of cows, yet no pasture to speak of. They wandered tightly packed together in mud and excrement. The barns were crumbling and the structure they entered a few minutes later was like something out of a horror movie. Darkness pervaded throughout the barn. The few windows in the walls were all covered in a thick skin of dirt and grime that had built up for decades. Flies buzzed everywhere, typical for a cow farm, but the flies here seemed almost vicious and dived at you to get a taste. The humidity in the barn almost gave one the sensation of swimming and combined with the stench, it was like swallowing all of the rancid smells. Elena had been in many cow barns before, but the Saudal's farm was borderline animal abuse. A bellow thundered throughout the barn and it went straight to Elena's gut. She knew that sound. It was the sound of unbearable suffering.

Elena carried the chains and buckets while Brian hefted the long metal pieces of the crank and his medicine bag. Mr. Saudal trailed behind them, spitting tobacco out as they went. They found the heifer down in a pile of feces, mud and old straw. She was breathing heavily, her huge belly swelling painfully with each breath. The stench coming from her was merely a taste of what they would soon experience. It was the smell of death—that sickly sweet odor of fruit gone bad.

Brian lifted her tail, stained with mud and feces to see an ugly brown mucus oozing from her vulva. Muttering, he donned his shoulder-length gloves and lubed his hand, then giving the heifer a little pat on the rump first in apology, he dove his hand in. She grunted in discomfort but didn't protest much more. Elena donned gloves as well and readied the surgical pack and buckets of warm water. Mr. Saudal stood almost directly behind her as she worked; close enough for her to hear every little swish and spit of his tobacco.

"I thought about just shootin' her," Mr. Saudal crossed his meaty arms over his chest, "You people charge so damn much just to come out here and pull that shit out of her." Neither Elena or Brian responded. Mr. Saudal didn't seem to care who was listening. "She's thrown off some good calves though. Hate to lose her genes. What are ya finding there, doc?"

Brian grunted as he was now shoulder deep inside the heifer. He felt around a bit more, then gingerly pulled his arm out. "Well, it's definitely dead. Been so for probably a few days."

Mr. Saudal cursed under his breath, then leaned over and spit another wad into the dirt. "It's gonna be a mess then. You don't charge by the hour, do ya?"

Brian again ignored him and entered her once more. "I've got a leg, but I don't think we'll get too far before it rips. Elena, get the wire and crank ready."

Three hours later, Brian and Elena were covered in blood, body parts and various bodily fluids. An unrecognizable lump of calf parts was engulfed in flies behind Brian. Elena used to think she would get over the smell, at least after a few hours. But it only seemed to be thicker and the lump in her stomach felt like it would rise into her throat at any moment. Even Brian was starting to look a little ill. He was currently on his belly, his entire arm inside the heifer, trying to wrap the chain around what was left of the calf inside her. He had lost his glove long ago and didn't bother to put another one on. The heifer was exhausted and had quit bellowing an hour ago, and now just breathed heavily. Mr. Saudal seemed to be the only one unaffected as he stuffed more tobacco in his cheek.

Elena suddenly felt nauseous. Beads of sweat moistened her neck and a dull ringing began in her ears. She imagined the yogurt curdling in her digestive tract. Every smell and sight was unbearable.

"Doctor Carson?" She managed to croak. He glanced up at her wearily, running a bloody hand across his forehead and leaving a strand of uterine slime behind. When he saw the look on her face, he perked up.

"God, you look green," He nodded his head toward a grimy window, "Go get some air."

She started backing away before he finished his sentence. She caught the look of amusement on Mr. Saudal's face as she stumbled through the filth on the ground. Cows on the other side of the fences stared with dull interest as she tried to find her way out. The sound of water rushed in her ears. A sticky cobweb clung to her face and she wiped at it desperately trying to remove the clinging material. Her hands suddenly found a door handle and she pulled at it with one hard tug. It was as if she broke a hermetic seal. Sunlight melted into her skin and a cool breeze caressed her body. Elena took a few steps forward before bending over to put her hands on her knees. She eagerly drank in the fresh air—well, still the air of a cow farm, but not containing a trace of decomposition.

The bile in her throat finally receded and her hearing returned to her. She took a few more deep breaths and wiped away the remainder of cobweb on her face. Just a few more minutes and she would return to the hell.

"Who are you?" The voice was an impossibly sweet and innocent tone from directly in front of her. Still bent over, Elena lifted her head slowly to find a little girl standing a few feet in front of her. Elena couldn't quite believe the sight at first. The child was like something out of a fairy tale. Her sun-kissed blond hair was pulled back into two perfect braids that ended at her shoulders. She wore a flawlessly clean and pressed blue and white checkered dress with a pristine white apron. Knee-high white socks clung to her knobby legs and black buckle shoes adorned her feet. She had the bluest eyes Elena had ever seen and her strawberry-red lips were set in a hard line. Her hands rested behind her back as she regarded Elena with caution. Elena thought the girl to be far too pretty to be related to Mr. Saudal but she had to be his grandchild. Elena stood up straight and tried to smile.

"I'm with the doctor—the vet."

The little girl noticed all the blood stained on her dark coveralls and scrunched her nose.

"Are you taking care of Amber?"

Elena only knew the cow by the number on its ear tag, but assumed they were discussing the same animal.

"Yes, she should be fine."

"The girl's eyes lit up. "And her baby?"

Elena's smile faltered. "I'm afraid we were too late to help the baby."

The corner of her lips curled into a frown. "You can't put it back together?"

Elena cringed. The child must have seen some of the carnage. Elena shook her head. "I'm sorry, hon."

The little girl looked at the ground. Elena couldn't be certain if she was crying. She took a step forward and reached out a hand to comfort the girl, but the child immediately stepped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I—oh my God." Suddenly, the girl brought her hands forward. In them, sat the rubbery, decayed head of the calf. Elena's mouth tried to work, but no words came out. The girl's hands gripped the head tight and mucoid matter dribbled over her fingers.

"You—hon, you need to put that down."

The girl took a step back, and pressed the head to her ridiculously clean apron.

"Now that's a very yucky thing you're holding. You need to put it down." Elena took another step forward. In a flash of blond braids, the girl took off. Elena found herself chasing her. She followed the thick sounds of her shoes slapping on the muddy ground. Elena chased after the sound, seeing a glint of blue and white checkered fabric and her blond braids. How could she run so fast? She ran past clusters of cows and around the corners of barns and finally to a fence line. On the other side of the fence laid a vast, green cornfield. The stalks were tall, full and produced an eerie sound as the breeze rustled them. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Elena's chest heaved in and out, her body not accustomed to a sudden sprint. She didn't imagine this girl, did she? The event was such a bizarre one, that she wasn't quite sure if it had happened.

She took one more visual sweep of the area, then turned around. When she did, she noticed the piece of checkered cloth hanging off the wooden fence. Her eyes followed to the cornstalks beyond it and saw a brown-red wetness shining on a leaf of a stalk. Elena stared at it for a full minute. She really didn't want to go trouncing through a cornfield looking for an obviously disturbed little girl and her calf head. However, as a responsible adult, she should find said disturbed girl and return her to her equally disturbing family to deal with her. Elena tried to brush off the creepy vibes she was getting and ventured into the field.

"Hey! You're not in trouble! But you need to come out before your family gets worried."

No answer. A breeze picked up and rustled the stalks again, reminiscent of the sounds the trees made earlier—before the voices started. Elena's heart rate picked up and goosebumps rose on her flesh despite the warm temperature. She turned around. She wasn't going any farther. She walked a few feet, pushing stalks out of her way, expecting to see the fence-line at any moment. Nothing but more corn. She cursed under her breath. She hadn't gone far. Maybe a few feet in another direction. She pushed through a few more stalks then stopped dead. At her feet, already home to flies, was the calf head, positioned perfectly.

Officially creeped out by the situation, Elena took two steps back. The breeze made its appearance again, this time stronger than ever. The birds stopped singing and the flies covering the calf head suddenly scattered. A whisper in soft Italian carried across the tassels of the corn. She could only make out her name. She tried to move her feet, but they didn't budge. She tested her other limbs. Immobile. She tried to scream. No sound left her lips. The wind was no longer a gentle zephyr. It whipped her hair out of its loose bun and the stalks slapped against her body and face. Something behind her growled and breathed hot air on her ankles. Voices in a strange garbled language whispered excitedly from every direction. Her vision blurred around the edges as darkness closed in.

"Mr. Paris?"

Tom blinked a few times at the view screen, watching the stars drift by as Voyager traveled smoothly through space. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Tom slowly swiveled his chair around. He was faced with the steel gaze of Captain Janeway. She regarded him with a raised eyebrow and steepled fingers. He wasn't sure what to say and stared back at her stupidly.

"Mr. Paris, are you quite alright?" She asked again, her tone a little less stern.

Tom decided that was a no. "Actually, Captain, permission to go to sickbay?"

Janeway regarded him for a moment with narrowed eyes then nodded. "Granted."

Tom wasted no time in getting to the turbolift, giving Harry Kim a nod in response to the young man's questioning expression. Once in the turbolift, with the doors whispering closed, Tom released a great rush of air from his lungs. Then to his utter surprise and dismay, tears sprung from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Unprepared for such an emotional response, Tom hastily wiped them away.

"What the hell, Tom?" He sputtered. This vision was by far the most disturbing. It was her again. Always her. But she was terrified. It was like he was there with her, watching her. There was chaos all around them. People screaming, clutching their naked bodies. All of their faces were in shadow, except for hers. Her face shown like a beacon of light in the black wilderness. He reached out for her as he and the others were herded down the corridor like sheep being led to the slaughter. Horror creased the features of her beautiful face. Then he saw them. They stood out as the only ones clothed, their faces shielded with terrifying black masks. He felt a painful, static charge on his back and he lurched forward, almost close enough to touch her. They had something akin to cattle prods and they used them to keep everyone in a tight knot.

The screams were deafening. They reached the end of the hall as giant black doors groaned open to reveal a cage. Everyone was pressed inside the small enclosure—far too tight for this many people. Through the bars of the cage, he could see other cages, also overflowing with shrieking inhabitants. He couldn't help but think of the Borg. Were they being assimilated? But this was no Borg cube. It was all grey steel and black bulkheads. In the middle of the great circular room, shiny steel tables were lined up, each manned by a masked person. On the tables, prisoners were strapped face down as the masked men crudely tattooed symbols onto their shoulders. They worked with heavy, fast hands and the victims screamed in agony, their hands and feet feverishly straining against their shackles. Then, he watched as one of the masked men picked up what looked like a gun and pressed it to the base of a man's skull. A loud "thunk" echoed as he pulled the trigger and the man went limp. The others followed suite, and soon all the prisoners on the tables were silent. Each of them were then unstrapped and dragged out of sight. With their tables now free, they came for them.

She was pressed against the front of the cage. Surely they would take her next. He tried to push his way through the mass of bodies pressed together. He had to reach her. But the other prisoners saw the masked man coming, and pushed back. The masked man opened the gate and without hesitation grabbed her by her long black hair. He screamed for her, but his voice was drowned out by the din of shrieks as a new prisoner was taken from each cage. He launched himself forward again, using all his strength to get people out of his way. Finally, he wrapped his hands around the bars of the gate and shook it with all his might. There was no way he was getting it open. He stretched an arm through the bars, his hand reaching fruitlessly for her as the masked man dragged her to a table. She struggled the whole way, but she was like a mouse in a cat's jaws and he could only watch as the man threw her down on the table and strapped her naked body to it. A scream ripped from her throat as the crude looking armature bar stabbed her, leaving bleeding, black symbols behind on her fair skin. When the man was finished, he watched helplessly, his arm still outstretched imagining he could save her, as the man loaded the strange, gun-like weapon and pressed it against her skull.

"Deck five, please exit. Deck five, please exit. Deck five—" Tom shook himself back to life, the thin, sterile voice of Voyager's computer demanding him to get off the turbolift.

Tom wiped his face again. "Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'."

When he finally reached sickbay, his stomach sank when he found the Doctor examining Seven of Nine. The ex-Borg turned her icy gaze onto him and Tom felt immediately in a submissive state, as he always did when the woman bore a hole into his head with her emotionless eyes. The Doctor merely glanced in his direction.

"Ah, Mr. Paris," He turned his attention back to Seven of Nine as he messed with the implant by her ear, "What is the nature of the medical emergency?"

Tom cleared his throat, not breaking the gaze with Seven, as if she was a mad dog who might attack him if he turned his back. "Uh, well, Doc, you told me to show up if I had any…episodes during the day."

"Why are your eyes exhibiting more moisture than is required?" Seven piped in before the Doctor could even respond.

Tom frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. "They're not."

Seven raised her natural eyebrow, the only break in her expression. "They are."

Before Tom could counter the woman, the Doctor was at his side with a medical tricorder pointed at his head. "When did it occur?"

Finally breaking the eye-lock with Seven, Tom concentrated on the Doctor. "Five minutes ago. When I was at the helm."

"What was the nature of it?"

Tom felt his stomach tighten. "Doc, I'd feel more comfortable discussing this without an audience." He nodded to Seven, who sat attentively on the bio-bed. She proceeded to make something of an eye roll and slipped gracefully off the bio-bed and walked towards the door.

"I believe the Doctor is finished," She gave his figure a once-over that made Tom feel far more self-conscious than he should have, "I would make sure the Doctor investigates your excess moisture." With that, she walked briskly out of sickbay. The air in the room seemed to lighten a little with her departure.

The Doctor sighed wistfully. "She is quite a character, wouldn't you say, Mr. Paris?"

Tom bit back what he really wanted to say about Miss Borg and pointed at his head. "Yeah she's great, what's going on in there, Doc?"

He lowered the scanner and gestured to the bio-bed Seven had been occupying. Tom sat down on its edge, noting the slight warmth left behind from Seven. He would admit he was a little surprised to know that she emanated any warmth at all. "You didn't answer my question," He said with the tone of one correcting a child's behavior, "What was the nature of the daydream?"

Tom felt his stomach knotting as he recalled the images. "I—I don't really know what I was seeing, Doc. It wasn't like the other times where it was dream-like. It felt like a memory." As Tom described the event, the Doctor changed the settings on his medical tricorder and continually scanned his head, the lines on his forehead knit together like rows of dough as he read his findings.

"Hm," The hologram responded, "Well, your dimethyltryptamine levels are very high. Are you certain you weren't asleep, Mr. Paris?"

"Yeah, Doc, I was sitting up, still piloting the ship."

The Doctor snapped his medical tricorder closed and walked briskly to a console. "I would like to observe you for the next twenty-four hours and perform a sleep study."

Tom groaned. Twenty-four hours with the Doctor. All he could picture was opera and the Doctor complaining. Tom hopped off the bio-bed and straightened his uniform. "You know, Doc, I love spending time with you but why don't you just slap a monitor on my head and let me return to my duties. I mean, I don't think my condition is serious enough to warrant—"

"Nonsense, Mr. Paris," The Doctor came at him with a hypospray and injected something into his neck before he could protest, "Your condition is affecting your duties and you can't be daydreaming at the helm. Don't worry, I'll inform the Captain," He then handed Tom a pad, "I also suggest that the next time you have an episode, record what you remember," With a tone of finality, the Doctor disappeared into his office, humming. Tom sighed, defeated and peeked around the corner to see into the office.

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Tom said loud enough to get the Doctor's attention.

The Doctor looked up from his desktop computer and shrugged, "I suggest you take a nice nap."

Thank you again for reading and I hope you're hooked! Thoughts and criticism welcome!

~sancti