These next several chapters contain graphic images of Vaughn's torture. If you don't with to read about those topics, I would suggest not reading these next chapters.


Chapter 164: Always the Blade

"Life is one long struggle in the dark." – Lucretius

"You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you." – Eric Hoffer

"One fire burns out another's burning; One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish." – Shakespeare

"Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in other's pain, And perish in our own." – Francis Thompson

"The truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering the more you suffer because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you in proportion to your fear of being hurt." – Thomas Merton


"That phone call…I hated Sloane for it…but it was the last time I talked to Sydney in weeks…and I was glad I got to tell her that I loved her…just in case…" Vaughn took a deep breath, "That was the first day…but with an introduction like that…I knew what I was in for…well not really…but…it only got worse from there…"

Flashback
"Mr. Vaughn…"

Vaughn stirred, 'Great,' he thought…this is how the mornings are gonna go…stupid English Beatle-boy was gonna wake him up.

He sat up slowly, his head reeling once again, his abdomen tightening as he straightened. Sark sat a plate and a glass down in front of him.

"You should eat something…" he said.

Vaughn grabbed the glass of water and started to drink it slowly, but he didn't touch the bread on the plate.

He looked up at the young British man, but he didn't say anything.

A smile slowly spread across Sark's face as he watched him drink the water, "The bread isn't poisoned if that's what you're thinking…"

"No, that's not Sloane's style…unless it's his wife."

Sark chuckled, "I wouldn't say that to Mr. Sloane…unless you enjoyed getting punched yesterday."

Vaughn didn't respond.

"It's too bad really…" Sark started, "But this really won't be as much fun without Sydney here…"

Vaughn looked up at him.

"You see…I would have rather enjoyed both of you together…it must just kill you to know that I got there first…"

Vaughn's eyes narrowed, "Sydney wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."

Sark smiled, "She has such soft skin…I miss working with her…she's very…talented…"

"Fuck you."

"Oh…now, just because I got to her first…there's no reason to be angry with me…"

Vaughn laughed, "You're pretty funny."

"I assure you what Sydney and I did together was not funny…" He smiled and did a little bow, turned, and walked out of the room, closing the thick metal door loudly behind him.

Vaughn let his head rest on the wall as he finished the water. He looked down at the bread and decided that if he was going to make it back to Sydney, he'd need to eat to keep his strength up. He shook his head as he thought about Sark's comments.

He thought it strange that no one came to bother him the rest of the day. He couldn't really tell what time it was, but he could sense when the night came on, it got colder in the cell.

He thought about Sydney…she'd be looking for him, worried, he could see her face if he closed his eyes…hell, he could see her even if he didn't. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he was brought out of a nice, pleasant dream about said woman with a jolt to his foot.

Thug #1 had brought him a plate and a glass, again, bread and water. He figured it must have been morning, and this was going to be the ritual. It was slightly altered today however, because Sark didn't wake him. Thug #1 waited momentarily and then walked out the door.

Vaughn ate and waited; this was beginning to be a pattern as well. 'All part of the waiting game,' he thought with a smirk.

This morning however, they didn't make him wait long. Thug #1 reappeared and hauled him to his feet roughly.

"Mr. Sloane wants to see you…" he said gruffly.

Vaughn said nothing, but acquiesced and walked the same path that he had that first day. Sloane was sitting at the table again, smiling wickedly.

"Hello Mr. Vaughn…"

Vaughn again said nothing, and took the seat he had occupied earlier.

"Well," Sloane started, his hands folding under his chin, "So…how are you enjoying your stay so far? Are the accommodations adequate?" Sloane said vilely.

Vaughn glared at him, and then smiled.

That threw Sloane off, "Something amusing Mr. Vaughn?"

"The room's nice…little drab for my taste, all that gray…bed's a little bit firmer than I'm used to…but yeah, I'd say it's adequate." Vaughn paused a moment, his forehead crinkling, "I wonder, since you've been so hospitable to me…did you treat Emily that nicely?"

The venom in Sloane's voice, the coldness in his eyes was startling, "You just made this so much easier for me…" he said calmly.

That didn't stop Vaughn from continuing though. He knew what was most likely going to occur, but he wasn't about to take all of this sitting down without a fight. "Just think about it…Emily came to US…she came to the CIA…she turned you in…why is that? I think it's because she'd put up with so much of your shit through the years, she finally had to get away from you…" he paused, "She died because of you…"

Sloane leaned over on the table closer to Vaughn, "You should remember who has the power in this situation Mr. Vaughn…it would be wise for you to hold your tongue…"

"Like Emily did? At least I'd have the guts to kill someone I loved face-to-face instead of slipping something in a glass of wine like you did, you cowar–"

Sloane backhanded Vaughn across the face with a loud, resounding crack. The sound reverberated off the walls, echoing down the empty halls.

Vaughn looked back at Sloane, his cheek stinging. Sloane stood up, straightening his suit and tie and taking a deep breath.

He placed his hands back on the table and sneered at Vaughn, "At least I knew my wife loved me…she was leaving with me…the CIA put a stop to that…my wife was loyal and faithful…can you say the same for Sydney?"

Sloane let those words sink in before he added, "Everyone has their breaking point Mr. Vaughn. Let's see how long it takes to reach yours…"

With that, Sloane nodded to his goons. They moved in again, closing the circle, closing the open space to Vaughn. Two grabbed him from the chair, knocking it over in the process, the sound once again resounding off the cement walls. Vaughn struggled to get free of the arms that were holding him, but even if he were able to get away, where would he go? There wasn't anywhere to run…but he wasn't going to simply let them beat the shit out of him without a fight.

However futile it might be, he refused to stop squirming, making it at least more difficult for them to land solid punches. It was a blur of movement the he couldn't keep up with; there were just too many…punches came at him from all sides, hitting his stomach, his ribs, his chest, his face…he lost track of where and how many. He just knew that when they stopped, his chest was heaving, his head hurt like hell, and he could taste blood in his mouth.

Sloane watched the whole scene unfold with an eager and disgusting delight. He smiled as he watched the man he knew Sydney loved get beaten by his men. It was very vindicating for him. He couldn't help but smile as the punches flew at him, such a wonderful way to get back at Sydney…and eye for an eye…he smiled malevolently as he watched what looked like a particularly nasty punch to the ribs. Vaughn doubled over despite the men holding him, and even Sloane cringed as he saw blood spray from Vaughn's mouth with the impact of that punch. He couldn't be sure, but he would have guessed a rib had broken with that one.

He stood idly regarding the whole beating, only telling them to stop when he could tell Vaughn was close to passing out.

"Take him back to the cell…" Sloane said.

A few of the thugs hauled Vaughn's limp form back to the cell and dropped him on the floor. His body hit it with a loud and painful thud. He groaned with the impact but found the cool surface of the floor to be oddly soothing. It contrasted sharply with the warmth that was spreading across his chest and abdomen. His head was throbbing, the blood pumping loudly in his ears. He tried to sit up gingerly, but stopped that a second after he started. It hurt far too much to accomplish that at the moment. He spit out the blood in his mouth and managed to roll over on his back. He closed his eyes, trying to will the pain away by thinking about Sydney. He was fairly successful, but eventually he gave into the pain and passed out.
End Flashback

He paused, thinking, "The next few days were sort of the same I guess…kinda routine…they'd bring in the bread and water…I'd eat it…they'd come back…we'd have more beatings…it never really went beyond that the first week. I just remember a lot of fists and punches, mostly just holding me while they had their fun. I spent a lot of time in the cell…had lots of time to think…I thought a lot about Sydney…about what she was doing…if she'd find me…how she'd find me…" He paused again, "It started to resemble something more like torture with the second week…"

Flashback
Vaughn woke to the familiar feel of a boot kicking him to wake him. However, this morning's wake-up call was slightly different, in that the boot connected with his side instead of his foot.

He lurched away from the boot, coughing and gasping for air.

The plate landed on the floor by his head, and the glass was placed somewhat more gently, "You've got 10 minutes," Thug #1 said to him.

He forced himself to sit up, his body racked with pain. He leaned against the wall and ate, knowing he had to no matter how much his stomach didn't want to eat. All he could do was wait after he was finished, knowing the inevitable would arrive. It did several minutes later.

Thug #1 and his buddy hauled him to his feet and walked him out to the same table and chair. Vaughn had tried to number all of the thugs at one point, but he only saw each one for small amounts of time; it seemed Thug #1 was on food detail, so he could recognize him more easily.

Sloane hadn't arrived yet this morning, usually he was already seated when they brought Vaughn in. He'd be sitting in the chair like he'd been waiting all morning to witness Vaughn's daily beating. He looked around at the goons, wondering how they got themselves into this detail…

Sloane sauntered with Sark in tow. Both had rather satisfied grins on their faces. Vaughn acknowledged their presence but he didn't even look over at them. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"I've decided to turn over a new leaf today Mr. Vaughn," Sloane announced, "We're going to step up the fun a little bit today…start a new phase…" he smiled ruthlessly. "We'll see how well you hold up…"

Vaughn said nothing, but a fear was rising in him. He had no clue what this 'new phase' was, but he could guess it wouldn't be pleasant.

Two goons picked him up roughly off the chair and walked him to a new part of the warehouse, one he had never seen before. He was still surrounded by concrete walls, but this room was different, it was better…furnished…than the other room. It had two tables, one with binding straps and one without. Against one wall were shackles…Vaughn swallowed hard; this was not going to good at all…

He surveyed the rest of the room. There was a chair with bindings, and a chair that had moving wheels that resembled a normal office chair. There was also a cart, a cart on wheels that looked like it came from a doctor's or dentist office. He could see a tray on top of the cart, covered by a black cloth. He didn't want to know what was under that cloth, but he could bet he'd find out eventually.

Oddly enough, Vaughn noticed a fireplace in the far corner of the room. He thought it an odd place to have a fireplace, it wasn't a homey room…but he was pulled out of his thoughts by Sloane's voice again.

Sloane smiled maniacally as he told Vaughn all about the room, "We'll be spending a lot of time in this room from now on Mr. Vaughn…lots of time…" he walked around the room, trailing his hand over the metal surface of the table with the bindings. "I think you'll grow accustomed very quickly…"

He turned to Sark, "Go ahead Mr. Sark," Sloane said.

Sark moved forward and motioned for the guards to bring Vaughn closer to the fire. He stood in front of the fireplace and then bent down and grabbed a box of matches from the ledge. He lit the match and started the fire. He stood up again and watched as the flames rose in the fireplace.

He turned to Vaughn, "Fire is a fascinating medium. It has so many uses…warmth, it invokes a sense of home, of love…or it can be angry…violent…harmful…" he turned to watch the fire again, "I've always loved watching a roaring fire…it's like a bottle of emotions…subtle…sophisticated…yet unpredictable…"

He nodded to the goons who placed binds on Vaughn's wrists. They attached them to cables that hung down from the wall near the fire. He'd missed those, he thought to himself as they strung him up so he was hanging from the ceiling. They made sure he was anchored and then pulled on the cables so that his feet were barely touching the ground.

He grunted in pain as his chest and abdomen were stretched; already bruised and now being made to conform to absurd postures and positions. Since he was in pain before they actually started, he knew this was not going to go well.

Sark produced a jack knife from nowhere and walked slowly to Vaughn with it. There was nowhere for him to go and he wouldn't give Sark the satisfaction of shrinking away in fear, so he held his ground, as much as his position would allow.

Sark looked in his eyes, and the men shared recognition. Sark was pleased that he didn't beg or move away, but held his ground. Michael Vaughn had guts, he had courage…and Sark could tell he had fortitude as well. He would need that…

The blade of the knife reflected off the dim lights in the room. The reflection danced in Sark's eyes before he slowly reached out his hand and started to pluck the buttons off of Vaughn's blue dress shirt. The tie and holster had been discarded long ago, the suit jacket left in Vaughn's car. The buttons hit the floor, amplified like dropping bombs, countering the silence that permeated the room. The fire was the only other noise as it crackled softly. Once the buttons were gone, Sark opened the shirt and was greeted by Vaughn's undershirt. He brought the knife to Vaughn's neck, but he refused to flinch, and then slowly took the material of the shirt in his hand and sliced through it. He did the same as he walked to the back of Vaughn, slicing the two shirts so that by the end, only four pieces of cloth were hanging from Vaughn's form. Now, Sark had complete access to any part of Vaughn's torso.

He smiled and moved back in front of Vaughn. He looked over the bruises that already covered the man's body. They were ugly purple and black blotches, dotting a large portion of his abdomen. Sark looked to Sloane in permission and Sloane nodded, watching in diabolical delight.

Sark walked back to the fire and placed the knife on what looked like a special ledge for just such a project. He left it there and instead picked up a fire poker. He moved the crackling wood around, prodding into the flames before turning around with the poker in his hand. Vaughn could see the end was red, blazing hot. Sark's gaze drifted from the end of the implement to Vaughn's eyes. Even though he could see the fear reflecting in Vaughn's eyes, he didn't say anything. Vaughn just watched as Sark moved ever closer.

When the poker was within a few inches of his body, Vaughn could feel the heat radiating from it. It hadn't made any contact with him at all, but he could already sense the temperature. Sark turned the poker so that the side and not the sharp end, would brush against Vaughn's flank. Sloane's eyes grew wider and wider as Sark inched closer to Vaughn's flesh.

Vaughn's eyes clenched closed as Sark made first contact with his skin. He didn't cry out at first, just bit down hard on his lip, but that pursuit was futile, the heat and the extreme discomfort was too much and a cry of pain ripped from his chest as Sark pressed the side into his skin.

Vaughn's flesh was still reeling in agony after Sark pulled the poker away. He looked over at Sloane who nodded and Sark placed the poker back on the side of the fireplace and reclaimed his knife. Vaughn's eyes were still clenched tightly but they burst open when he felt the edge of blade on his skin.

Sark ran the blade on his chest, a tiny trail of fire in its wake, and then he slowly put more pressure on the blade, making it slice into Vaughn's body. Vaughn let out a howl as the pain shot through him again, his side still burning from the first injury.

Sark stopped, and watched in fascination as the heat from the blade made the wounds almost immediately cauterize. Things weren't so interesting to Vaughn and he tried unsuccessfully to get leverage to knock Sark over, but it was no use, the binds were securely fastened and Sark could move away too quickly.

Sark looked to Sloane, "Mr. Sloane…did you…"

Sloane nodded and pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. He extracted a lighter from another pocket and spent a few minutes seemingly enjoying his cigar. He approached Vaughn, "Do you smoke Mr. Vaughn?"

Vaughn spit in his face.

Sloane laughed, "Was that a no?" He looked at the cigar, "Pity…I'm not a big smoker myself…but I do occasionally enjoy a good cigar…" He blew a cloud of smoke in Vaughn's face. "You know boy…I can't wait until we have Sydney here with you…I can just see it now…we have two tables you know…two sets of shackles…you could experience it together…"

Sark piped up, "Although as I recall, she rather enjoyed that…at least with me she did…"

Sloane smiled at Sark, "Yes, she's quite a woman…" He spent another minute enjoying his cigar before he walked behind Vaughn, "You know…I look at you…and I see you as three things…First, I see the man that Sydney loves…then I see your father, because you look a lot like him…" he paused, his voice becoming more strained, more angry as he stood behind Vaughn, "Then…then I see you as the man who allowed my wife to get caught in the crossfire…" he pressed the end of the cigar into Vaughn's back.

Vaughn lurched forward, taken somewhat by surprise, but perhaps more by the sensation and the pain it caused. Sloane turned the cigar, making Vaughn's back erupt with agony. Nerve endings all over his body cried out as Sloane moved the cigar to another spot before slowly smoking it again for a few minutes. When Vaughn had calmed down, he did it again, burning him three more times in three different spots.

By that fifth burn, Vaughn was slumped against the restraints, his arms and shoulders burning as they supported the full, almost dead weight of his body. His chin was resting on his chest, his hazy mind close to unconsciousness.

"Put him in the cell…" Sloane said as he puffed away on the cigar again.

Two of Sloane's men unbuckled the restraints and Vaughn's limp form fell into their arms. They dragged him back to the cell, the tattered shreds of his shirts barely clinging to his body, and doing nothing for warmth. They dropped him on the floor carelessly, walked out and closed the door. Before he slipped into darkness, he thought about Sydney…the only thing that was going to keep him alive for this…
End Flashback

"Sloane liked the cigars…that was one of the only things he'd participate in…but…he liked those…I suppose that's why I have so many scars from that…"

He took a long breath, his brow furrowing, "He added more…everyday…like built it up…"