Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with TNA. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
Chapter Content & Trigger Warnings: Some violence, sexual assault with no details
Chapter 33
Several policemen burst through the door of Ella's home and began checking the ground floor of the huge house to make sure it was safe for the paramedics to enter. They quickly spotted Joe's unconscious form lying in a puddle of blood. One officer remained with him as the others ran ahead to view the status of the large house. He took hold of Joe's wrist and felt for a pulse. A light, rhythmic thump hit his fingers and he puffed out a sigh of relief.
"First level's clear!"
The cop released Joe's wrist upon hearing various shouts of clearance from his team. He heard their footsteps running up the stairs quickly, but with caution, so they could check out the remaining level. Hastily, he called out to the paramedics, "The ground floor is clear! Get in here—fast!" As the team of medics ran into the house pulling a gurney, he gave them a slight overview of the unconscious man's status. "This man's been shot in the chest," he called as the paramedics entered the house. "And it's weak, but he does have a pulse."
The trained medics were already kneeling over Joe even before the cop finished speaking and began assessing the damage and taking his vitals.
Rolling the large Samoan onto his side to slide a transfer board under him, a female medic inspected his back. "No exit wound," she reported softly.
They settled Joe onto the transfer board then, as the same paramedic checked to see if he was bleeding from the mouth. When she saw he wasn't she grabbed the small oxygen tank and placed a mask over his nose and mouth. "He's not expelling blood through the mouth," she reported. "And his breaths seem to be remarkably even despite a chest wound. I'm not going to put his body through the trauma of an endotracheal tube unless his breathing becomes more labored—for now an oxygen mask will do." She pulled a pressure bandage out of her medical case and applied the dressing over Joe's gunshot wound till they got him transported to the hospital. "Okay, let's get the C-collar on him."
A collar was passed up to the medic and she quickly situated the collar around Joe's neck then, began fastening the Velcro straps into place. Seconds later, they had Joe secured to the transfer board and continued monitoring him and preparing him for the gurney.
"His BP is low," a male paramedic informed the others, "Eight-five over forty-nine."
"Alright, let's get him on the gurney and get the IV set up—on the count of three," the female medic said urgently. "One, two, THREE." They lifted Joe's limp frame onto the gurney and immediately the female began preparing his hand for the IV.
They heard a soft groan and looked down at the large Pacific Islander. The instant the IV needle pierced his skin, he tried to snatch his hand away from the sharp little stab.
"No," the female spoke softly to him. "It's okay. You're safe now. Please, don't fight us. We're only trying to help you."
Attempting to open his eyes, Joe tugged on his hand again and the medic held it firmly in place.
"Sir, we're paramedics. We're just trying to give you an IV. Please, let us help you."
"Ella…" he rasped. "Miracle…"
"What's that, sir?"
"My…w-wife… daughter…"
"We'll notify them as soon as we have you in the hospital," the paramedic answered, not clear on the details of what was going on. They had a job to do right then—help save a life. And by the looks of the man's wound, it wasn't going to be an easy task.
Minutes later, they had Joe loaded into the ambulance, and were speeding to the trauma center.
"Sir, I need to ask you a few questions," the female medic stated, keeping an eye on his breathing and oxygen levels. "Can you tell me your name?"
"J-Joe."
"Okay, Joe—Can you tell me how old you are?"
"Thir…thirty-two…"
"Okay, I know this is a dumb question, but I have to ask it. Are you in any pain?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"On a scale of one to ten—can you tell me how bad the pain is?"
"F-fifteen."
"I imagine so. I'm sorry, Joe. We'll get you to the trauma center soon, and you'll be well cared for."
"Th-thank you."
"You're welcome. I just wish I could do more for you," the paramedic answered softly, checking his blood pressure yet again as they neared the hospital.
}i{}i{}i{}i{
"I've got to go, Mrs. Mason, please," Miracle pleaded as she watched her house from her neighbors' front window.
In the brief moment she saw her father for the first time, his first words to her were: "Run, baby! Do as I say!"
Miracle could see he was leaving no room for argument, and heeded his urgent plea. Fearing some of the men would follow her if she simply ran next door, she ran two blocks away to the Masons and pounded on their front door.
Mrs. Mason—what with her husband working overnight—had hesitated to open the door till she looked out the peephole and saw Miracle. Once inside the hysterical girl alerted her to what was happening and the woman immediately called the authorities.
Ever since, Miracle had remained vigilant at the large window. She begged Mrs. Mason to let her go back to her house once she saw the ambulance and police arrive down the street, but her neighbor had been adamant that she stay put for the moment.
"Miracle, dear, please listen to me. You need to stay here where it's safe-"
"But I can see them loading someone into the ambulance," Miracle cried. "It has to be my mom or dad!"
"Just try to calm down, Miracle," Mrs. Mason tried to soothe her fears with a gentle hug. "If it's one of your parents, they'll be at the hospital. We'll find out which one and I'll take you there myself. But let the police have time to do their jobs first." The middle-aged woman could see she wasn't succeeding in calming the young girl. "How about a glass of milk and some cookies? Would that help you relax?"
Seeing an opportunity, Miracle took it.
"Yes, please. Thank you."
Smiling gently, the woman headed for the kitchen to get the snack together, and once she'd disappeared behind the swinging kitchen door, Miracle hurried for the front door. Bolting off the porch she ran for her house with all her might.
She saw the ambulance pulling out of the driveway and waved her arms frantically. "Please, stop!" The emergency vehicle proceeded to speed up, the lights began flashing and the siren screamed as it sped down the street. She shrieked again for them to stop, but the driver, of course, couldn't hear her.
She reached her yard and ran across the lawn determined to make someone listen to her. She halted at seeing the three police cars' flashing lights.
What if they're fake cops, she wondered in horror. What if they work for Fournier, like the one from earlier?
A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around, eliciting a terror-filled scream from her throat.
Holding her firmly by the shoulders, a young, dark-haired officer in uniform looked down at her.
"Easy, lass. Who are ya? Do you live here," the officer asked softly, his Irish burr belying the intensity of his blue eyes that stared straight into hers.
Panting from the sudden jolt of fear she felt, she nodded hesitantly. "Yes. My name is Miracle. Please, tell me you're a real cop."
"Yes, 'o course," he answered, somewhat unnerved by her suspicion. What's happened to make her so suspicious of a cop, he wondered. To ease her mind, he asked softly. "Would ya like t' see my badge, Miracle?"
She nodded again. "Yes, please," she answered quietly as he reached into his jacket for his badge. "I…I was kidnapped earlier by a fake cop, or a crooked cop…I'm not sure which."
"Who do you live wit'," the cop asked her, holding his badge out to her.
She took it and then stared at him a moment, comparing his face to the photo which was next to the badge. It was then she noticed how handsome he was. Flushing, she looked down at his badge and ID again. Officer Finn Bálor, she read to herself. "My mother," she answered, glancing up at him again. She knew there was still no guarantee the man was really a cop, but she had no way of finding out. She had to have faith. Finally satisfied, Miracle handed him the badge back.
"Is Claire Jones your máthair?" He corrected himself when he, by habit, reverted to speaking Irish. "Is she your mum?"
"Yes," she answered, but then realized that probably wasn't her mother's real name. Not since she'd been in hiding over the past twelve years. "But…"
"What is it? I need t' know, honey. Something bad happened here t'night and-"
"My mom was in hiding. I know she must've been using a fake name, but she never told me her real one. Please tell me…are they okay," she asked worriedly. "Please, say they're okay!"
"Who's 'they'," Officer Bálor asked, trying to make sure he correctly understood everything the frightened girl was saying. "Are ya referring t' both your parents?"
"Yes," Miracle cried. "My dad… I'd never met him till tonight. He told me to run…" she prattled on frantically. "I did. And then I saw an ambulance leave here. Please, Officer Bálor, are my parents all right?"
"Is your da's name Joe," he asked, dreading the answer. The girl looked very much like the man he'd found in the home earlier.
Tears welled up in the young girl's eyes. "Yes, his name's Joe. Please…"
"He was taken t' the hospital. He was shot."
The girl sobbed, and the cop slowly pulled her into a hug. "Listen, we'll get ya to your da. Just hang tough for a li'l longer, okay?"
Miracle buried her face against his chest, grateful for his comfort and compassion. "What about my mama?"
This had the officer stumped.
"Where was she when you last saw her? Was she hurt?"
"I-I… I'm not sure," Miracle stammered as she recalled her mother holding a knife to her own throat. "We were being attacked. She held a knife to her throat to protect me."
"Excuse me," the cop said, his forehead creasing with incomprehension. He wasn't able to keep up with the girl's strange logic.
"We were all inside the house—Me and my mom and dad…this man wanted my mom for some reason…she knew he wouldn't want her hurt because he needs her. She held the knife to her throat so I could run and get help."
It began to make sense.
Someone was after her mum and used the girl as leverage to get to her, he realized. So Claire turned the tables and used herself as leverage to protect her daughter. He then noticed a smear of blood on the girl's neck and realized she'd been cut or scratched. Not to mention the blood coating her forehead.
"Okay, honey," he said softly, kneeling down to her level. His vivid blue eyes grew warm with sympathy. "It looks like you were hurt as well. Let's get you to the hospital to be checked over," he hurried along when he saw Miracle begin to protest. "Your da is at the hospital too. Ya could probably see him later on."
"But you still haven't told me about my mom," Miracle cried. Tears of frustration spilled out of her onyx eyes. "Where is she?"
The cop looked defeated. "I'm not sure, lass. We're goin' to do everything we can to find her."
The sudden sound of a vehicle screeching to a stop in the driveway caused Miracle to scream. Officer Bálor pulled her behind him, his instinct to protect kicked into high gear. His hand rested on his gun holster, ready to pull out the firearm in a second's notice.
A blond-haired man jumped out of a large truck and jogged toward them, holding his hands up to show they were empty of any weapons.
"Stop right there," Bálor called out, hearing Miracle's frightened sobs from behind him. "Who are you and what do you want? There's an investigation going on here. So if you don't want to get arrested right here and now, I suggest you state what your business is."
The man halted and raised his arms higher.
"My name is Jeff Jarrett," he stated. "My employee, Joe Seanoa, was here. He called me on his cell and told me he'd found my niece—his wife. I thought she'd died years ago, but she's alive! Please, tell me…is she here?"
Miracle peeked around the cop at the man and felt a calmness take her over. The man meant no harm—she could feel it.
And he looks familiar, she thought, gazing at his bright, warm blue eyes. I've seen him somewhere… Glancing up at Officer Bálor, she noticed that his face reflected recognition as well. Jeff Jarrett...
Then it hit her. She'd seen him in some of the photos her mother had shown her a couple years prior.
He's okay, she realized. My mom's uncle!
"You're my mom's uncle," she asked timidly, stepping out from behind Officer Bálor. "I've seen you…in pictures—online."
Jeff stared at the young girl, and for a moment he found himself speechless. She was the spitting image of both Ella and Joe. "My God," he uttered. He glanced up at the cop. "Is it okay if I…" he motioned that he wanted to approach the girl.
"Only if it's okay wit' her," Bálor answered. "I know who you are—recognize ya, and I'm sure ya mean no harm, but it's up to the lass." He looked down at Miracle and she nodded to him.
"It's fine," she whispered, watching Jeff intently.
Jeff walked up to her and knelt down to get a better look at her. "My God," he said again. "I had no idea." He reached up slowly so as not to frighten her and gently turned her face, inspecting the similarities between her, and his niece and Joe. "I can't believe it. What's your name, little one?"
"M-Miracle."
The girl could find no other words as tears stung her eyes. She felt immense relief at finding more of her family—especially at such a crucial time.
"What a beautiful name," Jeff said softly, running his hand lightly over her hair. "Your mama did a wonderful job of naming you."
Sobbing, she dove into Jeff's arms and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight, desperate hug.
Feeling her distress and need for comfort, Jeff wrapped his arms around her in return.
"It's going to be okay, Miracle," he whispered, rocking her gently. "I promise."
"But Daddy…" she cried. "Mama…"
Still holding her close, Jeff looked up at Officer Bálor. "Is Joe at the hospital," he asked. "He told me he was shot and that a man—Jacques Fournier—took Ella. Ella Seanoa," he clarified. "Joe told me she was going by Claire Jones."
Miracle nodded sniffled. "Yes, Mom's fake name was Claire. They don't know where she is," she sobbed again. "Daddy said Fournier took her?"
Jeff nodded as Bálor spoke up. "All I know as of right now, is that we came here as instructed and found an unconscious man—who later came to and said his name was Joe. He had a gunshot wound to the chest, and he's been transported to the hospital."
"Shot in the chest," Jeff repeated incredulously. He tried to keep his fear to himself for Miracle's sake, but he began to question if Joe would survive. He'd not heard of many people surviving a gunshot to the chest.
"Yes," the officer confirmed. "I'm very sorry," he paused a moment unsure of what to say. Finally he spoke softly, "If you want, I can inform my team of your arrival, and will see about escorting you to the hospital. If this Fournier is still on the loose, neither of you need to be jeopardizing your safety."
Jeff nodded numbly as Miracle continued to sob. He held her closely and whispered soothing words of comfort to her while the officer spoke over the walkie talkie clipped to his shoulder.
Seconds later, the cop had authorization to drive Miracle and Jeff to the hospital.
Jeff prayed through the duration of the drive, hoping against hope that Joe was alive and would stay that way.
}i{}i{}i{}i{
Ella's eyes slowly fluttered open and she winced at the sharp pain in her head. Groaning softly, she sat up from where she lay. Instantly, recollections of hours before flooded her mind.
"Joe," she cried. "Oh, God… Joe…," she sobbed. The pain of the memories washed over her then. Visions of Joe covered in his own blood invaded her mind till she couldn't stand it anymore. "Please, please, make it stop…" she sobbed, holding her head in her hands. I have to try and find a way out of here, she thought, eyeing her surroundings. Or kill myself. I'm either going to be with Joe, or with my daughter. One thing's for sure…I'm not going to be around Fournier any longer than I have to be.
Finally she focused and took in her surroundings. She was in a dimly-lit cage—a huge caged room.
A giant prison cell, she thought in horror.
The full realization that Fournier had at last captured her hit her full-force.
"Oh, my God," she gasped as she stood to her feet to take a better look around. The only private area she had in the huge barred confine was what appeared to be a small bathroom—complete with a shower, toilet, lavatory and shelves filled with toiletries.
Frightened tears burned her eyes as she realized her long-awaited fate.
Behind her, she heard the jangling of keys and the clanging of iron. Spinning around, she saw Fournier—or whom she once believed to be Viktor Dankevych—stroll casually into the cage, locking the door behind him.
He turned toward her and smiled. "At long last. You're finally mine."
Ella shook her head frantically. "No." She took a couple steps back to give herself more space.
"Oh, yes…You are," he insisted, stalking toward her. "I've waited a long time for this. A very long time." In the next instant, he rushed at her and grabbed hold of her, forcing a terrified scream from her throat.
As he pinned her against a wall of the cage, Ella tried unsuccessfully to claw at his face. He chuckled and held her wrists tightly in his hand, pinning them above her head.
"Stop screaming and fighting me, or I'll hurt you," he growled in her face, his ice-blue eyes burning into hers.
Ella couldn't control the fight her body was putting up and Fournier grew angrier. He let loose with his free hand and punched her hard in the face. Her head smacked into the bars and stunned her into momentary submission. She had no time to think as she was flung across the bed in the next instant. Stunned and unable to make sense of what she was seeing, she watched as Fournier handcuffed her wrists to railings above her head.
"I had these custom railings installed on your bed because I thought they'd come in handy," he told her in a conversational tone. "I was right. You need to be taught a thing or two Ella Roberts," he said, purposely leaving out her married name. "And one thing I plan to teach you is obedience. You need to be broken, and I'm just the man to do it."
"Let me go," Ella sobbed, slowly coming back to her senses. She yanked on the cuffs with all her might. "Please, don't do this!"
"You're not going to get free," Fournier chuckled, seeming to enjoy her fear. He ran his finger down the side of her face. She recoiled at first and then bit at his hand in a fit of temper. His flattened palm struck her across the cheekbone in the next instant, and the sharp sting of the slap exploded throughout her face. She was vaguely aware of the sound of a switchblade, and the feel of cold metal sliding lightly across the skin of her neck.
"You may not listen to me, but I bet you'll listen to my knife," he threatened.
The light, conversational tone was gone from his voice. The only thing she heard at that moment was icy malice.
Her temper ignited again and she glared at him, fighting to keep her breathing even.
"Go ahead," she said defiantly. She watched in fury as he seemed to ignore her words. His eyes instead scanned over her body and his acute attention sent a shiver of terror down her spine. She could actually read his thoughts. Clenching her teeth, she spoke distinctly, "Kill me. You've killed so many people by now, what's one more?" When he continued to ignore her and seemed fascinated by her ribcage–her robe had fallen open and exposed her tattoos–she lashed out in fury with her legs and tried to kick him.
He easily pinned them down with his arms and spoke casually, "Try to kick me again and I'll cuff your ankles as well." His eyes shot up to hers for a moment, "You are going to give me a baby, Ella—an heir. It's inevitable. No one knows where you are. I have you locked up in this cage—chained to a bed." He actually smirked at her then, "There's nothing you can do to change your fate."
Like a fist to the stomach, the sudden fear weighed her down to the point of losing oxygen. She gasped for air and tried desperately to not cry or sob in his presence.
"Now…what are these tattoos," he asked curiously, pointing to each of the four tattoos. "And don't lie to me. I'll know if you do—and trust me when I say you won't like the punishment I come up with for lying."
Ella knew enough to realize he would follow up on his threats. He'd followed up on his threats her whole life—after all, he now had her. He'd always said he would.
"They're dates," she whispered, avoiding his gaze.
"I realize that," he said, pressing the point of the blade into her skin—a nonverbal threat. "What's the significance of the dates?"
A tear rolled down her cheek as she answered softly. "The first one is the day Joe and I met. The second is mine and Joe's wedding anniversary, the third is the same date, but the broken black heart signifies how I had to fake my death and leave him." She took a deep breath and gave him the reason for the last tattoo. "The last date is my daughter's birthday."
She continued to avoid his gaze but heard his voice whisper determinedly, "That's unacceptable. I can't have that. You don't belong to them anymore—you're mine, so you can't have any reminders of him or your daughter."
The tone of his voice chilled her blood. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it," she replied. "They're tattoos. They're permanent."
"That's all in how you look at it."
Before she could ask him what he meant, she felt an excruciating, sharp pain at her side. A sound burst from her mouth as the sharp burn manifested and grew—a whimper that transitioned into a horrified shriek.
"PLEASE, STOP IT," she screamed, as an angry fire seared the tender skin over her ribs.
"I only need two more, and I'll be done," Fournier stated calmly, ignoring her cries and screams of misery. He continued gouging the blade into her flesh.
Ella sobbed and struggled against his merciless hands. She was vaguely aware of his voice scolding her—telling her she was causing him to mar her skin more than was necessary. She couldn't stop though. Her body would not cooperate with his orders. The torture was too great.
Soon, her vision went fuzzy and then faded out to black.
The next time her eyes opened, she still felt excruciating burns traveling up her side. Fournier's cold, emotionless voice informed her he was stitching her up. Her mind being incapable of handling the amount of agony her body was being put through, she passed out again.
Within minutes, she awoke again and wished she hadn't.
Fournier was on top of her, using her body to produce the heir he'd sworn she would give him.
