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Chapter 20

Trip had never seen anyone move so fast. Malcolm was at the window in two large strides and yanked it open so that the casement banged against the wall.

"Malcolm, wait!" Trip gathered up their boots as he ran to join him. They wouldn't get far without those.

The voices from the kitchen had stopped. Trip could hear a muffled shout and shortly after, the sound of steps approaching. Malcolm, crouched on the windowsill, threw a quick look over his shoulder, then grabbed the window frame and pushed himself off the narrow ledge. There was a soft thud as he landed on the grass outside.

Trip followed him, holding on to their boots as he jumped. The cold night air bit into his bare chest and legs as Malcolm pulled him to his feet. Inside, there was the sound of a door hitting the wall and a male voice yelling out loud.

"Stop right there!"

They ran. Trip held their boots clutched to his chest, gripping them tightly so they wouldn't slip through his sweaty fingers. The grass was wet under his bare feet. Behind them, the voice yelled again, and Trip spared a quick glance over his shoulder. A man was climbing out of the open window, followed by another. In the dark, Trip could only make out their silhouettes, but he had little doubt who the first man was.

His chest was beginning to hurt, his lungs burning from the cold air. He heard several voices and the sound of running feet behind them and knew that this wasn't going to take long. He and Malcolm wore only boxer shorts, and even if they did get away, they couldn't-

"Stop!" someone shouted. Trip glanced back and found that their pursuers, five men in total, had come close enough for him to make out their faces.

"Trip!" Malcolm panted, several meters ahead of him, and Trip's head snapped around again. The other man's face was taut, his eyes wide and dark. "You - have to keep going, all right?"

"Mal, what-"

He broke off. Malcolm had turned around, and was now running towards their pursuers, his fists clenched. One of them shouted something and they broke apart, each of them approaching Malcolm from a different direction.

"Go!" Malcolm yelled at him. He had crouched down as if preparing for a fight, a fight he knew he was going to lose. "Run!"

The men bore down on Malcolm at the same time Trip threw the boots aside and ran back the way he had come. Malcolm yelled something, but Trip didn't listen. He was not going to leave him behind, not like that, and if Malcolm didn't like it, well, that was too bad. It wasn't as if they had ever stood a chance.

He grabbed one of Malcolm's assailants by the hair and sent him stumbling, then landed a punch in another one's stomach. The man's eyes bulged and he staggered backwards. Trip drew his fist back again, and stumbled forward when suddenly a boot impacted with the back of his thigh. One knee on the ground, he turned around just in time to see two of their attackers coming at him. He struggled to get back to his feet, and had almost made it when something hard connected with his jaw. His head snapped back, and the hard thing came at him again, this time knocking the air out of him as it hit him square on the chest. He cried out as he fell, sprawling on the ground. The world had turned a little foggy at the edges and it was only when a boot came into his field of vision that he realized what had hit him. It drew back again, aiming for his head this time. He tried to move away, hiding his face in his arms as the kicks and blows rained down on him. Somewhere in the background, there was a muffled cry and he recognized Malcolm's voice, but he could not raise his head to see what was going on. A boot hit him in the ribs, another one kicking his legs. He could feel the fog closing in on him and knew that he was very close to losing consciousness. Mobilizing his last strength, he tried to curl up into a small ball, his head still protected by his arms. He could smell wet grass, taste earth and blood on his lips. Bite the dust, he thought and breathed a laugh, which came out as a groan. So this is what it's like.

"... had enough," a voice said, very far away. He wasn't even sure whether he had really heard it, but concluded that it must have been real when no more boots came down on him.

"Get 'im," the voice added, and in a far corner of his mind, Trip realized that it was Lendon standing there, Lendon who had given him the kick that had sent him to the ground. Hands grabbed his arms, pulled them away from his head and behind his back. He felt handcuffs being fitted around his wrists and tried to struggle weakly, only to earn himself a knock on the head.

"Stop it, will you."

The handcuffs were locked and Trip offered no more resistance as two of the men pulled him to his feet. His body ached as if he had been beaten with a blunt axe, and he could feel blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

Malcolm was still on the ground, one of the men grounding his face into the dirt while another one applied the handcuffs. Both of them sported rapidly swelling bruises and looked as if they would have liked to snap Malcolm's neck rather than putting him in restraints.

"Get up, you!"

Malcolm grunted with pain as he was manhandled to his feet. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut and his lip was split, oozing blood that ran down his chin in a thin string. Trip caught his eyes, shocked at what he found. Malcolm's eyes were brighter than usual, and his lips twisted painfully before they moved to form a word.

"Sorry."

Trip stared at him, trying to understand, when Lendon stepped forward and backhanded Malcolm across the face. "That's for bein' such a pain in the ass," he jabbed one finger at a dark bruise on his cheek. "You'll be more than sorry when I'm done with you, Lord Malcolm."

"At least when he hit you, your hands weren't tied," Trip said quietly. His jaw hurt when he talked, and he found he had no energy left to shout at Lendon.

The nurse turned around and Trip expected to be slapped like Malcolm. Lendon smiled and didn't even raise a hand, as if Trip were not worth the effort. "I think it's time we found somethin' for your big mouth to do," he said, sauntering closer until Trip could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. He drew a finger along Trip's bruised jawline, persisting even as Trip tried to back away. Then he suddenly pushed Trip's head aside. "No... let's wait until we get home. Then the three of us can have a little fun, what do you say?"

Trip looked past Lendon at Malcolm. He had the distinct impression that the Englishman wasn't even listening to the nurse, lost in a misery worse than Lendon's threats and the prospect of returning to River Valley. Trip tried to catch his eyes again as they were being dragged towards the farmhouse, but Malcolm wouldn't look at him, a dark, far-away expression on his face as he stumbled along next to the orderlies who held his arms in a firm grip.

Lendon seemed to have noticed that neither of them was paying much attention to him and jabbed Trip in the back.

"Move it, there."

The orderlies led them around the house to the front yard. Two white River Valley vans were parked in front of the building, looking ominous and out of place in the rural setting of the farm.

Ed and Helen hovered next to the doorsteps, clad in their bathrobes and slippers. Helen's eyes widened as she took a closer look at Trip's, then at Malcolm's face.

"What- what did you do that for? They're bleeding!"

Lendon gave her a false smile that was obviously meant to be reassuring. "They became violent when we caught them," he said. "Put up quite a fight, I'm afraid."

Ed moved a little closer to his wife. "They look like they've been beaten up," he said, frowning at Lendon. "Can't say I approve of your methods, sir. They're sick people."

Trip expected Lendon to get angry, but the man seemed almost amused by the old couple. "Don't worry, they'll be fine once they're back in their familiar surroundings." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Helen. "We're sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am, sir."

She opened the envelope and her mouth became a thin line. Then she handed it back to Lendon as if it were a piece of stinking garbage. "There's no need for that. Although I'm beginning to wonder if Social Services wouldn't be interested in the way you treat your patients."

Lendon's smile never wavered, but Trip had known the man long enough to sense that his patience was running thin. The nurse walked up to Ed and slipped the envelope into the pocket of Ed's threadbare bathrobe, ignoring the older man's outraged gasp.

"I think you would do well to keep this, Mr...," he glanced at the doorplate, "Mr. Moore. And you, ma'am, shouldn't concern yourself with things that are none of your business."

"Don't you talk to my wife like that!" Ed bellowed. "And you can keep your dirty money!" He threw the envelope at Lendon. The nurse only laughed and took a step back.

"Have a nice evening, Mr. and Mrs. Moore. Thanks again for your help."

He nodded at the orderlies, and Trip almost stumbled as he was dragged towards the larger of the two vans, Malcolm only a few steps behind him.

"Wait!"

Trip turned around and found that Helen had left Ed's side.

"Please," she said, a little out of breath. "Let me give them their clothes back and wash that blood off before you go. Please!" She reached for Lendon's arm, but he pushed her away so that she stumbled and fell.

"Get off me, you old bitch."

"You bastard!" Ed started for Lendon, who gave a nod to one of the orderlies who were holding Malcolm. The burly man let go of Malcolm's arm and stepped forward, blocking Ed's way.

"Calm down, pop," he said. "I know you don't wanna mess with me."

Ed was positively spitting with anger. "When the police hear about this-"

"Yeah right," Lendon waved him off. "Tell them hi from my boss when you call them."

In the meantime, Helen had gotten back to her feet. Her bathrobe was streaked with mud from the ground and her slippers were soaking wet, but she didn't seem to care.

"I'm so sorry. We wouldn't have called them if we'd known-"

"Let's cut the drama queening, okay?" Lendon nodded at the orderlies. "Get goin'."

As he was being shoved towards it, Trip noticed that the larger van had no windows in the back. Lendon opened its rear door, revealing a dark holding space inside.

"In you go, Trippy."

The two orderlies gave him a push that sent him headlong on the metal floor of the van. He had no time to move away as they threw Malcolm in, and the Englishman crashed painfully into his legs.

Lendon laughed. "Have fun in there, guys."

The darkness was instant as he slammed the door shut. There was a click as the locking mechanism was engaged, then the sound of steps and voices, too muffled for them to understand what was being said.

Malcolm began to disentangle himself from Trip and quietly moved away.

"You okay?" Trip asked into the darkness. He couldn't even see the contours of Malcolm's body, let alone his face.

"Yes," Malcolm said somewhere to his left. "You?"

"Yeah," Trip said, not quite truthfully. He was sore all over and his jaw ached something fierce, as if Lendon's kick had cracked the bone. With his hands tied behind his back, he couldn't feel it, although he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to talk if the jaw were actually broken.

A small vibration ran through the floor beneath them as the engine was started. The van began to move, the wheels turning under them as the vehicle changed direction. Trip thought of Ed and Helen, hoping they were okay. He didn't blame them for calling River Valley when they realized who their "guests" really were. The two old people must have been scared out of their minds, all alone in a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with two escaped lunatics staying in the guest room.

We should've never gone there. Malcolm was right.

Trip moved over so that he came to sit against the wall. His arm brushed against a shoulder, and the sound of quiet breathing next to him told him that Malcolm had chosen to sit in the same spot. Trip pulled his knees to his chest. It was damn cold in here, almost as cold as it had been outside, and he was sure he would have been able to see his breath forming a cloud in the air if it hadn't been so dark. As it was, all he could see was the blackness surrounding them.

And don't we all love the symbolism of that.

He didn't even find a sarcastic smile to go with the thought. If it had been only him, he knew that he might have cried now, laid his head on his knees and had himself a good bawl. The tears were there, sitting at the bottom of his throat like a fat, hurtful lump. He gritted his teeth. If he was going to hit the bottom, then he was going to do it alone. He didn't want Malcolm to sit there and listen while he let himself go.

"You shouldn't have turned around," Malcolm said suddenly. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I told you to go on."

Trip was silent for a moment, remembering the expression in Malcolm's eyes when Lendon's orderlies had pulled him to his feet. It was the same expression that now echoed in his voice; guilt. Yes, that was it. Trip had not recognized it before.

"I'm not gonna leave you behind, Mal. What makes you think I would do that?"

"You should have!" Malcolm's voice was suddenly angry. "I can't protect you when you don't listen to me!"

"You don't have to protect me!" Trip raised his voice a little. "What's this bullshit all the time about protectin' me and keepin' me safe? I can take care of myself, you know!"

"It is my job-" Malcolm broke off, and when he spoke again, the anger had disappeared from his tone. "I... I'm sorry. Of course you can take care of yourself. It's just... I wish I'd been able to fight them off."

His voice was so soft and tired that Trip's irritation vanished as quickly as it had come.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "And there was no way you coulda fought them, Mal, it was five against two."

"I might have been able to fight them long enough for you to get away."

"Malcolm..." Trip sighed. "I told you, I'm not gonna leave you behind. And besides, where would I go?"

In the middle of the night and in my underwear, for God's sake. Their desperate scramble for freedom would have led them nowhere, even if they had escaped Lendon and his men.

Malcolm said nothing in reply, and Trip could only guess what was going on in the other man's head. The handcuffs bit into his wrists and he shifted a little to ease the pressure. His arms were beginning to ache, and he was sure that the lack of circulation would be giving him hell long before they arrived back at River Valley.

He shifted again. Maybe Lendon had uttered empty threats when he had said that they were going to have "a little fun", but somehow Trip didn't think so. There would be a punishment, and he was quite sure that Lendon would be the one to mete it out.

Trip closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold metal wall. He felt empty inside, drained. He knew that he would not offer resistance when they pulled him out of the van. The fight in him was gone, and he only wished for it to be over; the journey back, the punishment, his life in this place.

Might come true sooner than you'd like to believe.

He kept his eyes closed, thinking that maybe he wouldn't even care.

TBC...

Sorry about the two cliffies in a row (although this one's rather mild)! Please let me know what you think!