Chapter Ten: In the hands of a Madman

The first thing Chloe was aware of was the smell, a musty, stale aroma of fast food and body odour invading her nostrils as she slowly eased her way back into consciousness. For a few seconds, as her mind lingered in that realm that exists between sleeping and waking, she was aware of nothing else but this powerful smell, so alien to her everyday existence. It was the smell of sweat and burgers, of damp clothes and Indian food; who could live with such a stench? Surely not Oliver, but then who?

It was at that moment that her memory returned, and more particularly that final memory of a man, pressing that rag down over her face....

She had been kidnapped!

Her heart suddenly began to beat faster in her chest as the full realisation of the fate that had overtaken her became all too real. She was seated, and could feel her head resting on her chest; her eyes were closed, and prudence told her that it was best if they stayed that way for the time being. Silently, she attempted to move her arms, but found she could not. The feel of rope around her wrists told her that her hands were bound firmly behind her back, and further investigation revealed that her ankles were similarly tied. She was a prisoner, there was no doubt about that – but of whom? Who was the man who had taken her? She'd only caught a glimpse of him – a fat man, dressed in a long, slightly garish coat, with glasses and limp, greasy hair. He'd smiled at her as he'd pressed that rag to her face – an unsettling smile, a smile which for a moment lingered in her mind's eye like some warning of what was to come.

She became aware that she was panting slightly, her anxieties getting the better of her. Irritated with herself, she tried to bring her breathing under control. This wasn't the first time she'd been abducted, after all – if you hung around with the likes of Clark Kent and Oliver Queen, it kinda came with the territory. She just needed to stay calm and focused, and to learn as much as possible; an opportunity for escape would come, as it always did – she just needed to make sure she was ready for it.

She listened, straining her ears for any sound. There was none, save for the ticking of a clock and the distant rumble of traffic. She was still in the city, then – or at least she was in a city. Had she been out long enough for her abductor to move her out of Metropolis, to Gotham maybe? She didn't know, but, finally confident that she was indeed alone, she decided to open her eyes....

At first all she could see was the floor, dimly lit by some bulb that must have hung above her. She didn't move her head, not wanting to attract attention if her calculation about being alone was wrong, and so initially her field of vision was limited. Food wrappers of all sorts were strewn in all directions, mixed with what appeared to be tools of various types. Whoever had taken her, he obviously wasn't too interested in keeping up appearances; this, along with the smell which if anything seemed to be getting stronger, told Chloe that her kidnapper was probably a solitary figure, someone who didn't have many visitors – someone who may well be working alone....

Her confidence building, slowly Chloe raised her head. The light in the room was poor, a solitary bare bulb providing the only source of illumination. She appeared to be in some sort of workshop, because all around there were benches overflowing with tools, wires, and all manner of gadgets, some recognisable, some not. The benches appeared as chaotic as the floor, and there seemed to be no order to anything. Not that Chloe was really noticing; her eyes were transfixed by the wall that stood directly in front of her. It was covered in photographs, some cut from magazines and newspapers, some apparently candid shots taken probably by her kidnapper. All the photos – and there must have been hundreds of them, stretching from floor to ceiling – were of one man: Oliver Queen. Every facet of the public life of Metropolis's most famous billionaire was depicted on that wall, from the energetic businessman in the sharpest suit, to the glamorous playboy with an apparently endless set of toys, from motorbikes to helicopters. In every picture Oliver was smiling that effortless smile that had won him so many friends, and which had melted her heart over and over again. The images were so familiar to Chloe, but here there was something more – an addition to every photograph. Across Oliver's face in every picture was scrawled a word, in broad, angry handwriting:

LIAR

FRAUD

TRAITOR

PARASITE

As Chloe stared in growing horror at the twisted collage she could almost feel her blood running cold. This was not the work of a normal kidnapper, someone who might want a ransom for her return. The images in front of her spoke of an altogether more sinister mind, a mind twisted by obsession. Why was her abductor so fixated on Oliver? What did he want? What sort of person did something like this? Not a sane person – no, this was the work of someone not in their right mind, someone deranged....

"So how do you like my board, Miss Sullivan? It took me months to put together, but I'm sure if anyone can appreciate it, you can."

The voice – educated, crisp, with an almost sing-song quality to it – caused Chloe's heart to miss a beat. The man was somewhere behind her, lurking in the shadows; to Chloe's discomfort, she realised that he must have been there all the time, watching her....

"Oliver Queen, Metropolis's favourite poster boy. I take my hat off to you, Miss Sullivan – he is quite a catch, particularly for someone of your rather humble background," said the man, walking past Chloe until he reached the wall. "But I must admit, the two of you make the sweetest of couples – don't you agree?"

At this he turned, and for the first time Chloe could get a clear view of the man who held her captive. He was just as she had recalled him in her mind, only now behind his glasses his eyes seemed to flash with excitement and exhilaration. With his long coat and unkempt appearance he didn't look like a typical kidnapper – and nor did he look like a man in full control of his faculties.

"I have followed you whirlwind romance with interest, Miss Sullivan – but then I follow everything Mr Queen does with interest." The man paused, leaning forward slightly in Chloe's direction as if he were about to confide some important piece of intelligence to her. "Even his little sideline as Metropolis's favourite vigilante!"

He almost appeared to shake with excitement as he made his triumphant revelation, his eyes seeming to widen with the thrill of being able to share his knowledge of Oliver's greatest secret. Inwardly Chloe was gripped by a new sense of foreboding, but outwardly she was determined to show not even a flicker of a reaction; it was what her abductor wanted, and she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

"Oh, yes, Miss Sullivan – I know all about Mr Queen's double life as the Green Arrow. Such a well guarded secret, but he can't keep anything from me – anything at all!"

The man had edged closer to Chloe as he spoke, and he spoke faster and faster as he became more and more excited; he had the stage, and he was clearly enjoying every minute of it.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me how I know about pretty boy's dirty little secret?" he sneered, evidently slightly annoyed at Chloe's unwillingness to play her part in his carefully stage managed performance. Chloe did not respond, but simply stared defiantly at her captor.

"Well let me show you," he said, reaching across to a computer screen located on a nearby bench. He pulled it round, so that Chloe could see what it showed – to her horror, she found herself looking at a live feed from Oliver's penthouse.

"Brilliant, isn't it? The clarity of the image is much better than I expected. I see everything that Mr Queen gets up to in his apartment – everything." The last word was said with emphasis, and the man's meaning was all too clear. It was not only Oliver's secret life as the Green Arrow he'd observed, but also all the moments that the two of them had shared together – intimate moments, loving moments, moments that had been special and unique. Now it was clear that all the time they thought they were alone they were in fact being watched by the sick creature who now leered at Chloe through his thick glasses; the thought of it made her feel physically sick.

"You seem very quiet, Miss Sullivan – very quiet indeed. I must say, this isn't what I expected from someone with such a feisty reputation." The man was now very close to Chloe, and she could smell his breath as he peered into her eyes.

"I make it a rule not to talk to someone until I'm properly introduced." Chloe's voice was controlled, calm; she gave no hint of the sense of revulsion she felt at the man who now stood just inches from where she sat.

"Really.... Well, of course, I'm forgetting my manners! My name is Winslow Schott, Miss Sullivan – perhaps you've heard of me?"

"Should I have?"

"Should you have? ... Should you have? .......SHOULD. YOU. HAVE!" The question seemed to have flicked a switch inside Schott; he shook with anger, and for a moment Chloe thought he was going to lash out and hit her, such was the pent up rage that she sensed in the man who held her at his mercy. She tried not to flinch, but as he bellowed her words back at her she could not help but wince; there was something elemental about this anger, something insane....

"I am the greatest scientist at work in the United States today! I'm a genius, Miss Sullivan – a genius! My research has made Queen Industries millions –millions, do you hear? I gave your boyfriend the benefit of my services, and what did I get in return? Dismissal, and a promise that I would never work again. How's that for gratitude? Your lover boy has grown rich off the profits of my inventions, whilst I've been reduced to living like this – is that fair? I ask you, is that fair? I could have won a Nobel Prize by now, had that boy not destroyed everything – everything! Well it's time for payback, Miss Sullivan – it's time that that parasite, that leech, got what's coming to him!" At last Schott came to an end, his face bright red with anger. The venom with which he had spoken left Chloe aghast; there could be no doubt now that she was in the hands of a madman, and one whose hatred of Oliver seemed to be without limit.

"Look, if its money you..."

"Money!" exclaimed Schott, before letting out a short, high pitched laugh. "Oh, I want money, Miss Sullivan – I want my share of what Queen has stolen from me. But I want more than that, my dear – I want far more than that."

There was a brief pause, each staring at the other; the unspoken meaning of Schott's words hung heavy in the air.

"Do you know what I really want?" said Schott at last, recovering some of his former composure and once again leaning forwards so that he was just inches from his captive's face. "I want to play a game."

"What do you mean – 'a game'?" asked Chloe, trying not to recoil from the stench of the man's breath.

"A game of life and death, Miss Sullivan – a game of life and death!" whispered Schott, his eyes widening with pleasure as he thought of what was to come. "I've been planning this for long – so long! But everything is now ready – now you're here, the last piece is in place. It just remains for me to invite our player to begin – shall I do that now, Miss Sullivan? Shall I call lover boy and ask him if he wants to play?"

"Oliver won't play your game, Schott – you must know that."

"Oh, but he will, he will! Particularly when he finds out that if he refuses to play then his pretty fiancé will die! How do you like that, Chloe Sullivan? Are you ready to play the part of a damsel in distress?"

Chloe said nothing, but tried to mask the fear that she felt inside.

"What's more, if hero boy loses my little game .... well, there has to be a forfeit – and that forfeit will be your life! Are you ready for that, my dear? Are you ready to entrust your life to your leather clad lover?"

Schott was exultant, but still Chloe did not respond.

"But you haven't heard the best of it yet, Miss Sullivan! Do you know what our handsome hero's prize will be if he wins my little game? Do you?"

Again, Chloe remained silent.

"Death, Miss Sullivan. That's what Mr Queen's prize will be – death. Do you like my game, Chloe? Win or lose, billionaire boy is going to suffer – suffer more than you can ever imagine! How much fun we're going to have – truly, I cannot wait to begin!"

So Toyman has struck - don't you just love mad villains? Schott is going to mess with Chloe and Oliver so much in the chapters to come, and I'm also planning some guest appearances by other characters as well.

Hope you're still enjoying this! Thanks SO much to the wonderful reviewers who constantly inspire me - please, please, please keep the feedback coming! And if you've got something you'd like me to build in, let me know - no promises, but I'll do my best if it fits with the main direction of the story.

Back to Ollie in the next chapter - when he wakes up his problems are only just beginning!