Chapter 3

A/N Since you all were kind enough to read the second chapter, I went ahead and wrote a third one. Again, a mixture of seriousness and humor.

In the darkness, he began feeling along the bars at the top and the bottom and where they were recessed into the stone wall and the floor and the ceiling. There were a lot of bars and they were set close together. He knew from past experience that one reason for this was that he and some of the other vampires once imprisoned here had been able to shape-shift. He had not done the big-crow thing in a long time, but he wasn't about to do it now. He wasn't even sure he could do the transformation any longer. It took a lot of vampire energy to do it. The big crow, nearly as big as a raven, couldn't get out between the bars anyway.

As he moved around feeling everywhere, he was careful not to step in the mess he had made. Finally, knowing that the bars were secure, he returned to the back wall and sat down again. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his already-messy hair. There was dried blood and a sore place on the back. Dried blood on the right side of his neck was flaking away.

This was a distressing situation. When would Elena and Stefan look for him? Stefan finally seemed to be doing better, and now, this had to happen. It was better that it was him, Damon, and not Stefan. The younger brother was in no emotional shape to deal with this. Still, he had to hope someone would try finding him.

He wished that would happen before he was tortured much. Even in childhood, when he was a human boy, life had given him pain. Giuseppe Salvatore had been quick to punish the boy for any infraction. And young Damon somehow had seemed to find ways to get into trouble for which his father had spanked him or whipped him. Damon had taken it. He was a bold child. A daring child and then a rebellious youth.

He had then survived danger, injury and illness as a young adult in the Civil War. That hadn't been fun. Several times he had fallen victim to bacterial food poisoning or dysentery because of contaminated food or water. Illness took more soldiers' lives than the guns and cannons did. But he had survived.

And as a vampire he had been injured countless times. A few times, like in the hands of Augustine, he had suffered to the point that he was really frightened, trembling and in tears with fear and exhaustion. But the thing was, as a child he had been told once by his beloved mother that bravery was facing fear and doing what had to be done, not letting fear take total control. He had tried to live by those words. So, as scared as he might get on rare occasions, he put on a brave face and told himself he could take it. He tried not to lie to himself about that.

He listened for sounds. He had stopped his own breathing and heartbeat so that he could hear anything. He could not hear any other heartbeat or breathing. He could not sense the presence of another vampire. When he had first woken, he could not smell one nearby, although he could just catch the scent of one having been in this place recently. What had happened to that poor soul? In addition, he had smelled the scent of someone other than Maxfield on his clothes. The person who had carried him, no doubt.

The strongest smell now was of his own making and he wished that he had not had to do that. Between that odor and the one coming from mostly-digested cheeseburger and fries, the place was not full of fresh air. It smelled like a sickroom. Or more specifically, a cell with no flush toilet.

From somewhere came a single drip of water into water. He knew there was a faucet in the area because that was where the water hose had been connected. And there was a drain set in the floor outside the cells. So, that meant the cell where he sat could be hosed down as it had been way back sixty or so years ago.

He suspected that there was a camera in the wall or ceiling that was pointed at him, watching. It couldn't see him unless it was infrared, but perhaps it was. He'd have to be careful not to show weakness when he thought he was alone. Keep a stiff upper lip, as the British used to say.

I can survive this. 'Been there. Done that', as the saying goes. Maxfield can't do anything to me without taking me out of this cell. I'm sure he has assistants. Augustine did. I wonder how many. What are my chances of overcoming them and escaping? Probably slim to none. They won't come near me without using vervain first.

I hope he isn't into cutting off body parts. I'm always terrified that the parts won't be put back so they will reattach and heal. I know Augustine destroyed some of the things he removed from some of the other vampires. That way, he said, the vampire would either have to grow the part from scratch like a lizard growing a new tail, or do without. I know for a fact that most of them ended up doing without.

Would Elena still want me if I was missing an arm or a leg? I'm pretty sure she would. Would she still want me if my face was missing a nose or my ears were gone, or an eye? I don't know about that. Would she want me if I was missing my really good male parts? I somehow doubt it. We had so much fun in bed this summer. I'd really miss that. Wouldn't she miss that? I don't think I would feel like a man if I were emasculated. Am I being redundant in saying that?

Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions about Elena. I mean about her loving me anyway. No matter what. She's not a shallow person, except when she turns off her emotions. I'm a handsome devil. I have a great sense of humor. I know I could still please her, one way or another. I'm good at that, too. I hope she knows there is more to me to love than what I have in my pants. Of course, she does. A man is more than his male parts.

But damn, what about my pleasure? Oh sure, I get quite a kick when I bite and swallow that exquisite human blood. That's sexual in its way. But I like it combined with some action down below. I would really, really miss that. Maxfield could totally ruin me.

Here I am worrying about his mutilating me when so far he has done nothing but threaten me and leave me in here without a bucket. Of course, no bucket shows he's a mean bastard. He says he's an Augustine man, which means he's cruel and warped, as far as I'm concerned. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I was a masochist. My desire for pain is somewhat limited. Okay, very limited. I have to be really turned on before pain becomes pleasure. Or totally drunk or stoned. Around here, it's going to be vervain and that just ain't the same.

My neck is still sore. I'm glad Elena killed that Jesse guy. Maxfield made him a dangerous and damaged vampire wanting to feed on other vampires. That's sick. Klaus' father Mikael liked that too, although he was out to kill his offspring, rather than feed off them. I wonder if he ever thought about feeding from Klaus. After all, Klaus was not of his blood.

Klaus' blood has quite a kick to it. I couldn't help but notice that when he saved my life again after Vaughn shot me. I suppose a person could develop quite a liking for something special like that. I suspect I would be healing my sore spots faster if I had some of it now. If Maxfield keeps vervaining me, my healing power is going to getweaker. That means more pain and longer-lasting. I damn sure wish I were not here.

Some time passed, although he could not tell how much. He made himself relax and he rested. His aches faded, for the most part, and his intestines calmed down, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from churning. He couldn't make his memories go away, much as he wished he could. He thought about things he didn't want to remember. Five years! He'd been a prisoner here for five hellish years back in the 1950's.

He didn't have an orifice that hadn't been injured, and where there was no orifice, a sharp scalpel had made an opening. He had seen his own intestines laid on the outside of his incised belly. He had glimpsed his own heart, stimulated to make it beat, in his opened chest. He had had to use his own hand or hands to align broken bones. He had fearfully watched as amputated parts were held in place by Augustine, who watched the vampire's magic healing power grab onto those parts and reattach them. It had hurt. Everything that was done had hurt. Watching someone in pain had really been a turn-on for the sadistic doctor. And his assistants. And the select few who came to watch.

Even the sexual things had hurt, although there had been times when some pleasure had crept in. Damon couldn't deny that. Augustine had had ways of stimulating sexual pleasure. And yet, even that had been torment and against the will of most of the captives.

I'm messing with my own mind with all this remembering. I'll bet that's part of the torment Maxfield is expecting me to experience. Remembering is almost as bad as experiencing. Like poor Stefan. Remembering being under water in that box for three months. Remembering over and over the feeling of drowning again and again. That was very traumatic for him. I know as a small child he had a fear of drowning. He eventually became a good swimmer, but apparently the deep-seated fear never really went away. He pretends it doesn't bother him now, but I know it does.

Well, Stefan, I have some deep-seated fears myself. Sitting here is giving me flash-backs that feel really nasty. If you feel up to it, and if you've really forgiven me for not rescuing you from the quarry, then please feel free to come get me. Anytime soon.

He cringed when the lights suddenly came on, blinding him. With his eyes closed tightly, he listened for the door to open. It did, followed by the sound of footsteps. More than one set of footsteps. He opened his eyes and watched Maxfield come to stand a short ways from the bars. Another fellow, looking like a football player, stood further back.

"Feeling better now?" the doctor asked.

"I'm fine. What now? I see you brought help."

"Yes. This is Bull. He's my reluctant helper, since my regular assistant is in jail."

"Jail? You have good quality help, Maxfield. Are you sure you can depend on this one? I mean, since he's 'reluctant'."

"I help Bull out and he returns the favor. Right, Bull?"

"I don't have to carry him no more, do I? You said I just have to shoot this dart at his butt like he was some animal. So he'd go to sleep like he was before."

"He is an animal, Bull. Vampires are not human."

"He looks human. He sounds human."

"Well, he …"

"What's that on the floor? He puked on the floor! You said he wouldn't do that on me!"

He didn't vomit on you, did he?"

"No, but he coulda. And what's that over there? I smell it. He coulda messed his pants while I was carrying him! Ewww!"

"Bull, don't be so squeamish!" Maxfield growled.

Damon could see that the big young man didn't want anything to do with him. It was now clear that he had been the one who had carried him and had apparently dropped him a couple of times. How could a big, strong fellow like that drop him? After all, he was not really a big man compared to many.

"Damon, either come over here and turn your back to us or we will just have to fire these drug darts at you and who knows what we'll hit."

"I'm staying right here. Take your best shot," Damon said with his usual smirk. He doubted Bull would even hit him. He began sidling right and left, making himself a moving target along the back wall.

Bull walked right up to the cell and put the barrel of the tranquilizer gun in between the bars. Before Bull could react, Damon had moved in a blur and snatched the gun from him. He fired it at Maxfield. The dart hit one of the metal bars and skittered away on the floor, while the dart the doctor fired at him jabbed through his shirt and struck him in the navel. The syringe had a feathered tail on it which sort of waved around as Damon stared down at it. He yanked the needle from his body, but he knew it was really too late. Forgetting he was going to be gentlemanly, he cursed at the two men as they watched him.

The vervain hurt. It always did, depending on the dosage and where it was injected. This dose proved to be enough to paralyze him, but not enough to knock him out. He collapsed with a hard thud on his back on the stone floor. He now had a new sore spot on the back of his head.

Maxfield moved to unlock the door.

"He ain't out cold yet, doc," Bull warned. "You better wait a bit."

"Since only one dart hit him, he won't be out cold. But he's paralyzed. He can't hurt you. We are going to undress him and then you can carry him to the next room for me."

"I'm not carrying him! Look at him. He's pissed and he's looking right at me!"

"Oh, come on! He's trying to scare you, Bull."

"He's giving me the 'evil eye.' My grandma used to say 'beware the evil eye'."

"He's not a witch. Vampires don't give the 'evil eye'. Compelling eye, maybe, but not evil."

"Look at him! I moved over here and his eyes follow me!"

Damon took advantage of Bull's fear and kept his eyes on the young man, staring at him intently, unblinkingly.

"Hey," Maxfield said, kicking Damon's left thigh. "Stop spooking him."

Damon smiled what he thought was an evil smile. He narrowed his eyes at Bull.

"I'm getting out of here!" Bull gasped.

"No, you are not," the doctor said. He pulled a cloth handkerchief from one of his pockets. It was used because he had hayfever, so he had to pull on it to open it to its full square. He laid it on Damon's face. "He can't see you now. Okay?"

"I bet he can see right through that with his vampire eyes. He's still watching me!"

"I'm losing patience with you, Bull. I really am. I want to remove his clothes and then we'll carry him to the other room."

"You mean, I will carry him to the other room. I don't want to carry some naked dude. What if he's gay and likes the looks of me and gets all excited, if you know what I mean?"

"He has a girl friend. They're living together. Or they were before she came to school here. I don't think you're going to get him turned on. Not at all. Besides, vervain has a dampening effect on that sort of thing."

"Well, I don't want him dampening on me at all," Bull fussed. "He already peed on me."

"I think he's all peed out. And pooped out, too. Come on, sit him up and we'll pull his T-shirt up over his head."

As soon as Bull had Damon sitting up, the handkerchief fell off and Damon stared up at him again. Bull put his right hand over the vampire's evil eyes.

"His eyes are probably going to burn a hole in my hand. I'm going to be really pissed if that happens. I won't be able to play on the team if my hand is injured."

Maxfield noticed the smile was still on Damon's lips and it broadened into a grin at Bull's words. It annoyed the doctor that, despite the bad situation he was in, Damon still had a sense of humor. Well, we'll see how long that lasts, Maxfield thought.

A/N I hope you liked this chapter. I will continue with Chapter 4. Please let me know if I am going in the right direction with this. Thanks.