Title: Lost In Darkness
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: R (only this chapter)
AN: Thanks to Reedie, Gabi (hey, ein deutscher Review :-)! Ganz liebe Grüße zurück, schön, dass dir unsere Story gefällt!), Exploded Pen, Carmina Burana, The Libran Iniquity, ally, Lowenove, Ocean, Drogna, KaliedescopeCat (thanks for saying you like the way it's written!), Maraschino and Daria for reviewing. Sorry if we forgot someone, we've been having a little trouble lately getting our reviews from ff.net :-(.
We've decided to rate the whole story PG 13, but please note that this chapter is rated R (only so we don't get any rating problems ;-) ). Anyway, here's chapter 4 - please r&r!
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Chapter 4
Malcolm was pacing up and down the small cell they'd put him in, the claustrophobic conditions of the room forcing him to turn around every three steps. He felt slightly nauseous, probably due to the fact that he hadn't eaten much these last few days. At one time the guard had brought them some kind of lumpy bread, but it hadn't been much, and by now the lack of food was making Reed feel dizzy and lightheaded. Still, he was too wound-up to sit still at the moment.
Yesterday the guard had come to their cell, silently motioning Reed to come with him. He'd known, of course, that this would happen eventually, but still he'd been dreading the moment when they would resume questioning them, trying to make them cooperate. He'd been both relieved and slightly confused when the guard, instead of taking him to the interrogation room, had lead him to this small cell, leaving him here and locking the door, not speaking a single word. His relief had soon turned into dismay, though, when he'd realized what this was about. Their captors had obviously chosen a new strategy and decided to keep him and Trip in different cells, and although this was not surprising, thinking about it, it had taken him by surprise all the same.
At first, it hadn't been that bad, though. He'd been worried about Trip, of course, but during those last few hours when he'd still been in the other cell, the Commander's condition had seemed to be improving. And although Reed didn't like the idea of having to leave him alone, he was quite sure that Trip, while his injuries had weakened him considerably, wouldn't be completely helpless on his own.
Then, however, the screaming had started. At first he hadn't realized what it was, his mind refusing to recognize Trip's voice, but reality had hit home soon enough when the screaming had persisted, not breaking off for quite some time. He'd tried everything he could think of to get their attention, shouting for the guard, pounding on the cell door with his fists, but there had been no reaction. After a while - to Malcolm it had seemed like hours, but it must have been less - the screaming had stopped. The sudden silence had made him feel like his insides had turned to ice. No matter how hard he'd pounded on the door, shouting, demanding to know what was going on, there had been only silence, and after some time Reed had given up, starting to pace the room like a caged animal.
As he turned around again for what seemed like the thousandth time, striding back towards the door, suddenly the walls of the small room seemed much too close, and he whirled around, slamming his fists against the wall in frustration. Along with the cold fear that had been holding him in a firm grip ever since the screaming had stopped, he felt a sudden hatred for those people who were holding them captive here, using them for that twisted research project of theirs. It was clearly part of their strategy, leaving him here to wonder whether Trip was still alive or not, and he hated them for it. In fact, if he had been able to get out of here, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill every single one of them with his bare hands.
Turning away from the wall, he resumed his pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists as he retraced the same path again and again. There was nothing, not a single thing he could do to help Trip, and even if he found some way to get out of here, it might be too late. Trip might be dead already.
The thought filled him with utter despair and fury at the same time. Flinging himself against the door, pounding the cold metal with his fists, he'd just opened his mouth to shout for the guard again, when a sudden nearby sound made him freeze.
He remained motionless, waiting for it to come again, and a moment later a high-pitched scream pierced the silence.
"Trip!" Malcolm shouted, hearing his own voice unnaturally loud in his ears. "Leave him alone! Stop it!"
He pounded on the door again, barely noticing that his hands hurt like hell, hearing his own voice and the screaming next door mingle together in one terrible sound.
"Let me out of here!"
The screaming stopped for a moment, and Malcolm stood paralyzed, his palms pressed against the cool surface of the door. Maybe they had heard him, maybe they would stop now-
A single agonized scream echoed through the silence, and Malcolm closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door.
"Stop it," he whispered, "please, leave him alone, just stop it..."
But they didn't. The screaming went on and on, and with every minute he stood there, listening to it, Malcolm felt he was coming closer and closer to losing his mind. Not able to stand it anymore, he pushed himself away from the door and slid down the wall, sinking to the floor. He drew his legs to his chest and buried his head in his arms, trying to shut out the terrible sound.
But the screaming persisted, just as it had before, and Malcolm realized there was no getting away from it, no matter what he did.
"No," he whispered, a harsh sob rising in his throat, "no. Stop it."
Feeling tears welling up behind his closed eyelids, he curled up even tighter and never noticed when suddenly the door swished open. At the sound of a raspy voice he raised his head and saw one of the aliens standing in the doorframe, a dark silhouette against the white light of the corridor.
"You are acting irrationally," the man said, his tone bare of any emotion.
Reed got up. "What did you do to Trip?" he asked, taking a step towards the door. "What did you do to him?"
The alien took a step backwards, reaching out for something beside the door, and suddenly some kind of energy field flickered to life in the doorframe.
"You need not let this happen," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You know what you have to do to make it stop."
"What did you do to him?" Reed shouted, shaking with fury. "Tell me! What did you do?"
The man didn't move, not reacting to his anger at all. "Cooperate, and this will stop," he said. "It is your choice."
He reached for the panel, switching off the field, and the door swished shut again. Malcolm stood there for another moment, staring at the closed bulkhead. He couldn't believe that they would do this, that anyone would do this kind of thing to another person. It was indeed part of their strategy, placing him here in this cell, forcing him to witness the torture of his friend, and while he was sickened by their indifferent cruelty, he knew why they were doing this. It had probably proven quite effective in the past.
Retreating to a far corner of the cell, Malcolm curled up against the cold concrete of the wall, resting his forehead on his knees. The screaming had started again, and Malcolm covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the sound. Despair washed over him, so overwhelming it seemed to rip his insides apart, and he closed his eyes tightly to hold back the tears. This was unbearable. The sound of Trip screaming echoed in his head no matter how hard he pressed his palms against his ears, and he felt harsh sobs racking his body.
The worst thing about this was that there was nothing he could do to stop it. If he decided to cooperate, then Trip would become useless to them, and there would be no reason for them to let him live. Worse, if he was to cooperate, it would mean breaking his promise to Trip, and Reed knew he just couldn't do this. He couldn't let him down like that, not here in this place where they were all alone, surrounded by people who treated them like laboratory subjects, refusing to see them as beings with actual thoughts and feelings. Trusting each other was the only thing they could rely on, and Malcolm knew he couldn't betray that trust.
Still, there was that terrible sound, that agonized screaming, and it just wouldn't stop. It brought images to his mind, and Reed shook his head, willing the horrible visions to go away. He couldn't stand this, he just couldn't stand this anymore. He couldn't-
-sitting in the corner of the room with his back pressed against the smooth surface of the wall, his small body shaking with fear. There are sounds, voices nearby, someone sobbing in utter despair-
"No," Malcolm whispered, shaking his head in a desperate try to keep these particular images at bay. Why did they come to his mind now of all times, he hadn't thought of that in years, he mustn't think of it now-
-covering his ears with his hands, trying to shut out the sound of Madeline crying next door. He hears his father's voice, loud and angry, and curls up against the wall even tighter.
Leave her alone, he thinks, she didn't do anything, leave her alone, she doesn't want this, why can't you stop, why can't you leave her alone-
-Malcolm buried his hands in his hair as if to rip the memory from his mind. He mustn't think of that-
-Madeline is sobbing again, speaking in a fearful voice, but he can't understand what she is saying. It sounds like a plea for help. Closing his eyes tightly, he leans his head back against the wall. He feels tears running down his cheeks, but he makes no move to wipe them off.
"I can't help you," he whispers. "He'll kill me if I try. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't help you"-
Tears were running down his cheeks again, and Malcolm wiped them off in an angry movement. It wasn't right, he couldn't think of that now, there'd been nothing he could do, he'd been only ten years old, after all-
He'd been a coward. A damn coward who hid in corners, who was too weak to overcome his fears, who sobbed in terror instead of helping the people who needed him-
Malcolm got up. Not this time, he thought. I won't let it happen again, I can't, not again-
Pounding his fists on the cold metal of the door, he shouted as loud as he could, his voice drowning out the screaming next door.
"I'll do it!" he yelled. "Do you hear me? Stop it! I'll cooperate!"
A moment later he heard footsteps out in the corridor, coming nearer, and slid down the door, falling to his knees. The screaming had stopped.
-###-
Trip was past the point of reacting to what was going on around him. He didn't even have the strength left to scream. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he only noticed that at some point the pain suddenly stopped. His whole body still hurt, but the unbearable, agonizing pain they had been inflicting on him was gone.
He lay there on the table where they had tied him down, drawing deep ragged breaths, and tried to focus on something, anything that might prevent him slipping away into oblivion. Giving in to the darkness that was trying to drag him away felt like a good idea, but at the same time he knew he couldn't lose consciousness just now. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and somewhere deep down in his mind he knew what had happened, but he couldn't think of what it was. He couldn't focus.
They're gone. It was the first coherent thought that crossed his mind for quite some time, and to his surprise Trip found he still had enough energy left in him to feel relieved. When they had first brought him in here what seemed like days ago, he had felt all kinds of emotions, anger, fear, humiliation when they ripped off his shirt and tied him down on that table, but then the pain had erased them all, leaving only a deep agony-filled void in his mind. Things like dignity and courage in the face of one's enemies lost their meaning when you felt that kind of pain. He had screamed and sobbed, pleading with them to stop, but they hadn't reacted to anything he'd said or done, acting as if he wasn't there at all. Placing those white-hot rods against his side, sending sharp jolts of pain through his body using their electric zapsticks, they had shown no sign of sadistic pleasure or satisfaction at what they were doing. In fact, they had been acting as if they were working on some kind of machinery, moving swiftly and efficiently, stopping from time to time to take down some notes. They hadn't asked any questions, and at some point Trip had stopped wondering why they were doing this to him. At some point the only thing he'd been aware of was pain, a relentless mind-wrenching agony that just wouldn't stop.
And then it had been over. There had been a noise in the background, like a door swishing open, and a voice, saying words he couldn't understand. They, however, had understood. All but dropping their padds and pencils they had bustled out of the room, never giving him so much as another look.
They're gone. It's over. Slowly Trip let out another deep breath, closing his eyes. He felt burnt-out, both mentally and physically on the verge of breaking down. The only thing he really wanted to do now was sleep, let the darkness take him away, but there still was that nagging feeling that something was wrong. It seemed to have something to do with Malcolm, but Trip didn't know - or couldn't remember - what it was. He was so tired.
He lay there for quite some time, staring blankly at the white ceiling when all of a sudden the door slid open again. Trip turned his head, expecting to see they had returned, fear rising somewhere in the very back of his mind. But it wasn't them. His face as expressionless as ever, the guard entered the room, stopping in his tracks as his eyes fell on Trip. For a moment his features seemed to display some kind of emotion, but Trip was too exhausted to really notice or care. He simply watched as the guard crossed the room, bending down over him to unfasten the straps on his wrists and ankles. The guard didn't say a word, his face as stony as ever as he removed the last of the restraints, but that strange emotion was still vivid in his eyes. He looked angry.
As soon as he was free of the straps, Trip raised his hands to wipe the sweat and the blood off his face, but made no move to sit up. The guard bent down, picking up the shirt that they had thrown carelessly into one corner of the room, and returned to the table.
"Come," he said in that gruff voice of his, placing the shirt on Trip's stomach. "Put that on. We need to get going."
Trip knew it was no use arguing. Slowly, carefully he started to sit up, feeling his stomach clench painfully as he did so. Pressing his fists against his closed eyelids, he waited for the worst of the dizzyness to pass, and took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes again, he saw that the guard had walked over to the sink in one corner of the room and was now returning to the table, holding something in his hand.
"Here," he said. "drink this. It will help."
Trip stared at him for a long moment, then took the glass from the guard's hand. The cool liquid felt good on his sore throat, and although he was still feeling faintly sick, Trip took another sip of the water, then handed the glass back to the guard.
"Thanks." His voice was barely recognizable even to his own ears, sounding raspy and hoarse from hours of screaming, but the guard only nodded and put the glass down on a shelf.
"Now put your shirt on," he said. "We have to go."
Trip picked up the gray V'neran shirt and began pulling it over his head. It stung like mad as the scratchy cloth made contact with the cuts and burns on his bare chest, but Trip bit his tongue, trying not to wince as he carefully slid off the table. His legs gave way immediately, and he would have fallen if the guard hadn't caught him. Giving a small sigh, the man guided him over to a chair and pushed him down onto the seat. A small detached part of Trip's mind noticed that it was the same chair where he'd been sitting when they had first questioned him, but he dismissed the thought, too weary to concentrate on anything now. His legs felt shaky, and dizzyness clouded his vision once again.
"Rest for a moment," he heard the guard's voice from somewhere far away. "Maybe you will be able to walk on your own in a few minutes."
Trip closed his eyes, concentrating on taking slow and even breaths. Slowly, the dizzyness subsided, leaving a feeling of nausea and emptiness in its wake. Things were gradually returning into focus, and for the first time since they had left he found himself able to think straight. Malcolm... there had been something about Malcolm.
Raising his eyes, he found the guard looking down at him and decided to risk that one question.
"What..." He cleared his throat. "What about Malcolm? The other one? Where is he?"
A short flicker of emotion crossed the guard's face, then he averted his eyes.
"Come on," he said, taking Trip by the arm and pulling him to his feet. "We have to go."
The sudden movement made his head spin, and Trip stumbled slightly, feeling the guard's firm grip on his arm as they made their way towards the door.
"What about him?" he asked again, feeling something like panic rise within him. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of the guard's face, and almost startled as he saw that the man was looking at him, those pale eyes meeting his own.
"You should not ask this," the guard said, his face again devoid of any emotion. "It is not something you want to know."
At these words, Trip felt his insides grow cold, and he made an unsuccessful attempt at breaking free from the guard's grip.
"What did you do to him?" He'd wanted it to come out angry, but the only thing he could hear in his voice was the fear he felt inside. The guard, who had tightened his grip around his arm when he'd tried to get away, stopped in his tracks and turned around, now directly looking at Trip.
"Your friend decided to cooperate. It's highly improbable that you will see him again."
The guard's words came as a shock to him, even though he'd known all along something was wrong. When the guard resumed his pace, pulling him along, Trip stumbled and almost lost his balance.
"What... what will they do to him?" he asked, dreading the answer. The guard, however, didn't respond, looking straight ahead as if he hadn't heard the question at all. Along with the fear that was tightening up his chest, Trip felt anger rise within him.
"Answer me! What will they do?"
In the meantime they had arrived at the cell door and the guard punched in the door code, not reacting to his question in any way. The door opened and Trip felt himself being pushed into the cell. His legs still wouldn't support him, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Pain seared through his stomach, but he didn't pay it any attention, turning around to face the guard.
"What will happen to Malcolm?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse again.
"He will probably be killed in the tests," the guard said, finally meeting Trip's eyes. "You cannot change anything about it, so best try not to think about it too much."
Trip opened his mouth to ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, but the door had already slid shut. For a moment he just sat there, staring at the door, trying to grasp what the guard had just said. He knew that this was bad, that this was terrible news, but somehow his mind refused to take in the meaning of the words. He was freezing, the cold of the cell floor creeping into his arms and legs, and his whole body hurt. Even his mind hurt. Enterprise was light years away, Malcolm was as good as dead, and he was alone, but somehow Trip couldn't bring himself to feel anything but slight resignation and a weariness so overwhelming it was drowning out everything else.
Using the last remains of his strength, Trip crawled over to the wall, curling up on the floor and closing his eyes. This time when darkness came he didn't fight it, and the last thing he felt was profound relief as he slipped away into oblivion.
TBC...
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