Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Trespass – Chapter 9.
Dutch heard Vic shout but was unable to discern what he said through the haze of pain he was surrounded by. A near continuous barrage of blows had swiftly followed that first kick to his side. He had tried to curl up into a ball trying to reduce his size as a target but he had been paralyzed by several tremendous kicks to his lower back, the agonizing pain radiating outwards from his kidney's took his breath away and stole his ability to move. Dutch didn't think he had any voice left inside him, he thought he'd screamed so loudly and so long over the preceding hours that his vocal cords were probably incapable of forming any sounds above a soft moan. However, he found his voice soon enough when a particularly vicious kick in his side was accompanied by a snapping sensation which for a moment stole his breath only to release it in a cry of pain brought on by his rib being broken. It was as if that cry spurred his attacker on, an already vicious beating becoming even more intense, the kicking he was receiving relentless, a second and then a third rib giving under the onslaught. For a moment all of Dutch's senses seemed to explode into crystal clarity, he was going to die he was sure, he was going to be kicked to death on his own bedroom floor, he would be found beaten to a pulp lying in a pool of his own blood and other men's semen. He felt as though his whole body was on fire, every nerve ending bright with pain, he could no longer sense where one source of torment began and another one ended. The pain from his broken and cracked ribs merged with the pain from his kidney's, which in turn merged with the pain from his rapes, which merged with the pain from his stomach when his attacker moved to his front to carry on his brutality. Then all those agonies combined with each other and his whole existence became one of suffering and suddenly the knowledge of his own demised merely became an escape route, a way of getting away from this world of hurt he was caught up in. Dutch could hear the man's harsh breathing as he tired himself out kicking him, he could hear his occasional comments as he methodically worked his way around his prone body,
"…you fucking little shit…piece of shit…fucking faggot…"
Each insult being hurled at him being punctuated with a blow, it was as if the man was trying to excise all the hate he had inside himself by kicking Dutch to death. Dutch could also hear Vic' s voice, pain filled as he shouted,
"…stop it you're killing him…Jesus we played your game you said we'd live…please don't…stop it… fucking stop it you bastard…"
It took nearly everything that Dutch had left for him to turn his head and look up at Vic. He just felt that he wanted to see him for one last time if this was going to be the end then he wanted to see one familiar face, to know he didn't die completely amongst strangers. Vic was pushed back against the wall by the second gunman, his arm across Vic's throat his gun pressed against his side. Despite this Vic was struggling, despite the fact that he could barely breathe because of the arm across his throat he was using up his precious oxygen begging for Dutch's life. Suddenly Vic looked down at him and their eyes locked Dutch was stunned at the depth of pain and regret he saw there, unable to speak Dutch tried to let Vic know that it was ok, that he accepted his own death, that Vic shouldn't waste his efforts on him but should concentrate on saving himself. He saw Vic's eyes widen and knew that Vic understood the unspoken message he had tried to communicate to him through his gaze, and he shook his head and shouted at Dutch,
"No you don't, don't you fucking dare give up… don't you let that bastard win!"
A blow to the back of Dutch's head stunned him momentarily and he found himself no longer looking at Vic but nearly nose down on his bedroom floor. He felt dizzy, his vision graying out at the edges, he could feel his consciousness being pulled from his body and he wanted to let himself go, he wanted to escape from this place, he wanted to escape from this moment. A muffled thud managed to break through the growing haze of his mind and he felt himself grow icy cold when he saw Vic on the floor across from him. Vic lay on the floor unmoving; his eyes closed blood running down over his face from his head. God there was so much blood it looked as if Vic had washed his face in it. Dutch couldn't believe what he saw, they'd killed Vic, they must have shot him in the head after all they'd promised, after he'd played their perverted game they'd killed him anyway, everything Dutch had done, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he'd suffered had been for nothing. The unfairness of it crushed him, as he looked at Vic's still, pale face awash with his own blood Dutch felt as if someone had reached into his chest and ripped his heart out. All he could think over and over again was that it was unfair he'd played by the rules of the game and they'd cheated, pulled the rug out from under him and changed the rules at the last moment. Then Dutch couldn't see Vic's body anymore, all he could see was a slightly battered Reebok with a frayed lace as it came towards his head. As it connected with his right temple a blossom of white-hot pain grabbed at him and carried him away like a tidal wave, carried him away into the impenetrable darkness of unconsciousness.
Authors note: - It's short but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger ending, sorry.