DS #9 A Life for a Life (4/?)

By Carol M.

See prologue for details. On with the tale…

After three days of imprisonment in the stagnant room of white, Darien had decided one thing: he was getting the hell out of there one way or another. It had been three days of torture and hell and pain and misery. And they hadn't even laid a finger on him. Yep, they had pretty much left Darien to his own whims and his own mind, which was never a good thing. He didn't know what they wanted with him, and that torture of not knowing was more agonizing then any type of physical harm that the people of this place could ever bestow on him.

Since he was unable to move around much, he had spent the time staring at his tattoo, watching as the colors slowly turned to a flaming red. He wondered what would happen to him when the snake was full. He had a feeling these people knew all about his little red-eyed evil twin and something about that was very unsettling.

Despite the ominous undertones Darien could feel in the air, he had been treated quite well the last couple of days. They had fed him, bathed him and even given him some new clothes. Hell, all the people had actually been pretty nice to him. If it wasn't for the fact that he was strapped to a bed that shocked him every time he tried to quicksilver, he would have thought he was in some kind of spa resort. Not that he was crazy about having someone bathe him, unless of course it was Claire.

Despite the delicate treatment, he knew something was definitely up. He could see it in all of their eyes. They were watching him, judging him, studying him, waiting to see what he would do. Or maybe they were waiting to see if he would do what they wanted him to do. Either way, Darien decided he had had enough. He was getting out of here, even if it hurt like hell.

There had to be cameras, he knew that much. Probably bugs as well. Hell, the sterile white wall was probably a two-way mirror. He didn't care. He wanted out. Now all he had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity.

**

Claire stared out the window of her apartment, eyeing the black vans parked oh so obviously across the street from the building. Protection for her and her unborn, compliments of the Official.

She looked back at the computer screen of her computer workstation and continued to search for any information concerning Royce McClellan and his bloody little agency. But so far there had been nothing, which produced an ache in her heart that she feared might never go away.

She picked up a computer printout that listed all of Royce's previous jobs and positions, concluding that it was a worthless piece of junk. "Damn it!" she screamed as she tore up the paper and threw it all over the floor.

It was at that moment that she heard a soft knock at the door. "Claire, it's Bobby," she heard from the hallway.

"Oh thank god!" said Claire as she carefully got on her feet and went to the door. She opened it and let Bobby through. He instantly wrapped his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze. Once they broke from the hug, Bobby's eyes drifted around the room.

"How you holding up, Keep?" he asked with concern as he eyed the torn paper on the floor.

"Well, I've been better," she said with a sad smile.

"Yeah," said Bobby, looking down at the ground. "I've been following up leads from Hobbesnet the last few days and I got nothing. This Royce guy is one hard mother to track down," said Bobby.

Claire nodded. "Thanks for trying, Bobby," she said softly.

"Anything for you and Fawkesy, my dear. Someone's got to save my partner's skinny punk ass," said Bobby.

Claire gave him a real smile this time. "Darien's lucky to have a friend like you."

"Lucky nothing, I'm lucky to have him. I love the guy," said Bobby with a distant smile. He shook his head and then glanced down at Claire's midsection. "How's the kid doing?" he asked.

Claire patted her stomach softly. "Fine, just fine. Ready to come out and see the world."

"I'll bet," said Bobby. "Fawkes is going to make a great father. You should see him talk about it Claire, he's so excited." His face turned serious and he stared at her intently. "I'm going to find him Claire. I'm going to bring him back to you."

Claire nodded. "I know you will." She looked over at the kitchen and then looked back at Bobby. "You want to stay for a little dinner?" she asked.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, that's sounds good Keep. Then maybe I'll help you run some searches on your work horse computer over there," he said, nodding towards the workstation.

"Sounds like a plan," said Claire as she shuffled towards the kitchen.

**

The Official stared at the heap of paperwork that had been building on his desk for the past couple of days. None of it had been touched. Every time he tried to work, thoughts of Darien plagued his mind. He felt guilty as hell, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, or so he kept telling himself.

He sighed and forcefully pushed all thoughts of the kid aside and picked up the first piece of paper on top of the pile. It turned out to be a validated parking form for Bobby. The Official ripped it to shreds and threw it in the wastebasket next to his desk. "Guess he won't be needing that anymore," said the Official sadly. "Lost him too," he said to himself, shaking his head.

He reached back into the pile and picked up the next form, which turned out to be a voucher detailing a raise he had decided to give Darien. He threw the form across his desk in disgust and crossed his arms firmly against his chest, sighing in frustration. A knock on the door didn't improve his mood. "What?" he shouted in anger.

The door opened and Alex stepped through, giving him a semi-irritated look.

"Are you going to quit too, Monroe?" asked the Official.

"No, I came to request some time off," said Alex.

"Time off?" asked the Official. "This wouldn't involve an invisible man and his bald partner, would it?"

"What I do with my time off is my business, sir," replied Alex.

"Yes, yes," grumbled the Official. He looked up at her and gave her a serious stare. "Can you find him with your connections?"

"Possibly, sir, but not without your help," replied Alex.

"I see," said the Official. "Well I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Alex started towards his desk in a huff. "And why not? I'll admit, Fawkes and I aren't the closest of friends, but that doesn't mean he deserves to be held captive like this. He saved all of our lives, sir. I think that counts for something."

The Official thought back to all those months ago when Jason Sullivan had held them all captive in the Keep. Darien had come through that day for not only him, but Alex, Eberts and Claire as well. Still, there wasn't anything he could do, didn't they understand that? "No, it doesn't," replied the Official curtly. "You've got the week off, Monroe. Make it count."

Alex rolled her eyes for a moment and then nodded. "Thank you, sir," she quipped. And with that, she turned around and strutted out of the office.

The Official reached for another paper and then slammed it on his desk so hard, half the pile fell on the floor. He started to pick up the fallen papers, but after a moment's deep thought, threw them all back down on the floor. He had made up his mind.

He reached for his phone and dialed. "Eberts, I want everything you can find concerning Royce McClellan and his operation," he said. He slammed down the phone and took a deep breath. Time to repay his old partner.

**

This was it; this was the moment Darien had been waiting for. He could hear the door of his cell being opened from the outside. He was finally going to get the hell out of here and escape whatever terrors these bastards had in mind for him.

The door swung open and Darien quicksilvered his entire body, which sent pulse after pulse of electricity and pain through his body. It did the trick though and within seconds his binds were broken.

He leapt towards the intruder on pure adrenaline, which enabled him to escape the pain from the shocks. The surprised worker put his hands over his face to protect himself against something he couldn't see and found himself landing heavily on the floor.

Darien leaped to the door and ran outside, almost tasting his freedom. He made it all of five feet down the hall when he felt a searing pain across his forehead. It knocked the quicksilver off of him, but it did not stop his determined descent down the hall. That was when the second blow came, this one to his ribs. The blow was sharp and precise, knocking the wind out of him and effectively cracking the bone. Darien groaned as the pain radiated throughout his entire chest.

There was one final blow, a quick and perfectly placed hit to the groin, so hard, he doubted he would ever be able to impregnate Claire again. The pain was blinding and excruciating. It spread from his groin into his stomach, and he had to fight hard not to throw up. It made him dizzy and he was forced to down to the floor, laying his head against the cold linoleum to calm his stomach.

He was pulled up roughly by the hair and made to stare into the hated face of Royce. "Nice try, Fawkes. I'm extremely impressed," he said.

Darien wheezed and put an arm across his aching chest and stomach. "Screw you, man," he said as he hocked the biggest loogy he could and spit it in Royce's face.

"Cute," said Royce as he casually took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the mess from his face. Then he pulled out a short black club and swung it with calculated force against Darien's injured rib. There was an audible crunch and Darien knew that the cracked rib was now broken. He fell to the floor in the fetal position, unable to catch his breath.

"Put him back in his room," said Royce to several men that had come down the hall to see what all the commotion was about.

Darien was picked up by unseen hands and thrown back into his room. He lay on the ground in a heap, wanting nothing more then to go lay in the bed only a few feet away. With a determined effort, he crawled towards the bed, leaving a trail of tiny blood droplets along the pristine whiteness of the floor.

When he finally reached the bed, he crawled in and pulled the blankets over himself, wanting nothing more than to pass out and wake up in the Keep in the counteragent chair. But he was sure that wasn't happening anytime soon.

Royce observed all of this through the white wall that was indeed a two-way mirror. He smiled and subconsciously patted himself on the back. He had made a good choice with this ex-con turned conniving invisible man. It would only be two more days before his new weapon could be tested. He was sure his superiors would be pleased with the results.

TBC