To My Readers:
Thank you for your patience. Being ill made it impossible to write, this was a difficult Chapter due to the violent past that plagues Sam.
I would appreciate input regarding Sam and Ian's relationship. It is amazing how characters decide their path, contrary to what the author has planned.
Chapter Nine…Nightmare Relived
"Don't take life too serious. You'll never escape alive anyway."
Elbert Hubbard
Ian stood, looking about the garden frantically for the Elder or one of the Brothers that had been passing through the compound. He spotted the young novitiate Brother Jason. Fighting the urge to shout, he gestured for Jason to approach while he strode forward meeting him halfway.
"I need to speak to your Master or Elder." Ian was unaware that he was gesticulating wildly, using his hands to emphasize his requirements. "My friend is in trouble and I don't know how to help." His face was etched from intense concern.
Brother Jason listened calmly, waiting for Ian to finish his statement. Jason had noticed how reserved Ian had been earlier; his insistence must indeed be important, he surmised. He signaled Ian to follow him, and led him into the main building. The interior was cooler than in the garden. The furnishings were sparse, mainly bookcases neatly arranged behind glass doors with two wooden chairs separated by a small table on which sat a brass lamp. A well worn sofa was across from the chairs. He motioned for Ian to wait a moment; he knocked and then disappeared through a heavy wooden door.
Ian began to pace, barely noticing the carved panels along one wall. Each panel depicted a moment from a tempest period of various religions' history. Grieving women on a battlefield collecting their loved ones to a depiction of Christ's crucifixion, meticulously detailed. Ancient scrimshaw plates relayed the turmoil of China's political and religious past. He found it ironic that Irons had the panels portraying the Kama Sutra, yet here he was surrounded by images of war and loss.
He was jostled from his reverie by the Elder clearing his throat. Ian turned eyes wide, ready to appeal. The look on the Master's face was sympathetic and implied Ian would not have to plead his cause. He motioned for Ian to enter. The room had cedar paneling, with built in bookcases. A smaller desk faced the door Ian and the Master had entered; a larger desk set further back with two chairs positioned in front of it. Behind the large desk were floor to ceiling windows which faced a courtyard and bubbling fountain. Surveying the room as he entered, Ian spied a side door, and decided the young man had exited unobtrusively.
The older man gestured for Ian to take a seat in front of the large teak desk. Ian expected the Elder to sit behind the desk, and was surprised when the Master pulled the other chair close to Ian's. He looked at the Master, astonished that someone of stature would sit with a low born. He found it hard to meet the old man's eyes.
"Jason tells me that your friend is in trouble. I presume it is Samsara, correct?"
The adrenaline seemed to be wearing off and now Ian felt very self-conscious. "Yes sir. She was on the beach. One of her," he hedged, "Artifacts was crying and her life force was alarmingly low."
"So, what do you propose, Mr. Nottingham?" The tone was curious, yet soothing. The Master was pleased to see that Ian did not have difficulty accepting the unusual things he had seen.
"She needs help." Ian looked directly into the Master's eyes, "tell me how I can help her, please."
The Elder studied Ian for a moment, saying nothing, Ian was sure the answer would be negative by the way the Master held his body. He was ready to dismiss the young man's plea as a result of the uncharacteristic bonding; however, Nottingham's aura was like sitting in front of a fireworks display. Ian's intense need, the Master determined was definitely for the Divine One's welfare. He knew that Samsara may have overextended herself, and the fact that Ian "knew" this and wanted to help was remarkable. Very few who had the "Power" to see, had the guts to make a positive difference. His morning meditation had suggested that Samsara's "student" be made aware of what may lie ahead and spoke the words that would trigger the young man's conscious.
"There is a slight problem," he paused.
"What problem?" Ian felt as though he were going to crawl out of his skin. He had no fear for his own life, but she…He stopped in mid-thought, she was important to him. As he considered this, he realized it had nothing to do with the bindings. He looked up into the Master's eyes, and understood that he had stepped into a contest. It was a confrontation that Sam had designed to aid in freeing him. He took a deep breath to help compose his thoughts.
"What problem?" He was steady now, and would take full responsibility for his actions. This had been his decision, not orders. His actions, he rolled that over his tongue like a rare piece of hard candy.
The Master gave him a conspirator smile, "You will need to trust me, by taking me where she is located, so we can reinvigorate her."
Ian felt the truth and the conviction in the Elder's tone. He wondered if Sam's Master was this forthright. He felt as if he had been locked in a dark closet and was now free to explore the world by the light of the sun. Ian assented, "What do you need me to do?"
"First, you will need to remove your gloves; our hands must touch so you can take me to Samsara. Second, you will be my anchor back to this side." He paused, debating with himself.
"What's wrong?" asked Ian.
The Master sighed, "Ian, you must promise never to touch Samsara while wearing your leather gloves."
Ian looked puzzled, "Why?" He noticed the old man's reluctance.
"Samsara had an unusual vocation before she came to the Order. Let's just say, the gloves are a stark and painful memory of that part of her life." Sadness crossed the old man's face, and then he looked at Ian, "don't mention this conversation, please."
It was as though a brutal hand gripped his insides; someone had dared to hurt Sam. He could not comprehend how anyone could harm someone as kind and loving as she. The mere thought of anyone injuring Sam was like waving a red flag in front of a bull; it was a deadly challenge. He would find them and make sure they received the treatment they had given her.
Watching the young man's aura was like watching a fireworks display, the Elder was amazed to see Ian's range of emotions. It was apparent to the Elder that Samsara had liberated and infused the man sitting before him. As he observed the blaze of colors, he was drawn to an unusual spark he'd never witnessed. Memorizing the frequency and color, he would confer with his Brothers later to determine its import.
Remembering his reason for seeking the Elder, Ian concentrated on the task at hand. He inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled, trying to purge the negative thoughts from his mind. Somehow he knew this was an important part of many rituals, especially now. He removed the gloves, taking care to replace his heavy-set ring back on his finger. Presenting his hands to the Master he said, "I am ready."
The Master moved his chair closer to Ian, settled into the seat. He then took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He extended his hands, palms up to Ian, turned slightly so that he would be able to hold Ian's hands. He had not traveled the 'planes as often as the younger generation of Brothers. Traveling, he thought should be done on a plane or a ship; however, he appreciated having another option in case of emergencies.
"Place your hands on top of mine." He nodded as Ian tentatively put his bare hands on his. The Master noticed Nottingham start slightly as he carefully closed his hands around Ian's. He and Sam would be able to help each other in overcoming their personal burdens and grow stronger together. Their troubles were much like minefields, in a sense, that cluttered many paths to complete enlightenment, he thought.
"Now Ian, I want you to close your eyes and relax. You will feel a shift, when you do, focus on locating Samsara. I will supply the energy for this astral trip."
*****
Ian closed his eyes and mentally sought the strong silvery braid that bound him and Sam. He felt as though he had become engulfed in a dense fog. Anxiety started to weave its way into Ian's senses; he seized the cord before despairing. A physical jolt dissipated the fog and he was aware of the Master's presence. After following the braid for a few minutes, he and the Elder were "standing" on the dark beach with only stars as their light.
Ian heard several growls in front of the two of them. He speculated they were about ten feet away from Sam. Trying to sound unaffected by the growls he called out to Mac.
"Mac! It's Ian. I have come with the Master of the Zen Monastery to help Sam." Ian pitched his voice confidently, hoping Mac would tell the beasts to desist.
"Well Lad, whut do ya think yore doin'?" questioned Mac. "I thought you had yore own Lady to keep watch and protect."
He was still feeling sullen in spite of the fact Sam had explained about 'Destiny'. Mac could tell his Mistress was smitten but wouldn't acknowledge it because Ian's Destiny was to be with someone else. PickinSkempts, he thought.
Ian was bewildered by Mac's statement and tone. Had he unknowingly upset Sam? He thought she understood. It didn't help that he was questioning his future. Did she foresee something? He knew he couldn't stand to lose Sam. What was he to do?
"Mac, I am Master Lee of the Zen Monastery in New York." He directed his voice to the darkness, where things still growled warily. The old man had not made many astral trips, but he knew that assisting a new Divine One was paramount. Even at this odd site, he had to remember all the Masters of each monastery entered a hive-mind state when they meditated. What one knew, they all knew. He drew on the collective consciousness and found the proper approach.
Even from this distance he could see Samsara's weak aura. The glow surrounding what he guessed were her Artifacts' auras blending in concert. It reminded him of the Northern Lights, beautiful, but in this case, deadly.
"Your Master's aura is very weak, Mac. Please let me help her." The sounds of the waves hitting the beach matched the hammering of his heart. He had never dealt with an Artifact and now he faced many. It seemed like forever before Mac replied.
"Very well, she is simply exhausted but come; you have no need to fear." Mac was curious about the Master from New York. He sounded sincerely concerned, and Mac knew many of the Masters were not comfortable traveling the 'planes. His trip to help Sam was duly noted by Mac.
Mac could feel Ian's emotions, like the waves that beat against the shore and sprayed up over the rocks. How could Ian be so insensitive to Sam, Mac wondered. She would give her life for him; she had already put herself in a perilous position. Mac noticed that Ian did not approach Sam. Ian stood where he had landed; inadvertently proving to Mac that Sam was beneath his notice.
"Ian, I could use your assistance," called the Elder.
"Don't bother," Mac said loud enough for Ian to hear. "He thinks he is too good for Samsara. He has his own Lady." Mac's harsh, accusing statement was said such that Ian had no doubt that Mac was insulted and inferred that Sam was also upset.
Ian was dumbfounded by Mac's accusation. He believed Sam understood that he was "Destined" to be with Lady Sara. Hadn't she?
Mac's aura was like an out of control fire; angry red streaks among orange and cinnamon flames engulfed the Fae. Ian started forward, hoping to discover why Mac was so angry and by the intensity of his aura, feeling betrayed. As he approached, growls from the other Artifacts deepened. He witnessed a flash of fangs, illuminated by the magical nature of the creature.
"Please ask your allies to allow Ian to assist in making her stronger so she may awaken to straighten out this misunderstanding." The Master directed his request to Mac.
"From where I'm at', there's no misunderstanding." Mac responded, arms crossed in front of him.
"I need Ian to help me strengthen your Master. Please let him come through," beseeched the Elder. Master Lee did not understand why this Artifact was so insulted by Ian's presence. It was possible that Ian had another path to follow, but that shouldn't put him at odds with the Divine One.
Mac was aware of the Master's need to help his Mistress. His hostility toward Ian needed to be set aside, he knew that. He also knew Sam would likely be hurt because Ian's loyalties lay with a woman who cared little about him and his duty to protect her.
Emotion was Sam's weakness, he knew. She would give him whatever he needed and more; when the time came to leave, Ian would be strong and have his Lady.
As a tattoo, he was able to absorb her psychological patterns, in a sense, knowing her better than she knew herself. Ian and his Lady's relationship might end as it should, fulfilling their supposed Destiny. However, Sam would experience the jolt of not being needed for the First time. Mac shuddered to think how Sam would truly accept it, as compared to how she would appear to handle the change.
"Come and help the Master," Mac acquiesced, "you will not be harmed." Murmuring quietly, Mac was able to get all the Artifacts to subside. He watched Ian approach apprehensively. He still liked Sam's new student, but didn't like what was going to transpire. His Mistress had enough pain and loss in her life; she didn't need any more. He moved aside and let Ian step onto the rug.
As Ian got closer to the group, his memories of Sam were like images flashed on a screen. He wondered if this was the beach of their first meeting; finding himself inside a stranger's body. She just happened to be understanding, patient, and compassionate, he reflected. Sam's openness coupled with returning him safely to his body and the fact she kept her promise to see him again seemed to set the manner of their relationship. Appearing not by form, but voice and propelled him to save detective Woo's daughter, and her astral visit to the library where he got to actually see her highlighted his recollections.
Seeing her brought forth carefully saved images, a blue silk robe that was much too big, long blonde hair, high cheek bones, sparkling lilac eyes with her lips the purest color and texture of a blooming red rose. She had a physically perfect attractive body. No, he admitted to himself, Sam wasn't "attractive"; she was beautiful and absolutely graceful. Then, he stopped before he stepped onto the rug and into the circle of Artifacts. It was her physical presence that devastated Irons' and Immo's plan to reprogram him, severing Irons' bonds and giving him a chance to work toward being truly free.
Ian's genetically enhanced sight adapted to the night's darkness. He stood by her, studying her from her feet to her face. His eyes lingered at her waist; he could still feel her in his arms and her hands as they tenderly cradled his face as she spoke to him. Delight and desire pulsed through his body by the memory. Her voice so sultry and smooth, the way his very being welcomed it like warm, mulled cider on a winter's eve. Examining her aura made him move quickly to her side and kneel close to her. It was so faint; the only colors he could see now were the two bluish silver threads they had performed together and the intricately platinum braided bond of her to him.
The Master watched Ian start to approach the group slowly. Even after the Fae gave him permission, Ian did not rush. Focusing on the young man's aura, he saw the turmoil Ian was experiencing. He had no self esteem, however, a platinum thread the size of a heavy construction cable led from Ian to Sam, something significant had transpired between him and the Divine One. A deep ruby-colored shimmer surrounded Ian like a cloak, indicating love was developing. He determined the intensity of their relationship would be considerable due to the pristine red. The Elder was curious about the Fae's hostility and Ian's reluctance.
"We do not have much time," commented the Master as Ian gently took Sam's hand into his.
"What can I do?" Ian asked solemnly. As he held Sam's hand, Ian received a tumble of impressions. It ranged from space debris and objects crashing to images of a small, dark haired child holding the hand of someone watching an ornate casket being lowered into the ground. Dried tears stained the face of the boy while he clutched a somewhat bedraggled red rose.
"You must concentrate on your energy, see it as a ball of light before you," directed the Master, unaware that Ian was lost among the visions belonging to Sam.
A few moments passed and the Master did not see Ian attempt to call forth his energy. He glanced at Ian who was lost in thought. He did not see the Fae move next to Ian's ankle. Master Lee was about to address the kneeling young man again when Ian yelped in surprise and pain.
"What was" Ian started to ask, but Mac interrupted him.
"Either you are here to help, or you can go home," stated Mac. He'd been watching Ian drift off and he was concerned what he might come across in Sam's memory. Ian had already bound her without permission and Mac was going to see that Ian didn't happen to read her memories without permission.
Ian started and looked down at the angry Fae. He was still confused by Mac's reaction to his presence. Shaking his head, he brought Sam's hand up and brushed his lips across the ridge of her knuckles. He noticed that her hand was cool, this minute detail bothered him.
Mac stood back after refocusing Ian's attention. There was something dreadfully wrong with Ian and Sam. He stalked to one side and looked at the couple again. Frustration carved a furrow into his forehead. Ian had traveled the astral plane with the Master, the Fae noted, which would mean… He smacked his head irritated that he could not discern the error that was before him.
"Whatever I have, is hers," he declared. Carefully, he sat next to her, edging her into his lap while still holding her hand. Closing his eyes, Ian heard the surf batter the beach. Reaching inside to a place he'd created as a child to hide and store precious memories, it developed and had grown with him. Besides memories, it held energy he would call on when having to face Irons' wrath. Imaging his energy was as a white electrical ball; he concentrated on shifting its position from inside onto the palm of his hand.
There was a gasp from the Master as he witnessed a softball of crackling light appear on Ian's hand. Collecting himself, the Master proceeded to direct Ian on fueling the ball. Urging Ian to add extra energy until it was the size of a basketball and to stop if he felt himself getting fatigued. The Fae's pacing was starting to distract his attention from Ian. The Elder had just finished explaining how the transfer was going to occur.
Ian cradled Sam's head in the crook of his right arm and was moving his left hand which had the energy ball balancing close to her Sahasrara, the crown of charka at the top of her head. He was about to settle the ball onto Sam's head when Mac cried out.
"No! You can't do this." He wailed as Ian ignored him and placed the ball on top of her head. "You're on the astral plane, you can't, no shouldn't be touching her." Mac could not comprehend how Ian was able to touch her from a different 'plane, it defied astral laws and the result would be disastrous.
The Master realized it a second too late. He had accidentally discovered his being passed through the Artifacts as though he were a ghost. Any questions were blown from his mind as Ian's energy exploded into a crackling milky sphere around him and Sam. The Artifacts and the old man were thrown off the rug.
Ian paid no heed to the Fae thinking he was continuing in bad mouthing his loyalty to Sam. He didn't notice the blast that happened around him. After the ball in his hand vanished, he used his free hand to pull Sam firmly, holding and rocking her in his lap. Bending his head down, he brushed her forehead with his lips and tasted the salt from the ocean breeze. He rested his lips against her forehead and held her tightly, as he shifted her to hold her as close as possible; she moaned. The sound of her voice was the charge he could not deny. Cradling her head in his hand he brought her to his chest; the glow from the sphere illuminated her face, making it truly appear angelic. His desire was almost painful. Deciding he may never have the opportunity again, he lowered his lips and kissed her. His body tingled with Power, unknowingly opening himself to physically craving her touch, her affections.
A sigh escaped her and she tried to turn and be nearer to him. A fire she had unknowingly started with their first meeting began to burn the rules and inhibitions Irons had instilled in him. He gave up trying to conform to Irons' decrees regarding women. Instead he traced his fingers down her forehead, temple, and high cheek bone and jaw line. He bent over her memorizing the way she felt in his arms, how she had turned to him. Perhaps, he thought, she could be his Destiny tonight. Holding her tight, he bent and carefully brushed his lips over hers and slowly worked his way into kissing her gently and softly. Moving his lips up her jaw line, he paused by her ear, kissing it lightly and then to her temple. Her skin reminded him of a rose petal's velvet feel with a wispy jasmine scent, the ocean breeze's spray of salt made her taste memorable. Her body arced in his arms which only heightened his longing for the love that permeated her spirit.
As he pulled her closer, her arms went languidly around his neck. She looked as though she were trying to force her eyes open. Afraid she would push him away when she saw who it was, he tried to steal one last kiss. As their lips met, it was as though the energy of the sphere pulsed through their bodies. He tried to keep his kiss soft, but her body reacted to his unspoken desire. One of her hands tangled in his hair and pulled him till her body seemed to mold to his. A groan came from low in his throat, and he clutched her firmly. Their kiss was so intense it rivaled the ball of energy surrounding them. He broke from the kiss and nuzzled into the crook of her neck, attempting to drink in her very essence.
"I wish to know about you," he gasped, "everything, from your distaste for gloves to the black spot on your aura.' He ran his hand down her long blonde hair, making sure his hand caressed her back. He took a breath to announce his other 'wishes'.
"Don't say that," she forced the words, "not now." Her body involuntarily responded to his hand stroking her back. She tried to catch his lips to stop him from speaking, but he evaded her feeble attempt.
He felt loved. He felt invincible. "Yes, now!" He said strongly in her ear. His arms were like bands of steel. Power washed though him, a voice he didn't recognize spoke one chilling sentence.
"Be careful what you wish for."
The light surrounding Ian and Sam began to spin, flickering and picking up speed. Sam tried to twist away from Ian; smells and sounds not of this time broke free of the blocks she'd so carefully built to vanquish her past. She would have to face her demons, try as she could; the past was too overwhelming and the strength of it drew them into its control.. In order for Sam to shield Ian, she had to put herself between him and the atrocity. She knew what she was about to face again, if he experienced it, would most likely ruin any hope of a relationship. A sob escaped her throat, of all she'd been through, having him look upon her in disgust would break her heart.
Ian was buffeted from all sides by light, sounds and accosted by smells. Holding tightly to Sam, he felt her try and push him toward an image of a safe haven. When he continued to hold on, she shifted and tried to position herself to be a barrier. What was she trying to protect him from? He wondered. The currents of light and dark swept by faster, leaving him dizzy and confused.
*****
It was dark and the room smelled of fear, sweat and drying blood. He couldn't move his hands. They had been tied and wired to the arms of a cold metal chair. His back was aflame with indescribable pain and he could feel the blood drying, making him stick to the chair. Ian realized a blindfold covered his face and a rag was stuffed in his mouth. The smell and stickiness implied the restraint was held in place with duct tape. He had to fight the urge to vomit, tasting bile in the back of his throat. The gag assured he would suffocate. His face felt as though it had been used as a punching ball, dried blood pulled the skin tight. He tried to shake his head but couldn't.
Where am I? What did I do? Ian tried to remember where he had been. He wondered if this was a new kind of punishment that Irons had developed. The room was dank and he heard sobs coming from behind, as if there were others locked in a nearby room.
His left arm moved and excruciating pain assaulted his senses. Darkness flitted across his limited vision. He determined that his arm was broken. His thighs, groin and anus were on fire and throbbed with pain. Peering under in the blindfold revealed he, no she was saturated in blood. Not his body, he'd been on the beach and then….
Shock and horror filled him. He tried to deny what he was feeling; tears ran down his cheeks as he held Sam on the beach.
Ian huddled around Sam's Muladhara, her first charka, survival instincts.
Information he'd received from binding with Sam filtered into his consciousness. A knot hardened in his gut as comprehension slithered in like a viper into a sleeping bag.
Her head leaned back, shooting sparks behind her eyelids. The bindings! Looking down, his heart sank when he saw the blue threads taut. The platinum cable that had tied her to him resembled a vapor, the possible implications chilled him. He realized if he yelled and she heard him, she would believe she was loosing her mind. Sam shifted slightly, her abdomen and groin felt as though they were pieces of broken crystal. She winced but refused to make any sound.
Thankfully he could not read her mind or she his. He could not understand why anyone would commit such an atrocity, especially to Sam. Forcing back the anger and the tears, Ian felt her resolve not to call or attempt to escape which bewildered him. He wondered if this was the cause behind Mac's accusation that Ian would not have Sam for his Lady.
Outside the glowing orb, Mac perched on the bear's shoulder and tried to make sure Sam was well. He had the others were feeling distressed. As Mac peeked , he watched Sam convulse as if in pain. Ian was holding her, tears running down his face. As quickly as his tears appeared, his demeanor changed into one of fierce anger. Mac settled into the Bear's fur; it was going to be a long evening. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Elder endeavor to keep an eye on the imprisoned couple.
He was distracted by a key being turned, and a door was flung open. Sweaty bodies combined with the stench of rancid cigarettes, cigars and stale Old Crow announced the mens' arrival.
The deep grumbling of coarse voices prompted her to steel herself for more brutality. She could feel one of the men walk in front of her chair, and her limited vision allowed her to see worn, blood splattered boots. Sam made no movement to acknowledge his presence. Ian grasped that he was incapable to help, let alone, save her.
On the beach, Sam took a deep breath and tried to pull Ian mentally back to the comfort of her arms. She murmured into his ear, while attempting to maintain her own composure. Tears were her outlet for the pain, even now.
Ian braced himself around her "survival chakra".
A rough hand wrenched her blindfold off from behind, banging her head against the chair. Standing in front of her was a heavy-set man dressed in black, a look of hatred on his face. Ian recognized the sadistic glint in the man's eyes. Ian recoiled involuntarily.
"Bitch," the man said with a voice that had been abused by heavy drinking and cigarettes. He backhanded the right side of her face with a heavily ringed leather gloved hand, splitting her lip under the tape. Her head bounced against the metal chair. Ian sensed Sam's spirit fade, leaving her body defenseless. He couldn't understand why she refused to fight and searched his memory for any knowledge he'd received when binding with Sam to bring her back.
"Tell us what we want to know and maybe you will get out of this alive." Grabbing the edge of duct tape, he ripped it and the rag from her mouth. Blood gushed down her chin; the blood's metallic tang filled her mouth. Try as he could, he'd yet to make her scream.
Sam responded by spitting in his face, covering him in wet crimson. He cursed as his men behind her laughed. The next thing Ian felt was the beast savagely grabbing her throat in his gloved hand and slowly cutting off her air. Something bit into her flesh, causing it to bleed.
"Um-mm." Sam muttered, trying to move her head. She knew a team was moving into place just as this Neanderthal was yammering at her. Sam loved technology. Her unpretentious' earrings had locators and a low frequency radio band that would give her a heads up when the Calvary was about to join the fray. Ian was filtering the images he'd picked up from Sam and knew enough that she was working for the government.
He relaxed his grip a bit. "Speak up."
Red suffused her enemy's face. As he stood, he deliberately made a fist. His dark eyes sparked in anger. Before she could blink he hauled back and punched her between her legs, grinding his fist deeply and soaking up her blood.
Sam's tormentor stood in front of her and held up his blood saturated gloved hand, wriggling his fingers and then wiping them on her face.
Ian lurched with Sam in his arms. Her arms held him and she flinched and muffled her cry into his shoulder. She cursed herself for being weak, not being able to protect him and save him from the remembered abuse.
"Zack, bring the kid out here." He kept Sam's eyes locked on him and replaced his bloody hand around her throat, and continued to squeeze. The smell of blood was sickening sweet.
Sam was immobilized, but pulled at her restraints fighting the darkness which swirled as her arm and ribs shrieked. Ian and Sam heard the frightened screams of a girl being dragged from the locked area.
"The little girl and I are going to have fun. Like what you and I did before, remember?" She glared at him, furious at her inability to stop him.
Ian was stunned when he was bombarded by flashes of what Sam had endured. Leather gloves appeared again and again. Violated, abused and degraded by every man in the room, and the shame she felt. He couldn't breath and did not know how to react to so horrific an experience. Her fear for the child permeated Ian's consciousness. Her words didn't reach him, all she could do was hold him until she found a way to return him safely back to the beach.
"No," gasped Sam. "Leave her alone, take me, not her." Ian cringed when he heard; he knew that she would give herself up to save the girl.
More flashes, leather gloves holding her head, her arms and legs assaulted Ian and he was ashamed that he didn't have her selflessness.
"Why I think she'd like to play," he removed his hand from Sam's throat and stroked her battered face. "If she doesn't want to play then, I'll make her watch. Won't that be fun?" His laugh was as grotesque as his voice.
Panic and fear for the child blended with Sam's feeling of helplessness. Blood flowed freely, a coppery smell filled the air; this particular wound wouldn't kill her, yet. He caught some of the little girl's blood and used it as a macabre hand lotion. His hands dripping, he returned to Sam.
"I wanted to make sure that not all her blood was on my hands," he grinned malevolently. The leather gloves were no longer black; they were crimson and he placed a hand on either side of her cheek. He seemed to massage the child's blood into Sam's cheeks and then painted her lips with the remainder.
Ian clutched the brown robe that Sam wore, physically still on the beach, but mentally in Sam's personal Hell. One of his hands was tangled in her mass of silken gold. She tried to coax him back, desperately praying he'd return unscathed. Without realizing, she rubbed her face on his sweater, still having the sensation of blood on her face.
Sam recoiled at the touch of the dripping bloody gloves, loathing the feel and what it meant. As he was gesturing to his men to move her to a chained pallet, the door exploded.
Smoke instantly followed. One of the captors grabbed and hurled the girl at the passageway; her screams added to the commotion. Armored, masked men entered the room. Using infrared, the incoming force picked off the four standing figures. Shouts were cut short as bodies thudded to the floor.
The man in black ducked behind Sam's sitting form. Hit twice, he drew his pistol from his side holster. As he prepared to kill Sam, one of the figures had circled behind and fired, scattering gray matter, blood and bone.
Sam sat in the chair, praying for a bullet to end her nightmare. Instead, she was inundated with gore. Tears coursed down her bloody face. She was deafened by the blast and gunshots.
Two teams entered the room, one of the rescuers headed directly to Sam. He took one look at her and called for a medic over his radio. Another one of the group was calling for medical assistance to care for the child, who was sobbing.
"We've got the doctor and she needs serious medical attention." The Kevlar armored man took off his face mask. "Sam, we caught the other group. You okay?"
Doctor, Ian wondered? He was curious why she never mentioned her profession. He debated with himself as to the nature of being a doctor, was she an MD or did she have a PhD. Whatever she had, she must've been very young to achieve her goal.
Sam jumped when her friend touched her gently. She tried to focus on his face. His luminescent blue eyes were filled with sadness and affection. Her gaze went to his tousled black hair, and a detached smile tried to pull at the corners of her mouth. Boys playing army. Her thought was as lasting as her smile; it evaporated like the smoke from the room.
The sounds of the units carrying out their tasks were muffled, as though her head was filled with cotton. Ian didn't notice the commotion surrounding her. He was impatient, wanting someone to free her.
"Oh God, Sam," he said. The smoke was clearing and he was horrified to see she'd been violated and beaten. A deadly strand of piano wire had been looped around her throat like a noose. "We're going to need wire cutters in here, pronto!" He practically spat into his mike. "You're going to be just fine. We have a chopper waiting."
"Family?" asked Sam, keeping eye contact. "Matt, did they?" Tears silently slipped down her face.
Matt looked down, unable to speak. He'd tried to convince the 'higher ups' not to uphold the MIA policy, but they would not listen.
She had her answer. Squeezing her eyes tight, "Hey Matt?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah, Doc?" He tried to speak normally but his voice cracked.
"I'll take a cup of Hemlock, now."
"Not funny, Sam." Matt knew that tone and he wished he'd been the one in her place. Of all the people he worked with, she was the best.
"Look at me Matt." Ian knew there was more to this conversation but he was lost.
Reluctantly, Matt met her bloodshot hazel eyes, framed in black and blue. Her scalp was marred with bloody patches indicating where her captors had ripped out her hair. He swallowed hard.
"I REALLY want the tea." She watched him shake his head. Slowly she started to pull against the noose. The piano wire cut deeper into her neck, blood started to flow again. Ian was aghast, she'd survived, why would she want to die now? Stop! He willed as hard as possible, hoping something would catch her attention.
"Sam, stop!" Matt forced his hands between the wire and her neck. He attempted to loosen the loop.
Exhausted, she leaned back in the chair and stared at Matt's perfectly chiseled features. Concern, fear and anger raced across his face. She caught his eyes when he noticed she was watching him.
"Coward!" he hissed. The word had more than one meaning between the two of them. They'd used it on each other countless times. It hurt him to say, but it was necessary. His partner's life and mental state were on the line.
Ian was shocked and incensed. A coward? His vulnerability frustrated and angered him. He felt Sam nod, and it perplexed him.
"Too hard Matt." Her crying was relentless, a sob made her gasp as her lungs encountered her bruised and broken ribs. Sam watched him remove one of his hands away from the wire and patted his pockets for a handkerchief.
Matt was aware he had Sam's attention, and produced a fresh hanky with a flourish. Knowing his partner, he proceeded to spit on the cloth and moved close to clean her cheeks. Inwardly, he counted as he closed the distance.
"Touch my face with that and I'll take you with me," she growled.
Matt grinned, didn't even make to twenty, "That's my girl." Shoving the offending cloth into a pocket, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "We'll get through this." His eyes conveyed his sincerity as he met her gaze. He stood when he saw another team arrive with wire cutters; he managed to wriggle his fingers into her hand so she could hold them. Her weak tear stained smile clutched his heart.
Ian wished he had some way of comforting her. How many times had she gambled with her life and were there other situations where she'd been tortured? His questions seemed to be an endless circle.
Fighting a repeat performance, Sam surged forward holding Ian tightly, not wanting to be defeated by the horrors. It was tougher than she thought. Her memories were thinly veiled pockets of quicksand. The harder she fought, the deeper she sank into the blackness. Not again!
Mentally she called to Ian, hoping to get his attention. The shriek of the past seared her nerves and she was blinded by the brilliant flashing light. High winds yanked at her clothes and consciousness, threatening to drag Ian out of her grasp.
As she fell unconscious, they were both sucked into a vortex of extreme negativity. Her pain, violation, humiliation were intensified, magnified and he experienced the entire episode. He saw what she had tried to protect him from, using herself as a shield. He also became conscious of the fact that she loved him. Her feelings of failure, to protect the child and to protect him when he was the one who demanded to know. Ian yearned to be back on the beach with his arms around her. Tears and sobs were racking his body when he found himself clinging to her, experiencing the joy of her returned embrace.
How could she stand to be around him, after enduring so much? He closed his eyes holding her, one hand caressing her back and his lips pressed against her temple. Her moan was soft as she tried to get closer to him and deny she'd had to not only relive her ghastly past, but subject a man with whom she was beginning to love.
*****
Her feelings of failure, humiliation and the horrors she faced alone slammed against his psyche. Ian only had a vague memory of what she lost. She was willing to die after losing something which was rare and important. She had had a family, was a doctor. Her past, her life, she'd shared with him. As they held each other, he was the first and only person she'd presented herself to. How could he repay such a gift? No answer was immediately available, so he held her.
"I wish you hadn't experienced that." She whispered. Her hand was stroking and massaging the back of his neck. "It was bad enough that I had to live through it once, but having you feel my failure." She shook her head at a loss for words.
Ian felt the tears on her face and pulled back to kiss them away. He did not mean to cause her pain and he had no idea how to comfort or lessen her guilt. Looking into her eyes shining with unshed tears, he gently cupped her cheek and brushed her lips with his thumb.
"Sam," he looked down trying to find the right words. A lock of long curly hair fell across his face. He peered at her through his eyelashes. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you would have to," his head dipped lower, "relive that horror." He closed his eyes doubting if she would have anything to do with him after this. A lone tear trickled down his cheek and he dropped his hand away from her.
He jumped when he felt Sam catch the vagrant lock of hair and sweep it off his face. Her hand then slipped down his cheek to his jaw. She continued to stroke and knead his neck with her left hand, while caressing his face with her right. He noticed her sliding closer, tipping his head forward and she rested her forehead against his. Her sultry voice was barely a whisper.
"I understand why you don't want to look at me. I should have never put the child in harm's way. I was weak. I share your disdain regarding that incident. My incompetence barred me from ever seeing or speaking to my husband and children. They believe I am dead which is not far from the truth. For a short time I felt needed and wanted. You gave me that chance and for that I thank you."
Ian didn't understand what she was saying. He opened his eyes and saw incredible sadness, more than any one person should ever have to experience. Shaking his head, he refused to accept her words.
"No," he stated flatly. "It was wrong for me to pry. You've been through so much…" his voice cracked and he could not find the words. Instead, he gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, his eyes squeezed shut. "Not going to let you go," he murmured into her ear.
Sam felt his body quake from his quiet sobs. Her body was enfolded in his strong grip. It had been so long since she had been held. Her right hand played with his wavy hair; she couldn't resist planting light kisses on his forehead and down his temple.
"Ian, you have to let go." Noticing the crackling sphere for the first time, she laughed softly. "Did you realize we are encased in a ball of light? How did you do that?"
He looked around, blinking against the illumination, while keeping her in a unyielding hug. Ever so slowly, he released his grip and she sat next to him amazed at the glow.
"The Elder," Ian said worriedly.
"Mac," Sam called, "is the Elder with you?"
"Yes Lass," came Mac's relieved response. "He's looking a bit pale."
Sam started to stand; Ian was instantly up and helped her to her feet. She thanked him with a smile and approached the edge of the luminous orb.
"Bring the Elder here, to the sound of my voice." She could vaguely make out shapes on the dark side.
"Samsara? I am Master Lee from the Zen Monastery." The old man called as he reached the area where he heard her voice.
"Master Lee, I am going to pass you an energy ball to sustain you while Ian and I figure out what happened." Holding her hand in front of her she created a golden ball of light, and then pushed her hand through the field Ian had created and sensed it infusing the Elder.
"Mac, take the Elder and half of the group to the hut and make him some tea, please. The power he accepted from me will allow him to interact on this 'plane." Sam cocked her head waiting for Mac's reply.
"Are you sure Lass? The Lad seemed very uncertain that he wanted to help you. I think he might want to be getting back to his own Lady." Mac's tone was definitely distorted, clearly implying that he was displeased with Ian.
Ian's temper flared but he didn't have a quick retort. He looked at Sam and she just shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the remark.
"Master Lee, are you feeling better?" Sam inquired. She was watching Ian who acted as if she were going to vanish. He observed every move she made. Sam offered him her hand. He seized it and pulled her back into his arms. His actions almost made her laugh.
"I'm feeling much better, thank you." The Elder hesitated before asking his next question, looking around at all the creatures that had been keeping him company. The Fae had been telling stories to pass the time, and maintain the Elder's positive mood.
"We'll take good care of the Master, till you fix Ian's mistake." Mac interjected; sure his barb would find its target. Mac turned to the Master, created a small globe of luminosity to lead the way and ushered the Master to the hut.
Sam heard the Elder and some of her Artifacts head toward the beach shelter, leaving some of her Artifacts to prowl outside the radiance.
"Now, how did you do this?"
She turned in his arms and felt his motion rather than seeing it. Sam tried to look beyond the sphere; her view was obscured by the glow. Sighing, she sat down, and tugged Ian's hand to join her which he did gladly. Leaning against him, she studied the area. Ian sensed she was chilled and wrapped his arms around her.
"I don't know," he admitted.
Ian studied the beautiful woman in his arms, wishing he had the ability to dress her in silks instead of the coarse brown robe she wore. He tried not to compare Sam with Sara; his training specified that he had to protect the Bladewielder. Irons' carefully instilled lessons were fraying; the Destiny he'd created for Ian was turning to dust. Ian drew her near; he determined her kisses were addictive and decided to indulge himself.
*****
Ian stopped. Sam noticed a loud ticking behind her. Squirming, she was able to get out of Ian's grasp and turn toward the sound. A familiar face, decked in a loud Hawaiian print shirt, lederhosen, cowboy boots, Rastafarian dreadlocks and a fuzzy British Queens' Guardsman hat perched precariously on his head stood expectantly in front of her. A large handlebar mustache sat on his upper lip and he smiled widely.
"Tick-tock," he said and winked. "I've brought a few Others to meet you."
Sam put on her best diplomatic face and nodded politely to Time. "Long time no see."
That struck Time as incredibly funny and it took a few moments to get his snorting laugh under control. Between gasps for air he gestured to a striking bald Black Individual dressed formally in black tails, dark purple cummerbund with gold Infinity symbols which flickered. The bow tie matched the cummerbund; the tux shirt was so white it gleamed.
"This is Destiny."