Le warning; Language, Description of slightly graphic torture, Mentions of rape. This chapter is not entirely necessary to understand the story, although it helps to establish a major character. You may skip it if you want to. Lance is an OC, nothing else belongs to us, just borrowing, m'kay?
4 weeks prior
I listen to the sounds around me. Or rather, lack thereof. The streets of D.C. are surprisingly quiet for what I like to call "Party hour", even for very early on a Friday morning. Maybe it's just because I'm walking down a back alley…. Whatever. Still quiet.
I pass by the bars and pubs I'm too young to get into, searching for nothing in particular. Guess I'm what you would call "lost in thought". I've been running through the day as I wander the dark empty streets, my mind focusing solely on my superior's words as he dismissed me from his office.
"I'm very disappointed in you Lance. I had such high hopes in you, son."
I've been placed on temporary leave to 'reflect on my actions'. I know it was stupid, but what's a fresh recruit to do when you've got Marines of higher rank trying to push you around? Maybe I did throw the first punch, and maybe I did kick the shit outta Wilson, but it's not like I wasn't provoked or anything. I mean, really.
Okay, this whole silence thing is really starting to freak me out. Marines are tough, what do I have to worry about? I've been through most of my training, I can handle anything. But reassuring myself of my ass-kicking talent doesn't seem to be easing the fear that's been creeping through my bones for several minutes now….
My ears pick up the sound of a garbage can skidding across the asphalt and I twist around, my fists flying to a defensive position. I scan the surrounding area; looking for anything I could call a threat. The trash can moves again and I glare at it, waiting for some drunkard to coming stumbling out from behind it or something stupid like that. I'm not wrong, as it turns out. The can falls on its side and a black cat comes tumbling out, bolting across the alley and over a fence.
I hear a laugh escape my own lips and I lower my fists, continuing to meander through the streets, my short rush of adrenalin already wearing off. It's barely two minutes later that I feel a blinding pain in my back. I whip around to find a baseball bat flying towards my face. The blood flow is freely pouring over my eyes as I welcome the darkness that is swiftly gripping my mind.
The light is blinding, the smell unbearable, the silence deafening. I awake to find myself lying on a cement floor. It was freezing. A man with piercing green eyes stares down at me and with a husky voice he tells me to wake my ass up before he has to do it himself.
My vision is a bit blurry, yeah, that's what happens when you get your freakin' head beat in with a bat! But I can see him reaching behind him for something. It looks like a power tool of some kind, but in my unstable state, I have no clue what it is. He goes over to a wall and presumably plugs the device in. I try to sit myself up, knowing that I should comply as much as possible. The pain in my skull and shoulder blades is enough to keep me down, however.
The stranger makes his way back to me. He had seen my struggle but apparently didn't take it as a good enough effort. He grabs my hair and gives it a rough pull as he brings the tool closer to my face. I can now see that it is a nail gun. My eyes widen slightly, giving away only that I recognize the situation. The man shoves me against the wall and presses the weapon to my right shoulder.
"We're gonna have a little fun, okay? Hope you're as tough as Marines are supposed to be, kid." He fires the nail gun three times in quick succession into my shoulder, a smile lighting his face at my attempt to muffle the scream that tears its way through my body and soul. The grin that graces my captors features is that of a man gone insane. I focus entirely on the man's image to distract myself from the pain emanating from my right side.
Green irises with the hardened look of a man leading a troubled life, a worry creased forehead, a soft tipped nose, the pale, almost olive colored skin, they all work together with a flawless set of teeth to form what most people would consider to be a very attractive face. The manic showing of teeth detracts from his looks and I find myself wondering just how insane this man really is.
Another slash of pain shakes through my body as the man fires another four nails through my left leg. I couldn't hold back the scream that erupted in my throat. I fall silent as I watch his fist come flying towards my chest, my eyes already clouding once more. The blow is swift, but hard. The man was trained to fight. It hits right on my sternum. I allow the sweet relief of unconsciousness to wash over me, but before I conk out, I hear him toss a sentence over his shoulder at me while he walks towards a metal door hidden away in the corner.
"I'll be back later to have some more fun, so don't you go dying on me, okay?"
I nearly yell in frustration when I awake to find myself still in the dark little basement. I had been hoping that everything was just a terrible nightmare, that I'd wake up back at the base in my bunk. But no, my hopes were crushed by the annoying little –drip drip-- of the cracked pipe above me and the flickering light, and let's not forget the aches I'm feeling in practically my entire body. Well fuck. This just sucks all around, doesn't it?
My inner narrative is halted, and my ears prick. I can hear footsteps. Coming down stairs. Towards me. Shit, shit, shit…. It's him! I know, I'm a Marine. I can handle anything this yahoo throws at me, right? Wrong! I'm fucking nineteen! I only finished my training course last month! Okay. I can do this. Optimistic. Here we go.
The door swings open in a long arc. I watch as my captor strides in casually, a bottle in one hand and a razor in the other. He marches right up to me, dropping to one knee and opening the water. He tries to tilt it into my mouth, and I realize for the first time that I am not bound at all.
Seriously. Am I that stupid? Is HE that stupid? Musta been too focused on my pain. God, I'm such a freakin' wuss. I used my injured arm to smack his hand away from my mouth while my good arm reaches for the razor. Slowed by the limited use of my right arm and the haze that still covers my brain, he easily defeats my efforts. He twirls the razor in a neat little circle and brings it down on my hand, grinding it into the floor. I try to let out another shout, but I find my throat dry and my voice hoarse.
"I came to give you some water, jackass. You know, to keep you alive?" he shoves the top of the bottle in my mouth and forces my head back. Not usually one to refuse a drink, I manage to swallow it and am almost grateful for the small reprieve. Until the meaning of his words hit me, of course. He expects me to last awhile, longer than three days anyway, if he wanted to keep me alive. That means more 'fun time' for him, and more pain for me.
I speak to him for the first time when I'm feeling particularly uppity. I can't even begin to fathom why I haven't spoken to this man at all, not even to question him. I guess that in the back of my mind, I decided that I was going to act like an adolescent and just ignore him, as if not talking to him would make him leave me alone. What, am I in sixth grade now? Really?
"D'you think I could get somethin' to eat too? This place has horrible service." This remark earned me a swift knock in the jaw and a sandpaper sensation in my throat.
"I don't take kindly to smart ass remarks. Keep your trap shut," He growled at me. Ripping the razor from my bleeding hand, he twirls it again, and my face is showered with drops of my own blood. He runs the blades face against his tongue, taking in the crimson liquid. I see him glance at me from the corner of his eye and that insane grin of his appears again. "I'm surprised. You taste so much better than the girl I played with last month. Want to try?" He holds the blade close to my face, waiting for my response.
"Freak." I spat the word at him, and waited for the inevitable anger.
The man chuckled, "Yeah, I guess I am. Been called worse, I s'pose." He stores the razor in his back pocket and stands. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow. We'll have to make up for the lack of fun we had today then. Goodnight!" The door slams shut and the dingy little light bulb switches off.
I've been sitting here in the dark for hours. I always thought I was damn strong mentally, but leave a man alone in silence and darkness for a couple of days and things start to happen. Maybe it's just the minor blood loss? I mean, two days? That's not nearly enough to drive a man insane, is it? So why do I keep hearing voices? They're trying to rip what little hope I had to begin with from under me. Telling me that no one is looking for me, no one cares. Of course, I know better than to listen to them, I've seen the movies... but....
The door creaks open once more. I open my eyes, having kept them closed in the blackness of the room. Unsurprisingly, my vision is blurred even more than before, I couldn't even tell if my captor had walked in the room or not.
I felt myself being lifted from my position on the floor, all the fight had left my body already and I allow myself to be carried without a struggle. The table that I'm being laid upon is ice cold on my apparently bare back. I can't believe how little I've paid attention! Two days to realize I was wearing only my boxers? What the hell?! This man certainly picked the perfect victim. Silent, struggle-free, and ignorant. Great.
He starts tying my hands over my head, and my feet are bound in a similar fashion. I make no sounds as he restrains me. Trying to focus my eyes, I see a big blue blur moving at a fast pace around me. It isn't long before I feet a new pain assaulting my senses. It feels like my limbs are being pulled from my sockets, and it's only a short time later that I realize that that's exactly what might be happening. A little cliché, yeah, but entirely possible. The ropes were being retracted onto a large spool by a crank, which was obviously being turned vigorously if the creaking metal and grunts were of any indication.
The pain is enough to overwhelm all my other senses as it increases, the muscles tearing. I had been trying not to scream, I'd already been such a good prisoner I thought I should be at least a little defiant in my silence, but eventually my shoulder popped out of place, and the floodgates opened. I can't keep myself from releasing a continuous scream, pausing only long enough to shout expletives and take a breath of air before starting up again. In the background I can hear my enemy's insane laughter.
He's enjoying this. That son of a bitch!
The torture stops soon after, and he leaves me panting on the table, saying that he'd return once more the next day. It was an hour after I had been left alone that I start to sob, not even trying to hold back my fear any longer.
Three days. Three fucking days this freak has had me in his 'care'. I figure that if I haven't been rescued yet, it's up to me to save my own ass. I'd worked throughout the night to free my hands of the ropes, and then worked most of the morning to free my feet. Or, at least I assumed it was afternoon by now.... I've been told that messing with a captives sense of time was one of the key methods to breaking a man's' mind. It's working.
After I released myself from my ropes, I make the attempt to stand from the table. This failed miserably; I can't even sit up properly. Trying resulted in landing on the floor in a painful crash. Worst thing I coulda done at the time. My injuries ache and I moan in pain.
And that was how he found me, two hours later. Lying on the floor in a sad heap of shivering flesh. Pathetic. He grabs me by the armpits and hoists me up. He lifts my chin. There's that grin again... The next thing I know, I'm staring at his back as he carries me to another room. It's the same one that I first awoke in. The same drab wall, hard and cold concrete, barely working light bulb, "the torture room" as I've oh-so-creatively named it. This room was obviously built for this kind of thing.
He tosses me off the side of his shoulder, and I'm surprised to land on a bit sooner than I expected, as well as on a softer surface. I land face down, the smell of laundry detergent filling my nostrils and the feel of cotton pushing gently against my eyes and mouth.
Is this a bed? What the hell is going on here?
"We're going to have a different kind of fun today. Hope you don't mind being the woman" My neck whips around to see his feral grin, and the impact of his implications hit me immediately. Before I can move my broken body to do anything, he grabs my wrists and ties them to the bedposts. He goes for my feet, and a sudden burst of adrenalin hits. Guess where I aim my kick?
"Fuck!! You're gonna regret that!" He's hunched over, nearly on his knees, grabbing at his now incredibly sore lower region.
"S-s-serves you r-right, you b-b-bastard! Stay the hell away from m-me!" I try to glare at him, but my battered and bruised face isn't quite up for anything more than the uncontrollable grimaces of pain. It only takes a minute for my tormentor to regain his breathe, and soon he's tackling my legs again, this time he's met with barely any resistance as my energy sinks again.
My body is bound in a similar way to yesterdays' session-o'-fun, and I'm barely conscious as it is. I fear what's coming next, everything that he's done to me thus far only pales in comparison. My eyes are wide with terror, watching him as he strips his clothes off.
He has to be ex-military or something, with muscles like those! Well that's just great. I'm about to get.... topped... by a man, and all I can do is stare at his muscles? I'm so screwed. No! Wrong word! Shit! Umm... messed up? Yeah that works.
My inner monologue is interrupted as I find my oxygen cut off, a probing tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I'm trying to scream, but it's only a muffled groan. There are hands tracing down my body, trying to find all the right places. The next thing I know, the sound of tearing fabric reaches my ears, and the man sits up to show me my boxers, just before he tosses them as far across the room as he can.
I'm still awake. It's been hours since.... I'm still tied to the bed, shivering helplessly in a small pool blood, among other things. My mental state is swiftly disintegrating to nothing. Even the smallest glimmer of hope has left me, I know I'll die here in this gloomy little room, a victim of only God knows what.
All too soon, the creak of the door catches my attention, and I flinch away from the sight of him standing against the frame, a playful smile dancing across his features. He pushes off the frame and saunters ever so slowly over to my shaking body. I'm trying my damned hardest to back into the corner, to get away from him, but the ropes are tearing at my wrists and ankles.
He chuckles at the sight, and brings another bottle of water to my lips. I drink greedily for a moment or so, forgetting in the second of hydration my fear, but soon he is tearing it from my lips, whispering in my ear.
"Easy there, Lancie-dear. Haven't finished with you yet. Wouldn't want you to overdose, now would we?" Wait, what? What did he just say? Overdose? That water is drugged?! Shit. Shit. SHIT. Is that why I was hearing voices the other day? Was it the effect of the drugs? Oh, man, I'm SO fucked!
My thoughts continue in a downward spiral, I'm visibly rattled by this new revelation. I hear that torturous chuckle once more. The shivers soon turn to tremors, and then convulsions. My heart is thumping like a bass drum, the voices taking shape as people.
"Mother fucker! So you go and O.D. anyway? Damnit. Too soon, man! Now I need to find another playmate..." and he's gone from my sight. The door slams shut.
The seizures are getting worse. I know enough about drugs to realize that I'm overdosing. Cursing the bastard that just left me here, all I can really do is close my eyes against the pain of the convulsions. PCP, it has to be...
I can feel myself fading, the darkness consuming my thoughts. Briefly, I wonder about my family. Father had abandoned me when I refused the family business in favor of the Marine Corps, taking Mother with him. Jessica, my sister stayed by my side in spirit, exchanging letters with me from her university in Texas. I had yet to make friends in the unit, having only just been transferred to the D.C. Area.
This man picked his victim well. Hardly anyone to even miss me, let alone search for me.
Well fuck. What a great way to go, huh?
What little I can still see is fading away into nothingness slowly. My breathing is getting shallower by the second.
The last thing that passes my mind is a curiosity even to me.
What made that man do something like this?
So that wraps up chapter 2 at 3211 words! Hey, I'm Samm, and I'll be the second of the two writers with you on this grand roller coaster of NCIS/SPN goodness.
Now, the 4 weeks prior thing means 4 weeks before the events of the first chapter, just in case you're confused, and all chapters from hence forth shall be in order from this one, unless otherwise stated, m'kay?
Next up! NCIS makes their way onto the scene :3
xoxo
Samm