Title: Julia

Chapter 11: Agony and Ecstasy

Megan raised her head as the elevator doors opened, and immediately froze, fixated by the look on Don's face. He was headed toward the conference room at a half jog, accompanied by a technician, who was talking as they trotted. Don looked up and caught her eyes, his expression frantic, and he gave swift jerk of his head toward the conference room.

"Guys," said Megan, already rising, "come on, something's up." Colby and David looked up in time to see Don going through the conference room door, and they were up like a shot, and on Megan's heels.

"Okay, keep it running, let me hook it up," the technician was saying as they entered, and Don handed him a cell phone. He busied himself for a moment with the equipment, and Don stood impatiently watching.

Megan tried to read his expression. "What's up?" she asked softly.

Don turned and looked at them as if just realizing that they were standing there; and Megan got a good look at his face. He looked desperate; his eyes filled with fear. He swallowed hard before he spoke. "She's got him, she's-"

"Okay, I've got it hooked in. The system's searching for the signal – you'll get video feed in just a…" the technician's voice trailed off as the video came up on the computer monitor. They stared in shock at the image of Charlie on the screen, the short clip playing and replaying like a twisted trailer for a horror film.

"Jesus," breathed Colby.

Don eyes were riveted on the screen, his chest heaving. The magnified image was immeasurably worse – the blood on his brother's face stood out, scarlet and garish, and the fresh trickle coming from his mouth was apparent. Megan stared for a moment, stunned, then collected herself, and steered Don to a chair.

Don sat, almost mindlessly, but the technician's next words shot him immediately to his feet again. "Holy shit, that phone's still transmitting! I can get a read on it, a location –," the technician tapped the keyboard excitedly, and a map appeared on an adjoining monitor. They crowded around him, watching tensely as the program homed in on the location.

"Come on, baby – there it is – 23rd and 6th – that's ten minutes from here…" the technician turned and his voice trailed off, as he realized that he was talking to an empty room. He caught just a glimpse of the agents as they ran around the hall corner, and turned back and stared at the other monitor again, still silently playing and replaying its macabre image.

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Don tore onto the ramp for highway 110, hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, Megan pale faced and tight lipped beside him. Colby and David were just behind, tailing so close that they were almost kissing Don's SUV bumper. Moments later they shot off the Arlington Avenue exit and rocketed down the ramp, brakes squealing as they made a sharp right onto Arlington, and then a block later, a left onto 21st. As Don turned left onto 5th, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the conference room.

"Where's the signal?" he barked, turning again as 5th turned into 23rd.

"I'm not getting movement," said the technician into the speaker phone. "After you left I pulled up the address. It's an old, abandoned hotel on the corner."

Don hung up and hit David's speed dial, and spoke tersely into the phone, relaying the information. "You guys take the back, check the alley. Megan and I will come in from the front."

"Got it."

Don hit 6th and saw the ramshackle building immediately. He steered the SUV to the curb and slammed on his brakes, thanking God for shoulder belts as he saw Megan's hair whip forward toward the dash out of the corner of his eye. David and Colby careened around the corner and into the alley.

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Colby saw him first, leaned up against a dumpster, firmly in the twilight zone of the very drunk, and the very homeless. He was still clutching the bottle in his hand, and Colby's heart sank. It was obvious this guy hadn't been doing anything but one-armed curls for quite some time. Still, he kept his weapon extended before him and spoke lowly to David. "Got something. Dumpster, back door." David glided in close behind him, weapon also raised, providing back-up. When they reached the derelict, Colby kicked at the man's shoe and spoke again. "Hey! Buddy, wake up!" The only response was a lolling head and the dropping of the bottle, which shattered on the asphalt. Somehow knowing what he was going to find, yet hoping desperately that he wouldn't, Colby slowly kneeled and carefully avoided the glass, searching the ground around and behind the drunk. When he found the cell phone, he picked it up using a handkerchief from his pocket and lifted it to show David. "I found it," he negotiated. "Now, you get to be the one to tell Don."

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Don and Megan were still searching the ground floor of the building when David and Colby joined them. It turned out that neither one of them was willing to provide Don with details, so Colby just held up the evidence bag and shrugged. "Planted," he said, managing to hiss out one word. Don paled, staggering back from the cell phone as if it were somehow responsible for what was happening to Charlie. He was further discombobulated when his own phone started ringing. He stood in silent shock and made no move to answer it until Megan's concerned face was inches away. "Do you want me to get that?"

"What?" The sound of Megan's soft voice grounded Don a little, and he finally understood that the ringing was not coming from the cell phone in the bag; it was his own phone, on his belt. Feeling like an idiot, he shook his head to clear it and grabbed the cell. "Eppes," he growled. Don listened intently for a moment, and his face hardened. His equilibrium suddenly restored, he turned on his heel and started back to the SUV in a dead run. His team followed without knowing exactly why until he paused briefly at the driver's door and looked at them over the hood of the vehicle. "LAPD," he informed them, keeping it as brief as possible. "They tracked Charlie's cell. It's moving, but slowly. They're sending a unit. We can meet them – Skid Row area, just a few blocks from here." Colby and David took off running for their car without waiting for an address. They wouldn't be far enough behind Don to get lost, anyway.

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Don slowed to a crawl as he turned, scanning both sides of the road anxiously. The street was almost deserted, save for a few derelicts, one sprawled on the left side next to a building, and another undoubtedly homeless wretch making its way up the right side, pushing a shopping cart, a mangy mongrel at its feet. The morning light did nothing to soften the scene, and it was quickly obvious that the only thing that was moving at all on the street was the miserable wreck to the right. If the phone was moving slowly, on this street, this had to be the…creature…who had it. Not even considering waiting for the LAPD unit, Don stopped the SUV in the middle of the street and led the charge.

Seconds later, the wreck found itself surrounded by the barrels of four pistols, shouts of "FBI!" ringing in its ears. Whatever it was cringed, and put up shaking hands. "I ain't done nuthin,'" it wailed, and with the words it became apparent that it must be a man. The mutt snapped excitedly and growled, showing its lower teeth.

Don snarled at the bum. "Keep those hands up! Are you carrying a cell phone? Where did you get it? When?" Colby began patting him down, while David poked through the shopping cart.

Dark eyes glittered back at him under matted hair and then darted nervously to the cart. "Ain't got no phone. Ain't-,"

"What in the hell's this?" growled David, repeating Colby's handkerchief trick himself. He recognized the CalSci logo on the phone's leather case as he lifted it, and he looked at Don. "This is it."

Don lunged at the filthy creature in front of him, grabbing him by the coat. "Where'd you get that phone?" He shook the man, his voice rough with rage. "Where'd you get it?"

"I picked it up off the street," muttered the man, his eyes shifting downward.

Don stared at him a minute, seething. The man was obviously lying. "Okay, you're coming in for questioning. Read him his goddamn rights and leave his stuff here." He watched, his eyes narrowed, as the man was led off by Colby and David without complaint. Something was definitely strange about this. No homeless person he ever encountered gave up their miserable belongings without some kind of protest. He glanced at the shopping cart, frowning, as Megan slipped the phone that David handed her into an evidence bag. The dog, suddenly unattended, pulled on its leash, and broke free of the cart, hightailing it down the street.

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Charlie groaned and arched his body, trying to move away from the dull pain in his lower back. The movement sent a spear of pain through his gut, and his left arm erupted from a severe ache into full fledged agony. He cried out in pain, gritting his teeth, and then gasped for air, trying to fight back a wave of nausea. He lifted his head and craned his neck tentatively, trying to see what was holding him in his awkward position.

He was suspended on some kind of framework, he realized dazedly; his wrists and ankles were secured by straps and he hung on the frame, about three feet off the ground, like a sort of human hammock. Or at least he would have hung, except for the spike that dug into his back. The top of the spike wasn't terribly sharp, but when he relaxed, it pushed into his back with a bruising force, forcing his body upward. If he stiffened his limbs and arched his back as high as he could, he could hold himself over it, but the movement put too much pressure on his broken arm. He had no choice but to relax his body, to let his back rest on its punishing support.

He kept his head elevated for just a moment, looking around in confusion, taking in his surroundings. It was some kind of warehouse, he thought dimly, before the weight of his head became too much, and he let it fall backward again, hanging uncomfortably between his shoulders, toward the floor. As he looked up at his arms, he realized that the splint had been removed, and it almost surprised him when he felt some concern about that. He had been repeatedly drugged, raped, beaten, and was currently being tortured. A broken arm was the least of his worries. He coughed, and it pulled a groan of anguish from him, as pain knifed through his stomach again, and a fresh trickle of blood ran from his mouth.

"Perfect," came a voice off to his side, and he turned his head toward the sound, as Julia hit the stop button on the cell phone camera. She smiled, and strolled toward him, kneeling to bring her face closer to his.

He looked at her, despair and bewilderment on his face. "What are you doing?" The words rasped out, his voice as rough as sandpaper from the pain.

She stroked his face. "You'll find out soon enough," she said softly, smiling. Her eyes trailed up and down the length of the framework. "It's exquisite, isn't it? It starts out merely as uncomfortable; you can shift slightly, but the spike always ends up pressing somewhere on your lower back. Eventually the whole area is bruised, bruise on top of bruise, until the skin and muscle are nearly pulverized."

She put her hand under his head, supporting it, offering a moment of blessed relief to his neck. "And your neck – you can lift your head, but not for very long. Eventually your neck and shoulders tighten into unbearable spasms. And no one has to lift a finger – the force is applied by gravity. It's one of my favorites." She sighed, wishing that it was her in the device. She would need to settle for second-best, inflicting the pain on someone else.

She pulled suddenly on his hair, yanking his neck down, and the force was transmitted to the rest of his body, pulling his back even harder into the spike, and stretching his broken arm. He cried out involuntarily at the pain, and gasped as she lightly ran her fingers over his swollen, bruised forearm. She felt a sensual rush of joy at his cry.

"You need to find the pleasure in it, Charlie," she admonished, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths of desire. "There is a fine line between agony and ecstasy. Once you learn to cross it, you are liberated, free to experience pleasure like you've never known."

Charlie clenched his teeth, trying not to moan, trying to keep from giving her the satisfaction. His head reeled with the pain and shock. The woman that he thought he had loved was insane, a sick psychopathic monster. He wondered fleetingly if anyone had missed him, if they were looking for him, but he realized with despair that it was doubtful at best. After the way he had treated his brother, Don was probably staying as far away as he could. It would be up to Charlie to try to somehow to convince her to stop what she was doing.

He turned his head slightly from its hanging position and looked into her eyes. They were heavy with lust; he could see her breasts heaving, and her face was consumed with a look of need. "Please, Julia," he whispered, but the plea in his eyes just seemed to inflame her, and she reached greedily for his broken arm with both hands.

With a single, powerful twist, she transported both of them to a semi-conscious state, their voices mingling together in screams of pleasure and pain. They hung suspended as one in mindless limbo for a moment, one borne by ecstasy, one by agony, before reality descended again. As the unimaginable sensations subsided, awareness returned to the one, and slipped away from the other.

Julia clambered unsteadily to her feet, and stood panting, staring numbly at Charlie's unconscious body. She had just experienced pleasure like none other before, so absolute that she was rooted in place, stupefied for just a moment. The belief that hurting another was second-best had been disintegrated, dismantled by what she had just gone through. Her face still bearing a look of shock, she staggered away toward the van. Her mind slowly began to function again; there was work to do. She had a video to deliver.

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Colby and David propelled the ragged derelict swiftly through the bullpen toward the interrogation room, followed by Megan and Don. Don eyes were fixed on the back of the man's head, as if he could pull information from it as they walked, but as focused as he was, a quiet voice made him pause and turn. Liz stood to the side of one of the desks, her eyes full of apprehension.

"I saw the video," she said quietly, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. Megan paused for just a moment, glancing at them; then moved forward toward the interrogation room. Liz's eyes followed her, briefly; then turned back to Don. "Did you find anything? Do you know who has him?" She searched his face, noting with a pang the look of despair in his eyes.

He took a breath, trying to steady his voice. "It's Jessica Soames. I told you about Charlie's girlfriend, Julia – it was Jessica, all along." He felt emotion rising, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to will it away.

Liz's face filled with consternation. "The woman you have the restraining order against? But he's known her for weeks, what – at least a month now? And she planned this from the start?"

Don's jaw set in a grim line. "It looks like it." He raised his eyes toward the interrogation room. "I have a suspect to talk to." He looked down at her, and his expression softened, but she could see the residue of fear in his eyes. "We'll talk later."

She nodded mutely, and watched him make his way toward the room. The realization did not escape her that even though Jessica had Charlie, it was Don that she wanted revenge against, and apparently would stop at nothing to get it. A cold pit of fear settled in her stomach as she watched the door close behind him.

David and Colby were both playing bad cop, leaning over the suspect, as if the slightest movement he made would trigger them to pounce. Don paced behind them like a caged lion, and eyed the man, who sat slouched in his chair. "I want a lawyer," he said sullenly. The street accent was gone.

"We'll get you a public defender," growled Colby.

The man straightened suddenly and pulled the matted hair from his head, revealing short, somewhat spiky black hair. Without it, he looked suddenly years younger; probably early twenties; and his face bore a definite attitude. "I'm a reporter, you idiots. My name is Danny Wilton. I want a real lawyer. You can call mine."

David and Colby straightened in surprise and Don forced his way between them, leaning on the table, his eyes snapping with repressed anger and impatience. "If you haven't done anything wrong, you shouldn't need one. Just tell us how you got the phone."

Wilton scowled. He had worked for weeks on this story, posing as a homeless man in the streets, and had little to show for it. The anonymous girl and the cell phone with its apparent connection to a crime were the best thing that had happened to him yet. He had memorized the plate number on the van and was hoping to find her and get more information, something that would finally bring some real impact to his piece. "I don't intend to divulge my source," he said snootily, looking antagonistically back at Don.

Don's face turned an unhealthy shade of red. "You snot-nosed little punk! You have no idea what you're talking about! The person who owns that cell phone is - ," He had been about to say "my brother," and he cut himself off with an effort. The last thing they needed was to let the story get out in the newspaper. "-is a kidnap victim. You- " he jabbed a finger at the man, and it came perilously close to Wilton's nose, "are impeding a federal investigation."

Don's face was suffused with fury, and David laid a warning hand on his arm, just as the door opened. Megan stepped in. "Don," she quietly, "phone. It's the Assistant Director."

Don's head jerked up as if he'd been shot, and his eyes searched her face. He looked down again, scowling; then inclined his head toward the reporter, as he looked at David. "Get his story." He pointed again at the man. "You need to talk. This isn't some petty local crime here. You clam up on a federal case, and you're in deeper water than you care to be."

He turned away and followed Megan out of the room. Colby yanked the reporter's chair as easily as if it had wheels, and faced him nose to nose, his blue eyes boring into Wilton's dark ones. "The guy who owns that phone is a personal friend of mine," he said; the softness in his voice more menacing than a yell. "I'd start talking if I were you." The man stared back and gulped, turning an ugly shade of greenish white.

Don shut the door behind him and faced Megan. "I talked to the A.D. before I met with LAPD," he said quietly, outside the door. "What gives?"

She looked away, a bit guiltily. "He asked me to keep him updated," she said quietly. "He knows it's a kidnapping now, and it's a member of your family. When he heard, he wanted to pull you off the case."

Don's eyes flashed angrily, and he went to move past her. "No goddamn way," he retorted, headed for the phone.

She laid a restraining hand on his arm. "I talked him into leaving you on, with another agent in charge – don't yell at him, or you'll make him change his mind."

He paused, scowling. "Who's the other agent?"

She shrugged and looked up at him apologetically. "Me."

He looked down at her, and his face softened. "Well hell, that's – that's good." He stared at her for a minute, earnestly. "Thank you."

She smiled back, a small one, considering the circumstances, but the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly, as she held his gaze. "Don't mention it. You'd better pick up that phone."

David and Colby came out of the room as Don finished his conversation with the Assistant Director. "Yes, thank you sir. Yes sir, I will." He hung up the phone and looked at them expectantly. Colby looked back at him smugly.

"Wilton thought better of it after you left the room," said David. "He gave us a description of the girl – matched Jessica to a tee. She was driving a white van – and he got a plate number." Colby had made his way to his computer and began to bring up the DMV site.

Don grunted approvingly, and then his forehead creased. "The video looked like it was taken in the back of a van – that must be it."

"Damn," said Colby, staring at the computer screen. "It figures." Their heads turned toward him and he swiveled to face them, shaking his head. "Guess who the van's registered to. Marquis Sanders."

Megan's eyes glinted. "Our old friend Markie. Maybe we have something on him, this time."

For the first time in a day, Don felt a flutter of hope. He quirked an eyebrow at Megan. "Okay, lead agent, what's our next move?"

She grinned back. "Let's pay a little visit to our pal Markie."

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END Chapter 11