AN: Thanks to everyone who remembered this story and read my last update. Once again, apologies for the lateness.
Chapter 37
(Special Thanks To My Beta "Book 'em Again" )
Joey Kanoa leaned over the still form of Dan Williams and unlocked the manacle around the detective's ankle. The last time he checked, the detective was unconscious but he didn't want to take any unnecessary risks and had donned the constricting plastic mask before entering the basement. Observing the detective's breathing pattern, his suspicions grew that the man was pretending to be unconscious. He could see the irregular rise and fall of Dan's midriff and a slight twitch of his eyelids. Pulling out his pistol, Kanoa straightened and gave the detective his ultimatum. "Don't play games with me, pig. On your feet, nice and slow or I'll shoot you where you lay!"
Dan's heart skipped a beat and he drew a ragged breath as he opened his eyes and. through bleary vision, he could see the barrel of a pistol pointed in his face. Slowly, Dan unwrapped his arms from around his body and held them up in a submissive gesture with the palms of his hands facing out in front of him. "Okay. Don't shoot." Dan croaked, not knowing what else to say.
"Get up!" Kanoa snapped, abruptly.
Groaning as the various hurts throughout his body flared to life, Dan slowly climbed to his feet, sweat beading his brow from the exertion and pain. He stood facing the man before him who wore a caricature mask. Dan's eyes wondered to the gun held in his hand and caught sight of a tattoo snaking up the man's arm. A tattoo he'd seen before, yet could not remember where or who it belonged to.
"Alright, see dat room over dere?" The sharp question reverted Dan's attention and he turned his head to where the masked man pointed. Past the longer staircase leading up to a door to his left, Dan saw a small room that looked like a disused bathroom.
"Clean yourself up in dere. Move!" Kanoa grabbed Dan by his arm and pulled him toward the bathroom. He kept his gun trained near Dan's head.
Dan's head pounded fiercely and the muscles in his limbs were stiff and sore. His ribs along his left side were aching severely, making it difficult to take deep breaths without feeling the need to double over. As he reached the entrance to the bathroom, the masked gunman shoved him by the shoulder into the small, dank room.
"Ya got five minutes!" snarled Kanoa as he switched on a light bulb overhanging from the ceiling and shut the creaking door with the detective inside.
Dan took a good look at his surroundings. There were no windows or vents along the walls. Looking up at the ceiling, he could see no man hole or any way to escape. Apart from the door he'd just come in, there was no other way in or out of the room. The walls were grimy and mold covered the surface. The floor tiles were cracked and chipped in many places. Beside him sat a small dirty sink. There were no vanity cabinets or mirrors. A small drainage grate could be seen in one corner on the floor and a crooked shower head hung on the wall. In the opposite corner near the door was a toilet with its seat missing. Dan needed to relieve himself and did so but the sight of the murky contents within the ceramic bowl made his stomach churn. The nausea that had subsided from last night returned and hit him with such force that he bent double and began retching. He held his aching gut as his body heaved the contents out of his stomach in hot acidic spurts.
Outside the bathroom, Kanoa could hear the sound of the ill detective vomiting violently. Great dat's all I need! A sick pig.
Dan flushed the toilet, rushed to the small sink, almost slipping on the tiles as he did and gripped the sides with both hands, taking deep breaths to steady himself. The pain in his side and abdomen left him reeling. He turned on the tap and washed his clammy face with the cool water which had a coppery tint through it. Despite his thirst, he refrained from drinking the rancid liquid that ran through his fingers. Looking down into the sink, the water was turning crimson. He became aware of the stabbing pain along the outer side of his right hand. For the first time since last night, Dan examined the cut he received when he freed his wrists of their bonds. Surrounding the long gash, dried blood had formed into scabs but the water and movement had reopened the wound and it began to bleed freely again. Using the fingers of his left hand, Dan swiftly assessed the injury and saw that it was deep but judging from the blood flow, it didn't appear he'd damaged any major blood vessels. Ignoring the wound, Dan undressed and carefully unwrapped his ribs. He made good of the remaining minutes he knew he had left to take a cold shower. Though the water came in erratic spurts, it felt soothing against his bruised and battered body. His hand stung and throbbed but he was able to ignore it. He looked down at his left side and saw through the dim light, the darker markings of his skin tone compared to the rest of his body, indicating bruises from previously broken ribs.
As he allowed the water to cascade over his aching body, many thoughts ran through his mind but nothing explained the reasons behind his abduction. Alia. My God! Please, please let her be alright. Why did they attack the house? Were they after Chin? No they'd know he was still in the hospital. Why attack his family then take me with them? Where was Kono? Did he get hurt? Lin and the children were in the house. Alia was taken outside. A shot in the night. Alia went down. How bad was she hurt? Why am I here? Who are they and what are they after? Why let me clean up unless they plan to keep me for a period of time then release me? Is that why he is still wearing a mask? Where have I seen that tattoo before? The questions rendered his mind in total confusion as he turned off the tap and pulled his clothes back on. His pants and shirt were stained with dirt, blood and sweat but they were all he had. Before he pulled on his shirt he faced the most difficult task to re-wrap the bandages around his ribs. His unsteady hands made it impossible to accomplish and only caused him to perspire. Abandoning his attempts, he decided to use the bandage to wrap around his wounded right hand. Just as Dan managed to button up his beige shirt, the door burst open and the taller and solidly built man pointed his gun in his direction again. "Time's up!" Kanoa grabbed Dan's bicep and yanked him out of the bathroom. Using his brute strength against the weakened detective, he sent Dan sprawling to the hard floor. The Five-O second in command landed by the same wall where he had spent the night chained by his ankle. The air left his lungs and let out a deep groan as agony rippled through him.
"Move and you're dead!" Kanoa spat out as he leaned down to re-attach the manacle around Dan's ankle with one hand while holding the gun aimed at his captive in the other. For a split second Dan was tempted to knock the gun out of Kanoa's hand and make a run for it but the nausea and dizziness that befell him, as well as the pain rendered any thoughts of escape futile. In his present condition, he knew he had no chance against the taller and heavy set man, not to mention his accomplices. Noticing the tattoo on the man's arm again, he wracked his brain for the memory and was rewarded by a flash of recognition. His eyes widened as the masked man finished his task of restraining his prisoner and turned to lock eyes with Dan. The detective opened his mouth to speak. He knew the man's identity! Dan decided to take a gamble and talk his way out of his predicament.
*************************************************A L O H A !*****************************************************
The spherical, blue, glass eyes stared back from the faces of finely finished porcelain. They sat, lined up in a row along the hand crafted shelf above the chest of drawers that housed an assortment of children's clothing. A quivering hand reached out and picked up one of the dolls from the fixture. Humming an unforgettable lullaby, the woman in black drew the doll to her chest and held it like a child in her arms. She turned slowly and walked towards the center of the room where a single bed sat unslept on in recent days. The lavender quilt was adorned with embroidered fairies frolicking in a garden of colorful wild flowers.
Jane Harper sat on the edge of the bed and rocked back and forth with her arms still tightly embracing the lifeless doll. She stared straight ahead, but not really seeing the open doorway leading out into the empty hall. Closing her red rimmed eyes, she allowed herself to conjure the image of sweet little Annie Harper; her daughter in her living days.
"Mommy! Mommy! Winnifred wants you to join us for tea and chocolate chip cookies. We're having a tea party." A little girl's voice filled Jane's thoughts as she walked down memory lane. She opened her aching eyes and looked down to see a little girl, tugging at the hem of her black, knitted dress as she sat on the floor with her tiny legs crossed. Annie, at four years of age and dressed in her white blouse and pale pink skirt. Her large brown eyes searched her mother's in a ghostly stare. Chocolate brown locks were tied back in a pony-tail by a piece of strawberry pink silk ribbon.
"Annie?" Jane's voice cracked and her eyes welled with pearl sized tear drops that spilled over her lower lashes, smudging her mascara and rolled down her cheeks. "Annie!" Her voice grew in pitch and clarity as she reached out her hands, not realizing the doll fell to the ground before her. "Oh, Annie, you're home! You're home!" Jane let out a laugh of sadness and joy as she slipped off the bed and kneeled on the ground with her arms wide open and ready to wrap them around her child. The sound of the door-bell ringing pierced through Jane's ear drums and in that moment Annie was gone. Jane Harper looked all around her, searching the room for any sign that her little girl had appeared before her eyes and that she had not been imagining it. "Annie?" She called out softly. When no answer reached her ears, and her eyes met nothing but the same inanimate objects she had been staring at since she returned from the funeral, Jane's heart felt like it were ripping out of her chest. The door-bell sounded once more followed by knocking and a man's voice calling out, "Mrs Harper? It's Ben Kokua, HPD. May I come in, ma'm?"
Jane took a deep shuddering breath and vigorously wiped away the tears from her stinging eyes with her trembling fingers. She rose to her feet, forcing her wobbly legs to walk out the room, leaving the doll on the floor, with its smooth pale features staring up at the ceiling in absolute silence.