A/N: Okay, guys. Just a warning, things are going to get rough, again. A little bit of language, as well. Have your hankies ready...
Chapter 11: Dr. Beckett's Dilemma
The dungeon was dark and dank. The smell of sweat and stale blood reeked from its musty walls. Holding cells dotted one side of the large, cavernous, subterranean room while torture stations lined the other.
The stations were made up of five sets of shackles hanging from the ceiling and corresponding small tables with various torture devices neatly arranged on each.
There was one lone prisoner chained to the middle set of manacles. Her arms were raised over her head, hands bound together making her look even longer and more slender than she already was. Her stark naked body was facing towards the wall away from the table giving her a sight disadvantage.
The female's body was so stark, in fact, that her milky white skin was a shocking contrast to the dark walls of the chamber. This was further enhanced by illumination coming from somewhere above her head like a spot light.
She looked like a porcelain doll, fragile and delicate, that had been discarded in the corner of a dark attic. She might not have been able to see her captors, but she could hear their voices, their movements, and smell them.
"Bring the other prisoner," the leader ordered two guards.
A few moments later, the guards came back with the other prisoner.
They forced the prisoner to kneel in front of the leader. His hands bound behind his back. He risked a glance at the female prisoner. Terror and despair permeated his features as the realization of who the woman was, sank in.
"You will now experience first-hand what is done to those who unleash the Wraith on our people," the leader threatened.
"You don't want to do this," the male prisoner warned in a low steady voice looking up at the leader..
"Unfortunately for you, you are not in a position to make suggestions," the leader reminded the male prisoner.
The woman was quiet and strong even with the knowledge of what was about to be done to her. She had made up her mind. She would endure whatever they had in mind for her.
The leader walked over to the small table carefully choosing his first torture device. The male prisoner began to protest. "No, leave her alone. I'm the one you really want."
The back of a gloved hand met with the side of the male prisoner's face. His head snapped to one side with the impact, the blow leaving a stinging, tingling sensation.
"Silence," the leader roared, "Do not interrupt me again."
The leader motioned to the guards. They took the male prisoner and, roughly forcing him into a chair, tied and gagged him.
The leader returned to contemplating his means of torture.
"Ah... yes. This will do nicely," he hissed the words. "Don't you think?" he asked turning a smiling face towards the two guards and the male prisoner. The two guards nodded eagerly, and smiled towards each other looking very much like tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum.
The Major's eyes grew wide with disbelief. The leader was holding a whip with several metal barbs attached to the end of it. Testing the instrument a couple of times, he snapped it so that it came within a few inches of the male prisoner's face. He could feel the air rush past him with each pass of the whip. He tried, with all his might, not to flinch.
The leader turned his attention to the porcelain figure. Strolling casually towards her, he ran two fingers lazily along her shoulders and down to the small of her back. The woman flinched at his touch disgusted by the caress.
"What a pity," he said turning back to the three men. "She is a lovely creature." Locking eyes with the male prisoner, he said, "I can see what you see in her. Strong-willed, determined. It will be a pleasure breaking her."
The male prisoner was seething. He tried his best to think of something but there was nothing he could do.
Whack...
The first crack of the whip sounded out making contact with the woman's vulnerable flesh. The male prisoner involuntarily closed his eyes, wincing.
Thwack... Crack...
The woman arched her back against the painful lashes, but managed to not cry out. Her pale skin now adorned with red rivulets of blood.
With every other strike, the leader looked over to the male prisoner gauging his reaction. The prisoner was breathing heavily and perspiration was beginning to run down his head, neck, and back.
The leader laughed a small wicked chuckle, taking delight in seeing the male prisoner squirm. With a tirade of evil laughter, he launched into a barrage of flesh ripping mania. The whipping continued in savage, rhythmic intensity.
The male prisoner's head was swirling. He was powerless to help the woman. He never felt so useless in his life. This was all his fault.
The man finally grew tired of his game. Somehow, the woman never cried out. He would try something else. That was good for a warm-up anyway, he mused. The leader longed to hear the woman's sweet voice in the throws of pain.
He chose another device. He felt it was time for something more...high-tech. He picked up an electric prod. He caressed it almost affectionately and paraded with it in front of the male prisoner. He adjusted the intensity of the device to a medium level, the device sparking in his hands.
The male prisoner was sick to his stomach. Bile was beginning to collect in his throat. No, not that...anything but that.
The man went over to the woman leaning in close to her once again. Taking off a glove, he took a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. It was soft and silky just as he imagined it would be. Raising the strand of hair to his nostrils, he sniffed at it dramatically.
"Hmm...smells lovely. Like a bouquet of freshly cut flowers, I would say." The guards grinned hungrily at each other again. When they performed to the leader's satisfaction, he sometimes let them join in or, if they were lucky, have his leftovers.
Suddenly the leader scowled and thrust the device into the woman's side. The male prisoner's ears were met with the sound of the device sparking, a rib cracking, and a stifled grunt from the woman.
The leader continued with his beating. The smell of burning flesh invaded the male prisoner's nostrils. The woman having gone beyond her limits was now crying out.
"John, please help me," she pleaded. "Please make them stop."
"Elizabeth," the prisoner yelled. "Nooooo..."
Dr. Beckett was in his office just before dawn the following day. A tech had come to relieve him the night before to care for the Major so that the Doctor could get some much needed rest and sleep.
He truly felt refreshed. The day before was very productive as far as the Major's treatment was concerned. He decided that he and Elizabeth made a good team. The recovery nurse had also come in for the day. She was actually a good all-around RN and for the life of him Carson couldn't understand why she wasn't a PA by now. If anything happened to him, he knew she was competent enough to step in for him.
The Doctor was pulled out of his thoughts by screaming. "Oh, no, not again," he muttered under his breath. It was the Major. He thought they were making progress.
Dr. Beckett was by the Major's side in a matter of seconds, the recovery nurse right on his heels. He noticed that the Major was screaming Elizabeth's name.
The Doctor tried in vain to get John's attention. "Major? John? Come on, focus for me," he demanded holding the Major at the shoulders.
The Major's eyes were dilated and glassy and seemed to stare out at nothing. The Doctor didn't like the looks of this. Just as he had thought this, the Major began to hyperventilate, his body shuddering. The nurse stepped in with a hand-held ventilator bagging the Major with the pump to help him with his breathing.
"I think he's having a seizure," Dr. Beckett informed the nurse.
A monitor suddenly began to whine indicating that the patient was going into cardiac arrest. The Major was flat-lining, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. The Doctor had a pained look on his face. Damn, he thought, a seizure I can deal with. But this...I don't need this right now.
"We need the crash cart," he indicated to the nurse who was already on it, practically reading the Doctor's mind.
Pulling away the bed covers, the Doctor moved the Major's hospital gown to one side. With a thump to the Major's chest, the Doctor began CPR. "Come on, John, hang on," he pleaded. "I almost lost you once and I'm not going to lose you again," he said in a firm, determined, voice hoping he could reach the Major on some level.
The nurse was at the Major's side the defibrillator paddles in hand and at the ready. "Clear," she yelled and administered a jolt as Dr. Beckett moved out of her way.
The Major's body arched up in reaction to the shock.
Nothing.
"Again," Dr. Beckett ordered as he continued the CPR.
The nurse reset the machine and placing the paddles on each side of the Major's ribcage administered a second jolt.
There was a moment of silent anticipation.
Beep...beep...
The heart monitor indicated that the patient was at normal arrhythmia, heartbeat at a near-normal 68 beats per minute.
Dr. Beckett took his stethoscope and quickly checked the Major's heart and lungs. His heartbeat was strong and his breathing was steady. The Doctor nodded affirmatively to the nurse and let out a sharp, tense breath not realizing he had been holding it. The recovery nurse also had a look of relief on her face. This was getting to be too much of a routine for Dr. Beckett's taste.
As a precaution, the Doctor ordered an oxygen tube for the Major. The Doctor checked John's surgical wounds and around his ribcage concerned that they may have further aggravated his injuries. Fortunately, only one rib was knocked out of place and needed to be reset.
The Doctor adjusted the wayward bone thankful that the Major was unconscious for the moment to spare him the pain. He went over John's vitals, once again, having the nurse make notes on the Major's chart. Satisfied that he was stable, he replaced the hospital gown over his friend's pale and exhausted body. The nurse pulled the bed covers up to the Major's chest gently tucking them under his arms.
That was too close for comfort. Damn that PTSD. It was going to be the death of the Major, yet. The Doctor had never seen such a severe episode. The Major must have been having a night terror. He had never known PTSD to come close to killing anyone unless of course, the person decided to take their own life.
This was going to set them back again. All that progress Elizabeth made has probably gone down the drain. Dr. Beckett wasn't sure how he was going to explain to Elizabeth that they had nearly lost him.
The Doctor gave some final directions to the nurse and, gathering himself, returned to his office contemplating along the way how he was going to break the news to Dr. Weir. He sighed deeply and thumbed the comm on his console.
A/N: I'm not sure I got all the medical stuff correct but I tried to make it exciting. Stay tuned for more. Might be a week but hang in there. :Reaches for a tissue: I think I made myself cry...
In case anyone's wondering, PA Physician's Assistant.