Chapter Eleven
Music. Nathan's brain struggled to process what he was hearing. It was music; classic, heavy piano and organ music. Dark and full of anger and passion. Suspicion and deception. Rachmaninoff maybe.
That made no sense. He was feeling pain through every molecule of his body, but he was hearing music. The last he remembered, there had been just the pain. Strong, bludgeoning pains across his body. Everywhere. It had been just hit after hit until he'd passed out.
Prying his eyes open, he looked around and tried to figure out what had changed. He could feel something flat against his body, all the way down his back. Laying down on something. He was lying on his back on something cool and flat, metallic maybe. His clothes were missing as well, everything but his thin boxers. His wrists and ankles were bound to the table with more wide straps of leather. Even if he'd been capable of trying to fidget around, which the blasts of pain effectively stopped when he tried, he couldn't get free.
Nathan twisted his head around as far as it would go, taking in his surroundings. Above him was a dull gray ceiling, blank and flat concrete. The spotlights that he had seen the first time he'd woken up were staggered around the table he lay on, tilted at a lower angle so they weren't blinding him. To his left he could see the chain and bar that hung from the ceiling, where he'd been when he'd blacked out. To his right he could see a simple metal stand, with a clear IV bag hanging from it. His eyes followed the IV until it disappeared into the crook of his elbow.
What was that stuff? Was he being drugged? No, that didn't make much sense either. He didn't feel drugged, he felt - aware. More lucid and less shaky than he had before. Was it some sort of steroid being pumped into his system?
And where the hell was that music coming from?
"Welcome back." Nathan instinctively growled at the voice, the slow, casual drawl that he had heard far too much of over the last - however long it had been. "You held out far longer than I would've expected of you, Nathan. It must have been so fascinating for you, being able to feel all of that pain. In that way, I suppose you should be thanking me for this, shouldn't you?"
Nathan wanted to tell the man exactly what he thought but a thick gag in his mouth stopped him from making anything more than choked mumbles. It wasn't the cloth and tape from before, he noticed distractedly. It was bigger, a strap around his head with a larger foam cylinder wedged between his teeth. He could hardly even move his tongue beneath the pressure of it.
"You and I have a lot in common, you know," the man - John, he had said his name was - continued conversationally. "Music, for instance. I happen to know that you're a fan of classical as well. Your favourite is Wagner, isn't it?" Nathan couldn't hide his surprise and alarm at this. How did this man know so much about him? "I prefer Rachmaninoff myself, or Tchaikovsky. No one really appreciates the beauty of the classical composers anymore. The power, the passion, the genius. It's such a shame."
John finally stepped into Nathan's view. He was still wearing his same casual clothes, looking perfectly put-together and completely at odds with the scene. "It truly is a pleasure to work these experiments with such a cultured man," John said breezily. "I never expected such intellect from a small town policeman. But then, you are no ordinary man, are you? And this is certainly not an ordinary town."
The man walked around to Nathan's other side and touched the IV appraisingly, reading off the measurement on the side of the bag. When he saw Nathan watching him he smiled and tapped the IV stand. "Have to keep you healthy, don't I?" John said. "Nutrients and water in a bag. The world of modern medicine really is fascinating. You can live off of this stuff for weeks. No thirst, no malnourishment. I don't want you getting weak and missing out on any of our fun."
Fun was not exactly the word that Nathan would use, and the fact that John used it sincerely frightened him. There was no doubt in his mind that this man was certifiably insane. As if he hadn't guessed that a long time ago.
"There's a good deal of argument on the exact number of types of torture," John said. He spoke evenly and projected like he was teaching a class. It vaguely reminded Nathan of the comic book villains who always insisted on monologuing at length before trying and failing to kill the superhero. Except Lex Luthor had never made Nathan's blood run cold in his veins. "It's such a variable topic. Everything really depends on your perspective. I have a few favourites that I love to explore though. Blunt is always the first. It's the most mundane, really, but it's also the most common. Blunt force trauma. Beating and bruising. We see that sort of thing out on the streets every day.
"Then there are the more refined forms. Sharp; blades and knives, cutting and slashing and stabbing. Heat is always so interesting, the way skin sears and bubbles and burns like hot wax. Cold is less exciting to me, but it does serve to be so very painful. The way the cold makes you ache clean through to your bones, that is an all-encompassing agony. And then of course there are always the more imaginative variations. Water torture, isolation, twists and pulls. Electricity is effective. Starvation is used a lot but I don't enjoy it. It takes away from the enjoyment too much. Then there's always sadism, another I'm not fond of but that I've used in the past." He met Nathan's eyes and chuckled. "Never fear, Nathan, you are not my type. I've only used that once before, on a particularly fiery little lass on the west coast. It was almost magical, I could actually see the moment her spirit broke, right there in her eyes."
Nathan growled again around the gag. This man was a rapist, had taken advantage of a young girl and violated her in the worst ways, and now he stood there talking about it like it was some fascinating science project. John made no sign that he'd heard the sound.
"There is so much we can explore together, Nathan," John said. "I'll be able to introduce you to so many exhilarating new sensations. For now, now we'll move on to sharp." John tugged the IV from Nathan's elbow and bandaged it with a piece of cotton and a strip of white medical tape. Then he walked to the end of the room above Nathan's head, where he couldn't see. When the man came back he was carrying a stool and a black briefcase. He laid the case on top of the stool and opened it up. Nathan couldn't see much, but he caught several distinct flashes of silver.
"I think we'll start small," John said pensively, running his fingers across the contents of the case. He paused and then lifted a scalpel, the sort they used in hospitals. "This is a nice place to start. Simple and elegant. Most people prefer to start right with the hacking and slashing, but I like this approach better. Less damage and just as much of a point."
With a look of intense concentration, John touched the blade to Nathan's stomach. Nathan instinctively tried to flinch away but there wasn't anywhere to go. The blade split his skin almost too easily. Nathan bit down on the gag to stop himself from shouting as the scalpel dragged across his abdomen. When John lifted the blade it was bright crimson.
"Already so many scars," John said and he touched a thick white knot on Nathan's shoulder. He could remember where that one had come from. A bullet wound, from the very first case he had worked with Audrey. "How would it be, to experience so much pain and injury but feel none of it?" The scalpel came down and sliced straight through the middle of the scar. "To be like a ghost, moving through the world but being unaffected by it."
The words hurt as much as the sporadic cuts that were being laid across his flesh. It was true; it was the way that he had felt at times. As the man who was numb, he had been separated from the world. A part of it and yet not a part of it. For years he had existed without contact to the world around him, until he'd met Audrey. She brightened his world, gave him new experiences and touches that he had not felt in so long. So long that he'd actually forgotten; how it felt to shake a hand, to hug, to grip a reassuring hand, to kiss. To make love.
She had been his connection to the real world, and this man had taken that away from him. Audrey was gone. And he could feel everything again. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the abuse. He would gladly take the numbness back if it meant that he could hold Audrey again. Even if it meant he never felt again. She was worth more.
Nathan wondered if some of his thoughts had shown on his face when the man said, "Unaffected by everything except Audrey Parker." Nathan glared up at the man's face, daring him to go ahead and talk about his partner. The woman that he'd killed. "Oh the news is all over Haven, about how the pretty young FBI agent wormed through the barriers around the hard-faced Nathan Wuornos. Even without the magic that made her touch you, there was an emotional attachment between you. You loved her, didn't you?"
With a hard scowl, Nathan closed his eyes. He refused to give this man what he wanted. It didn't matter. "You did. I can see it in your face. You loved her. That's why you proved it to her that night, isn't it? The way you claimed her, made her yours right there in the middle of your office. I must say that was a bold move. And the irony is pure beauty. The night that you claimed her, she was taken away from you." John sighed, and as he did he dragged the scalpel across Nathan's thigh, right where the skin was most sensitive. He nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to keep back the groan. "It's like something out of Shakespeare, isn't it?"
The next cut went up the other thigh, dangerously close to his groin. He didn't even want to imagine the agony that would come from that. "You know what you need?" John asked. "Some token to prove your love. Yes, that's how all the stories go. You need some dramatic show of just how much you loved her. And I have just the idea for that."
Nathan opened his eyes in horror and watched as the man walked around to his left side. Leaning in over him, the man began to cut into his chest. Unlike the cuts before, this wasn't just one long cut. There were multiple cuts, going in different directions, some of them even curving a little. When John had finished he straightened up and smirked. "Beautiful," he declared. "You have to see this, you'll appreciate it." John left and then came back, hefting a wide hand mirror. He held it up over Nathan's chest and then tilted it until he could actually see what had been carved into his chest. The image was backwards in the reflection, but he could still easily read the word bleeding out above his heart.
Audrey
"Isn't it magnificent?" John asked and he set the mirror aside. "Her name forever etched above your heart. Now if that isn't a dramatic show of passion then I don't know what is." Nathan wanted very badly to say that this man clearly had no idea what love was, but the sight of her name in his flesh had shaken him to his core far more than he wanted to admit. "Alright, enough with the light stuff," John said and his tone had become suddenly business-like. "Let's kick it up a notch, shall we?"
The blade that descended toward him this time was much larger than the medical scalpel, the sort of knife that looked more suited for a kitchen. Nathan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth around the foam cylinder, bracing himself for the pain.
