THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH
By Andamogirl
WWW
ACT TWO
Part one
Later, in Loveless's hideout, in a dungeon-like room.
Eyes fluttering open, James West regained consciousness slowly, his head pounding, and immediately noticed that his arms were stretched out and his wrists were encased in cold iron chained to the stone wall of a damp, cold underground room, torches lighting up the place.
He let out an exasperated sigh. "Again. What's with Loveless's obsession for dungeons?"
The shackles around his wrists rattled as he tugged at them, trying to pull free of them and failing. He noticed then that he was dressed only in his underwear.
No clothes, no shoes – no hidden gadgets, then. He was completely at his adversaries' mercy.
He sighed again. As usual.
There was a large box placed in the vast room, provided with glass panels. It was linked to a series of tubes and wires to a big machine loaded with colored lights and buttons.
He groaned.
It was another of Loveless's machines.
He looked around him, where was Artemus? He located his companion on the opposite side of the dungeon. He too was restrained and wearing only his underwear and he was still unconscious.
Beside his partner he saw a rope hung from the ceiling, ending with a hook, and a there was big wooden rack supporting a set of torturer's tools, such as whips, spiked maces, irons, bone-breaking devices, etc. that could cause an extreme amount of pain.
He felt the hair stand up at the back of his neck. "Oh no…"
The door opened and two men entered the vast room heading toward Artemus. They roughly pulled him up on his feet.
He looked around him, dazed and confused. "Wha…?"
Loveless made his entrance, followed by Voltaire and Vautrain.
The diminutive man looked at Jim first. "Mr. West, it's good to see you again, I'm sure that your stay here will be as displeasing as possible before you die." Then he looked at Artemus. "And it's good to see you again Mr. Gordon – I was standing in front of your grave not so long ago." He opened the newspaper he was holding and showed the front page to his prisoner and reveled in Artemus's horrified expression.
Successively stunned, lost and then aghast, Artemus suddenly became very pale and his blood turned to ice water in his veins. "I was dead?"
Loveless nodded. "You were dead, yes, and buried six feet under. You died more than a week ago protecting your precious President, taking a bullet in your chest for him. He pronounced your eulogy, saluted – you can read the transcript of it in the article. It's beautiful. But, as I wanted to kill you myself, I used Colonel Vautrain's help to change the past…"
Colonel Vautrain moved his wheelchair toward West and précised, "I used my extraordinary power to open the fourth dimension to send an assassin through time, to the past, just before Grant's speech, so he could kill the other assassin."
Loveless nodded. "And you weren't killed at the end of Grant's speech. You were just wounded, not too badly I read in the Washington Herald. You should thank me Mr. Gordon; I saved your life…" He smiled like a crocodile and added, "To take it myself later and your next death will be the last. You won't come back, trust me Mr. Gordon." Looking at Vautrain he added, 'But first, you'll have to suffer, of course. I'll let Colonel Vautrain handle that part."
Pulling on his restraints, Jim said, "In exchange for his help, you told him that he could torture Artemus and me, right?"
Loveless nodded. "Yes."
Artie sighed. "I know now why I had a bad feeling about that mission." He frowned. "I'd like to understand something… why do you want to kill us?"
Colonel Vautrain rolled his wheelchair close to Artemus and said, "Why? I was heading toward the door of my manor house when you attacked my men. I came back to help them and that Union shell destroyed the grand salon… and that beam crushed my new legs. I therefore hold you responsible for what happened and I want my vengeance… I'm not going to torture you myself, but I'm going to enjoy watching you being tortured. These two men here used to be guardians and torturers of a confederate prison reputed to be 'hell on earth' for the Blues. They are experts in all kind of torture and they have a lot of practice." He snapped his fingers and one of the two men holding Artemus attached the hanging hook to the shackles and pulling on a rope, he lifted the special agent from the ground so that his feet were dangling above it.
Artie felt an excruciating tug tearing at his shoulders and winced, the shackles around his wrists were biting into his soft flesh starting hot spikes of pain. "Oh boy…"
The crippled man continued, "Let's start with Mr. Gordon. I'm keeping Mr. West pour le dessert. Messieurs, start with something simple, will you?"
Artemus's teeth gritted at the impact of one of Vautrain's men's fists to his ribs.
The two experts in torture started using Artie's body as a punching-ball, hitting him where it hurt the most for long, interminable minutes: his face, his ribs, his back, his groin. Soon Artemus face and body were marred with bleeding cuts and nasty-looking reddish marks.
The Colonel raised his hand, "Stop!" and his henchmen obeyed, taking a step back.
Seeing that Jim was pulling on his chains, knuckles white, his face contorted in rage, Artemus said hoarsely, "I'm fine," then, defiantly he glared at Vautrain. "I was tortured before Vautrain, during the war. I'm not afraid." He spat blood on his torturers' faces. Groaning, they landed another solid punch to the side of Artie's bloody torso making him yelp.
Noel Vautrain smiled cruelly. "You probably were tortured by amateurs because you don't seem to have any physical nor mental disabilities… You should be afraid Mr. Gordon, because soon you will beg me to put an end to your horrible sufferings."
Miguelito Loveless raised his hand, "Tsk! Tsk! Tsk! That's my part Colonel. I am the one who is going to kill Mr. Gordon and Mr. West – in a horrible and unique way. You can play with my prisoners but you have to let them live when your games have ended."
Vautrain nodded reluctantly and snapped his fingers again. "Very well. Let's continue with something classical shall we? Use the whip now, but not too strong. Dozens of small cuts hurt more than one, deep one. And the pain is more intense that way."
Blanching, Artemus stiffened when he saw one of the goons take a large whip off the rack then send it flying through the air with a crack. 'Oh boy!' He whispered and his breath quickened.
Jim jumped to his feet and gritted his teeth angrily when he heard a crack followed by Artie muffling a cry. A large red line now crossed his partner's bruised chest.
Smiling, his face bloodied from a cut eyebrow, a nosebleed and split lips, Artemus glared at Vautrain. "This is nothing…" and raised his chin defiantly, as he waited for another blow, clenching his jaw.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack! …
The man continued to use the whip, on Artie's chest, sides and back for long minutes which seemed an eternity for Artemus and for Jim.
In the meantime Jim was pulling on his restraints like a chained tiger trying to get rid of them, frustrated not to be able to help his partner, wanting to stop all this.
Clenching his fists, Artie, his face white, was biting his lip to prevent himself from screaming out in pain, not wanting to please both Vautrain who was looking at him with a manic grin, enjoying each second of his henchmen's work on him and Loveless who was humming cheerily enjoying Jim's enraged state.
He suddenly stopped and said, "It would seem that you're unable to help your dear companion Mr. West. How frustrating…" He turned toward Vautrain. "That's torture, Colonel, of a different form, you see. But torture nonetheless. I hope you appreciate." He looked at Jim again and added, "You won't be able to free yourself this time, Mr. West. The chains are solidly embedded in the rock. Do you think I haven't learned my lesson from your previous escapes? This time you won't be going anywhere until I allow it."
Cries and burning sobs finally erupted from Artie's bleeding split lips while he was still fighting, trying to kick his torturers, but vainly.
Soon he stopped, his strength leaving him and, suddenly boneless, he sagged down against his restraints, shoulders stretching, blood oozing from his bruised, grazed and cut shackled wrists and he mercifully lost consciousness.
The whipping finally ceased.
Loveless applauded. "Very nice."
One of Vautrain's henchmen pulled back Artie's head by his hair and let it fall limply on his chest. "He's passed out, "he said.
Colonel Vautrain sighed, frustrated. "We'll continue later. This is only the start. His upper body is red, but there's no blood yet…"
Loveless shook his head. "No, it is the end. You have finished with Mr. Gordon, Colonel. Artemus is not as resilient as Mr. West. Despite his brilliant scientific mind I admire sincerely and all his talents, he's just an average human – Mr. West is not. Mr. West is like a rock facing the worst tempests without a single scratch. He's a superman. The next round of torture could be fatal to Mr. Gordon and I don't want him to die that way. I have planned something for him that I'm sure will please you, Colonel." He gestured toward Voltaire. "Voltaire, release Mr. Gordon and carry him into the glass box."
The giant removed Artie's shackles and caught the other man in his arms before he hit the floor. Then he lifted the limp body in his arms like he weighed nothing and complied.
He closed the door of the 'glass box' behind him.
Loveless grinned. "As you can see there's only one door handle, and it is outside. There is no way to open the glass box from the inside."
Noel Vautrain moved his wheelchair toward one of the big glass panels. He could see Gordon lying on his back, on the floor, spread-eagled and still passed out. "What's the purpose of that glass box, Doctor?" he asked, very curious.
Loveless rubbed his hands in glee. "You see, I invented a machine I'm quite fond of which produces ice cold air using electricity. I can set any cold temperature. When I activate the central command, cold air will be released into the box. I designed it myself so that Mr. West here can see his best friend die, slowly, but inevitably from hypothermia. Mr. Gordon will be transformed into a block of ice in a matter of minutes."
His face gray with dread, Jim glowered at his Nemesis and growled menacingly. "Kill Artemus Loveless and I'll kill you. And it won't be a pleasant death." Then, gritting his teeth, he pulled with all his strength at his shackles again ignoring the burning and bleeding abrasions on his wrists - feeling the restraints dislodge from the wall - a bit more. He would be free soon, and then…. And then, all hell will break lose, he thought jaws tightened in anger, his eyes murderous.
Loveless tsk-tsked. "Promises, promises."
Artemus moaned as he slowly regained consciousness and tried to sit, but he was too weak to. He failed and laid back on the metal floor of the box, his breath short and painful. He turned his head to his right and through a transparent glass panel saw Jim trying to get rid of his restraints, his face mad. "Jim," he let out in a whisper. He reached out his hand and touched the glass leaving bloody imprints on it. "Jim… help me… " he said, his voice raspy and low.
Miguelito Loveless activated the central command and soon ice cold air entered the glass box using a series of tubes located on the top, rapidly filling it completely. "It should take only a few minutes before Mr. Gordon's ultimate demise… Perhaps you should say goodbye to him now, Mr. West."
Shivering Artemus felt the ice cold air cover his skin with an ultra-thin layer of ice and the cold invaded his limbs little by little. 'I'm going to die from exposure to the cold' he thought. 'This is not my day.'
He glanced at Jim still fighting to release himself from the shackles restraining him. He noticed that his best friend's eyes were haunted and that he was pale as a ghost. Totally helpless, Jim couldn't save him… he could just watch him die, feeling totally helpless, and that was just another form of torture, he mused.
Loveless pushed on a few buttons. "Lowering the temperature now."
Shudders were racking Artemus whole body now. His breathing was ragged in his battered chest, his pulse irregular. "I'm gon-na die…"
He knew he was going to die from hypothermia, killed by Loveless's machine and that there was nothing to do to stop it and to stop his Nemesis.
There was no use fighting it.
But survival instinct kicked in. He fought hard to stay conscious. But fatigue weighed his eyelids down. He was so tired...
His heartbeat was slowing down progressively.
Frostbite didn't bother him anymore. His body was going numb. He couldn't feel anything, even the cold. 'At least… I'm not in pain anymore…'
Miguelito lowered the temperature again jumping ecstatically. "This time, it's the end of Artemus Gordon, his ultimate death."
Artie gathered his last remaining strength to place his hand again on the glass wall covered now with a thick layer of ice. "J'm," he slurred, his tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in his mouth. "Bye J'm…" he let out between lips turned blue.
His whole body felt stiff and frozen. His breathing slow down a little more and blackness engulfed him, and he succumbed to slumber.
His breathing slowed to almost nothing and a few seconds later a final sigh escaped his lips.
Loveless bounced with pure glee. "Mr. Gordon is dead. Dead!" Accompanying the last word with a clap of his hands, in a childlike pleasure. He looked at Jim enjoying the look of devastation that defied description written all-over the agent's face. "One dead, one to go," he said. "Now Mr. West, I have to…" He abruptly stopped and took a step back raw panic flashing across his eyes as he realized that Jim West had got rid of his restraints – and was moving toward him like a predator on its prey, glaring at him, fury, vengeance and death glinting in his eyes. "No! No! No! That's not possible! Not again! Voltaire! Seize him! Seize him! Quick!"
While Vautrain and Loveless fled the dungeon-like room, Voltaire and the two torturers gathered to attempt to capture the Secret Service man.
James West mad with wild rage pummeled the other men, beating them to a bloody pulp in a matter of a few minutes, even Voltaire.
Once the other men were sprawled unconscious around him, Jim regained his calm and vaguely realized that beating the other men to a bloody pulp had given Loveless and Vautrain plenty of time to get away. Dismissing the thought in a split second, he focused on what was really important: saving Artie.
He hurried to open the door of the glass box still filled with bone chilling air. "Loveless is wrong, Artie's still alive, he's still alive", he said, his breaths coming in small puffs of hot air. "Artie is strong, he's solid, he's robust… he has survived."
He knelt beside Artie as a series of violent shudders shook his frame, noticing that his best friend's legs were drawn up against his body, and his arms were wrapped around his chest. He was in a fetal position and was rigid.
His face was starkly colorless except his lips, blue.
He grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him out of the glass box, swallowing hard. It was like pulling on a block of ice.
He touched Artemus's bare skin with a trembling hand as if it could break. It was frighteningly cold, almost blue, his blood frozen under his fingertips. "Artie?"
He touched Artie's throat and found nothing, no pulse at all. He shook his head in denial. "N-no! You c-can't d-die, Artie. I-I wouldn't b-be able t-to go on without y-you…"
He tried again, still nothing. "Ooh, Artie," He leaned forward, rested his forehead against Artie's. His eyes burned as tears welled up and froze seconds later.
WWW
Later
Holding Artemus's ice-cold rigid body in his arms, Jim left the dungeon room and after a few minutes navigating its corridors built deep underground, in the red rock, he found a long staircase leading upstairs.
He found himself in a stable.
He moved toward a buckboard and placed Artie's corpse on the back, then he covered his dead partner with a tarpaulin that was there.
He rapidly harnessed two white mares, sat in the driver's place and set the horses on.
Grief-stricken, groggy, he began a long trip through a burning desert, not knowing where he was or where to go, following a dusty trail, crying. He had lost the man he considered his brother – and worse, hadn't been able to save him.
He felt responsible.
Hours passed traveling under the scorched heat. From time to time he cast a glance behind him, at the corps lying there under the tarpaulin. "I'm sorry buddy, please forgive me," he repeated each time as waves of nausea rolled through his stomach.
It took a couple of hours before vengeance came to mix with grief and sorrow – and finally take over. Jim gritted his teeth in rage.
He would make Loveless pay for Artie's death – dearly.
Consequences be damned.
Tbc.