Disclaimer, Warnings, Etc. - Please see the first chapter for those.

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-The Haunted-
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Chapter 5 - Torment

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It was nearly midnight.

Sirius hadn't moved an inch in the past twelve hours, even though the phone had rung several times and someone had knocked at the front door for nearly twenty minutes before giving up. He was curled up on his bed in a tight little ball and refused to get up for anything, though by now he was quite hungry and thirsty and needed to pee very badly. He barely noticed. Inside, he ached with worry and fear and anger; those horrible photographs were firmly implanted in his mind. But most of all, he was ashamed. Ashamed that his lover was in danger, being hurt and raped, and he could do nothing about it. A hard lump rose in his throat, and he whimpered. If he had the slightest idea of where Remus could be, he wouldn't have been lying on the bed, doing nothing. If he knew where Remus was, he would be beating the living daylights out of the bastard who had taken him right now.

There was the matter of the photos, of course. The right thing to do would be to take them to the police and have them analyzed for fingerprints and such. But Sirius loathed the very thought of showing those pictures of his lover, beaten and naked and shamed, to the police. It was degrading, the way Remus had been treated, and Sirius didn't want anyone else to see. If only... if only there was some clue in the photos that could point to Remus' location.... Why had Remus been kidnapped in the first place? Would the kidnapper keep him alive, or would he hear Remus was being searched for, grow scared, and kill Sirius' lover before he could be found? What did the kidnapper want? Detective Burns had told Sirius that not getting a ransom demand from the kidnapper by now was an ominous turn indeed.

If we don't get a ransom request in the next few days, it won't be a question of whether Remus is alive or not. It'll just be a question of where the kidnapper has hidden his body.

Sirius swallowed, finally sitting up, his arms and legs prickling with pins and needles. He reached over to the nightstand and fumbled a cigarette out of the pack, lighting it and taking a long drag of warm, comforting tobacco smoke. He got up and lumbered off to the bathroom, his mind going a mile a minute. He was not going to let Remus die. He was going to find him, no matter what, before that happened. And he was going to start right this minute.

After relieving himself he returned to the bedroom and dug in the wardrobe, pulling out a pair of tight black jeans, a black t-shirt, and his old trenchcoat. He pulled on the lot, brushing his long hair back into a ponytail. Grabbing his cigarettes and lighter, he shoved them into his pocket along with a picture of himself and Remus, seized frame and all from the mantle. He locked the door behind him and took a deep breath, looking out at the moonlit streets. His feet carried him automatically down the usual route Remus walked on Sundays, his dark eyes flickering back and forth as he looked around for any kind of previously unnoticed clue.

And there was one - an antiques shop. Sirius knew Remus' fondness for such shops quite well, and he turned his attention to this one. It was open; warm light slanted onto the pavement from its windows and an old man was inside, puttering around a shelf of decrepit books while a young woman in a green dress studied a selection of old dolls. Sirius flicked his cigarette butt away and pushed open the door.

The old man turned with a bright smile when the bells over the door tinkled; but his smile faltered when he saw who had entered - a young man dressed entirely in black, who looked like he hadn't gotten much sleep as of late. But the old man tried to be polite.

Good evening, sir, how may I -

I want to ask if you've seen someone. Sirius pulled the framed photo of himself and Remus out of his pocket and handed it to the shopkeep. It was a photo taken by Remus' mother when the whole family had gone to Majorca last summer, and Sirius willed himself not to cry as memories of that sweet time rose in his mind. Instead he focused on the little old man, who was studying the photo carefully.

Sorry, lad. I haven't seen him, he said at last, handing the picture back to Sirius.

Well, what about last Sunday morning, around nine? Sirius asked desperately. That's when he disappeared - maybe he stopped by to browse, he loves stuff like this -

No, not at all, the little man said sadly, shaking his head. I don't open until ten or so on Sundays... I'm very sorry.

Thanks anyway, Sirius said glumly, turning to leave. A hand rested on his arm before he could take more than two steps.

Excuse me. It was the young woman in the green dress. She was looking at Sirius in some concern. You said you're looking for someone? I live right across the way, and I was home Sunday. I happened to glance out the window and saw two men about your age outside this shop, chatting. When I looked up the next time, they were gone, but a van was pulling away from the curb.

Sirius' heart leapt. He held out the framed picture. Was he one of them? he asked eagerly, tapping Remus with a fingernail.

The young woman studied the picture. she said finally. I'm pretty sure it was him. He was with a man with long brown hair.

And the van? Sirius asked quickly. What about that?

I didn't see him inside, just the long-haired man. But it was a dark blue van. I don't remember the license number... she bit her lip. I'm afraid I can't be much of a help.

No, no, it's perfectly all right, Sirius reassured her. You're the first person in a week who's seen anything - Impulsively, he kissed her cheek. She turned bright red, a shy smile spreading across her face.

Good luck, she said. He winked at her and headed out the door, pausing outside to light a cigarette. It wasn't a lot of information, and the police would probably have dismissed it as totally unhelpful. But Sirius felt he had to be optimistic about his search. And at least the girl had seen Remus, and recognized him, meaning he hadn't just fallen off the face of the earth - as Sirius occasionally wondered if he had. But a stranger, a mysterious van... along with the photographs, it proved Remus had been kidnapped. And Sirius would bet his life on the probability that this long-haired stranger in the van had been the one who had kidnapped and raped Remus.

His fists clenched in fury, but then he sighed, sending a long stream of cigarette smoke into the air. There was no use getting angry now. Not until he found the worthless son of a bitch who had tormented his lover and made him pay. But there would be no killing, he vowed. As much as he hated this unknown person, he was determined, no matter what, not to kill him. He had already killed twice for Remus' sake; but he would not do it any more. The murders in the past had tormented them throughout the years, bringing severe depression down upon them - but mostly Sirius himself. He would not stain his hands with any more blood. Though, after seeing what had happened to Remus, Sirius had to admit he'd be hard-put to keep his temper under control....

He sighed again. This was no time to be plotting revenge. It was time to do a little more research - hopefully he'd have something useful to tell the police in the morning.

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Remus stirred, his eyes opening slowly. His right arm was asleep, completely numb. He sat up, swaying slightly and feeling very woozy, forcing his arm to move. It prickled with pins and needles, but Remus had more important things to think about.

It was time to face facts. He was being held prisoner by a man who was possibly mad, almost certainly unbalanced; a man who wasn't averse to using drugs, restraint, and threats to keep him in his place. Sirius must be frantic, and had likely contacted the police by now, though Remus still had no real idea of how long he had been gone. The drugs Nigel was using on him were probably dangerous, and illegal, as well. He couldn't stay here, at the mercy of an unpredictable sadist. He had to do something.

But what? Gazing helplessly around the room, which was bare except for his mattress, the radiator, and an old wardrobe, Remus had to admit that it seemed nearly impossible. But he would wait, and watch. All things were possible, but you just had to figure out how to make them happen. It wouldn't be easy, if Nigel kept drugging him. It was hard enough for Remus to keep his eyes open at the moment, let alone scour the room for clues. Somehow, he had to figure out how to keep Nigel from drugging him...

As if the thought of his name had summoned him, the door creaked open that moment and Nigel entered, carrying a steaming cup of soup. He looked pleased to see Remus sitting up. Ah, you're awake. I expected you to sleep through the whole day, my love.

Don't call me that, Remus said sharply. Nigel looked slightly taken aback as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

Whyever not?

I'm not your love, Remus whispered.

Then why did you let me take you the other night? Nigel said sweetly, raising a spoonful of soup to his lips and blowing on it. Why didn't you fight back, kick, scream? I never tried to restrain you, and yet you barely resisted. He held the spoon out to Remus, who turned his head away. Unless you wanted me? Perhaps your token resistance was just a show, when in fact you wanted me? His dark green eyes were suddenly darker. He set the cup of soup aside and moved closer to Remus, forcing him to lie down.

You're a liar - Remus gasped, trying and failing to squirm out from underneath his captor. Dammit! If only he could get out of this handcuff...

Nigel kissed the side of his neck. Still trying to put on a show. There's no need. Your darling Sirius is not here. He can't see or hear us.

Remus recoiled. I don't care if he is or if he isn't! I don't want you!

Nigel's hand met his cheek with a sharp smack. Remus gasped, his uncuffed hand going to his stinging cheek. Nigel's eyes were suddenly narrowed and dangerous - in fact, he wore a look similar to the one Remus remembered Sirius' father wearing the night he had died.

Little bitch, he breathed. I suppose it's time to show you who's in charge around here. He slapped Remus again, harder. It hurt a lot more this time. Remus cried out, and it seemed to anger Nigel even further.

Shut up, he said, taking out his cigarettes and lighter. Are you going to do what I say, or am I going to have to hurt you?

Stay away from me! Remus shoved at him with his free hand. It barely made a difference, but Nigel looked as stunned as if Remus had slapped him back. He light a cigarette, his eyes narrowed through the smoke.

Have it your way, he said coolly. He took the fag from his mouth and pushed up the sleeve of Remus' pajamas.

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When it was over an hour later, Nigel rose and pulled on his trousers, then headed to the door. He turned, one hand on the knob. You got what you deserved. Don't you ever say no to me again, do you understand? He opened the door, then added spitefully : And just because you fought back, no drugs for you tonight. Suffer. He slammed the door behind him, leaving behind a terrified, miserable man in a considerable amount of pain.

Had Remus thought today that Nigel was sadistic? Well, he fit the bill and more. He was brutal. He had forced Remus into submission by alternately hitting him and burning him with his cigarette, until Remus couldn't bear the pain anymore and had stopped fighting. He had been raped again, and Nigel had been so angry with him that he didn't dress Remus' wounds, or get him dressed. Remus reached for one of the blankets and wrapped it around himself, tears spilling down his bruised cheeks. If he fought back, he got hurt. If he didn't fight back, he was hurt anyway. He laid down and squeezed his eyes shut, shivering despite the blanket. His body ached, the burns total agony. Something trickled down the inside of his thigh, but whether it was Nigel's semen or his own blood he didn't know. He didn't really care at this point. In fact, he didn't care about anything. He wished he were dead.

Remus couldn't sleep at all that night. Sometimes he fell into an uneasy doze, only to be awakened by unspeakable nightmares. He was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself sleep. Around sunrise he remembered Sirius, and wished with all his heart that he was home in bed with his lover. He hoped Sirius was looking for him. And he hoped that when Sirius found him and beat the living shit out of Nigel, he'd have the good fortune to witness it.

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Sirius didn't sleep at all, either. He hadn't been able to find out anything new after he left the antiques shop, and had finally admitted defeat and gone home. But he hadn't been able to sleep. He couldn't get comfortable. Around four, he fell into a doze that was interrupted by a very bad nightmare in which a shadowy figure with long hair beat Remus bloody raw with a whip; he jerked awake, sweaty and panting with Remus' agonized screams still in his ears. He put his hands over his eyes and drew a long, shuddery breath. He wondered where Remus was, and what was happening to him now. Was he asleep, or was he being forced into doing... things with his kidnapper? His mind tried to present him with a horrible picture of Remus at the strange man's mercy, but Sirius pushed it away.

He wanted a cigarette, but when he picked up the pack his hand began jittering so badly that the fags tumbled out of their package and fell to the floor. Remus' screams echoed in Sirius' mind, and he burst into tears. Somewhere, Remus was in pain, being hurt or tortured probably, and he, Sirius, could not help at all. He hugged his knees to his chest and cried quietly, the tears soaking the sheets.

After forcing himself to take a sleeping pill, Sirius felt calmer but he still couldn't relax. His resolve hardened. He had to find Remus. Before... before he was killed. Detective Burns had been right. There was a good possibility that the kidnapper would soon tire of Remus and kill him, burying his body in the backyard or throwing him into the Thames to be rid of him. The thought was like an iron fist clenching around Sirius' heart. If he lost Remus, he would kill himself. Just as he had sworn twenty years ago, when he feared Remus would leave him after finding out the truth about Williams' and O'Shea's murders. Yes. If Remus died, Sirius would join him with no hesitation.

But it was not time for such drastic measures. Right now, he had to concentrate on finding his husband.

He was not particularly surprised to find a blue envelope mingled in with the post that morning, but he was horribly shaken by what it contained. More photos, these close-ups of sections of Remus' body. But the focus of each picture were the small, round marks that marred Remus' pale skin. They looked like... burns? One on his left shoulder... another just below the birthmark on his left wrist... his neck, his thigh, his belly. Just looking at them made Sirius break out in a cold sweat.

What kind of monster could have done this? And why?

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Escape.

Such a small word, such a common thought in literature. Escaping from prison, escaping from reality, escaping responsibility...

Remus' mind contemplated this as he lay quite still, dazed, his thoughts seemingly going through a wall of pain before reaching him.

How to escape.

People escaped from prison all the time. They dug themselves out, hid in laundry carts, filed the bars off their windows, ran away from their jobs cleaning the motorway. There were a million ways to do it. Even half-witted people could escape from prison, as long as they were careful and took their time. Which was what Remus Lupin-Black needed to do.

He sighed, but didn't hear himself do so. His mind was focused on escaping. The bloody handcuff was his major obstacle. That was what held him there and prevented him from throwing something through the window and screaming until someone called the police. He studied it sourly. The chain looked sound, the links too strong to break without the assistance of heavy pliers or perhaps a hammer and anvil. The cuff itself was fixed securely, closed just a bit too small to allow Remus' slender hand to slip through. If the difference had been minor, he would have attempted to pull his hand through, even if it meant broken fingers and torn ligaments. But the only way he'd get out of this cuff would be if someone chopped his hand off.

Well, then. The radiator. Surely that would have some weakness, some flaw. He shook his head hopelessly. The radiator was very solid and quite heavy; if he could lift it, perhaps he'd have a chance. But no, it was bolted to the floor. There was no way he could get the radiator to lift, then...

What could he do? He fell deep in thought. The only way he could get out of the cuff was if Nigel released him... then he could try to make a run for it... but Nigel wasn't happy with him right now, and would most likely leave him here without food or anything for days as a punishment... how would he be able to escape?

The door creaked open, and Remus cringed at the sight of his captor. He tried to repress it, but he couldn't help himself. After all, the man was fantastically cruel and most likely had a screw loose. Nigel merely rolled his eyes.

If you go on flinching like that, I might decide you're afraid of me and stop showing up, he said coolly. He approached the mattress, fishing a key out of his pocket. He unlocked the cuff, much to Remus' amazement. Remus winced and rubbed his arm, which was numb. His wrist was red where the cuff had been.

What -? He didn't understand for a moment. Surely the man wasn't this stupid? Surely he knew Remus would try to do something? But Nigel merely smiled.

I'm afraid I lost my temper with you earlier, my pet. I do feel awful. Come along, I'll make you feel better. His hand closed in a vise-like grip around Remus' wrist, pulling him to his feet and from the room.

It was the first glimpse of the house Remus had gotten, besides the extra bedroom he was kept in. He looked around curiously as he was pulled down the hallway. The whole house was rather dim, and the wallpaper, a hideous print of yellow flowers, was faded. All the furniture looked rather like it had been scrounged from an old woman's basement, or perhaps a church rummage sale. Doilies and vases of dried flowers were prominent. Did Nigel live with someone? His mother or a grandmother? But he didn't have any time to wonder as he was pushed into a bathroom, and the door locked behind him.

Remus wrinkled his nose. The blue tile floor had mysterious stains in places, the ceiling was waterspotted, and the walls were covered in truly awful wallpaper decorated with big green frogs. The tub was clean at least, and filled with soapy water. Nigel smiled charmingly. Go ahead, get in.

Afraid to anger him, Remus did as he was told. The water stung and smarted against his burns, but he didn't whimper. He merely sat still and allowed Nigel to wash him, still thinking. Yes, the man was almost certainly mad. The way his mood could switch from happy to furious and back to happy in almost no time was a sign. And holding someone hostage, torturing them - wouldn't anyone have to be mad, to attempt that? He agreeably tilted his head back as Nigel rinsed shampoo from his hair. He didn't feel as nervous as he would have expected himself to be, though he should have been. But Remus was a very rational, calm person most of the time. His mind turned now to possible means of escape as Nigel helped him out of the bath and dried him off, applying aloe cream and gauze to his burns.

Somewhere in the house, a telephone rang. Nigel handed Remus a pair of pajamas and went to answer it. Remus dressed swiftly, and peeked out of the bathroom. Nigel was at the end of the hall, his back turned, oblivious. Now might be his only chance!

Remus took a deep breath and tiptoed out of the bathroom, slipping quickly down the stairs. They creaked ominously under his feet, and he bit his lip - would Nigel hear? He paused to listen. No, Nigel still didn't realise that his captive was escaping. Remus reached the bottom of the stairs to find himself in a living room that was as equally dim and badly decorated as the rest of the house; he tiptoed towards he front door. It was locked, but he undid the chain and slid back the bolt easily. Footsteps sounded above him, and he turned the knob.

Nigel thundered down the stairs. Remus tore the door open and took two steps before strong arms caught him around the waist, lifting him off the ground. Remus struggled, preparing to scream, but Nigel squeezed him tight-tight, so Remus couldn't draw in a breath. He was dragged back inside, watching helplessly as the blessed sight of the street outside was cut off by the door. Nigel dumped him unceremoniously on the carpet and locked the door. He reached for something in the umbrella stand beside the door - a cane. It had a very sharp end. Remus swallowed hard. This was it. He was going to die -

Nice attempt, but you're no Houdini, Nigel spat. Get up. He grabbed Remus' arm and hauled him back upstairs to his bedroom, pushing him onto the mattress with an annoyed grunt. After handcuffing his captive to the radiator once more, he swept his long hair out of his eyes and lit a cigarette. Again, Remus was reminded forcefully of Nigel's resemblance to the sixteen-year-old Sirius.

Very funny. You keep that up, and you'll never see your Sirius again. He pulled something out of the wardrobe. It looked like a small tape recorder. Remus stared as it was set before him.

What are you waiting for? Nigel looked impatient.

What do you want? Remus asked.

Simple. You want your Sirius to know you're still alive, correct? What better way than to send him a message? Nigel blew smoke towards the ceiling. You see, my love, though I am growing tired of you, I cannot kill you. Not yet, anyway. I'm not going to kill you until I have Sirius Black in my grasp - I will kill you in front of him, so he will know exactly what I went through back then!

Remus had no idea what he meant. But the news that his death was imminent scared him badly. He shook his head furiously. No! I won't! I won't lure Sirius here -

Nigel smacked him. Yes you will. But he won't come right away. I have no intention of telling him where you are. Let the great moron figure it out for himself. The pointed end of the cane came to rest below Remus' jaw, pressing against his throat. It felt very sharp. Now. Tell him you're scared, and you miss him. He pressed a button.

Trembling, Remus began to speak.

To Be Continued....

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(A/N: I know! I know! I'm being so awful to Remus! I'm sorry! I hate doing it. I get teary-eyed writing these scenes, I really do. I feel so bad for him. I think I've read too many Stephen King books and watched too many gory movies. I don't like gore, but Jurassic Park was pretty violent, right? Back to the real issue - please don't hate me! (Though if you did, I'd understand... I'm beginning to hate me a little, too....) I love Remmie, I truly do, he and Siri are the very BEST Harry Potter characters (in my own humble opinion), and I'd just wither and die if anything like this happened to him by JK's hand. (But she couldn't put this in a children's book... but then again, since book 5, the HP world seems to be getting more and more adult...) I know it's awful. Please bear with me. Nigel will get what he deserves in the end, you bet. I won't tell you how or what, but you shall see. And the more he hurts Remmie, the happier we'll all be to see him in trouble, right? Right?)