AN Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. We were on vacation, and as it turned out, had no access to the Internet. We returned to storm damage, and intermittent cable, phone and Internet (all one package). Anyway, here is the next chapter.

By the Book Chapter 13

Bobby was screwed, literally, figuratively, any way you put it, he was screwed. Or soon would be. He was scared, and he was frustrated and angry. Scared for the obvious reasons, frustrated and angry because everyone knew what was coming, yet nobody either could or would do anything about it.

The not knowing was what was killing him now. Just sitting in a cell, totally helpless, just waiting for whoever, to do whatever they wanted to him, was killing him. And the thought that someone was allowing this to happen to him made him incredibly angry. He thought about the pain that they would put him through, wondered just how much he could endure, before it became too much for even his mind to take.

For some reason, maybe in an attempt to stop his mind from thinking about his future, he thought about his past.

As a little boy he had never been outright tortured but he had certainly been abused, and sometimes badly. As the child of a mentally ill schizophrenic mother and an alcoholic father, he was the unlucky recipient of abuse by both parents. And in order to survive, he had instinctively developed some coping mechanisms. One of these was a form of mental escape, to completely remove his mind from one place and take it to a higher level. This process came about one day when he was about seven, completely unknowingly. It simply evolved out of necessity. He had put up with drunken beatings from his father for years before that, but after his mother got sick and started in on him too, at times it just became too much for his young mind and body to handle. So it coped the only way it could.

One day when Bobby was about seven, he and his older brother Joey were bothering each other, mainly Bobby irritating his brother just by being there, and his brother smacking him lightly in the head, over and over, just enough to get to him. Finally Bobby retaliated, inadvertently knocking his milk over. Both boys automatically looked at their mother, and the response was immediate; they could see it in her eyes. Joey immediately took off, never looking back. Bobby wasn't so lucky; his mother grabbed him, dragging him off to his room, along with a wooden coat hanger, and she started in on him long before they got to the bedroom. She was beating him with the hanger, screaming senseless words at him: seed of the devil, demon child, the usual crazy things. He was screaming, too, crying, begging her to stop. The pain was unbearable as the wooden hangerrained down on his head and body over and over. Then, somehow, although the beating didn't stop, the pain did. Bobby was no longer there. His mind had retreated into itself, to some safe place where only he could go, and no one could hurt him there, not his mother, not his father, no one. And somehow, from a safe distance, he could see his mother, standing over a little boy who was lying on a bed, trying to burrow his head into a pillow to protectit, as his mother continued beating him. Much later, haven fallen into an exhausted, restless sleep, Bobby awoke, his small body covered with ugly purple bruises and angry red welts. He hurt all over. But at least for a little while, he had escaped the pain. And although he never actually tried to make it happen, it seemed to occur on it's own quite a bit after that. And that may have been one of the reasons he had survived his traumatic childhood.

Bobby suddenly came back to the present with a start, remembering his dire situation. He had forgotten about his childhood coping mechanism, although he did realize that the times when he retreated into his inner self over mental stress he was somewhat doing the same thing, only to a much lesser degree. Seeing no escape from his fate, he wondered if he could possibly bring up that feeling again, that coping method, if it would still work for him today. Because now, more than any other time in his life, he would need it. The only problem with that was the fact that every time it was employed as a way to escape reality, the more difficult it was for his mind to come back. But at the moment, escape in any form was much more pleasant than his reality.

Then the guard walked over and peered into his cell. "Hey, Goren. Up for the party tonight?" He laughed, then walked back to his niche.

Bobby watched him for a second, taking a deep breath. He was more determined than ever to survive this, if for no other reason than to take down that guard.

Manhatten, home of Judge Huntington

Judge Randall Huntington was a little pissed. It upset him greatly that the detective and the lawyer had dared to question his judgement concerning Goren. For Christ sake, he already had the guy placed in protective custody! What the hell else could he do? He felt like he had done his part. It was now up to the warden to do his job. He poured himself another drink, thinking about it. The two had sure seemed earnest; obviously they were just looking out for the man. He hoped they wouldn't try going over his head on this. That might put him in a bad light with his contemporaries, many of who didn't share the high standards he didfor public officials. Damn it! He hated giving in on his principles. Never once in his entire career had he given special considerations to members of law enforcement who'd ended up in jail for one reason or another. He always felt like that those who did work for law enforcement or for the public should never be above the law themselves; therefore, when one of them managed to show up in his court, he usually threw the book at them. And Robert Goren was no exception.

But… what if something really were to happen to him? He actually was a decent man who just happened to have very high standards. He really had no desire to see Detective Goren injured or harmed. But the bottom line was, if something did happen to Goren, then he'd be the one getting the book thrown at him. Not to mention how it might cost him politically. Son of a bitch! He figured it would behoove him to put in a call to the warden at Rikers, feel him out, and if they believed it necessary then Goren would be moved to a different facility, or put into an even more secure area. He decided to give the warden a call, and see what he thought.

Rikers, that night

They were coming. Bobby could feel it, long before he could even see them. For the hundredth time Bobby tried the lock on his cell, then slammed his fist into the bars in frustration, jamming his wrist and fingers in the process. Which angered him even more.

Then they were there. The guard grinned at him as he unlocked his cell, allowing the inmates in, forcing Bobby back in the small cell. The door was locked again.

"Hey, Goren," one of the inmates said, a slight smile on his face.

Bobby nodded slightly. "McFadden," he acknowledged.

McFadden grinned. "Well, imagine meeting you again, and in a place like this. Small world, huh?"

"Yeah, small world. Did you set this up?" Bobby asked, stalling for time. "Or is this just a happy accident?"

"Just pure good old-fashioned luck," McFadden said, his one hand running slowly up and down the broomstick. " A real dream come true. It ain't often ya get to 'do' the cop that sent ya up."

Bobby couldn't help but look at the stick. Just like the guard said, it was broken in half, with jagged spikes and edges. He tried not to show any emotion, but inside his chest, his heart was pounding furiously.

"You gonna get them pants off you, boy, or are we gonna have to do it for you?"

"Fuck you."

McFadden just grinned again. "Now you know that's our job. We brought a few things for you," he said, nodding to one of the other men who handed him a few items. "A few little tools of the trade. I know you've seen all this stuff before." He held up a small piece of a rag. "A gag, to keep your big fuckin mouth shut. Some duct tape, to keep your hands taped up real good behind you, and of course, this." He put the broomstick right in Bobby's face.

Bobby started to feel panicky. He looked at the guard and the inmates, gauging his chances of escaping from all this. He recognized them all. At one time or another he'd had something to do with each of them, whether it was arresting them or testifying against them, he'd done something to send them here. He could almost understand their wanting to get even with him, although not to this extent. But the guard? What possible reason could he have for this, other than just plain cruelty? Or money. At least the inmates, right or wrong, had a reason. Bobby knew he didn't stand a chance, especially with the cell still locked, but he'd go down fighting and one way or another, that guard was going down with him, a promise he'd made a long while back.

McFadden advanced, slowly backing Bobby up the short distance to the back of the cell. Then, taking everyone by surprise, Bobby suddenly was on the guard, hitting him so hard he felt a bone break in his own hand. At the moment he didn't care, an extremely satisfying cracking noise coupled with a scream of pain told him he'd broken the guard's jaw.

His moment of satisfaction didn't last long however, as he was suddenly set upon by three of the inmates, while the others waited eagerly for their chance. They shoved him first face-first onto the floor, and twisted his arms severely behind him, ripping and tearing tendons and ligaments in both shoulders. Then, with his arms still twisted painfully, they duct-taped his wrists securely behind his back. Jerking him by his injured arms they pulled him to his feet to face McFadden.

McFadden looked at Bobby for a second, then out of the blue, slammed him in the solar plexis, doubling him over.

Indicating Bobby's tightly taped wrists, McFadden sneered, "Ya like being restrained like that, your arms all twisted up real bad behind you? Kinda hurts, doesn't it? Like being handcuffed by some bastard cop who doesn't give a shit about how bad it hurts or how humiliating it is. But you oughta know all about that." He got right in Bobby's face, shoving him a bit. "Well, ya know what? You haven't got the foggiest idea of what real pain and humiliation is, but you're going to find out tonight."

Bobby didn't say anything, already in too much pain for conversation. At McFadden's nod, the inmates applied more pressure to his arms, and Bobby finally cried out, as his shoulders, agonizingly slipping from their sockets,were dislocated.

"Gag him," McFadden said, not taking any chances on anyone hearing, although there wasn't much chance of that. They forced him to his knees, and though Bobby fought it, they managed to jam the rag deeply into his mouth.

McFadden looked back at the guard, who was standing as far back from Bobby as possible, holding his jaw and letting go with an occasional moan. "You want a shot at him?"

The guard just stared at him, and McFadden smirked. "He can't hurt you, you stupid son of a bitch. Look at him! He can't do shit! You want a shot or not?"

As the guard continued to stand back, McFadden started to get angry. "Go on, man, he busted your jaw! Get him back!" He shoved the guard at Bobby, and the guard, now more afraid of McFadden, took out his nightstick. He looked at Bobby, who was still kept kneeling, and suddenly saw red. He pulled back on the nightstick, then slammed it as hard as he could into Bobby's face, shattering his cheekbone.

Bobby's face exploded in pain, as pieces of broken bone were driven into the surrounding area. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he could vaguely hear McFadden screaming something about not letting him pass out. But it was too late for that. Bobby never evenhad to try the mental escape mechanism. They provided it themselves with the severe blow to his head. McFadden's screaming voice was the last thing he heard as the blessed darkness overcame him.

tbc