Here's the next one, guys; let's check back in with Don and his lovely companion. Giggly, Black Widow... all interesting names, considering I haven't given him one yet, but you can't just say 'the man' forever...
Read, smile, and REVIEW!
9. The End and the Means
"Justice belongs to those who claim it, but let the claimant beware lest he create new injustice by his claim and thus set the bloody pendulum of revenge into its inexorable motion." – Frank Herbert
The slap Don received as a result of not answering had the edge of a knife in it, raking a fine line that nearly slit his eyelid in two. A swear escaped him as he felt the switch's path, and he felt a sudden thrill of fear and panic as he realized he could still see his captor through the sizable hole in the instinctually shut lid. His eye stung as blood found its way in via the somewhat eccentric route; his fingers twitched, wanting to wipe it away but unable to.
"Aw, don't cry, Eppsie," teased the man, putting a finger under Don's chin and nudging his face up to his. "I'm sure you're sorry, and if you're not already, you certainly will be." He slapped Don's cheek and continued pacing. "You know, when your partner was in this chair, he told me it was easier to accept your fate once you confessed your crime." Briefly, he stopped to pick at his teeth with the bloody switch, smiling wide. "But let's get back to Katherine. You did kill her, didn't you, Eppsie?"
"No, I don't know what you're—"
WHAP. His nose was filled with a warmth that ran slowly down his face; he spat a good deal of it from his mouth, coughing to clear it from his throat before he swallowed too much.
"Lying, Eppsie," tutted the man. "We talked about lying, didn't we?"
The smell of blood – his own blood – was making him sick, his head pounding in time to the words and his stomach doing flips. He licked dry lips and kept his eyes focused on the man, prowling around the edges of the circle of light.
"Let's try another one, Eppsie. Have you ever tortured anyone for information?"
Don clenched his jaw. This guy knew it all, for whatever reason; lying was only going to get him killed faster. He mumbled his reply grudgingly.
"What? I can't hear you, Eppsie."
"Yes," he said; his voice was patchy and disused.
"Very good, Eppsie," applauded the man, beaming. "Let's see is you can do it again. Have you ever illegally administered sodium pentothal to aid in interrogation?"
Don paused; he couldn't believe he was here, now, doing this. "Yes."
"Oh, look at the good little boy," the man gushed to the camera. "You're on a roll, Eppsie. Now let's go for the biggie; did you kill Katherine Lawson?"
His eyes stung, and not just from the blood; he gathered his breath, his voice somewhat ragged, and replied. "I… didn't."
For the first time in their brief relationship, Don watched his captor lose his composure. Letting out an inhuman snarl of rage, he landed a kick directly between Don's conveniently parted legs; in addition to the initial agony, he watched the world tilt sideways as the chair tipped back, feeling his head hit the floor a minute later. Dazed by the impact, Don simply lay for a minute, watching the warm blood from his nose meet with the damp cool of the concrete floor. Then strong hands heaved the chair back upright, and he was once again staring into the charming grin of his captor.
"Sorry about that, Eppsie. When you lie, I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, Mr. Weasel pays me a visit. And when Mr. Weasel is around, well, things can get…" He considered Don, then winked. "Messy."
The man rose from his position crouched in front of Don and made off into the black. When he returned, he had with him another needle. Don shook his head feebly, but the man just laughed.
"Now, now, Eppsie, its all for your own good. You were doing so well, too…" He clicked his tongue and slid in the needle. "Maybe a bit more sodium pentothal will have you feeling a bit more… cooperative."
Clenching his fist, Don felt the fluid enter his system; the man – Weasel, as Don imagined his name to be after his recent outburst – disposed of the needle as he had once before, wiped his switch clean, and resumed his endless circling.
"I'll tell you, Eppsie, you're not like the others. Most of them started talking after the first dose, so I'm not entirely sure what this one will do to you." He smiled serenely, eyes distant, as if he were reliving some fond memory. "Cooper was funny after the second. At twice the safe limit, my research says symptoms include delusions, decreased cognitive processing, and recall of potentially traumatic experiences. That should loosen your tongue, eh, Eppsie?"
Don didn't answer; he sat as still as possible, blinking furiously as his world drifted in and out of focus. Weasel knelt before him, eyes dancing with hidden laughter.
"Concentrate, Eppsie, and tell me the truth," urged Weasel in a slow, patient voice. "Did you or did you not, under orders by your boss, Jason Anderson, on the night of October 31st, 1993, take into your custody a woman by the name of Katherine Lawson, and, with your partner, William Cooper, conspire to and succeed in first torturing and then murdering her?"
The pause was long and tense; Don could feel the cogs in his brain grinding against one another. All the flimsy rationalizations and mental blocks he'd developed over the years had been suddenly stripped away by the drugs. When he looked up, his one good eye was brimming with tears.
"Yes," he breathed to the dark. "Yes, I did."
It was Weasel's turn to pause. "I'm proud of you, Eppsie," he said quietly. "I know how long you've carried that secret. I have lots of secrets like that, and someday before I die, I will tell someone all of them. Maybe it will be you I tell." A subdued grin turned up the corners of his mouth. "Or maybe you will be one of my secrets."
He rose suddenly, approaching the still-recording video camera with a look of glee. "Now you know the secret of Don Eppes, I implore you all to decide how far you're willing to go for him by yourselves. Have a wonderful day, agents; Eppsie and I have other things to discuss."
The bottom fell out on Don's stomach as a tiny click told him the video camera was off. "'Agents'?" he echoed.
"Oh, yes," replied Weasel cheerfully. "That part was the nice part. That was all for your team's eyes only. Now we can really get down to business."
Don's heart started racing as Weasel made his way into the black, especially when, a minute later, the lights went off, and a disturbingly close whisper made him jump. A knife blade pressed against his throat, and he tensed against it.
"Tell me, Agent Eppes," said Weasel, but this time his voice was colder, harder, not playful like before. "Are you afraid of the dark?"