This story is wrapping up. I'm aiming for it to end before Mondays episode for obvious reasons. Its been a blast and a learning experience writing this, and I have so many people to thank, who want to remain anonymous! I just hope they know how grateful I am for their help! To those of you who read, review, favorite and follow, I thank you for taking the time to do so! I'm excited and sad season six is coming to an end. Hoping for our season 7 announcement soon!
Vulcan Simmons is rushed into emergency surgery upon arrival. The trauma staff works diligently on him and the damn bastard manages to pull through, to Castle's disappointment. There is a 24 hour police presence outside his room as well as an officer stationed by his bedside. The officers are ordered to change stations every half hour and keep a log of all visitors. Simmons is not to be left alone or only with medical personnel for any reason.
Senator William Bracken has not been seen since before it was reported that he was wanted for questioning in multiple homicide investigations. A BOLO has been sent to airports, train stations, bus terminals and the Mexican and Canadian borders. At this moment his home, vacation home, apartment, and office are being searched and put under police surveillance, in case Bracken tries to return to them.
The Senator has more to worry about than the NYPD, government agencies and news agencies, looking for him. He currently sits securely fastened to a heavy metal chair. His hands bound tightly behind his back, each leg tied at the ankle and then again just below the knee. His torso is tied tightly to the chair he's sitting on. A black blind fold covers his eyes and wide thick electrical tape covers his mouth. He has never felt this kind of fear in his life.
Four days ago he had left his home, and had driven to work. Stopping at his favorite coffee shop for his usual macchiato cappuccino and toasted whole wheat bagel with light cream cheese. Returning to his car he had felt a sharp sting at his neck, and heard an unfamiliar male voice telling him to keep walking. He's getting approaching his car when he was directed towards a gray van, and shoved into the passenger seat without much effort. It's the last thing he remembers before waking up, wherever he is now. He's had precious little to eat or drink, since being tied to this chair. He's lost all sense of time, his clothes are soiled in his excrements, and he knows he'll most likely die right here.
"Bracken!" The voice bellows at him, while his chair is kicked with force under him. His captor rips the tape painfully across his lips. Pinpricks of blood appear where skin has been ripped off.
"What do you want? I have money, I can give you anything you want." Bracken offers still a bit of arrogance in his voice. Like he thinks he can still talk himself out of this.
"I don't want your dirty drug money you, Bill." The voice answers and Bracken can feel the warm breath of his captor on his neck. Then a sharp prick stings his neck. Something sharp digs painfully into his skin and dragged to his collar bone. "If you survive, a nice plastic surgeon may be able to fix that."
"If it's not money you want what is it?" He growls impatiently.
"For someone sitting his own piss and shit, you still think you have any control over this? When I'm done with you, you'll be praying for death."
"People will be looking for me. You can't kidnap a Senator and get away with it.."
The booming laughter stop Bracken's rant instantly. "Oh Bill, every local and federal agency is combing the streets as we speak. Your picture's plastered on every newspaper and news outlet on Television and the internet, but not because they are worried for your safety, but because you're going down. Your little house of cards has collapsed, those who did your dirty work are singing like canaries. Files have surfaced, people you thought dead are coming forward. You're wanted for multiple counts of murder, assault, conspiracy, money laundering and many lesser infractions. For your sake you're lucky the State of New York repealed the death penalty."
"Then why am I here? Why have you got me tied to this fucking chair. There's obviously something you want from me." He struggles against the restraints.
"You toyed with the wrong people. You're a bottom feeder who's getting rich off the death and suffering of those he's upheld to protect and stand for. You don't deserve to be tried in court, but on the streets by the people you claim to help. Maybe because I figure my brand of punishment saves the State of New York, quite a bit of taxpayer money. But before I make you pay for everything you've done you're going to confess everyone one of your sins to the world."
Maybe he thinks he's going insane, but he actually laughs. His laugh is deep and long. "Why the fuck would I do that, if you're going to kill me anyway?"
"Because you can die quickly. I can put a bullet through your head, making it quick and relatively painless. Or I can keep you here for days and leave just enough of you intact that they'll be able to identify the body, but you'll have felt every painful painstaking moment in extreme pain until you die. Or I hear that water boarding is your torture of choice. Either way I'll get what I want." His ropes are tightened, and one is added across his chest, to keep him from leaning over. Suddenly he the blindfold is pulled away from his eyes.
A baby bottle is rigged about two inches from his face. It's filled with a clear liquid he's hoping is water. He's been given just the bare minimum since arriving, his mouth and throat are parched. Without hesitation he starts sucking it greedily, and behind him he hears, "How the mighty have fallen."
The television on the floor comes to life. The 24 hour FOX News channel has a picture of him plastered on the screen. Under his picture the slogan "A New Kind of Terrorist?" His eyes widen as the story continues. He's being portrayed as the big dog bully who wreaks havoc on the lives of innocent people to further his personal agenda which is, power and greed, not the welfare of the little guy. The story accuses him of using and killing the little guys he's so fond of claiming are his 'greater good'.
Then the footsteps start to retreat away from him. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
behind him a door opens and swiftly closes again, suddenly being alone is scarier than the man planning to kill him. He barely hears the scurrying feet of what could be mice or rats over the droning voices of the news reporters.
The manhunt for Bracken is extensive, but unknowingly to them he sits in the dark pantry of an abandoned Diner on 357 West St.
Beckett and Castle wait patiently at the 12th for the phone call that informs them that Simmons has regained consciousness. Esposito and Ryan along with the AG Agents are assisting with the search of the Senator's home. Keys for a what seems like a safe deposit box and bills for a storage unit have been found, warrants have been requested and they are awaiting approval, for them to move on them.
It seems that times stops as they wait. Everything that's important in her life hangs in limbo, in a suspension of time that just doesn't seem to be moving fast enough.
The phone rings, it shows the name of the hospital on the caller ID display; their eyes meet. She answers.
My reminder to please visit /:support dot woundedwarriorproject dot org. I know PTSD affects soldier, law enforcement, healthcare provider, firefighters, and ordinary people who have gone through extreme trauma. I chose this charity because it is the best known for this work. Please, if you can donate it would be appreciated. Thank you to all of have donated!
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Life is too short to spend being angry and negative!
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