Chapter 177: Cerebration
"The best part about writing is stopping." – Colin Walters
"The easiest thing to do on earth is not write." – William Goldman
"The writer is one who, embarking upon a task, does not know what to do." – Donald Barthelme
"When I'm writing, the darkness is always there. I go where the pain is." – Anne Rice
Vaughn booted the laptop and waited for all the programs to load and then clicked on the file marked 'Journal.'
He scrolled down to the last page and moved the cursor down to the next paragraph. He read over the last lines he'd wrote, about that first day of torture, and sat a moment, trying to think of what to write next.
"I spent a lot of time waiting in the cell…thinking…except for torture sessions, I spent the vast majority of my time in that cell…they brought the food in there, the same bread and water everyday, until they decided to take that away for a while too. That second day – Sloane kept trying to bait me, and I wouldn't let him. I brought up Emily, played defiant…it didn't go so well…just made him mad, which I suppose was my point at the time. I just wanted to feel like I wasn't taking all of this lying down. I had to do something. They," he struggled with how to explain actual torture to Sydney, but as he thought, he realized, if he was going to be honest, then she needed to know everything, "They just beat me up that first time, and took me back to the cell. I hated the cell…but it was oddly comforting as well. It was home while I was there, such as it was and it was always the place they took me back to – it was like the only place that I could have solace. And I thought about you…"
"That first week was mostly just beatings, punches…the second week – that's when the real torture started. That day I was introduced to the torture room, where most of the rest of the torture was carried out. It was the same concrete walls, but this room was more equipped. It had two tables, one with binding straps, one without. Shackles on the wall, chair with bindings," Vaughn stopped, trying to think of the logistics of the room, "Cart with tools on it, office chair, and the fireplace…" he stopped again, shuddering, "They strung me up to the ceiling and Sark took over then. He burned me with a fire poker before he burned me and cut me with his jackknife. Sloane did his cigars next…that was the only part of the torture he actively participated in for awhile. He thoroughly enjoyed that part."
Vaughn stopped, trying to calm himself, already knowing what he was going to say next, "I don't think it's possible to relate what something like that feels like…it was bad enough with Sark, but Sloane, he took pleasure in burning me. That's why I have so many of the burns…he'd tell me all about you and how you were going to be there with me soon…how I was partly responsible for Emily's death…how he wanted to make us suffer…The," he stopped, struggling to type the next words, "The smell of your own flesh burning, mixing with the scent of expensive Cuban cigars…that will never leave me. And knowing…knowing what he was doing, I think that was worse…but later, the not knowing wasn't any better. It's not a matter of lesser evils; both are evil. "
Sydney stood in the living room for a few minutes, deciding what she should do while Vaughn was journaling. She already decided against TV, and she didn't feel like reading anymore of the book she had picked up earlier. She'd had a relaxing evening, just hanging out with Francie, having girl time. The time they spent at Rita's had been wonderful, hair, nails; the whole event was a great change. She suddenly felt the urge to take a bath. They'd taken one this morning, but the evening had been rather lazy, and Sydney wanted nothing more than for that to continue. She debated whether or not to take a bath without Vaughn, but he was busy, and it would be nice to just recline in the tub for a while.
She ran the faucet, and added some lavender bath mix to the running water. Soon, the tub was filled with soapy white bubbles and the room was filled with the aroma. She lit two candles before checking the temperature and shutting off the flow.
She eased into the water, the bubbles tingling against her skin as she reclined, her head against the edge of the tub. She just soaked, eyes closed, trying to let everything float away. Of course, everything floated except Vaughn, but that wasn't a negative thing by any means. Sydney smiled while she mused about him, thoughts running in and out of her foggy, lavender scented brain.
She thought about his defiance tonight over the greasy food and found herself giggling. She was glad he stood up for himself, despite the fact that she didn't agree with his choice of cuisine. She thought about 'take charge Vaughn' in relation to his small outburst tonight. She realized as she was soaking there that the old Vaughn was slowly making more appearances. She was proud of him more and more.
She sat another few minutes, thoughts meandering until she settled on him writing. Right now, in the next room, he was busy pouring his heart out on the screen, telling all about what had happened to him. What would she be reading when he was done? What would that computer screen contain? What kinds of horrendous things had they done to him that she didn't know about? The water in the tub turned colder, and before she realized it, tears were slowly falling, mingling with the bathwater.
The more she thought, the more she wondered if she really wanted to read this…she wanted to know…needed to know what happened to him, but the thought of reading about his agony, about his torment, that didn't sit well at all. More than anything, he needed to do this, and she knew that he needed her to know as well. So, she'd read it…no matter what the cost to her own emotions.
Her crying stopped, and she composed herself, trying to relax again in the water…
"I thought about fear a lot – then and now…when I was in the cell, alone, I'd think about what they had in store, and that was always scary. The things I imagined, well my imagination wasn't as good as theirs it seemed. But thinking about it, all the time, it does something to you. At first, all I thought about was you. Getting out, escaping somehow, planning how I could make a break, how you would burst through the door and get me out. But after the first few weeks, it starts to wear. You start thinking if you'll get out at all; escape routes become impossible and irrelevant. I started to think less and less about getting out, and more and more about what they had done already and what more they could do. Towards the end, I would have gladly invited death. I tried to be defiant in the beginning, not let Sloane get his way, not let him get to me, but again, after a while, you start to believe it…they were good at torturing. No matter what my mind, my heart told me somewhere deep down, about you, about the CIA, about anything; no matter how much I knew it subconsciously, when you're there…it's impossible not to fall into what they're saying." He stopped and took a deep breath and ran his hand over his face, massaging his eyes and collecting his thoughts.
"I would spend hours arguing with myself in my head, warring thoughts, knowing what was true and what I perceived from them. Analyzing how they could have stumbled upon certain information. How they knew something about you, about me…about us. I knew that all that information could be found in records, records which Sloane possessed, but at the time, those thoughts don't come into play. I wasn't even thinking rationally at the end." Vaughn stopped and thought about Sydney's mother. 'Should I tell her about that?' he asked himself. 'Perhaps later…'
He started at the screen and yawned, 'Wow…this is really tiring…' He thought a few more moments, trying to decide where to go next, what to say next…but he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He tried to think of more to say, but his eyelids kept betraying him, dropping ever so often. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a minute…
Sydney let the water out of the tub and grabbed a towel to dry herself off. The tub was left with millions of suds and bubbles, the scent of lavender still evident in the room. She started to dry her hair with another towel as she attempted to get the elusive froth out of the tub. Once that was accomplished, she went over to the mirror and replaced the towel with her robe. She combed her hair and put it up in a loose ponytail and finished getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and other necessities.
She was about to walk back into the bedroom, when a thought hit her. She and Vaughn had yet to play 'Show and Tell' tonight. She knew he was writing, but it'd been well over an hour and she was sure he'd gladly forgo his academic pursuit for her.
She smiled evilly and let the robe fall to the floor. She walked slowly and deliberately into the bedroom, coming around the side of the bed and standing next to it. Her gaze moved to include his form, and she almost died laughing.
Her idea of surprise 'Show and Tell' would have to wait, because one of the main participants was fast asleep on the bed. She smirked and walked back to the bathroom to get her robe, put it on and then walked back. She dressed in comfortable pajamas and then tried to hide her laughter as she saved his file and powered the laptop down. She took it off his lap and put it on the chair and then turned off all the lights, save the one that was always left on. She ran her hand in his hair, frowning slightly when she wondered how much this was actually taking out of him. He seemed much more exhausted after writing…She shook her head and then gently pulled him down, and he moved down on the bed without waking.
Sydney got in next to him and snuggled closely, his arm instinctively wrapping around her and pulling her near.
She loved when he did that, possessive yet sweet. She turned her head up to look at him; he was sleeping peacefully. She was so lucky…lucky to have him in the first place, luckier to have him back. She didn't even want to think about a life without him. That was completely antithetical at this point – it was Sydney and Vaughn – that was how it would be. Her smile while watching him sleep took a turn when she thought about Sloane. Truthfully, he didn't enter her thoughts much anymore; she was too wrapped up in Vaughn and what he needed, what they both needed. She didn't have time to worry about what he was doing at the moment. However, when the time came, when Vaughn was better…God help that man, because she was coming…and she was bringing hell with her. She wouldn't let anyone hurt him…not again…not if she had any control whatsoever. This would never happen to him again…
She smiled again, calming, her thoughts settling as she watched him. Nothing was more comforting, more beautiful than watching him rest. She replaced her head on his chest and burrowed into him, loving the feel of his arm around her, his scent surrounding her, lulling her off with him to sleep…
