Title: he always gets what he wants
Disclaimer: Nope…
I only have this and one more chapter left, so I thought I would just completely finish posting the story.
10: Under
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes."
"Tell us about where you were kept. For right now, ignore anybody else in the room with you. You are safe here, nobody can harm you."
The room was cold, and it was dark. The CBI had already faded from her mind, as the handcuffs continued to nip at her bare wrists. The uncomfortable mattress beneath her smelled of stale urine and sweat.
It made her want to gag, but something hard had been stuffed into her mouth.
From where she was, a faded yellow bucket caught her eye and she pulled at her ankles to find them bound together.
She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She was going to die alone here.
"Good, good. Now, focus on anybody in the room with you—what do they smell like?"
"I can't tell."
"That's fine. What do they look like?"
"Shoulder length brunette hair, cold brown eyes—she likes to teach lessons."
"What lessons, Grace? Tell us about your lessons."
"You're finally awake, I'm glad."
The voice belonged to Red Calla, and she tried to crawl away from the killer but she found herself paralyzed in fear. Her eyes couldn't leave the long brunette haired figure, and the face seemed very familiar to her—but the eyes, the eyes; they were completely void of warmth or compassion.
"Oh Grace, don't be shy. I've given you hospitality, and this is how you repay me? Tsk. Tsk. Your first lesson is needed to be taught then."
In absolute terror, she watched the serial killer wield a knife. She tried to scream to keep the killer away but Red Calla came nearer.
"Now, calm my darling." Red Calla's white-laced glove had taken ahold of her hair, and yanked it back to where her head was tilted completely back. "Our first lesson will be very valuable—you see, when somebody asks for an answer, you should always answer them."
The cold metal was placed to her throat. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to this," she whimpered. "But, I can't." The knife was dropped to the concrete floor with a dull thump. "Not yet, anyway."
"It's okay, Grace. You are all right, okay? Nobody is going to harm you. It's all in your mind."
Red Calla slowly undid all the buttons on her favorite shirt, until she remained clad in only a bra. She didn't like that, especially as the knife dipped dangerous close to her navel. The killer didn't say anything, as she circled the area of her abdomen with the point of the cold blade.
"Do you like this, Grace?"
The tip dug into her skin, and she whimpered.
"I couldn't hear you, Grace." There was more pressure, and her face felt wet—tears?—"Again, I repeat. Do you like this?"
She tried to push the restraint from her mouth with her tongue, when a sharp pain tore through her abdomen. She screamed into the gag, her body tried to arch off the mattress but Red Calla's kept her pressed to the mattress.
"Oh, my bad." Red Calla gave, her voice was cold. "My hand slipped."
Everything then went black.
"The pain isn't there, Grace. Nobody is hurting you right now. It's a memory."
"I stitched you up." Red Calla told her, when she regained consciousness. "However, you bled all over my clean floor. I think you need to be taught a second lesson."
Red Calla yanked the gag from her mouth, and she went to scream.
"If you scream, I will kill you." She nodded, and bit her lip hard. "Now, for your second lesson—you should learn how to keep a clean house, and the red all over my floor will help you learn the proper way of cleaning."
She nodded, not wanting to argue with the killer.
"Clean the floor with your tongue, Grace. I want the entire floor to shine, again."
She tried to obey, but the pain in her abdomen was too much. She couldn't move. She cried out.
"Oh, you're going to be difficult." Red Calla spit. "No worries, I know how to deal with incompetent children—you'll be begging for me to kill you, once this is all done and over with."
"What happened next, Grace? What did she do to you?"
The leather whip cracked against her leg, and she arched off the mattress.
"For each lash I deliver, you will count to fifteen. If you miss a number, we will start over until you learn your lesson."
The whip cracked down on her bare skin. Red Calla had stripped her of her dignity.
"O-one."
The whip cracked down, again.
"T-two."
"You're not fast enough, Grace." Red Calla lectured. "You need to be faster if you want to prove to me that you've learned something."
The whip cracked down, and she arched out in pain again.
"One!"
"Excellent! Shall we continue?"
"How many lashes did she give you in total, Grace?"
"Thirty-two."
"Did she use anything other than the leather whip on you?"
"No."
"Did you learn your lesson?"
"Yes."
"Did you end up cleaning the floor with your tongue?"
"Yes. I cleaned it up until it shined."
"We're almost done. You've done such a good job telling us this. Lisbon and I are extremely proud of you, Grace. However, we need you to tell us who kidnapped you. Who is Red Calla?"
"Do you know who I am now, Grace?" Red Calla asked. "I should tell you that I have many reasons to want you dead, but mainly because you are dating somebody you aren't worth of. Isn't that right?"
She nodded—she wasn't worthy. She wasn't.
"What do you have that I don't, Agent? Please enlighten me! Is it your pretty red hair? Your fair and dainty complexion? Or a perfect smile?" Red Calla paused, before she chuckled darkly. "Let me tell you, Grace—perfection is deadly and extremely overrated."
She didn't respond.
She was ready to die.
"Before I kill you, you do deserve to know who I am—after all, it is impolite to not introduce one's self." Red Calla chuckled, darkly. "You know me best as Taylor Conway, and goodbye Agent Van Pelt."
She closed her eyes.
She opened her eyes.
She wanted to sob, but Lisbon's in-and-out presence kept her from doing so. Both consultant and senior agent seemed absolutely horrified by her story, but Lisbon had slipped out the door for a moment to let Cho know about the change in events.
Jane held onto her hand, and she felt somewhat better.
"Grace?" Jane's voice broke the comfortable silence. "This is a horrible time to ask you this, but I need a favor from you."
She sniffed. "What is it?"
He let go of her hand to pull out a black velvet box from inside his three-piece suit jacket, but he quickly hid the box again when Lisbon slipped back into the room. "You look happy."
"I am happy." She gave. "Taylor Conway has been arrested. No bail has been set, and a serial killer case has been closed without any of my team in jail or on suspension." Jane sheepishly grinned, before the boss turned to her. "I know that wasn't easy, Grace—but you helped us all out. Thank you."
"It's no problem, boss."
Lisbon smiled, slightly. "I'll see you both later; I need to supervise things back at work, and make sure this isn't going to turn out to be a three-way circus." Both Van Pelt and Jane waved their goodbyes, as Lisbon stepped outside the hospital room before he turned back to her.
"I know you know what this box is, and what exactly is inside this box."
She nodded. "It's a wedding ring."
"It is." He agreed. "I want you to marry me—I was going to wait until our fourth month anniversary to ask, but after listening to you tell me about everything you went through—I realized it just couldn't wait." He winked, and she realized that even though Jane's timing was absolutely horrible, she had to give the man credit—asking just as Lisbon had left was an excellent way for the woman to listen in. "Grace Van Pelt, will you do the honor of marrying me?"
She didn't even hesitate to answer.
"Yes."
