3. THE POWER OF INSANITY.


Author's notes:
this is the part where it gets real ugly. Don't read if you can't stand graphic torture! You can skip this chapter and continue reading from chapter 4 if you want and fill in the missing pieces yourself. You HAVE been warned.
Oh, and I don't know where this came from, I swear. I'll try to make it up to H, though.
Thanks to Ph. She made me make this even worse than it was at the beginning...

"It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways." - Buddha

Caine wasn't sure how long he had been lying there. He'd not only been trying to loosen the knots binding his hands together, but had also desperately shifted around, trying to find something, anything, that could help him get rid of the ropes. The floor was empty, though. No sharp objects, nothing. His skin under the ropes was raw from moving around, but he continued working on the knots. Suddenly he stilled.

People were approaching the cabin. He heard their footsteps, the gross sucking of sodden dirt pulling boots as they trudged, the faint splatter of moisture on rain-bowed grass. Persistent squelching impacts resounded through his head, his posture ridiculously unnatural as he lay arched on the floor, frozen in a mix of fear and concentration, waiting.

Then there was another sound, and Horatio wondered briefly what it was until he recognized it as humming.

Monotonous notes hovering in the air, floating down to him on the cold concrete, increasing in volume and accompanied by their relentless footsteps as they drew closer. The sound reminiscent of a monastery's morning chords, or a meditative base note. Religiously calm and even.

Suddenly closer, the footsteps stopped altogether, to be replaced by the noise of a door opening.

One set of footsteps -the strides of a male- led one person closer. Horatio stayed absolutely still as he concentrated on what was happening.

His exposed arm was grabbed by a strong hand and he was being hauled to his feet. Another hand grabbed him under his other armpit and then the man started dragging. "Hey," Horatio protested. "Wouldn't it be easier if I walked?"

The man stopped and let go.

The Lieutenant, who literally hadn't seen that coming, lost his balance on his bound feet and crashed to the ground.

A soft click that Caine recognized as a knife being opened followed, then suddenly the ropes around his feet fell apart. The strong grip under his arm was back and again, Horatio was being dragged along, out of the room. He stumbled over what must have been the doorstep, then the cold evening breeze caught his face and bare chest, telling him they were outside. The silent group started marching. All he could do was try to keep up with the pace by trying to get one foot in front of the other.

Tripping over something for the umpteenth time, Caine grunted and wished they'd taken his blindfold off so at least he could see where he was going. The uncomfortable feeling had now been replaced by a mixture of anger, fear and desperation.

There were at least five more people following, he knew, as he'd been concentrating on the sounds their footsteps made on the path. He couldn't make out more, as his own heart-beat almost overruled all of his senses. Besides, they were humming that irritating tune again. Some of the humming was definitely feminine, he knew, though.

The trip had been short. Suddenly, the man dragging him stopped and spun him around. More people approached him, and something was tied around his wrists. More ropes. Then somebody pushed something underneath his armpits.

Then a lot of things happened all at once.

Somebody pulled off the blindfold, while the ropes that bound his hands behind his back were cut loose. The other ropes pulled his arms sideways before Horatio even had the chance to roll his shoulders to relieve the pain. The strain under his arms became stronger and he realized they were another set of ropes, pulling taught and lifting him, just enough to leave his feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

If he'd had any hope at all that he would get out of this situation unscratched, that hope now faded at what was waiting for him. Even surviving this ordeal seemed far beyond reach, he thought in despair as he craned his neck and saw what he was facing. There were nine unnerving figures standing in front of him, lined up in two rows, four in front, five behind them. They were clad head to foot in uniform black robes, narrow eye slits showing glimpses of white.

It was dark but each figure carried a lamp holder, with a thick candle burning inside. The faint light from the moon and stars combined with the dancing flames, reflecting in the protective glass, the branches of trees fluttering by the soft breeze. It all made it even more spooky and unreal.

Throwing a glance sideways, he found both arms spread to an almost ninety-degree angle, tightened to near-by trees. The other rope circled his upper chest and was knotted at the front, then running high up into the air. Caine only had to lean back to look up and see it hanging over a big branch. He shivered.

"You know," he started slowly. "You know you are assaulting a police officer. I don't know what Adam Metzger has taught you, but this is Miami and what you are doing is against our law."

Something lashed and landed on his bare back. Horatio nearly cried out in pain.

"You will yield," one of the covered people, a man with a dark voice, growled.

"You know," Caine gasped, trying to catch his breath. "I cannot do that."

Another lash stung its way down the bare flesh of his back.

"Pain is what we long for," the dark voice continued.

"This isn't how people treat each other," Horatio objected desperately, pain evident in his voice. He gasped as he was struck again, his body rocking from the blow. "What about mutual respect, didn't Metzger teach you about that?"

"Yield. Surrender. Welcome the pain."

"No."

"And beg for mercy. Crawl at my feet." Each word was snapped along with the whip tearing up Horatio's back.

"No," the Miami head of the crime lab protested with a faint shake of his head. "This is wrong. And deep down you know it. Arggh..." he groaned and his body arched at yet another lash. "One man has died, one of your fellow students' life is lost forever. Hasn't that been enough?" He flinched as the whip came down again.

He had to stall. He had to get through to them. These were just kids, who had the wrong guy messing with their heads. He had to make them see, before it was too late. If it wasn't already.

"Every human being will break. Professor Metzger was right."

"He was wrong. And he had no right." The words got almost caught in his throat as another lash hit home. The coppery smell of blood told him his back was cut up badly.

Caine saw some motion from the corner of his eye and slowly turned his head to the left. One of his assaulters moved closer, a thick metal chain wrapped around his wrist. The clanging of chain links deafened the sound of his own heart and the crime scene Lieutenant couldn't help but stare at the bare hands that slowly handled the weapon.

Suddenly, the man swung his arm, and the chain hit Caine against his shins, the loose end of it wrapping around his legs before swaying back. He gasped at the impact and forced his eyes to follow the dreadful instrument.

Anticipating the next blow, Horatio strained the muscles of his stomach, lifted his right leg and swung it forcefully into the man's midsection before the chain had the chance to hit home.

The man grunted, stumbled backwards, then roared in wild rage. "Resistance will be punished," a cold voice snapped from under the robe covering the man's face.

The man rolled another round of the chain off his wrist, making it longer. Carefully choosing his position, he stood and, out of his captive's reach, he flung his weapon again, all of his anger forced in that one motion.

Caine groaned out loud, the lower part of his body rocking from the blow, but he had no time to recover. The links were clanging again, and the chain smashed against his shins, the left leg taking the major focus of the blow. He gasped in agony, and didn't notice the man shifting in position.

This time, the chain wrapped itself around his legs from the other side. Horatio sucked in ragged breaths. His right leg was throbbing as badly as his left.

The next blow came down on top of his leather shoes. Horatio gasped at the intensity of the pain shooting through his feet, then, his mouth still open in a silent scream, he forced air down into his lungs in a desperate attempt to keep from crying out. Salty drops of sweat ran down his temples and, his face screwed up from agony, he finally had to draw another breath. The pain didn't fade. Feeling sick now, he had no energy to raise his head to see what would come next.

The chains kept coming down, this time directed at the back of his legs, then the man's arms grew tired as the blows lessened in their force to finally stop altogether. "Don't ever try something like that again."

Horatio refrained from commenting. With the spikes of agony running through his legs, he was too busy trying to get his haggard and erratic breathing under control. He had his eyes shut tightly, yet moisture leaked through his eyelashes and rolled down his cheeks. With his teeth clenched and his hands balled into fists all he could do was endure and hope it would end.

He couldn't imagine ever having hurt this bad, not even after he got caught in that bomb explosion in the federal building a few years ago. How long could he keep this up? He felt the most horrifying pity for Metzger, as it had taken at least six hours of suffering before the man had finally died.

"I can clarify your soul," the cold voice said, dragging his captive's attention back to the here and now. "All I need is for you to ask for forgiveness."

"I have done nothing wrong," Caine hissed through clenched teeth. "There's no need for forgiveness." His body had stopped rocking and now his arm-pits were screaming from the rope burns on top of the agony that were his shoulders, back and legs.

"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us," another voice called out from the dark. The whip came down once more.

Insane. This was plain insane. His breathing having returned to a more controllable level, Horatio slowly forced himself to relax his hands. He needed to focus on getting through to these people if he was going to survive this. He tried a different tactic.

"Was the Professor right to kill your dog, Ginny? You are here, aren't you, Ginny?" Caine concentrated on the talking, trying to banish every lash from his mind, trying to push the agony back in the box. "Did you hate your dog? Ginny? Do you hate me as well? What have I done to you?"

"Beg. For. Mercy." The dark voice continued stoically.

"No," he couldn't give in, no matter what. He had to prove these young people wrong and hope one of them saw sense. His back was on fire, his legs were throbbing unmercifully and his left foot was starting to go numb. Blinking his eyes against the rivulets of sweat gliding down his face he tilted his head a little to look at the crowd standing in front of him. "Stop this. We can help you. Don't let him win."

"Pain makes us stronger. Hate makes us invulnerable. You will see."

One of the nine people that stood watching had started to shift. Through the fog that was surrounding him, Horatio noticed this and wondered who it was. He groaned at another direct hit on the welts already present on his back.

"No, YOU need to see. Open your eyes. Think -arrgh- what you are doing. He controls you, even if he's dead."

"Yield," the man doing the talking continued.

"You already have... he has broken you. All of you," Caine's voice grew weaker, yet he refused to give up. "Ned..." he tried a different approach after another blast to his back. "Tell me. Tell me, Ned. How does it feel, to be amongst the hunters instead of being the hunted..."

This time, he was struck in his front, with something heavier that a whip. It left the Lieutenant gasping for breath and he wondered if his ribs had survived that blow.

"T..t.t.tell me, Ned," Horatio continued. Talking was getting harder. His breathing was erratic and every intake of air sent spikes of pain through his abused body. Pin-pricks of neon light dotted the sides of his vision, and he struggled to keep the black-clad figures in focus against the murky background of mist. "Do you... want... the Professor... to win... or do you want... your life back?"

"We are in control."

Another blow. Something piercing the skin on his left arm. He gasped, his face creasing in agony, his lips curling in despair. "No... you... are being con... trolled." Caine fought to stay conscious, but it was getting hard. "This.. This isn't you, but Metzger talking... Do you really want to be like him?"

"Surrender. You will prove to us he's right."

"No... right. Wrong..." Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he doubted he could hang on much longer. Horatio didn't know if it was before or after midnight, but his team wasn't coming for him until in the morning. He almost laughed inwardly at the absurdness. That he'd be the next victim and that his team would have to search the crime scene. Taking photos of him hanging here. Searching for evidence. Alexx processing his body.

Weakly, Horatio shook his head in sheer denial. This wasn't how it should end. He didn't want to put his people through that. He didn't want to end up like that. There were so many things that had remained unsaid.

"You have... the power to stop this. You can choose," he sucked in another ragged breath. "Don't throw your life away." What else could he say? How could he drag these students back to normalcy? "You will end up... just like Theresa Watson. No crime remains... unpunished in... Miami."

He wasn't succeeding, he thought desperately. There was no way he could keep this up the whole night. His strength was fading. Horatio's vision was blurring and he felt the blackness claiming him. He'd lost. Those kids were doomed and he hadn't been able to save them. He'd failed. "I'm... sorry," he whispered to no one in particular as his eyes rolled up into his head.