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Chapter 21

He was dragged along a corridor, his arms painfully twisted behind his back. The handcuffs had been removed when Lendon's men had manhandled them out of the van, but Trip could still feel the places where the sharp metal edges had cut into his skin. His wrists had started bleeding at some point, and when the restraints were finally taken off, he sported raw sores on both sides.

"Move it!"

He had slowed down, and the two orderlies next to him gripped his arms harder, pushing him forward. He stumbled and would have fallen, had they not yanked him up again. Somewhere behind them, Lendon laughed.

"What's up, Trippy boy? Tired already?"

Trip closed his eyes for a moment. Yeah, he was tired. Tired of being pushed around and tired of being afraid. And he was afraid, he couldn't deny it. Whatever was going to happen now, it was going to be bad. He had seen it in Lendon's eyes when the nurse had ordered them to be taken inside.

It wasn't quite morning yet and so they encountered no one, although Trip was quite sure that Dr. Cooke knew that they had been caught. She would not come to their aid, however. No one would. River Valley would stay calm and silent as it always did, and if they didn't live to see the day, it wouldn't make a difference to the quiet routine. Nothing ever changed that routine, Trip knew.

They arrived at a white door at the end of the corridor, and Lendon stepped forward to slip his keycard into the slot. A green light flashed and the door slid open, revealing a room Trip remembered only too well. No windows, a narrow cot with restraints, and white tiles. Goddamn white tiles all over the place.

"If you please..." Lendon grinned and with an exaggerated flourish waved for the orderlies to take them inside. "I'm sure you gentlemen feel right at home here."

There was a sudden wave of fear and anger when they dragged him over the doorstep, and Trip tried to brace himself against the tiled floor, his bare feet scrabbling on the cold surface. The orderly on his right side smacked him on the side of the head.

"Stop that, idiot."

Trip's sore jaw hurt from the blow and he blinked. There were two chairs standing on the tiled floor which he had not noticed before; worn green plastic chairs like they had back in the common room. In a corner of the room, there was a large vat, shaped like a bathtub. It was filled with water.

Malcolm and he were forced onto the chairs. The orderlies grabbed his arms and pushed them down on the plastic armrests, one of them twisting his sore wrist when he tried to offer resistance.

"Keep still, dammit!" The orderly, an elderly man with a reddish face, turned around to Lendon who was leaning against the wall, watching. "You wanted us to tie this one up, right sir?"

Lendon nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Don't tie Lord Malcolm to his chair, though. I need him to get up again." He noticed that Trip was looking at him and winked. "The two of us are gonna have a little fun, Trip my boy."

One of the orderlies took a roll of black adhesive tape out of his pocket and, while Trip struggled in vain, began to wrap the tape around his arms and the armrests, securing him to the chair. Once Trip's arms were taped down, the man crouched down and reached out to tape Trip's left leg to the chair, stumbling back as Trip tried to kick him.

"Goddammit!"

"Leave it," Lendon said. "I think I can handle Trippy boy."

Next to him, Malcolm was pulled to his feet and held in a painful position while the orderlies tied his hands on his back using another roll of tape.

"Want me to put a piece over his mouth?" The elderly man grinned and held the tape up in front of Trip's face.

"Naw," Lendon said. "Trippy boy's a lot more fun when he can talk. Right, Trippy?"

Fuck you. The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. He tried to move his arms under the tape and found that they were almost completely immobilized. The tape bit into his skin like a live thing.

Malcolm was pushed back down onto his chair, his hands now securely tied behind his back. Lendon nodded at the orderlies. "You can go now."

"Sir..." The elderly man who had offered to tape Trip's mouth shut hesitated. "Don't you think I should stay here with you, just in case?"

Lendon grinned and shook his head. "Naw, I think I'm good here. I'll call you when I need your help."

The man looked slightly disappointed, as if he had just been told that he would miss out on the party. He didn't argue though, and nodded at the rest of the orderlies.

"Let's go, guys."

They left, grinning as they filed out of the room. The door closed behind them and Lendon, who had been slouching against the wall up to this point, went over and activated the locking mechanism.

"We don't want anyone interruptin', do we."

Trip pretended he hadn't heard and glanced at Malcolm. Malcolm's bruised face was tense, but there was an understanding in his eyes when Trip looked at him, and he knew that Malcolm wasn't going to beg, either.

You hang in there, Mal.

Lendon sauntered closer, and Trip turned his head again. The nurse's pale face was alight, almost lively, and his lips were pulled back in a slight smile.

"Well, well, well," he drawled. "Nice to be back home, ain't it? Not that you've been gone long... but we we're gettin' a little worried. Can't have our patients crawlin' all over the countryside."

He laughed. "Y'know, it's funny. Most of them try at some point or other, but they mostly jus' sneak out of the greenhouses and try to find a hole in the fence. I've gotta admit you were a little more creative."

Without warning, he whirled around and slapped Trip hard across the face. Malcolm cried out in anger and jumped up, but Lendon pushed him down as easily as he would have a child.

"Take it easy, Lord Malcolm. Or I'm gonna tape your mouth shut."

Trip's face stung from the slap, and he tasted blood in the corner of his mouth. Lendon was smiling again, as if the sudden blow had never happened at all.

"Looks like you ain't got the message yet, boys. But I'm sure we can find a way to make you recognize the error of your ways." He began to walk back and forth, slowly, as if he were lecturing a classroom full of attentively listening students. "Y'know... there's this psychologist I've been readin' about. Don't quite remember his name, Skinner or somethin'. Anyway, he built this nice little box in which he put his lab rats. When the rat did what he wanted, he fed it, and when it didn't – wham – he zapped it with an electric charge. Wasn't long until all the little rats knew 'xactly what to do not to get zapped. Pretty neat, huh? And this guy Skinner said that his little trick works on people too, if you know the right methods." Lendon turned around again, grinning. "Now let's say there're two nasty little rats that've escaped from their cage, what do you think Skinner would do? Feed 'em? I don't think so. I think he'd put them into his little box an' fry their hides 'till they're screechin'.He'd make sure they'd never even think of repeatin' their little stunt. Right, Trippy boy?"

Trip gave no answer, and Lendon laughed. "Yeah, right. Now let's say Skinner knows that one of them rats is afraid of somethin', let's say... water." Slowly, he began to walk over to Malcolm, hands still clasped behind his back. "So let's assume this rat's afraid of water, d'you think the good old professor would've stuffed that rat into his little torture box? No... I think he would've known that there's a far more effective method of makin' the rat learn its lesson. And I'd say we're gonna do jus' that."

He grabbed Malcolm's hair and yanked him to his feet. Malcolm struggled as hard as he could with his hands tied behind his back, trying to kick Lendon. The nurse laughed and caught Malcolm's arm with his free hand.

"Calm down, Lord Malcolm. We're only conductin' a little experiment here."

"Leave him alone!" Trip tore at the tape that was binding his arms, ignoring the pain when the adhesive pinched his bare skin. He could wiggle them back and forth about a centimeter now, but it was still nowhere near enough. "Let him go, you fuckin' asshole!"

"Such language." Lendon's voice was a little strained from the exertion of holding Malcolm down, although he did his best to keep up his casual tone. Malcolm had not spoken so far, but he was fighting with growing vigor, wriggling like an eel to escape Lendon's grip. Trip noticed that he was determinedly not looking at the vat in the corner.

"Goddammit!" Lendon had lost his hold on Malcolm's arm, and the Englishman sat down hard on the floor, his weight too much for Lendon to pull up again. "Get up, Reed, now!"

Malcolm stayed where he was, even as Lendon, now furious, kicked him hard into the small of his back. Trip yanked angrily at the tape. The bit closest to his right elbow was coming loose, but there was still too much of it firmly clinging to his forearm to break free.

"Get up!" Lendon's boot connected with Malcolm's ribcage, and there was a small but ugly crack. Malcolm screamed and tried to curl up into a ball, but to no avail when Lendon gripped a fistful of his hair and jerked his head up. "Are you gonna get up now or what?"

Malcolm did, clearly in pain as he staggered to his feet again. Lendon grabbed both his arms from behind and gave him a hard shove so that he stumbled against the vat. Water sloshed out and splashed onto the white tiles.

Before Malcolm had a change to regain his balance, Lendon was at his side, grabbing his hair and his right arm.

"Now let's see if you're a smart little rat, Reed."

He pushed Malcolm's head down and under the surface. Water bubbled and splashed onto the floor as Malcolm kicked and fought, but Lendon didn't loosen his grip.

"Let him go!" Trip tried to get to his feet, not caring that he was still tied to the armrests. His chair wobbled and would have tipped over, had he not quickly propped his foot against the floor.

"Careful, Trippy boy!" Lendon laughed. "Don't hurt yourself!"

"You're killin' him!"

"Naw, I'm not." Lendon pulled Malcolm's head back up. Red-faced and dripping with water, Malcolm gasped for air. "See? Still alive and kickin'."

With the last word, he shoved Malcolm's head back under water and the desperate struggle began again. Trip gripped the armrests of the chair and shook them as hard as he could, until suddenly something gave under his right hand. He yanked harder at it, and there was a dry crunch as the plastic casing came off the armrest, and with it the tape that bound him. Slipping his arm out of the now loose restraint, he used his free hand to pull at the tape that still held his left arm down.

"What the fuck-"

Lendon seemed to have noticed what Trip was doing and let go of Malcolm, who slumped to the floor in front of the vat, coughing and gasping. At that moment, Trip managed to rip the last of the tape off his left arm and jumped up. Lendon's eyes widened and he made as if to run for the door, but Trip was faster. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs on the wet floor, crashing into the empty chair which tipped over and clattered on the tiles.

"Get off me, Tucker!"

There was real fear in Lendon's voice, and maybe it was the realization that the bastard was actually afraid that sparked a wild, mad anger in Trip. Straddling the man, he wrapped his hands around the nurse's neck, his teeth bared in a grotesque grin as he smacked Lendon's head against the white tiles, again and again. Lendon screamed and Trip screamed back, a distant part of his mind wondering if it had really happened now, if, at last, he had actually gone insane. It didn't matter. If his sanity was the price he had to pay for this, then he would gladly give it up. There was blood on the tiles – blood on white tiles, the dreams, the other reality – and yet Trip didn't stop, even as Lendon's screams ceased and his head only lolled back and forth before it was brought back down on the tiles. The smack smack when it hit the floor sounded wet now, almost like a piece of fabric being slapped into water.

"Trip." Malcolm's hoarse voice finally broke through the haze. "Trip, stop it."

Trip did. His hands were still closed around Lendon's neck and he could feel something warm and slippery between his fingers. Blood. There was a halo of blood growing around Lendon's head, spreading on the tiles and pooling in the grooves between them. Blood on white tiles. Lendon's face was still, his eyes closed. In the weeks that had passed, the man's features had become something like a demon's mask to Trip, something he didn't associate with an actual person anymore. Now, Lendon suddenly looked human again, frighteningly so. Trip let go of the wet neck and Lendon's head tilted to one side, his mouth slightly open.

"Trip," Malcolm said again. Trip looked up and realized that he was still straddling Lendon, whose body had become so unnaturally still. Quickly he got to his feet.

"Mal, are you okay?" He went over to Malcolm, who was sitting on the floor in front of the vat. Tiny rivulets of water ran down his face, his back and his chest, and his breathing was coming in harsh, irregular gasps.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I guess I..." He coughed and a small stream of water came out of his mouth. Trip patted him on the back, helping him lean forward so that the water wouldn't hit his bare legs.

"There you go. Wait, let me give you a hand." He began to fumble with the tape they had used to tie Malcolm's hands behind his back. It was twisted and turned out of shape, and Trip had to tug at it for several minutes before it finally came loose. As he pulled it off, he saw that Malcolm's wrists were raw and bloody, like his.

Malcolm flexed his fingers, trying to get the circulation going again. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Trip studied his face. "Mal, are you all right?"

Finally, Malcolm looked up. "Yes."

"How... how did he know about your..." Trip didn't want to say it, and it wasn't necessary, either. Malcolm turned his eyes away.

"He must have read it in my patient's file. I told Owens when he filled out our admission forms." His lips twisted in an expression which might have been a smile, yet lacked all humor. "Nice to know that I could be of assistance."

"Malcolm..." Trip didn't know what to say and eventually settled for a brief touch of Malcolm's arm. The other man still wouldn't look at him and glanced at Lendon instead.

"What about him?"

Trip turned around again. Yes, Lendon was still there, lying on the tiled floor in a growing puddle of blood. Strange, that he would have thought otherwise. It seemed that a part of his mind had secretly expected Lendon to disappear when he looked away, just like a ghost or a vision out of a nightmare.

Slowly, he got to his feet and went over to the man, followed by Malcolm who was still a little unsteady on his feet. Trip found that he could do nothing but stand there and stare down at the still body, the blood. He knew that he would not be able to touch any of it. Malcolm didn't seem to have noticed. He knelt down on the floor next to Lendon and rested two fingers on the man's neck. Then he looked up at Trip and simply shook his head.

Slowly, Trip sat down on the floor next to Malcolm. "What are we gonna do?" he asked quietly.

Malcolm only looked at him and gave no answer.

TBC...

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