13

'Look at it like this.' Floyd spoke and spat blood out of a mouth which felt slightly broken. 'I'm not going to give in to whatever demands you're making. Spencer is stronger willed than you think – partially the way I've trained him – I really don't give a fuck what happens to Sam. Dispose of him if that's going to make you happy, but you have to firstly listen to what I've got to say.' Again he spat blood.

There was no reason they'd listen to any plea or reason or accept any deal. Floyd had reneged on deal after deal by tangling himself up with Them and this lot of self righteous bastards were well aware of that. Floyd could stick to a contract, but he could also find a million ways to get out of it again. The small print in those deals was so miniscule that you needed a microscope to see it. They knew that whatever deal Floyd tried to pull here that he'd go right back to what he had been for most of his existence… a vessel to create chaos and cause as much pain and angst as he could. All Floyd needed to keep him going was his Spencer. They knew that. They knew that very well. And they knew that all the time they had Spencer they had also had Isgar-Quenell by the balls.

'You think that after killing one of the brothers we are going to listen to you?' That was a very amused voice. It was thigh slapping humour. It didn't make Floyd laugh though.

'Oh I'm sure you can fix him. It was nothing so dreadful, but it raises the question as to why you can fuck with me and I'm not permitted to fuck you back. Then again isn't that why I was kicked out in the first place? Irrelevant though. I'm not going to waste my time or breath nattering away to you. I want to speak to someone else.'

They were of course right. He had killed the pretty boy. He was also right, they could fix him. Wasn't that what this place was all about? Eternal wonder and love? Except obviously when the loving reached the point of having to stick your parts up woodland creatures arses. However, Floyd still felt mightily hard done by. They'd not treated him with the kid gloves – or respect that he desired. They were refusing to let him have what he wanted. Just a bit of freedom. Just a little bit of self will. Was that too much to ask? They had left the room, but before they left they used fists and booted feet on the prisoner, just to ensure that he remembered that he was the prisoner and they could hurt him and he couldn't hurt them in return. Oh not now that they had both of his hands nailed to a wall and his feet in shackles. Even Floyd didn't fancy tearing his hands off just to prove a point. He did consider it – obviously – he'd not be Floyd if he didn't consider it and wonder if he could re-grow his hands. He wasn't sure. He actually had a small amount of doubt surrounding the fact.

'Try to escape and we will destroy that Sam thing and Spencer will wish he'd never been born… and died… He will definitely wish he'd never met you.'

So Floyd stood there with his hands just about at hip level and his palms against the wall and a rather large hooked spike going through the back of his hands and it hurt. And he was glad that Spencer wasn't in this much pain when he'd nailed his hands to the table that time. Yes he was very glad about that. This sort of pain wouldn't have been good for Spencer's delicate mental health. Surely if it had hurt this much… you know? Like your hands had just been pulverised, then surely Spencer would have screamed… maybe even as much as Floyd himself had screamed, but Spencer had remained silent hadn't he? Floyd couldn't remember Spencer screaming. He pissed himself, but that was because he couldn't get to the loo, not because of this fucking PAIN!

He was sure they'd only done this so he'd humiliate himself this way. It's the sort of thing Sam does. Sam's constantly pissing himself. Dirty fuck. Did that mean that Sam was constantly in pain? Or did Sam's fear of pain make his bladder give way. That made Sam a coward. Floyd didn't like cowards. It's why he adored Spencer so much. He might cry and whimper and crawl on his belly and beg to be forgiven, but the guy wasn't a fucking pissing cowardly little SHIT!

'Do you know how hard it is to keep my balance standing here like this? Hey motherfuckers! Where the hell are you? Come talk to me! I'll make a deal. You get me some morphine or some of my snort and I'll do whatever you want! Oy Ya! Where are you? Talk to me! Make a deal.'

o-o-o

Spencer was next on the rota of people they wanted to talk to. They needed to explain the situation to Spencer. They spoke slowly. They didn't use words which were too long. They left long dramatic pauses to give Spencer time to digest what was being said to him.

'Mistakes were made.' They told him. 'It would be nice to be able to tell you that some mistakes can be fixed, but this isn't the case here. We don't want to hear your excuses. We gave you a chance to be free of Floyd. We forbade him to contact you. He once again broke the rules. Foolishly we thought that your life since Floyd got involved with you was so bad that you'd be better off without him. We considered you special. We wanted to see you bloom and spread your wings and… and well you didn't. You folded your preverbal wings and failed to flourish. Such a waste. And I don't want to hear your excuses about what a hard time you had. There are those worse off than you who don't need a chemical crutch to get them through the day. There are people whose lives have been far less desirable than yours was and they've not crumpled under and let the world walk all over them. We underestimated your ability to give in. Your need to be controlled. You do like to be controlled don't you, Spencer? This though is the problem as we see it.' Dramatic pause. 'Your death can be rectified. That's not the problem. The problem is that Floyd was sent to watch over you, not masturbate into you – and we sealed a contract. It's a three way contract, much like the one you made with Floyd and Sam – and we can't change that if Floyd isn't willing and you're not willing to change it. The only option we have is for the deal – the situation – to stay in place and for Floyd to change.' Another pause in which Spencer didn't talk. His face hurt too much to talk. 'We are a race of beings – I suppose that's the best way to put this, who are benevolent. We don't run around killing our own. We don't cause un-necessary pain.' Pause. 'But we certainly will cause pain if we feel we need to. Please understand that. Some creatures will only respond to violence and pain. You're one of them. We again made an error when peering into your mind. We saw a very intelligent life. We saw something which could become something wondrous. We wanted you on our team, Spencer and so sent a guardian. That was the mistake. The guardian we chose was faulty and that was not known until after the fact. Too late now. Too late. Much to late. Now there have been talks – and when your own self has an eternity to live sometimes things take a while. We have a busy plate, Spencer. You're not the only one we consider special.'

'Muuh.' Spencer muttered. He wanted to ask questions but that one sound caused enough pain to make bright stars burst into his vision.

'We will however give you more comfortable living quarters. As we said, we don't want your death.'

Spencer wanted to say that it was too late, but now just moving his tongue cased flashes of pain across his face.

'Isgar-Quenell will be shown the error of his ways. You will learn that your disgusting behaviour will not be permitted. You have been given a short lesson in our methods of behaviour control, can we hope that you wont need another one soon?' There was no chance to answer even if he'd wanted to and none of this really told Spencer what was going on. He did, though manage to mutter one word.

'Sam?'

It was obviously a question and one which Spencer needed an answer to, but it was ignored. The room emptied of speakers and bystanders and the door was slammed.

Floyd? Floyd – what's going on? He projected his thought for an hour or so and then gave up. Either the message wasn't getting through or Floyd was unable to answer. Neither option was very comforting. Spencer spat some blood out and wriggled his toes. He would leave it for a while. Leave it and try again. Floyd was here. He must be able to reach him.

Floyd did hear Spencer. He heard him and for a second was tempted to open up and give him a call back. Tell him all was going well. Plan was falling into place just fine. They would be out of here real soon. He was tempted to tell Spencer to just hold on there. He was going to rescue him and lick him better…

But he didn't.

He stood there nailed to the wall and ground his teeth in annoyance.

The bastards here would know.

And Floyd had decided that part one of his plan was going to involve him doing what they wanted.

o-o-o

Sam made a mental list. He dangled there bleeding and beaten and wondered what his chances of getting out of this alive were. They weren't good. They'd told him that much at least.

They will tire of me and let me go.

They will pound me to mush on the floor and feed me to the roses.

They will remove my head and put it on display somewhere. (probably on a shelf next to the nearest shitter.)

They will cut bits off and let me go.

They will realise what a wonder of dark nature I am and decide to give me a soul.

They will force me to watch re-runs of Rosanne for eternity.

None of the above.

All of the above.

Then there was the chance that he would be rescued and his death down there will be recovered. Except he didn't know if that was possible as Taki had done it. He'd been assassinated. That actually cheered him up slightly. At least he was worth killing!

'What are you going to do to me?' He asked when someone walked in with a long chain and happy look on his face. The someone didn't bother answering. He'd been warned that this was a dark creature. Dark creatures only talk in lies. Moreover this was a Darkling who had been created by Isgar… Isgar the traitor – Isgar the monster. If Isgar was bad then his Darkling would also be a monster. The someone had no intention of getting into conversation with this thing. He linked the chain to the one holding Sam's arm up on the wall and pulled it away. The chain was long enough that he could drag the thing behind him and not be at risk. Sam attempted to get to his feet, but he wasn't given that chance. He was hauled over the floor and out of the door. There were more people here. Some were chanting something which made Sam feel very sick. Some held up symbols of things which were almost familiar and they made him want to scream. Whatever it was they were doing seemed to confirm something they'd already guessed… or even already knew but had to prove. Sam was dragged – and now he didn't hold back on the screams – down the passage, bump, bump, scream, bump, scrape, up some stairs. It felt like they were ripping his arm off his body and he shouted that a few times, but it made no difference. They didn't seem to care. His shoulder made a nasty crack and Sam screamed some more as something either broke or was pulled out of where it should be. Still they didn't react.

'You're hurting me!'

It was worth a try. Hadn't Floyd told him to be nice? He was trying… they just were not responding too well to it.

'I'm sorry! Please whatever it is you have planned, I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me.' And then. 'It's not my fault.'

Oh at last! After four flights of spiral stairs, being dragged by an arm which was either shattered or maybe bruised a bit, they stopped dragging him and someone… a different someone… the guy in the green and yellow coat, he came over and crouched down next to Sam.

'I'm going to show you something wonderful.'

Sam hoped it was a dose of morphine. 'Ah. Ok.'

'Though I don't think that you have a chance of living through it, it seems only the right thing to do. As you said – it's not your fault. You didn't ask to be created. You didn't ask for Floyd to do what he's done. I'm not going to say that you would or could have been this perfect young man had Floyd not corrupted you, because you are corruption. That's all you are. You have no soul, boy, but you have a very dark and very sick spirit and that is what I am going to attempt to at least give a chance to. As I said it might cause your death.' He moved back slightly.

'I don't want to die.'

'We are all of us, every single creature ever created, here for a reason. Your reason no longer exists and for that reason alone you can be wiped out of existence, but I also have a sense of humour, Sam. I love a good joke! Isgar or Floyd as you like to call him, will be delighted with what I have planned.'

Sam repeated. 'I don't want to die.'

The man in the coat grimaced slightly. 'You don't understand the situation do you? You really have no idea.'

'I just…'

'Don't want to die. I heard you. I listened to you too. I am giving you a chance. Slim as it is. You were killed by a demon weapon which funnily enough might be your way out of this. We are going to remove the dark from your spirit. We are going to heal you. If you die in the process, so be it. It wasn't meant to happen. If you survive you might… well… let's cross that bridge when we come to it. You will be secured in a room. You will undergo tests. They will hurt. You will scream. I don't care.' He now ignored the barrage of questions being fired from Sam and turned to the people he was with. 'Take it away. You know what to do. I want to hear nothing of this until there is a result. I'm tired of their meddling. This has to end. It will end. I will make very sure of that.'

He spun on his heels and walked quickly back down the stairs. His feet didn't make a sound.