Dancing in the Moonlight - Chapter 7
Logan was scared; there was no other way to describe it. The only thing he wasn't sure of was whether he was more scared for himself or Max. He was afraid she was following playing into White's twisted game, yet at the same time he hoped she was. He wasn't deluding himself; he knew White was capable of unspeakable acts, especially in matters concerning his son.
He tried to find a position that was slightly less uncomfortable, but it was futile. The handcuffs were so tight he couldn't feel his hands anymore. The only thing he could do was wait.
Logan lost all sense of time as the car kept moving. A feeling of heat and torpor engulfed him as he lapsed into a state of semi-consciousness. Despite his lethargy, he came instantly alert the moment the car slowed and came to a stop. He heard the door opening and the crunch on gravel as someone came to the rear of the car. The lid of the trunk popped open and Logan was dragged out. His legs were numb from his cramped position in the car, and before he could gain his balance, rough hands shoved him forward. Logan fell heavily to his knees. Hands grabbed his arms and dragged him to his feet. He stumbled along until his feet hit a solid surface.
Logan couldn't see anything because of the hood. He didn't know whether it was night or day. He could hear his steps echoing as he was pushed forward. The silence bothered him; he wished someone would say something, anything. He tried to move his hands, and all he got were shooting pains in his wrists. He was totally helpless. A huge hand was covering his mouth. He struggled with all his might but he couldn't get away. They tied up his hands and he couldn't move. He heard a voice saying 'Stop crying kid or we'll kill your mommy and daddy. How'd you like that? It will be your fault.' Logan shuddered at the memory.
They stopped and Logan was turned around four or five times disorienting him even further. He was pushed into a room; it was dank and smelled musty. He strained to hear or see anything. His captors pushed him down into a chair. They unlocked and removed the handcuffs, and Logan began rubbing his hands, trying to get the circulation back. When he tentatively reached for the hood he was backhanded brutally. The unexpected blow knocked him off the chair; he landed hard on his side. He tasted the blood, warm in his mouth, and it made him nauseated. Rough hands jerked him to his feet, shoving him back in the chair. His shoes were removed and shackles placed on his ankles. The hands secured him to the floor using a short length of chain. Logan didn't try to resist; he was out-numbered and he knew it. The only thing he that could help him now was a rescue.
They handcuffed him again and stood him up. Logan's arms were stretched over his head until he was standing totally straight, elbows and knees locked. He was secured in this position. The hood was slipped from his head and the gag removed. Then he heard the soft snick of a door closing, and he was left standing in total darkness.
Ames White stood outside the door. He smiled broadly and looked at the man standing next to him. "Good job, Leo. Nice night's work. Lets go get a late breakfast."
"Sounds good, sir," replied Leo, and together the two men walked down the hall talking amiably.
~~~
Logan didn't know how long he'd been standing. The only thing he wanted was to be able to move. Every muscle screamed in agony. The shackles holding his ankles gave him no play; he couldn't lift his feet. The handcuffs were slightly looser, but if he slumped even a little, the cuffs caught the nerves on his wrists and sent white-hot pain shooting through his hands, down his arms, to his shoulders. He gave an involuntary groan, as he stood unable to move or to get any relief.
Hours ... or maybe minutes ... later, Logan heard the door click open. Light flooded the room, blinding him. Logan's hands were released from the handcuffs and he fell to the floor, his over-taxed muscles unable to support his weight. He cracked his head on the floor, sending waves of nausea through him. Logan watched groggily as a pair of feet came into focus in front of his face.
Hands dragged him to his feet and pushed him down in a chair. His arms felt like lead weights, and he struggled to lift them into his lap. Logan stared at White coolly, not wanting to appear afraid and waited for the next move.
White stood looking at Logan, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've been waiting for this a long time," he said.
"Waiting, for what? If you think I will tell you where your son is, you're wrong. Besides, I don't know where he is," Logan replied.
White smiled broadly at Logan. "You think this is about Ray? You're very wrong. Ray is lost to me. He's a failure to me and to his people. But then you would know all about being a failure, wouldn't you?"
Logan blinked. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, staring ahead.
White pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Logan. "Oh, I think you do." He smiled and continued, "You know, you and I are a lot alike. We're both overachievers; we wanted to please our fathers. The only difference is how it worked out. You couldn't live up to your father's expectations; you couldn't gain his love. That's where we're different, you see; it was my father who couldn't live up to my expectations. He was weak like you, pathetic."
"You know nothing about me!" Logan spat.
White grinned broadly; then he snapped his fingers. An aide appeared from somewhere behind Logan and handed White a manila folder. White opened the folder and took out a sheet of paper. "Your father planned on you going to Harvard Business, but you went to Yale instead. How disappointing it was for him. He wanted you to go into the family business, but you weren't good enough ... couldn't cut it. Here's a letter from your father to your uncle: 'Logan never does what I expect.' Doesn't sound too pleased to me." White looked at Logan expectantly.
Logan stared stonily ahead, refusing to respond.
"Nothing to say? I'm not surprised. It's hard to justify being such a disappointment to your family. What about your mother? Was it hard watching her die, knowing you weren't good enough to prevent her death? I mean you gave her a bone marrow transplant, didn't you? She rejected it, just like she rejected you. Did it bother you to see her like this?" White showed Logan a picture of Olivia Cale while she was in the hospital. She was pale, her head bald from chemotherapy. "This was all your fault," White said. "If you had been good enough, she would be alive. Your father would also be alive. He wouldn't have died in that crash. So you're pretty much responsible for both your parents' deaths."
Logan lunged at White, unable to contain himself. The shackles around his ankles tripped him and he fell heavily to the floor. He attempted to lift himself from the ground, but he was still very weak from the prolonged standing and his arms wouldn't support his weight. He lay there for a few moments before he was dragged back to the chair.
"See, you know it," taunted White. "You know you weren't good enough, and it makes you angry."
Logan struggled to compose himself. He looked up at White and smiled. "I know what you are doing, and it won't work."
"It's working already," White replied. "You know what I'm going to do to you, and there is no way you can stop it. Don't expect any rescue from 452 or any of the other transgenic scum. I've covered my tracks exceptionally well. They won't ever find you. So I can take as much time as I like to break you. I'm going to enjoy every minute of it." White slapped Logan's arm in a friendly gesture and grinned down at him.
Logan felt fear growing in the pit of his stomach and a cold chill traveled up his spine. He was totally at the mercy of a madman. He had no leverage to use. Max will find me, he thought. It's what he had to hold onto for now. Refusing to let the fear show, Logan looked up at White and said emphatically, "You're insane. You won't win. Max will find me."
Rage filled White's face. He grabbed Logan's face in his hands and bent down until he was in Logan's face. "You have no idea what is in store for you, but you're about to find out." White let Logan go and backed away. Two of White's aides came forward. One unshackled Logan's ankles while the other stood by.
"Take off your clothes," White commanded.
"No," came the reply.
"Have it your way." White nodded, and his two aides went toward Logan.
Logan, realizing it was a no-win situation, reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt. He undressed down to his underwear and stopped.
"Everything," said White coldly.
Logan complied and stood naked before White. He forced himself not to show embarrassment or fear. The second aide came to Logan and shoved something into his hands.
"Put it on," came the command.
Logan put on the clothes. They were nondescript gray scrubs; the kind prisoners wore. The significance wasn't lost on him. "I can't say much for your fashion sense," he said.
White smiled. "I like that, arrogance, a sense of caste. You won't have that for long." He nodded again at his henchmen. They came shackled Logan to the floor and pushed him back into the chair. One grabbed his head and bent it forward. Logan heard the hum of a small motor and began to struggle, but he was held still and he felt the prick of a tattoo needle on the back of his neck. After they finished with the tattoo, Logan heard another sound and felt shears against his scalp. They shaved his head until he was completely bald. Logan reached up tentatively to touch his head and was slapped.
"You don't have permission to move," White said. "These are the rules. One, the person you thought you were no longer exists; your designation is 'nobody'. Two, you will not speak without permission. Three, when you are given permission to speak, you will always address me as 'sir'. Four, you will always keep your head bowed in my presence."
"That shouldn't be too hard, you know...'cause you're so short," Logan needled.
Logan was quickly jerked from the chair. His shirt was pulled off. Two of White's men held his arms out while another took a broad leather strap and began hitting Logan across his shoulders and down his back. The familiar took his time, using all of his arm strength to hit Logan. Logan arched his back and tried to pull away but was held steady in the grip of the others. Logan grunted from the pain. He bit his lip until it bled, exchanging one pain for another. They stopped after eleven blows, one for each word, and they dropped Logan back into the chair. His face was pale from the pain and his eyes were slightly glazed over.
"Five, any infraction of the rules will be met with immediate punishment," White continued impassively. "Six, you will completely comply with every instruction you are given. Do you understand?"
Logan did not respond to the question.
"Good, you understand, then. Since you no longer need the ring on your left hand, give it to me," White said.
Logan looked up defiantly at White. "No!" he spat. He then pulled his hands to his chest and curled up into a ball to better protect his wedding band.
Hands quickly grabbed at him, trying to pull his hands free. He fell to the floor, still curled up, as he was pummeled. It was a losing battle; Logan felt his arm being pulled away from his body. White peeled Logan's left third finger back and pulled the ring from his finger. White then snapped Logan's finger, sending white-hot agony coursing through him. Logan began to retch, unable to maintain control any longer.
White stood over Logan, watching him for a moment. "I have infinite ways to cause you pain without doing any real damage. You will find about them all." He then turned on his heel and walked, out plunging the room into semidarkness.
Logan lay on the floor, cradling his hand to his chest. Finally he gave into the darkness that surrounded him, and he fell into unconsciousness.