Thanks to everyone who alerted me the fact that i had posted the same chapter twice. I have gone back and put the proper chapter in the 10 slot, so if you don't know how Methos got captured... well, go back and read it.
I apologize once again but can you really blame me, i have been writing like the mad woman that i am to get this done by my deadline...
Get back in your BOX!
No, the last time you had a bathroom break I didn't update for a year.
I don't want to hear how hard it can be for muses…
No you do not deserve quality time at a bar.
Don't make me use the whacking stick….
Sorry… now where was i?
Methos regained consciousness only once on the ride to wherever the soldier was taking him. The rest of the time he floated in a black haze, free of thought and memories. All in all, it was the best sleep he had gotten in weeks.
He wondered languidly during his brief moment of lucidity whether it could be considered mal adjustment when the best sleep you can get is when a crazy man knocks you out for singing the Rolling Stones…
In what seemed like no time at all, Methos found himself chained to the wall in a strange room. The walls were white and blank with a single inadequate light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Concrete showed through the paint in places and somewhere in the corner water dripped steadily onto the floor, leaving a greenish streak that led from the wall to the drain in the center of the room. All in all, a typical torture room, Methos estimation of his captor's originality went down a notch.
This was a new one Methos decided. He couldn't recall a time when he had been chained to the wall. This would certainly be a new experience, it would make a good story next time he had the opportunity to share his, 'You won't believe how I died the other day…' stories with his other immortal acquaintances. Whoever they might be…
Methos knew what phase of torture this was. Somewhere in the building his captors waited. He was supposed to sit and scream or contemplate his fate. Eventually, when it was sure that he was hungry, thirsty and utterly mad with wondering about what was going to happen, they would come with food and water, probably drugged, and act the savior. He would then be expected to fully cooperate out of gratitude.
As the hours passed, Methos found himself not wondering about what would happen but instead thinking on what had happened. Surely this whole thing was connected to whatever lay buried in his mind. Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to ensure that he wouldn't be able to recall whatever had gone on.
What then did they hope to gain by torturing him? What questions could he answer? Perhaps they wanted to know what he remembered, or, he thought more likely that they were ordered to kill him and they decided to have some fun first.
As predicted, right about the time that thirst and hunger were beginning to become a major concern, they entered with a tray of food and faces full of false smiles. The one man was familiar, though he had traded his fatigues for a wife beater and khaki's he was undoubtedly the man who had captured him in the first place. His face was still naggingly familiar. The other man was a bit burlier with a decidedly blank expression.
Methos smiled inwardly, Ahh… the hired muscle. Without a doubt this was the man who would be doing the grunt work, so to speak. Probably Knife guy would have some fun with sharp things too. Methos knew from experience that everything grew back when he healed, so he continued to remain detached from the situation.
Somewhere inside he realized that he should be pleading, screaming, playing into their schemes, anything… but he realized with a start that perhaps he may have finally found his backbone after all. Shame it took years of captivity to bring it out…
After setting down the tray of food just out of Methos reach, the captors spoke. Well, more specifically, the Knife guy spoke and the Hired muscle grunted affirmative.
"If you just tell us what you know right now, we can end this now and no one needs to get hurt." The Knife guy said, his broken glass voice coated with a thin veneer of sweetness.
The Hired Muscle grunted and cracked his knuckles. Obviously misunderstanding the not hurting part.
"Out of the night that covers me, black as the Pit from pole to pole," Methos replied.
Knife guy walked closer to Methos, almost within his range, and flashed him another false smile, "What did you say?"
"I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul."
The man's face fell into a quizzical mask and he leaned a little closer as if to ask for another line, Methos used that opportunity to punctuate his last line and spit directly into the Knife guy's face.
The man reeled back, knocking over the tray of food and water onto the floor. His face turned a crimson red and his eyes burned with anger. Haltingly he swiped the spittle from his face, glaring at Methos.
Methos took the opportunity to continue, "Under the wide and starry sky dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die."
With no small amount of flourish Methos rose to his feet as best as the chains would allow, and bowed deeply keeping his eyes, and his smiling face, locked onto the Knife guy.
He all but ran from the room, followed closely by the Hired muscle, who was obviously disappointed.
Methos laughed long and hard. It had been a jolly good doing but it had been informative as well. Now, he knew that it was not just for fun that they were torturing him. They had to find something before he was killed, otherwise it would have ended just now.
Methos settled back against the wall and closed his eyes. With that last act he had effectively sped up the process. Normally a refusal of food would lead to another long day of waiting for another offer, with the hope of winning the answers. However, Methos could tell in Knife guy's eyes after what Methos had done that they would skip straight to the hurting phase.
Nothing to do but wait. Methos briefly tried to recapture his memory but he was as unsuccessful as ever. It would just have to come out at the proper time.
The long hours dragged by. The tray of spilled food still lay within a few feet of the limit of his chains but Methos ignored it, he'd died of deprivation first. Soon Methos heard foot steps in the hall again. They were back.
Methos sat with his back against the wall, pretending to sleep, when they entered. He was roused gruffly by a swift kick in the stomach. Methos opened his eyes, slowly, patiently, making a show of focusing and then smiled sweetly.
"How good of you to come back…"
Knife guy twirled his machete, grinning. The dim light caught on its surface and shone into Methos' eyes. Nice touch.
Methos heard the dull scrape of wood on concrete and looked up to see the Hired Muscle bringing in a chair.
Ah… Methos thought to himself… now the hurting was to begin.
They hauled him up and released his chains, holding him roughly the two men forced him into the chair and rebound his hands and feet. Each arm was tied to an arm rest and his ankles were anchored to the legs. A tight rope tied around his middle finished off the ensemble.
"What do you remember?"
"Well, I remember a great many things... perhaps you should be more specific."
That earned him a punch the jaw.
The Knife guys spoke again.
"What do you remember?"
"A hint or something here, at least give me a time table… a year ago, a decade ago… otherwise we could be here all night."
The earned him two punches in the stomach and Knife guy holding his Machete threateningly close to some of Methos' more sensitive bits.
Methos smiled inwardly, he was moving up in the world.
Again Knife guy spoke.
"What do you remember about what happened here?"
Methos rolled his eyes… there was obviously no getting through to this guy.
"I don't remember anything."
As expected, this answer proved unacceptable. A nod from Knife guy and Hired Muscle went to work. Methos remained detached, amazingly. Closing his eyes he sunk into himself, feeling the blows as distant impacts, hardly worth concern. He could feel his body weakening but he didn't feel worried. Even if it was possible to break him, he didn't know anything that he could tell them. He really didn't remember anything about what had happened…. Nothing past walking through that dark hallway to a medical ward of some kind… and he remembered the screaming….
Besides he had been around since torture was invented, these guys were amateurs. Where were the pointy objects? The bolt cutters looming around fingers and toes?
It would be shameful to spill his guts to torturers with so little finesse.
The round of questioning and torture continued for longer than Methos cared to think about. The whole time he remained apart from what was happening as if watching from the side lines. They would come and question than dump him and leave him for a while to stew in his own rapidly failing body.
They tried water, they tried knives… and Methos could never remember clearly but he had a sneaking suspicion that they had tried Liberace records.
Methos gave them only what he knew, Shakespeare, Yeats, Browning, Frost, Keats… Streisand… Although his rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings had earned him the brass knuckles.
Eventually, during one small break as they allowed him to recover enough to at least rasp out an answer if he could possibly give one, Methos felt his body give out. He felt the familiar touch of death steal over his body. But instead of finding the usual black space between dying and returning, as he sunk into oblivion he fell into the waiting arms of memory.