Author's note: Hi! Okay, the violence continues! Enjoy!
I'm picking sides
And pulling the strings.
I'm living lies
And shedding the skin.
I'm open wide
And letting you in.
Frank was sitting in the dark, toying with his knife again. It had been hours since Karen was taken but he knew he was close. The seat he was on was soft and plush but it wasn't comfortable for him; it was one of those comforts that he had left behind in his family's home. He remembered the way the house had looked before it burned down; he remembered the toys, the photos on the walls, the way it had smelled so familiar and yet so alien. It was all gone now, except in his memories.
Like his family.
He shut his eyes and focused on breathing; this was the hard part for him, the waiting. All he could do was imagine the horrors Karen was experiencing and all he was doing was sitting, waiting. But he knew that he was close to her, close to finding her. He heard a clicking sound, more than a dozen clicks in quick succession, as well as heavy breathing, and he realized it was the dog, trotting over to where he sat.
At first, when he broke in through the front door, Nathaniel's German shepherd had been aggressive toward Frank, barking, snarling, growling; but he had always had a way with dogs. She calmed down and approached him and let him pet her. He checked her collar and saw that her name was Mindy and he told her she was a 'good girl.' Then she went back to whatever she had been doing before he'd broken into the apartment of Nathaniel Thomas, senior law partner at Watson & Gayle.
After he gave David the name, it felt like mere seconds before he was at this point, but he knew it had been far longer. Too long. He reached down and gave Mindy more pets, then checked his watch. He stood up and left the living room, following the long hallway to a large, spacious bedroom; Mindy followed, panting happily, and he patted the bed for her to jump up. She hesitated and Frank knew she wasn't usually allowed on there, but he encouraged her again. She jumped up and sat down, awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. He pat her some more and said, "Stay." Then he backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and he returned to his spot in the living room. Everything in this apartment seemed to be white or silver with hard edges; there were even mirrors on part of the hallway ceiling.
"Frank, are you talking to that dog again?" David asked over the earpiece.
He ignored the question and said, "How much longer, Lieberman?"
"He's pulling up," he said. "From the camera feeds over the last few days, it looks like his guards follow him to his floor but don't enter the apartment."
"It's sound-proofed, too?"
"Yeah, I have the construction records here," he replied and Frank could hear the keys tapping through the phone.
Frank didn't need to wonder for what purpose Nathaniel Thomas had paid exorbitant amounts of money to ensure his neighbors heard nothing from his apartment. He had found the dungeon rather quickly, locked with a simple doorknob. The room itself, wall-to-wall black with red lightbulbs illuminating knifes, power tools, canes, whips, and chains. Along the walls, there were metal bars which, he assumed, were used to tie Nathaniel's victims up while he tortured them. Frank looked over the implements; they were all very expensive-looking, surgical steel, and high quality leather. Adjacent to the door was a chest of drawers with padlocks on them; he found a set of bolt cutters on the wall featuring the tools and he used them to break each of the locks. Inside, he found hand cuffs, leather cuffs, zip ties, tape, and other means of immobilizing someone, including vials of heavy duty benzodiazepines and GHB. He found a needle in a different drawer and pulled some liquid from the vial.
Frank was sitting in the living room, the needle in his hand and his knife in the other. "He's brought other girls here," he said to Lieberman.
"Yeah, I have access to the cameras in the staff areas with a backup of at least six months. I've watched a few weeks' worth and I've counted four women that have been brought here."
"How do they go out?"
"Same way, days later," he replied, his voice giving away his disgust.
Frank nodded and said, "If you see them bringing Karen up, tell me."
"Are you sure he would have her brought here, Frank?" David was trying to stay positive about their chances of saving her, but he was just as aware as Frank was that she had been gone for nearly seven hours.
He clenched his jaw and said, calmly, "When you see her, tell me."
There was a moment's pause and then David replied, "He's on that floor now."
He didn't reply and remained seated in the chair he was in. The apartment was set so that those who entered the front door stepped into the living room; the kitchen and hallway to the bedrooms was to the left. The chair he occupied was in the corner, facing toward the expanse of the apartment. He heard the key in the door and as it opened, the apartment remained bathed in darkness apart from where the hall light crept in. The alarm began beeping, sensing someone entering the home, and Nathaniel entered his pin on the keypad, effectively sealing himself inside with the Punisher. He didn't know that though; not yet.
Mindy was barking and he called to her, confused about where she could be. As he began walking toward the kitchen, Frank stood and stepped up behind him, jamming the needle into his throat. Nathaniel struggled, shouted, even screamed for a moment before he collapsed to the floor. He stared up at Frank and recognition overtook his features. He tried to get up but the effect of the drug was quick. That low of a dose wouldn't knock him out, but it would make him dizzy and sluggish; it would keep him from being able to run. He was finally able to look the man over. David had filled in the demographic information: Nathaniel Thomas, 43-years-old, height 5'9", weight 190. Looking down at the attorney, Frank noted the thick-rimmed glasses and straight edged nose; the brown hair that was obviously styled; the dark-gray business suit; and those eyes, so dark they looked black. Those eyes were blown wide and he tried to focus on his attacker; his breathing was heavy and ragged as he watched Frank slide the knife back in its sheath.
Frank wondered how many women this piece of shit had murdered; how long he had been doing it; if his disgusting harassment of female employees was part of it or just how he got off when he couldn't hurt them. Then, Frank grinned at the idea that he would have all the time he wanted with this man.
He would do whatever it took, for however long, to find Karen.
Frank stepped around Nathaniel's squirming body and gripped the back of his shirt collar and jacket, dragging him across the white tiled floor to the hallway. He was trying to struggle but his efforts were slow and weak, and the way he was being pulled had cut off his airway. "Don't worry, Mr. Thomas," Frank said, dropping him haphazardly once he had reached the door to the dungeon. The man was coughing, gripping his raw throat. "We're going to use your tools, not mine."
"What – what do you want?" He rasped out, desperately.
Frank let the door swing open and he picked the man up once more by the shirt collar and drug him inside. "I'll tell you what I want," he said, walking them to the wall with the metal beams. He took the other man's wrists and held them up and used cable ties to lock them in place. "I want you to call whoever has Karen Page," he began as he stood and walked over to the tool wall again. He was considering his options as he said, "and have her brought here." He grabbed the bolt cutters again and walked back to where Nathaniel was positioned. "If you do, I won't rip off your toenails with the pliers you have over there." When he stood before him again, he could see the rage in the captive's eyes as he understood the situation.
Frank, patiently, waited to allow him to give his answer; when it was clear that he intended to decline the offer, he stepped forward and opened the jaws around Nathaniel's right ring finger. "Is that a no?"
Before the other man had a chance to respond, Frank slammed the jaws shut and he screamed. The finger flopped onto his gray slacks but he was yanking his body, trying to free himself. The Punisher walked back to where the chest of drawers stood and located a small mini-fridge. Inside, there were plastic bottles of water; Frank took one out and opened the cap, taking a long drink as he returned to where the captive struggled.
"Fuck you, fuck you!" He screamed and Frank saw who he truly was inside; his teeth were bared, his face was a snarl, and his dark eyes were like pools of ink. "That fucking whore will die! If I don't call them, they'll know something happened to me." Frank's eye twitched as he listened, taking another drink. "They'll shoot her fucking brains out."
He stepped over to Nathaniel and searched his jacket pockets until he located his cell phone. "You gotta call 'em, huh?" He asked, but the other man didn't speak. It was a smartphone that required a fingerprint, so Frank pocketed the phone and opened the jaws of the bolt cutters over Nathaniel's right index finger. When the handles clanked together, the captive man screamed again as blood from his hand was dripping all over his face and suit. Frank grabbed the finger and used it to unlock the phone; he opened up the recent calls and noted one unsaved number that dialed his phone twice just after Karen was taken. "Is it this one?" He asked, showing Nathaniel the screen; Frank read the number off so that Lieberman could hear it.
"Got it," he said and began typing.
"They're gonna fucking kill you," the man said, trying to stand but failing. "They'll be here to –" he clamped his mouth shut.
Frank smiled a bit and took another drink of water, realizing that benzos lower inhibitions in some cases. "They're bringing her here," he said and took another drink, emptying the bottle. He threw it, full force, at the lawyer's head and walked over to the tools and grabbed the pliers. "Tell me more, Nathaniel."
"Fuck you!" He growled.
He looked down at the tool and hesitated, before returning it and walking toward the wall of knives. When he had been here before, he had only taken a moment to look, but now he stood and considered them. Some were surgical implements, such as a bone saw and several sizes of scalpel; then there were generic knives with no special traits; and finally, there were knives of varying shapes and sizes. He saw a Karambit knife and he grabbed it, returning to where his lawyer was. "Alright, Thomas," he crouched down to meet his eyes and held up the curved blade. "Shall we continue?"
His arm moved so fast as it sliced a thin cut into Nathaniel's cheek, he reacted with both shock and pain when he realized what had happened. Frank repeated the motion on his left forearm, tearing a hole in his suit. He growled, clenching his jaw and staring the Punisher down. "You torture me or kill me," he said, hissing at the pain from talking, "it ends the same for her."
His eye was twitching and he took a deep breath, looking away from the bleeding captive. "I don't think so, Nathaniel," he said as he tossed the knife behind him.
"Frank, holy shit, you were right," David said, suddenly. "They've got her in the service corridor. Fuck, she looks bad."
"What did they do to her?" Frank asked; the question was heard by both David and Nathaniel, so they both answered.
"She looks pretty beat up," the voice over his earpiece said.
"I let them have some fun with her before they brought her to me," the man in front of him said, grinning with blood running down his cheek.
Frank's vision went blurry; not from tears, but from rage. He grabbed Nathaniel by the throat with his left hand and pulled him forward until he screamed from his arms protesting being bent backward so far. He reared his head back and slammed his forehead into the lawyer's nose; he could feel it breaking. Before he even had a chance to scream, Frank's hand gripped his throat tighter, constricting his airways. Then he began punching him, over and over until the blood from his nose and the bloody spit around his mouth were indistinguishable. He was growling as he grabbed both sides of Nathaniel's head and slammed it back against the metal bar; he screamed with every impact.
Frank turned and grabbed the Karambit knife again, slicing the cable ties around his wrists and picking him up. He walked him over to what looked like a large grate that was suspended in the air and he used the leather cuffs to tie him there, forcing him to stand. Then, Frank used the thick chain from the drawer and wrapped it around Nathaniel's neck, attaching it to the grating as well. He saw a wheel on the wall with chains that led to the grating and he went to it to begin spinning it, watching as the lawyer's arms began extending, then the chain around his neck tightened.
"Stay here," he said, patting Nathaniel's cheek, mockingly, as the lawyer stood on his tip toes and gripped the chains on his cuffs to hold himself up. He was clearly still woozy and struggling to keep his feet underneath him.
"They're at the door, Frank," Lieberman said.
"I'm coming," he replied, exiting the dungeon.
