Tim's vision swirled as he opened his eyes and tried to register where he was.
Bricks, puddles of water, empty space, rails, chains, metal grate.
He shut his eyes again, taking a deep shuddering breath hoping that what he had seen was simply an illusion, a bad dream. But even with his eyes shut he could feel the uncomfortable stretch of his body and the restraints around his wrists and ankles.
He was naked, stripped bare and hanging restrained in a spread eagle fashion. He was freezing. His pale soft skin was coated in goose pimples and he felt a deep shiver ripple through him. His stomach clenched convulsively and he felt himself nearly gag though his mouth was sandpaper dry. He controlled his response, taking in deep breaths again and again. After a minute that seemed like an hour he willed himself to open his eyes again.
Bare brick walls, puddles of water, big empty space, rails, chains, large metal grate in the floor, solid timber frame above and to the side of him, large white metal boxes scattered around the room, strong metal hooks.
It was a dream alright. It was a nightmare. What the hell had happened? He had been planning his trip away and the last thing he remembered was his…..
He had been standing by his car in the garage of his apartment complex and he had seen a hand. That was it. The last thing he remembered was a hand coming towards his face with a cloth in it. Chloroform? Someone had drugged him and brought him here. Why?
He was a Federal Agent and an NCIS investigator. Think! Breathe!
He was currently alone so he needed to find out as much as he could from his surroundings before whoever wanted him turned up. Logically, someone must want him for something so the more information he had the better. They would ask him questions which he wouldn't answer. He would ask them questions which they probably wouldn't answer and then they would…… ?
His mind was spinning, and he was fighting off rising panic and despair.
Stop. Stay calm. Assess. Evaluate. Breathe.
Was it still night time? It felt cold enough to be although he couldn't see a window or anything showing outside. A large industrial light high above him was on. He twisted his body and bucked trying to free himself. He could only move inches, he was strung so tight. His muscles ached already from the extended awkward position.
How long had he already been here? What time was it? What was this place?
It felt industrial and abandoned. There were no signs of recent activity. There were several doors scattered around the large room all shut and barred. What were the curved rails hanging down from the ceiling for? Was that a speaker high in the corner of the room? It looked new, somehow compared to the rest of the room. Had this place been chosen, selected for this purpose and adapted for their use? Whoever they were.
It was planned. That much was clear. It was no accident that he had been taken alone, unawares, away from NCIS. Why? What did they want from him?
He was a Federal agent but so were thousands of people. He was a hacker of some ability but his job as a field agent and investigator kept him off the front line of developments and there were many others who would be better, faster and take greater risks than he would. Would they have the security clearance and insider system knowledge he did though? And not just of NCIS but of all the other agencies I have accessed? Homeland security for a start. The stray thought chilled him further.
No back to certainties. What did he know for certain?
His bare feet rested on the cold rough concrete floor. His wrists had been padded and then manacled tight along with his ankles and he was connected by thick metal chains to a large timber A frame structure. Why would they pad under the manacles, and protect his wrists and ankles if they were going to torture him?
Torture. He was going to be tortured!
Gibbs! Gibbs would come for him. They would all come for him.
Once they discovered he was missing.
THEY WOULDN'T KNOW HE MIGHT BE MISSING FOR A WEEK!
Tim could feel himself loosing control of his breathing. He was sweating and his chest was rising and falling, taking in great gasps. His muscles strained as he tried to find a way to free himself. He stopped noticing the freezing cold as his body washed hot in shuddering waves of fear. His heart was hammering loudly in his chest from the rising panic and he was gasping and twisting, rattling his chains. What day was it? How long had he been out? Where was he? What did they want? Were they watching him? Who were they? Why wasn't there someone there? What did they want from him? He felt his control slipping as terror gripped him vice like around his chest.
"What do you want from me?" His voice screamed out and echoed across the empty building.
"Show yourselves! I am a Federal Agent and I demand that you release me!"
Nothing. Only his own voice echoing around the cold harsh space.
Jarrod smiled from his control room as he watched the fear take hold. Yes this was going to be interesting. In fact he believed this one was going to be his favorite. He had had many others under his gentle care over the years but this one was a field agent. Not an analyst who sat behind a desk all day, although Timothy had the mind for it. Not an intelligence expert who immersed themselves within a particular group to learn all they could about them. Timothy had the attention to detail for that too. Timothy was an investigator who week after week examined the worst that humans and their petty violence could do to each other. No Timothy had seen the bodies of the victims and he knew what could happen to him. Knew it intimately.
Timothy had smelt the viscera of bellies cut open, witnessed the stench of loosened bowels and desperate choking vomit. He could view mutilated corpses and their open staring eyes for what they could tell him about the perpetrator rather than just the victim. He had see bodies burned by fire and acid, cut into a thousand different pieces, stabbed, twisted from poison, suffocated, starved, exploded, strangled a thousand different ways, shot, beaten and tortured.
Oh no Timothy claimed the fear and he was right to do so. The others often tried to deny that there would be pain and deluded themselves. They thought they were being strong by swallowing the visions, closing their eyes and turning their minds from what was to come. That way when there was pain they were unprepared for it. Timothy's fear was his strength and it was writ large across his face, his eyes huge and staring. He knew what could be done to him and he fought it.
With his eyes wide open.
"Release me! Now! I demand it!"
"What do you want from me?"
"Whose there?"
"Please. Let me go!"
"Please?" Tim sobbed, his voice raw from hours of screaming. His muscles ached and he trembled from the cold and the terror. He was coated in fear sweat, chilling him further until he shuddered constantly. Why hadn't anyone come for him yet? Didn't they want him now? He was exhausted, hungry and thirsty his mind conjuring up ever more fantastical and diabolical futures.
No. Fight!
Fight to stay awake. To stay conscious. To breathe. To assess. To gather information. Everything was important. Concentrate!
*************************************************
Tony shaved carefully and then dressed with equal precision. Date night tonight and it was going to be good. He better hurry it was getting late. He found himself humming as he slapped on some cologne. Yup he was getting back on that horse. And it was a pretty blond horse at that.
Abby settled in for a quick nap in her coffin. There was a new club opening up tonight and she was planning on being there till the doors closed so she was getting a little shut eye while it was early. Now should she wear the red velvet peek a boo or the slashed leather tonight?
**************************************************
He heard them first before he saw them. Heavy booted feet marching across the metal checker plate on the floor in a desperate rhythm. They had come for him finally, after hours? Days? After his personal nightmares it almost seemed a relief. But then he realized they had only just started.
A mans voice came over a loud speaker, crackling and impersonal.
"Hurt him. But don't break his ribs, not yet. And don't touch his face."
They came for him then. All dressed in black, hooded so he could only see their eyes. Four of them, no five? They kept moving and he couldn't move enough to twist around and follow them. They circled him and then came at him, hitting, scratching, twisting, scraping his flesh, bruising again and again. Pulling his hair out in clumps, dozens of tiny slashing cuts, smearing the blood they drew over him, drawing pictures, taunting him. His screams of rage echoing with their laughter, bouncing off the hard brick walls. He thrashed in his restraints, defenseless against them. They would laugh and retreat only to return moments later to punch and hit him again.
And again.
His blood was hot against his chilled skin. He wasn't sure if he slept or if he passed out. They woke him with hard jets of freezing cold water and as he trembled and shuddered they started their torment again. He could feel his body swelling and bruising and pain seemed to be the only thing keeping him conscious. He screamed his terror at them through his choking tears but they ignored him and continued their games.
There would be other days when they would do far worse things to him, things that would tear at his soul but this first day was what would haunt him.
"What do you want from me?"
"Please."
"What do you want from me?"
Jarrod smiled as he watched his Chosen one, his favorite twist and scream in anguish below him. So pretty really. Few men could be considered beautiful while being driven mad but he really was. His pale skin was rosy flush from exertion, his fine hair slicked down to his scalp. He wanted to go down and join in the fun but really it was too early for that.
Still it wouldn't be long. Jarrod arched his fingers and watched joyfully as the electricity arced blue and bright between his fingers. His new toy. The slim cables ran down from intricately wired rubber fingerless gloves down each finger and connected to special fingertip pads that covered the top of each of his fingers like wicked evil thimbles. He had complete movement of his hands plus the added benefit of electricity. Quite useful really. He smiled as he considered running his hands down Timothy's naked soft flesh and felt the flex of his fingers as his tender body jerked and writhed under his caring touch.
Soon.