Chapter 51

Revenge

Author's note: "Everything you put down comes back around" as Matt Mann sings. Ben Talbot would do well to remember that…

On another note, apologies for the long delay – crises both at work & home & tons of business travel when I'd forgotten to take the jump drive with the chapters I was working on, have all conspired against me! Promise to do better.

Intro song: Restitution, Matt Mann and the Shine Runners

Ben Talbot looked up from his third revision of a press release on the San Diego firestorm to see Carl Davis standing in the doorway to his office.

Jamie had tried to head the determined detective off. "Carl, go back home. Get some sleep. There's no new information, trust me." She knew that only too well. Earlier that morning at his house, she'd finished her conversation with Alexa, bringing Auxilium up to date on the catastrophe in San Diego, then shut down the detective's computer. After rousing a groggy Carl and patiently sitting with him through coffee and regrets, she'd rushed home for a quick shower and change of clothes. A glance in the mirror before heading to work had made her wince. Could your eyes be any more red? You look like you were the one on a bender last night, not Carl!

Since arriving almost two hours late, the remainder of her morning until Carl's arrival had been spent answering the phone as the ADA's office was bombarded with calls from the media, L.A. politicians, elected officials, even the FBI. She had no news to give any of them. Nothing I can tell them, anyway. An irritable Talbot knew no more about what was happening than he had the night before – and much less than Jamie herself. Understanding the seriousness of the situation, she wished she were in one of a hundred different places. Any place other than this office, with all the talk - and gossip - about the ambush. All of that, plus operating on almost no sleep, had made Jamie almost as irritable as Ben.

Despite her best efforts to ward him off, Davis had been insistent on seeing the ADA. "Let me go, Jamie. Ben and I are going to talk." Glowering, he had brushed right by her on his way to Talbot's office, coming to a stop in the doorway, where he now stood without offering a greeting.

"Carl!" Shit, Talbot cursed to himself. Just what he didn't need right now. " I didn't expect to see you until this afternoon, at least."

"Needed to get in and get started on this." The detective looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, and his normally impeccable clothes were rumpled as if he had slept in them.

"Look, you need to go back home. Get some some time off." The last thing I need is a vigilante detective roaming around.

The lieutenant bristled as he stepped closer to the ADA's desk. "I'm gonna get these bastards - and I need to get to work before the trail gets too cold."

Talbot tried to placate him. "Look, I don't like what happened either, Carl." Especially not when it might have destroyed my career.He gestured for Davis to take a seat."But I need you calm and rational to work this case, not all emotional over what happened to St. John."

Davis ignored the chair and leaned in over the ADA's desk, getting as close to him as the furniture allowed. In a low, intense voice, he forced his words out from between clenched teeth, "Take your calm... and your rational... and shove them both up your ass sideways, Ben!" As he straightened, he spotted the file labeled 'Mick St. John' on the corner of Talbot's desk, and grabbed it.

Ben immediately protested. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! I need that file!"

"What I should have done when you first pulled me into this... this what? Witch hunt? Trap? Vendetta? Hell, I don't even know what to call it! But it's over!"

"Sorry, Carl. I can't let you do that." Talbot reached across the desk for the file, grabbing a corner of the folder.

"Don't be a moron," the detective snarled. "I could go over your head with what you've done."

"What I've done?" Talbot feigned innocence.

"Don't be disingenuous either - or treat me like I'm stupid. We both know that you blackmailed Mick into taking the San Diego case by threatening to send Beth. I was there - remember?" He met Talbot's gaze with his own implacable black stare until the ADA dropped his eyes.

"That's not the way I see it - and you have no proof. It'd just be your word against mine." Talbot kept his voice low – the last thing he wanted was anyone overhearing this particular conversation. His eyes were trained on the file the detective was still clutching.

"I don't have to prove anything, Ben. You're ambitious. I'm not. Just the accusation alone would be enough to tarnish that precious image of yours. Probably enough to keep you from getting any more high-profile cases... maybe get you transferred to some backwater..."

Talbot searched the other man's face for some sign that he was bluffing, that he would back down when the time came.

Years of interrogating criminals far more devious and skilled at obfuscation than the ADA made Ben Talbot an easy read for the detective. "Go ahead," Davis said in a soft, deadly voice, his eyes glittering with rage. "Try me. I almost want you to."

The two men locked eyes for a long moment, the air around them crackling with tension. Finally, reluctantly, Talbot released his hold on the file.

"Wise move... Dickbot." Carl allowed the hint of a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth as he voiced the nickname Talbot's subordinates used behind his back. Without waiting for the ADA's reaction, he spun around and stalked out with the folder tucked under his arm, feeling better than he had since the ambush in the desert.

Christophe Durand sat at his desk, reading over a confidential email report that outlined the details of the San Ysidro desert incident. Inwardly, he was pleased with the results of the unscheduled testing of the new prototype ammunition. The fact that these results had been obtained as a result of an unauthorized action, however, still had him seething.

His early years, first in his family home, then in the seminary, and with the Navy Seals, had instilled in him the value of order... reason... self-control. They had also impressed upon him the need for discipline when these virtues were not practiced.

Both Giles and McGowan had transgressed and punishment needed to be meted out. Not only had there been disobedience and incompetence, but McCallum, by his actions, had potentially jeopardized the entire North American operation to rid the continent of vampires. Just thinking about the possible consequences pushed Durand to the limits of his vaunted self-control. "Nemo me impune lacessit," he said out loud. No one provokes me with impunity.

His desk phone rang and he glanced at his watch before answering. John Giles was calling right on time.

"Christophe, there were some weather delays and McGowan just got in. Do you still want me to bring him over now?"

"Absolutely. I want to see him as soon as possible. And bring Welch with you. He's going to spearhead the operation in California until you're available. He may as well hear all this so he knows what he's walking into." He hung up on Giles and sat for a moment, staring at his reflection in the dark computer screen. He drummed his fingers on the desktop as he thought, then dialed a number with a sigh. No point in putting this off...

"Yes, this is Durand. It's time to take care of that order we talked about. Do it Friday evening." He listened for a moment. "No, Friday evening…Because I said so!" He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to curb his temper. Self-control, Christophe... "It needs to be Friday evening because they always talk on Friday night. And it's imperative that you follow my instructions to the letter. John must think that vampires killed her. Am I clear?" He fiddled with the silver dagger letter-opener always present on his desk as he followed the comments from his subordinate in Chicago. "Good. Send me an email when it's done - and a picture. To my private account, not the Crucis mailbox," he added before hanging up.

Durand sighed heavily. He liked Rebecca, he really did – and she was an effective operative. The organization would miss her. However, Giles was crucial to the success of the entire operation. She was of better use to them now as a motivator for her husband. "Exitus acta probat," he muttered. The end justifies the means.

The decision made, the Crucis leader's thoughts turned to the meeting with McGowan and his face broke into a smile. He was going to enjoy making this weasel squirm...

Gabrielle stalked through the halls of the expansive house, enroute from her bedroom to the graceful stairway providing access to the main floor and Josef's study. She felt uncharacteristically sluggish and out-of-sorts. After not climbing into the freezer until almost noon, she had come abruptly awake at three, disoriented. Vaulting out of the freezer, she'd spun wildly around, searching for a threat she was sure was there. It wasn't until she caught sight of the expansive fields of Josef's vineyard through a tinted window that she was able to orient herself and calm down. Embarrassed, she'd grabbed a soft terry robe from a hook on the wall to belt around her nakedness. You're losing it, Sinclair. Maybe – but then, she wasn't alone.

Everyone at Temecula was operating on minimal sleep and freezer time, stressed over the imminent danger the attack on Mick St. John represented, and worried about his chances of survival. It's catching up with all of us, she thought as she entered the study and spotted Josef and Simone sitting in front of the fireplace, their faces looking tired and haggard in the dim mid-afternoon light that filtered through the heavily tinted windows. The pair broke off their heated discussion as she walked up.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything. I'll leave you two alone if you just point me toward the blood supply, Josef." Gabby looked from the vampire to his lawyer. "I apologize, Simone."

"Don't be silly, Gabrielle, you aren't interrupting. In fact, sit down, I'd like for you to hear this. Maybe you can help me get through to this guy." Simone gestured toward Josef, who did not respond, although his dark eyes flashed a warning at the young woman.

The last thing Gabby wanted was to get caught up in the middle of Josef's domestic disputes, but she dragged a chair over to the couple and sat down, her face betraying none of her thoughts.

"What's going on? Is it Mick?" Her voice was fearful. Like Simone, she thought that the injured vampire couldn't survive his wounds and the silver poisoning... It was only a matter of time until the worst happened. Hearing the news that he was dead was something she dreaded more than she cared to admit, even to herself.

"No." Josef spoke for the first time, his voice flat. "There's still no change - not healing, not waking up. Spector just checked him again and hung some more blood. He said to tell you he's going back to bed for a few more hours and he'll be up this evening."

Gabby's heart sank a little at the news. It could not be a good sign that there had been no change this long after the surgery had ended. She hadn't expected Mick to be waking up yet, but she had been hopeful that there would be some sign of healing. "Thanks, Josef. I was hoping maybe..."

"Yeah. Me too." Kostan broke in, his words short and clipped, with none of his usual teasing tone. "And now, with all this going on, Simone is hitting me with a bunch of stuff she thinks we should do to 'manage the situation', as she calls it." He glared at the young woman in question.

Simone swallowed the retort that rose to her lips. He's tired and hurting, he's not mad at you, cut him some slack... Instead, she turned to the New York vampire.

"Look, here's the situation, Gabrielle. I'm trying to get Josef and Beth to focus on doing a few things now that will prevent bigger headaches for everyone later. Today's paper started me thinking about what could occur as a consequence of the attack in the desert and it concerns me."

"How so?" Gabby leaned forward, her attention now focused intently on the lawyer.

"Well, I know Ben Talbot a little – and I know a lot of people like him. He's ambitious, driven and very attuned to headlines - and Beth has told me before that he doesn't like unanswered questions. So, look at it from his perspective. Here he has a high profile situation, involving a shootout and the death of a border agent - not to mention the wounding of a civilian who was on this case at his bidding." She tossed the daily paper on the large leather ottoman in front of them so that Gabrielle could read the headlines.

The vampire grimaced as she picked up the paper and scanned the front page article and its detailed description of the case and the ambush at Campo. While the writeup framed the incident within the larger context of the on-going investigation into the decapitation murders, it focused in on the presence of Carl Davis and Mick St. John from L.A.

"Shit," Gabby muttered.

"Exactly. And, I would rather not have this particular shit hit the proverbial fan." Simone paused to take a big gulp of the strong coffee in the mug beside her, making a face as she set it down. After a long night of cup after cup, her stomach was not her friend right now. "Now, consider the situation. Talbot has these headlines staring him in the face - along with, I would guess, numerous questions from his boss as to why he sent those two down there. He's going to want to cover his ass."

"I agree," Gabby responded, glancing worriedly at Josef, who sat silently in his chair, staring at the floor.

Simone continued, "You have someone who is, at the very least, a material witness. Mick is going to be wanted for questioning about the incident and the deaths of several of the assailants. Even if it is a clear case of self-defense - as this most assuredly will be - the DA's office is going to want to talk to him as soon as he is able so that they can make a statement to the press. Don't you agree, Josef?" She turned to her boss, leveling the question at him in her best boardroom voice.

The silence lasted for several seconds before Kostan stirred, finally shifting in his seat, leaning forward and grunting "yes" in a low voice. He looked at Gabby for the first time, shrugging in response to her raised eyebrows.

"Okay, I take that as agreement." Simone said sarcastically. "Now, the situation is further compounded by the fact that this witness was critically injured, per on-the-record statements already made by Lieutenant Carl Davis, and then... he disappears. No one knows where he is, what happened to him, what his condition is - or even whether he is alive or dead. The press loves a good mystery – they'll be all over it, especially since Mick was in the news with the whole dead starlet thing not that long ago. That, to me, is the perfect scenario for Ben Talbot to put out an APB on Mick, and probably get search warrants to march into his place... and perhaps Beth's apartment, as well. I'm guessing we would not want that to happen."

Gabrielle's eyes widened as she processed what Simone had said. The attorney was right. "What are you suggesting, Simone?"

"We need to manage the flow of information. Cut this thing off before it gets started. But I can't seem to get Josef's attention on this. Or Beth's," the young woman added. "Look, I certainly understand why both of them are preoccupied, but I need their cooperation - and I need it now."

"What do you want them to do?" Gabby straightened in the chair, her voice taking on a brisk, 'take charge' tone as the feeling of cobwebs in her head started to dissipate.

"I want Josef to step forward and identify himself as a close friend of Mick's. He should release a statement indicating that he is the one who had him transported to receive the best medical attention that his money and connections can arrange. Which, I might add, is certainly the truth." Simone reached over to squeeze Kostan's hand reassuringly.

"What else?" Gabrielle pressed.

"I don't know if he'll be willing to do it, but we could use an update on Mick's condition from Dr. Spector..."

"He'll do it," Josef jumped in with a threatening growl. "He'll do it, or else."

"Yes, he will do it," Gabby responded in a milder tone. "But you won't need to threaten him, Josef. He'll be happy to, I'm sure."

"Great." Simone chimed in. "That would be a big help. Now, he's licensed to practice medicine in New York, not California, so I think we should be very vague about exactly where Mick is at present. Dr. Spector should indicate that his condition is very critical and that he is in an induced coma - which is also pretty much the truth. That way, there can be no question about Talbot pushing to see him for purposes of interrogation."

"Consider it done," Gabrielle stated firmly.

"Thank you, Gabby." Simone smiled over at the vampire. "We also have to get through to Beth that she needs to contact her office. Someone has been trying to reach her because I kept hearing her phone buzz last night when I was working in here. I would imagine they were trying to let her know about Mick." She nodded her head toward a corner table where Beth had haphazardly slung her purse when she first arrived. "I checked her phone when I got up and she has a slew of unanswered calls. I'm guessing a lot of them are from Talbot. My concern is that if she just isn't heard from, he could couple that with the unprovoked attack on Mick, treat her as a missing person, and get search warrants and subpoenas to poke around."

"Damn that bastard!" Josef exploded. "Doesn't Beth have enough on her mind without being dragged into this?!" He jumped up out of his chair and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, dragging his hand through his short, disheveled hair.

"Look, Josef, if I could think of any other way around it, I'd be all in favor of it!" Simone's voice raised in frustration. "I'm really worried about what could happen if we don't do these things though. She just needs to make a couple of phone calls, maybe send a text or two. Enough to let them know that she's with Mick and that she'll be taking leave until his condition improves. That way, Talbot will have no excuses to pursue either of them – in fact, he'll look like a flaming ass if he does!"

The lawyer took another long swallow of coffee to give herself time to regain control. Getting angry wouldn't help the situation. "But... it needs to happen right away, before the end of the day. If we wait any longer, it could be too late to head them off. It might already be too late," she finished gloomily.

Now it was Gabrielle's turn to leap up. "She's right, Josef. And, if you were thinking more clearly, you'd realize that. We have to take care of this. Immediately." She looked down at Simone, who was poised on the edge of her chair, as if waiting for the word to spring into action. "I'm going to go rouse John and get him to prepare a statement. You draft one with Josef."

Simone hesitantly asked, "Do you want me to go talk to Beth again?"

"I'll do it," a voice came from the doorway, causing both women to twirl around. So engrossed had they been in the discussion, none of them had heard Logan Griffen come into the room. "I'm sorry," the geeky vampire began. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I didn't want to interrupt either. I want to help - I'll go talk to Beth," he said again.

"Okay, Logan. Thanks." Simone felt better now that action was finally occurring. "Hang on just a second." She hurried over to Beth's bag to dig out the young woman's cell phone and tossed it over to Griffen. "Here, give her this. Have her leave Talbot a voicemail, and then send an e-mail follow-up for her. Just make sure she either dictates it, or reads it before you send it. It has to sound like her. She can leave it open as to when she will be returning to work."

Griffen nodded and made a beeline for the door when a sudden thought occurred to the attorney. "Logan, wait a minute. Have her send texts to anyone she has any upcoming appointments with too - especially anything personal. That way, Talbot couldn't assert that the messages to his office might have been left under duress."

"Will do." In an instant, Logan had disappeared.

Gabrielle also strode toward the door, but Simone's hand on her arm stopped her. The young woman looked at the vampire, her dark brown eyes warm. "Thank you, Gabby. I'm really grateful for your help."

Gabby smiled. "I could say the same to you, Simone. Thank you for thinking of our welfare." She shook her head, her long, black hair swirling around her shoulders. "This has to get better - it just has to." She headed off to wake Spector.

I'm not so sure, Simone thought, glancing over at Josef's despondent face as she began to craft his statement to the press.

Smiling coldly at the three men sitting in front of him, Durand walked around to the front of his desk and leaned up against it. He knew that his height was intimidating, and he used that to his advantage whenever possible. Folding his arms across his chest, he intoned, "Why don't you fill us all in on exactly what transpired in San Diego, Mr. McGowan."

The detective sitting in front of Durand was nervous, but excited. The trip here had been his first experience in a charter jet and he'd quickly become enamored of the trappings of wealth and power. This could be his chance to break into this world. He just needed to convince Christophe Durand of his value…

"Sure!" the young man exclaimed eagerly. "But, call me David, Christophe."

"Mr. McGowan, you don't know me. I barely know you. I believe we will just stay with last names, if it's all the same to you." His voice dripped with undisguised disdain.

"Oh. Okay, sure." Shit. Chastised, the detective began his recitation of the events in Campo. He'd been searching for a way to impress the head of Crucis ever since he joined the cause. This was it. Don't blow it. He broke into a wicked grin as he described shooting Mick St. John. Thinking it would appeal to Durand, he went into great detail about the vampire's injuries and his cries of pain as he was loaded into the Lifeline helicopter, audible even over the sound of the rotary blades.

"That's enough!" Christophe finally thundered, holding up a huge hand with a look of repugnance on his face. "We don't need to hear all that... detail... Mr. McGowan." There was an uneasy silence for a moment, then Durand continued. "Do you remember what your instructions were, detective?"

"Um, sure." The blond-haired man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I was supposed to shoot Mick St. John... and I did!" he exclaimed.

"Was that the extent of your directions?"

The detective glanced at Giles but didn't answer. The meeting was not going the way he had envisioned and Durand, quite frankly, scared the piss out of him.

"No need to answer, Mr. McGowan. I am quite sure that it was not." The big man folded his arms again. "You were told to shoot Mr. St. John with conventional weaponry, were you not? Of course you were," he answered himself. "I know this because I gave Mr. Giles here very specific directions to give to you - and he always follows my instructions to the letter, don't you John?" His blue eyes bored into those of his right-hand man, who nodded mutely.

Durand walked around behind the three men. "There is a reason Mr. Giles and Mr. Welch always follow my instructions. It's because there is a right way to do things – and a wrong way. I always plan things out very carefully and I firmly believe in the value of a chain of command."

The Crucis leader placed a heavy hand on the San Diego detective's shoulder from behind, causing the man to jump. "I'm going to tell you something about myself, Mr. McGowan- something even these gentlemen do not know." He squeezed McGowan's shoulder slightly, then released it, and moved back in front of the trio. All three men unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief now that he was in their line of sight once again.

On the other side of McGowan, Jack Welch looked down at his hands and tried to quiet his breathing. He wanted nothing to draw attention to himself at this moment.

"I was a Navy SEAL before I became part of a mercenary organization, Mr. McGowan. Do you know about the SEALS?"

McGowan hesitantly ventured, "I, um, I know the SEALS are an elite fighting team, sir."

Durand snorted and leaned over to pick up the silver dagger-shaped paperweight from his desk, balancing the heavy item in one hand. "That's the movie definition of SEALS," he said derisively. "SEALS are so much more than that, Mr. McGowan. SEALS are literally the last, best line of defense between our country and the corrosive elements that would seek to destroy it, to bring it to its knees. We were that line in the sand," he said softly, his eyes glittering with the look of fanaticism.

The big man started pacing in front of his desk, tossing the silver dagger into the air and catching it every few steps. "SEAL training is the most rigorous in the world. I spent over two years just in training before I was deemed ready for my first mission." He paused in his pacing, looking over at the trio. "Do you know what the dropout rate is for SEAL training, gentlemen?"

All three men shook their heads in unison.

"No? It's eighty percent. Eight out of every ten men who start the training, end up washing out. That means you are left with only the very best - the toughest, the smartest, the most resilient. Have you ever had to swim underwater with your hands and feet bound, wearing full combat gear? Do you think you could?" He peered closely at the detective, who shook his head silently. "No, Mr. McGowan? Then - you would have washed out. And the training never stopped - 18 months of training for every 6 months of deployment."

Durand resumed his movements back and forth in front of the threesome. "All this taught me the value of planning and discipline, of the need to always put the mission first, your teammates second, and yourself a distant third. There was no self-aggrandizing, no self-promotion. It was all about the mission. We planned meticulously, practiced endlessly - and never veered or deviated. Never. That is what kept us safe on SEAL missions. That is what kept me alive when I went to work for CACI and engaged in covert military operations. That is what has made me successful in leading this organization in our mission to eradicate the scourge of vampires from this earth."

He came to a halt in front of the now-thoroughly frightened man, still twirling and flipping the heavy object."And, that, Mr. McGowan," he emphasized, "is why you cannot be a part of this team."

In one fluid motion, he snatched the dagger from midair, gripping it in one large hand as he stabbed the sharp implement deep into McGowan's stomach, just above his belt buckle.

The startled man let out a surprised 'ooh', instinctively reaching for the object that had impaled him. Durand was bigger and faster. With a strong jerk of his muscular forearm, he forcefully dragged the dagger across the detective's abdomen, opening it as if he were unfastening a zipper on a jacket. Internal pressure relieved, the doomed man's intestines immediately began to spill out onto his hands.

Welch gasped and frantically backpedaled with his feet, shoving his chair far away from that of the mortally wounded detective.

John Giles held his ground, his eyes huge in his face as he watched the tableau unfold in front of him.

Christophe, who had nimbly sidestepped the gushing blood, now leaned forward, grasping the victim's fine blond hair. Pulling the dying man's head up, he pinned McGowan's blue eyes with his own.

"I believe this is what you were talking about when you tried to describe what had been done to the vampire."

Durand released the detective's hair, allowing him to fall from his chair onto the ground, moaning and writhing in pain. The Crucis leader tossed the now-bloody dagger implement on his desk and headed for the door, ignoring the cries of pain from McGowan, and the horrified faces of his subordinates.

"When this is over, clean up in here, you two. You will find me in the research room - we have a lot to discuss." The Crucis leader left the room, smiling to himself as the sounds of McGowan, dying in agony behind him on the rug, echoed in his ears.

"Pleasedon'ttouchmepleasedon'ttouchmepleasedon'ttouchme!" The chant echoed off the bare walls in the soundproof room. Connor England was terrified of every person who walked through the door, no matter what they looked like or said to him. This young woman was pleasant and seemed genuinely friendly, but he was taking no chances.

It had been twenty-four hours since Victoria Silver had last seen - or touched - the vampires' captive. Twenty-four hours of torment, in which the agonizing throbbing in his broken and twisted fingers had spread to his hands and up his arms. Even his neck hurt. His jaw ached from clenching it and grinding his teeth against the unrelenting pain.

When he had first regained consciousness in the small, simple bedroom where he had spent his time since his capture, Connor Engles had thought, for a split second, that he was dreaming.

Until he moved.

Then he had screamed before clamping his lips together, reducing his sounds to an agonized whimpering. He was sure that the outburst would bring his captors running with more punishment and pain.

No one came.

For what seemed like hours, he had lain, unmoving, on the bed, groaning and crying, the pain eventually joined by a raging thirst.

And, still, no one came.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he'd looked up at one of the security cameras positioned in the four corners of the room, certain that he was being monitored. "Please," he begged, "please, could I have some water?" Almost immediately, the solid door had opened.

Now, he shrank back on a corner of his bed, away from the woman who entered, carrying a tray, and began begging for her to leave him alone.

Walking over to the bed, she set the tray down on a small side table, next to the bed. "Here you go, Mr. Engels. Connor, is it?" she asked pleasantly, her voice high and squeaky, almost a cartoon caricature of a grown woman's voice.

"How-" He swallowed hard, trying to generate saliva in his dry mouth, and tried again. "How do you know my name?" His brown eyes, huge in his pale face, were glued to the large heavy glass of ice water that the young woman was lifting from the tray. Setting it on the table, she followed it with a paper plate holding a sandwich and fruit.

"Why," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "you told us, Connor - or rather you told V. You don't remember?" She straightened and stood quietly next to the bed, hugging the tray to her ample chest.

"No. No, I don't remember." Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from the glass to her face. She was a petite young woman, short and round, with a generous chest that was a sharp contrast to her high-pitched 'little girl' voice. No, you mean she appears to be a young woman, he corrected himself. For a brief moment, he considered the possibility of trying to overpower her and escape. A slight shift of his weight, however, caused him to discard the notion as fresh pain shot up his body from the small movement. The idea of having to make contact with anyone - or anything - with those hands was inconceivable.

Besides, what if she is a vampire, he asked himself. The ease with which the vampire called 'V' had tortured him and broken his bones had convinced him that humans, unless well-armed, stood no chance against these monsters.

"What else did I tell her?" he finally asked unsteadily. "I…I don't remember much after she started breaking my fingers." A sob of self-pity caught in his throat. He hadn't been lying when he said he couldn't remember. Just bits and pieces came to him. The sound of bones snapping, followed by his own shrieking... the smell that hit his nostrils as he wet himself from pain and shock... the feel of his fingers, lying twisted against his hand in positions never intended by nature... the sight of the female vampire's unearthly eyes and fangs... those things he remembered.

His captor's squeaky voice brought him back to his miserable present.

"You didn't tell her much beside your name, I'm afraid - hence the state you're in now." She nodded toward his maimed hands. "You did try to tell her that you and your mates - they're all dead, by the way - were just drunk and decided to rob some obviously well-off pedestrians. Which, of course, explains using silver syringes and bullets to attack them..."

When he did not respond, she added dryly, "Not your brightest move, I'm afraid, Connor."

"So, what happens now?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"Now?" she piped, tucking a strand of her short, honey-colored hair behind her ear. "Well, now you wait until V is ready to see you again. In the meantime, we've been instructed to get you anything you ask for - within reason, of course."

"You mean, I can't get the key to the door, or a cab home?" He tried to twist his grimace into the semblance of a smile, hoping to bond with the young woman, perhaps gain her trust...

"Nope," she announced cheerfully. "Nothing like that, I'm afraid. No cell phones either. But..." this time, it was her turn to smile, much more convincingly than her captive. "We are instructed that if you provide the information V requested - who you work for, what their plans and motives are - then we are to immediately get you medical care. And pain meds. Those, I'm afraid, are also on the banned list while you are being... uncooperative."

Her smile vanished at the sound of Engel's groan as he struggled to sit up. "Connor, I- I do hope you'll decide to cooperate. I really do hate seeing you in pain like this." When there was no answer from the suffering young man, she shrugged and turned toward the door.

"Wait!" he shouted.

"Yes?" She pivoted back around to face him.

"What's your name?"

She hesitated for a split second before responding. "Amanda."

"Amanda, would you tell me one thing?"

"If I can." Her serious gaze was not without sympathy.

"Are you a...vampire?"

There was a long silence before she replied. "You can't tell, can you, Connor? Don't you think that you should ask yourself why you are trying to kill vampires when you can't even tell whether or not someone is one?!" She suddenly flashed ice-blue eyes and fangs at Engels, then slipped out, locking the door behind her.

"Dammit!"

He eyed the glass the girl...vampire!...had left behind. Could he trust that it wasn't poisoned? "You wouldn't be that lucky," he muttered cynically. No, think about it. They wouldn't poison him. They wanted him alive to answer questions - and to have a human to torture. Maybe they even wanted to feed on him… Come on, Connor, live dangerously. This could be your last meal.

Without thinking, he reached out for the glass - and immediately doubled over in pain, groaning as white-hot needles shot up his arms from his fingers. "How the fuck am I supposed to drink this?!" he cried out in frustration. Looking up at the camera, he shouted again, "How the fuck do I drink this?! Can I have a fucking straw at least?!"

After what seemed like an eternity to the desperately thirsty man, Connor realized that no further help was forthcoming. Straws, apparently, were on the list of forbidden objects.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I am so screwed… He leaned over, protecting his destroyed fingers as well as he could, and started to lap the water from the glass like a dog.

End song: I'll Get Even, Megadeath