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Tying Up Loose Ends

Chapter Twenty-Six

Trapped Inside Himself

"Where is he?"

Wolfwood awoke to the less than melodious sounds of Elendira's voice; dammit, Legato must have forced him into unconsciousness as soon his foot stepped out of the saloon door. Naturally the priest refused to answer the question and instead took in his surroundings, assessing the situation.

Within a minute he figured out he was basically screwed.

The room was tiny, maybe five paces by five paces. He couldn't lay out completely although it didn't matter too much; his wrists had been bound tightly behind him and then trussed tightly to the bonds around his ankles, forcing his back to remain ramrod straight. Only could he kneel or lay on his side but not much more than that. White walls seamlessly melded into one and another, as well with the floor and ceiling. Metal maybe, cool to the touch, and spotless. The perfect room to make a person go insane real quick.

Shivering, Wolfwood realized he had been stripped of his own clothes, only a loose smock of white covering his body. Absently the thought of what he would do if he had to use the restroom flitted across his mind as he looked for any source of entrance or exit. None were obvious; although they had to exist, they were well hidden. He couldn't even see where the speaker was or if any cameras were watching him, the walls growing brighter the longer he stared at them.

"Where is he?"

Wolfwood remained silent, kneeling there with his head bowed in thought. It snapped up suddenly as pain ripped through his body, choking out a pitiful, almost animalistic scream. His back arched painfully, wrenching beyond its normal limit. Tears poured out from between tightly closed eyelids. It felt like someone had replaced his blood with gasoline and then chucked a match down his throat.

That's not possible, it's not fucking possible, he tried to think, tried to fight back the pain, but it overtook him and all senses shut down. Not sight, not smell, no touch; Wolfwood couldn't even hear himself scream anymore.

As quickly as the pain started, it was over. No burns marred his skin, not a scratch on him.

Legato… his mind gasped. It was all Wolfwood could do to force air in and then laboriously back out of his lungs. Sweat dripped from him, mingling with tears upon his face. Blood pounded in his ears and he almost couldn't hear Elendira ask the question again.

"Where is he?"

Again Wolfwood refused to answer. There really was no other option for him, he couldn't let them know where Knives was hiding, along with Vash, Edy, and Isaiah. Their safety, the safety of every human upon Gunsmoke, everyone hung their hope for survival on this single nail, the fact that Knives was incapacitated; of course most were blissfully aware of this fact, but that changed its validity not at all. Wolfwood knew he had to stand the pain or at least not let it convince him he needed to talk. This pain was all in his mind but no matter how sure he was of that fact, when it started again all logic flew from his head and all he could do was scream.

* * * * *

The ships came.

Bright, shining, metal beacons of a new age, virtually silent in their decent, ominous and yet beautiful in every way. They touched down in the middle of the wasteland, and almost like in some microcosmic joke, crushed the cave that once shielded a murderous plant from the elements as he lay wounded and delirious. The ships were here but no one in Vash's tiny universe knew if, when they left, they would remain intact. The feeling of uneasiness that had been slowly smoldering within both Vash and Edy had been fanned into a searing flame by the winds of the landing ships. Things had grown tense around the Gardener household as all the people around them and all across Gunsmoke began preparing for the journey.

Words announcing the ships' arrival flew frantically across the satellite, causing celebration; it would have been followed by mayhem if the officers from the ships had not commandeered all forms of communication and set forth the orders for evacuation. Their own people went out into the planet to ensure everything went smoothly, lacking in any form of chaos. Everything had to be just so for this to work.

Everyone had to wrap up their business and their lives, pack only what personal items would fit in a bag no bigger than their exacting size and weight specifications, and then gather at the camp set up at the outskirts of the landing area. Food and sanitary items would only be necessary for the journey to the camp; all other matters such as necessary needs would be taken care of in the camp, on the ship, and if everyone followed orders and everything went correctly, on Earth as well.

So people slowly but surely did as they were told and formed a mass Exodus from every walk of life any of them ever knew, willing to throw it all away for a chance to leave this dirty, burning Hell of a planet, Gunsmoke.

The waiting game began.

* * * * *

…What was that? It's back, it's back…

Consciousness return to him, only to find that he was still bound, still in that horrible little room. The cold, white, metal floor bit into his knees through the long smock but he felt nothing of the floor's ice in his numb feet; he chided himself for falling asleep (or more likely unconscious) on his knees again.

Not caring if it would hurt, only making sure not to smack his head on the floor, he tipped himself over onto his side to take the weight off of his bloodless limbs. White walls stared at him and without turning his head to look, he knew a white ceiling loomed overhead, and the white floor below, all perfectly devoid of color, except for the messes they let him make. Those were cleaned up soon enough, and no color remained in the room for very long. The humiliating answer came to him, not long after he found himself in the room, about what would happen if he needed to go to the bathroom.

Stupid voice, I was having a good dream. The same one again, about the house far away from here and those people… I can't remember what they look like now, the dream's gone because of that stupid voice... Still, it was warm and happy there…

He had no sense of time or space, sleep never was allowed for him in any regular interval, and the food, what little there had been, had virtually turned his bowels to water. Everything had been planned just right to make anyone go mad. He wasn't crazy yet, he didn't think, but who could tell? Maybe he wasn't. What ever color he could find, what ever noise he could make just to hear a human voice, even his own, that was what kept him from slipping away and giving up the precious information in his head.

"Where is he?"

The same question, as always. The only thing the voice ever said to him, the only thing anyone ever said to him. Again he didn't speak, never talking to it. Pain, screaming, and then the question was posed again. The pattern of torture stood as the only thing that held any sort of routine in his life.

"Where is he?"

Blood flecked the floor as he coughed, shaking and feeling the painful bite of the restraints that dug in his flesh with every struggle. This time was worse than before, causing him to bite his tongue.

Concentrate on the red, concentrate on the color, it was new, concentrate…

"Look at that," he murmured to himself, "bleeding, blood, bleeding like a stuck pig. I bit my tongue, bit it good, shit it hurts like a Thomas-fucker. Hurts bad, I need a cigarette, got a light? To much light in here, too bright…"

On he rambled, giving no response to the voice. There was no way he could answer that question, though, not anymore. The problem was, he didn't know who he was himself, let alone the "he" the voice kept referring to.

Some comfort came from this fact; he still could remember that if he told, he would send people he loved to their death. Who they were, he couldn't recall exactly. Vague colors really, not shapes anymore. Faces fading from a dream with the morning light.

He just knew it was better this way, that he forgot everything. No memories to remind him of what he was missing, locked up in this little room. No names, no faces, no places to tell him exactly what no longer belonged to him. Better to forget everything and die in this horrible, little, white room.

* * * * *

Outside of the room and outside of the man's hearing, two other men conversed. The one who owned the voice (the meticulous, calm voice that knew no other phrases than one), turned to the other, a man in a metal casket responsible for the pain (that really was only in the head of the poor man, but hurt like truth due to the amazing capabilities of the human brain and nervous system). Elendira's pretty face did not look pleased as he stared disdainfully at Legato, the freak unable to tear his eyes away from the monitor that displayed their captive, the former Nicholas D. Wolfwood.

"We've gone too far; there's nothing left in him. He's just a pitiful shell," he sighed, frustrated. A delicate finger and thumb pinched the slender bridge of his nose in attempts to ward off complete frustration.

"His walls are almost down now," the other murmured to himself, his golden eyes in slits as he stared at the screen. "No need for talking soon, I can get in all by myself."

"You couldn't before," Elendira asked dryly, squinching his eyes shut, pinching still as if his life depended upon it, and refusing to look at Legato. If this little freak could have just pulled the information out by the roots, then why hadn't he done so two weeks ago?

"Chapel wouldn't let me. No way to get past then, but there are cracks now. All I need is another day…"

"We don't have another day," responded Elendira as he counted to ten in his head. "The ships are here. Granted we have some time yet, but I'm sick of you and your twisted little games. What I wouldn't give to be rid of your company for good… I'll need to bath for a year after all this is over."

The transvestite, by refusing to look up, missed Legato's frightfully disgusting grin.

"Then I'll have what we need within the hour," he said, ignoring the other man's disparaging remarks, or not hearing them at all perhaps. Who ever really knew with the blue-haired freak?