Author's notes: Folks, the saga continues. A big thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review. There is a special place in heaven set aside for you all!
Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 3)
Martin should have gone to work. He certainly had plenty to do; as a vice-president there was always some proposal to look over, some meeting to attend, some vendor to phone. He should have gone to work.
But he hadn't.
He had come to the slave market instead.
It hadn't even been a conscious decision to come here. He had merely gotten into his car in the morning like always, and had begun to drive. Before he knew it, he was parked in front of the gray building, staring up at its imposing shape.
He hesitated only briefly before getting out of the car and going inside. As he walked through its hallways, this time following different signs from the day before, he couldn't help but notice how quiet and still it was when it wasn't a sell day.
"Can I help you?" asked the man behind the counter at the Records and Vitals department. Martin looked around, noting with some amusement that it really wasn't much of a department - just one lone man, a few computers, and 50 or so file cabinets.
"I hope so," Martin answered. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. On it was written Daniel's identification number. "I'd like to get all the information related to this particular slave, especially anything related to an attack on his former master."
The man scrutinized the piece of paper before picking it up. "He's yours now." It wasn't really a question but Martin answered it anyway.
"Yes, he's mine."
The man nodded and typed in the number on one of the computers. He studied the screen in front of him for a moment. "You only bought him yesterday. Is he giving you trouble?"
Martin chose to ignore the glee he heard in the man's voice.
"No, no trouble. I just want the information," he answered mildly.
When the man didn't immediately move, Martin added, "Now. Please."
The man shot him an affronted look but stood up and moved to the cabinets nonetheless.
As Martin waited, he thought about what he was doing, and wondered why he felt slightly guilty about it. After all, he did have a right to know what he was getting into, and it was certainly made obvious to him yesterday that Daniel wasn't going to volunteer any information. At least not anytime soon.
No, if he was going to find out why Daniel had attacked someone, he would have to do it this way. He would just have to ignore the little voice inside his head that was trying convince him that he should wait and that this was some sort of betrayal.
The man came back and dumped a folder onto the counter in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. "This is everything. There's not much information on the attack though."
Martin thanked the man and, opening up the folder, began leafing through it. As he did, several pictures fell from it onto the counter. Curious, he picked one up, almost dropping it when he got a good look at it. "What the hell is this?" he asked hoarsely.
The man shrugged as he stood. "I don't know. It'll say on the back."
Martin turned the picture over and briefly read its description. Fighting back a wave of nausea, he set the picture down so he could no longer see it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to sound calm. "Can I make copies of these things?"
"The copier is to your right. Help yourself."
After making the copies, he thanked the man once again and handed the folder back to him. That he had managed to keep his hands from shaking as he did so was to him something to be proud of.
As he drove back home, he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. Oh, he had an idea of what the pictures and the words on the papers meant, but that was all it was - an idea.
And if they meant what he thought they did - then why hadn't Daniel just told him about it? Why be so obtuse? Why hide?
He shook his head. Internal questions would get him nowhere. He needed the answers to come from Daniel. Now more than ever.
Arriving back home, he searched through the house until the sounds of friendly conversation led him into the kitchen. There he found both Jeffrey and Daniel. By the look and sound of things, Jeffrey was trying to show Daniel where everything in the kitchen was located. But the two men were not behaving like two men engaged in a training session; they were acting more like friends, joking and laughing easily with each other. Martin ignored the pang of jealousy he felt at seeing this and walked into the room, effectively ending their conversation.
"Martin, you're home early," Jeffrey remarked, clearly surprised to see him there.
Martin only spared Jeffrey a brief glance before turning his eyes to Daniel. "Jeffrey, I need to talk to Daniel alone please," he said without tearing his gaze away from the man seated at the kitchen's island counter.
Jeffrey looked at him, then at Daniel. Despite the desperate curiosity on his face, he stood up and made to leave without question. "I'll be in my room if you need me," he said. Before leaving he gave Daniel a firm nod, as if to let him know that all would be well.
Martin thanked him without even bothering to turn to watch him go.
Daniel looked up at him, his brown eyes showing only the slightest bit of apprehension. "Is there a problem?" he asked.
"Explain these," Martin said tersely, tossing the two copied pictures onto the counter.
Daniel frowned and looked down at them. As his gaze moved from one to the other, his eyes registered a surprise which quickly turned into horror. His face paled as he reached out one trembling hand to the picture on the left; the one of himself. He snatched his hand back before it could make contact however, and drew it close to his body. "Where did you get these?" he asked as he looked up.
The anguish in Daniel's voice caused Martin to soften his own. "I went to the market's archives. They're public record, Daniel."
Daniel looked away, swallowing hard. "Martin, I don't . . . "
Martin sat down across from him. "I think I have a right to know." He watched as the other man's inner struggle played out on his face while he looked at everything in the kitchen but him. He could only imagine how difficult this must be for him. "Please," he finally added, making it a true plea.
At the sound of that one word, Daniel's gaze finally fixed on his own. When his shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply, Martin knew he had won - he knew that Daniel would tell him what he wanted to know; what he would not tell him yesterday. He leaned back and tried to prepare to listen.
When Daniel spoke, his voice was weary and low, wiped clean of the raw emotion that had been there just moments ago. "He liked to tie my hands behind my back, beat me with his belt and then fuck me," he said calmly.
The words, coming without any warning or preamble, caused Martin to flinch.
This is it. This is what you wanted to hear. So hear it.
He recovered, forcing himself to straighten as he watched Daniel stare down at his hands. He seemed to be trying to decide what to say next. Martin waited silently, his gut spasming with tension.
"He used to call it the game," Daniel said at last, effortlessly picking up where he had left off. "'Let's play the game, Daniel.' One night he came home from work and he was really angry about something. He grabbed some scotch from the kitchen and then he told me to go into the bedroom; we were going to play the game. He made me take off my clothes, and he tied my hands with his tie, and then he started in. After he was finished, I thought, 'Ok, it's over, he'll leave you alone now.' But he didn't. He didn't stop. He just started in on round two. And after that came round three. And the entire time he was drinking and getting more and more angry."
"He started to hit me with the silver buckle on his belt - he'd never done that before - and he was cutting me with it, and there was blood everywhere. I thought he was going to kill me. I honestly thought I was dead. I remember begging him to stop; and I had never begged anyone before. Ever."
This last word was said so strongly and with such conviction and passion that Martin could almost feel how much it had cost the man to beg.
"Finally," Daniel said, "finally, he stopped. He dropped the bottle and he stumbled into the bathroom. I knew I couldn't just lie there or he would kill me when he got out. I managed to get my legs through my arms," (he mimicked the action to show how he had done it) "so that my hands were in front of me, and then I began to work on the tie. Everything was slick because of the blood, so it helped. After a couple of minutes I got free. I was just about to run when he came out of the bathroom. When he saw that I was loose, he was . . . he was angrier than I'd ever seen him. He threw himself on me. We fought, although it wasn't much of a fight - he was almost completely drunk and I was nearly dead. But somehow I managed to get my hands around his throat. I squeezed until his eyes closed. I thought I had killed him. After that, I guess I passed out because the next thing I remember is waking up at the hospital. They told me that one of the neighbors had called the peace keepers."
"He," Danny said as he pointed to the other picture; the one of his previous master after the attack, "was in the hospital for one fucking day. I was there for four fucking weeks. I'm sure you know they don't accelerate healing for slaves, but they did get rid of the scars. Wouldn't want the goods to look damaged when it's time for resale."
"Afterwards, I spent a few months in the center for re-training." He finally looked at Martin, his dark eyes inscrutable. "And the rest . . . you know," he said simply, pasting a grim smile on his face that held not one ounce of humor.
From the moment that Martin had seen the pictures he had known that it would be something like this. Even as he tried to hide the knowledge because he wasn't ready to face it; he had known. Just as he had known that it would be bad. But never in a million years had he imagined that it would be this bad. He reached forward, acting solely on his instinct to comfort. And all he could think of was how much his heart ached for the beautiful, sad man in front of him. "I am so sorry, Daniel. I am so sorry . . . "
Daniel jerked his head back, away from Martin's intended touch. His lips curled in a sneer. "For what? For what happened or making me relive it just now?"
He sounded angry, bitter. Martin didn't blame him one bit.
"I..."
Daniel shook his head, instantly looking contrite. Martin was astounded at how quickly this man's masks fell into place. "I'm sorry. I told you, my stupid mouth. Look, I understand why you wanted to know, ok? I get it. But I promise you, I won't ever do anything like that again. You could beat me, cut me . . . nail me to the fucking wall and I wouldn't put up a hand up to stop you."
Martin let his hand drop. "Why? What else did they do to you?"
"If I ever hurt a free person again, they will cut off my hands," Daniel stated matter-of-factly. "So, you don't have to worry about your safety, or Jeffrey's safety, or anyone else you put me next to. Nothing is going to happen. I am all yours . . . do with me what you will." He spread out his arms and flashed another grim, humorless smile.
Martin once again reached out his hand and this time, to his great relief, the other man did not shy away. "Daniel . . . " He touched Daniel's cheek, cupping it gently. "I would never hurt you like that. I would never hurt you at all."
Daniel nodded, although the look in his eyes told Martin that he did not believe him.
And who could blame him? After what he had been through, how could he be expected to trust anyone again?
Impulsively, Martin stood up and grabbed the pictures. "Follow me."
Daniel looked up at him with eyes uncertain and fearful and Martin felt his heart aching just a little bit more.
"It's all right. Come on," he urged quietly.
Daniel sighed as if resigning himself to whatever ugly fate was in store for him. He rose and followed Martin as he led them out of the kitchen and into the drawing room where they stopped in front of a grand fireplace.
Martin pressed a button on the wall and a huge fire came to life, flames dancing provocatively within their marble enclosure. He turned to Daniel. "I think you should be the one to do this," he said as he handed the pictures to him.
Daniel glanced at him questioningly but Martin only nodded firmly in encouragement. He knew this was the right thing to do. He also knew that no matter how much he wanted to burn those pictures himself, that right belonged to Daniel.
"I'll leave you alone," he said as he turned to go. He wanted very much to stay; he wanted it more than he thought he should, but he owed Daniel his privacy.
He owed him at least that much.
With one final, pained glance behind him, Martin left the room.
Danny stood and looked at the pictures made blurry by tears that he would not let fall.
He had kept a tight rein on his emotions since that day three years ago when the westerners had invaded his town and he'd been taken captive. He had not allowed himself to feel much of anything; not through his initial training, not through being sold seemingly time and time again, and especially not during the "incident". Even when he lay in the hospital, engulfed in pain as his damaged body slowly healed, he would not allow himself to feel because he was pretty sure that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. And if he couldn't stop, then he would surely go insane.
But now . . . staring at a picture of himself taken mere hours after he had almost been killed and actually seeing the damage that had been done to him . . . now it was becoming very hard not to feel something.
He lifted his gaze and looked into the fire and its beautiful dancing flames. Slowly, he stretched out his arm and with a flick of the wrist, tossed the pictures in.
He watched as their edges curled up and blackened, until neither of them was recognizable. And then, without any warning, the wall that had held his emotions for so long simply broke.
It began with an inarticulate sound of pain escaping from his throat. Then the tears began to fall. As they continued, falling faster and more freely with each passing second, he became aware that the horrible, keening noises he was hearing were coming from him.
Pain, shame, anger and fear coursed through him, seemingly through his very veins. His body started to shake with the force of it. He hid his face in his hands, sobbing into them loudly just as his legs gave way and he sank to his knees.
After a while, the last of his strength seemed to desert him and even staying on his knees became too much. It was then that he curled up on the floor like a child, knees to his chest, arms around his legs.
All sense of time was lost to him as he lay there, unmoving save for the sobs that wracked his body. Eventually, those died out, as did the tears. A man can only cry so much before he goes numb . . . and he had reached that point.
He continued to lie there for a long time after that, watching the fire and thinking that he should be angry with Martin for making him relive that horror. But somehow he couldn't be. Martin had been kind. And Martin had also been in pain. He had seen it. Martin had genuinely felt badly about what had happened to him.
He was not used to this - having a master that cared. It frightened him a little. But at the same time it felt . . . good.
Funny, but he could not remember the last time that anything had felt good.
He thought about how sad that was as he finally pushed his body into a standing position. Then, with one last look at the flames, he left the room to find Jeffrey.
He still had things to learn.