Warnings: Rape, sexual torture
Chapter Three:
Kamekona is an entrepreneur, and he'll usually tell everyone that fact as least a couple times per week. Right now, though, he's a babysitter. Again. This time, it's his choice, so he feels better about missing out on some pretty good business.
"Mahalo," Mary says when he hands her a shave ice topped with everything.
"On the house," he replies, thinking how much she's like her brother as she hunches over the cone and picks at it.
"Do you know why I was run off the road?" He tries to pretend he didn't know the question was coming. When he doesn't answer, Mary stands up. Her eyes are stony, like McGarrett's, and he feels a lump form in his throat.
"Word on the underground is your brother's been taken by a maika'i 'ole 'uhane, a bad spirit. Other than that, you'll have to talk to the police. My ear will be on the street for you, pretty sistah."
"But you can't help me." Mary sighs and sits down to poke at the melting dessert. She finally takes a bite, and Kamekona nods approvingly. Then he sits down next to her and throws an arm around her shoulder when she starts crying silently.
A few moments later, Kono drops into the seat across from them, a stack of photographs held against her chest.
Mary nods, "Is that what you wanted me to look at?"
Kono smiles and hands them to her, taking the remainder of the shave ice and eating it in large bites. Mary spreads out the photos, arranging them until she has the message in order, then she grabs a pen and a notepad from Kamekona's pockets. She works quickly, scribbling and crossing out half-written words that make no sense to Kamekona. He leaves them at the table while he goes to his kitchen to get more sweets for Kono.
When he returns, Kono's in his seat, and she and Mary are murmuring, heads together, following Mary's completed translation.
"McGarrett leave that for you?" He says more to announce his presence than to know if the reddish smears were left by the haole-native. He glances at Mary's notes and sees a lot of Pidgin waiting to be spoken. "That come from the message?"
"Yes," Kono says. "Mary noticed a pattern marking these letters separate from the rest of the message. Do you know what it says?"
Kamekona reads silently, moving his lips as the words turn into letters and reform into new words. Whatever McGarrett was trying to say, he didn't say it very well. "I don't know what he means," he finally says, handing the paper back to Mary. "He wrote 'the greatest enemy was once a friend' and 'a mirror reflects what we want or don't want to see, never what we need to see.' That means nothing to me. How 'bout you?"
Kono looks up from the photos to find him staring at her. "Um," she says, "I think it's another code. What do you think?"
"I think—" Mary sighs, interrupting herself. "I think Kono's right, and it's a code." She ducks her head to examine the Pidgin again, comparing it to Kamekona's translation. "I think it also has something to do with Five-Oh's cases. Maybe."
"Or Joe White," Kono supplies. "'Greatest enemy' and 'once a friend.' I'll go update Danny and Chin." She stands up, and Mary does too. "You should come with me. Just in case that whacko comes back."
Mary nods, carefully picking up all the pictures and notes, while Kono helps Kamekona finish off the melted desserts.
"We'll find him," Kono says. "I promise you we will."
"I hope so," Mary says, hugging Kamekona before she climbs into the passenger seat of Kono's little car. "I really hope so."
"Hey, come with," Kono says, opening the backseat for Kamekona to squeeze his big-boned body into. "If that guy from the van saw you, you might be in danger too."
"Okay, little sistah," Kamekona says. His business is doing well enough right now that he can afford to lose one day of business. As long as it's just one, he thinks. He really hopes they find McGarrett and soon.
ooOoo
Wo Fat finally runs out of needles and knives. He glances down at the barely-conscious McGarrett, sourly noting that McGarrett still refuses to answer anything satisfactorily.
McGarrett's breathing is irregular, full of soft whimpers and short cries of pain. He's got a couple of steak knives, cheap little things, melted into his arms, along with five needles in each finger of the left hand. His stomach is scored by a hot butter knife Wo Fat ran over his flesh. The physical torture is not persuasive enough. Oh, certainly McGarrett is in pain, but he still refuses to say anything, and he has actually resorted to stating his rank and serial number over and over again. It's time to switch tactics.
Such a shame, Wo Fat thinks. He is almost a worthy opponent.
Ah, well. He must adapt to the situation presented or risk losing the information he desperately seeks.
With a shrug that's not quite indifferent, he reaches out to cut McGarrett's pants.
"I thought you said I had six hours," McGarrett rasps, voice scratchy and cracking. "It hasn't been two yet."
"You wish to continue this method that attacks your body, why? It will only lead to your death." Wo Fat uses pliers to remove the knife from McGarrett's left arm. Although the wound itself is cauterized, blood still weeps from where the blade had been. "If you want me to continue this method for the full six hours, your heart will become overtaxed and you will die before I achieve what I want." Calmly, he removes the knife in the right arm, and McGarrett grunts in pain.
The needles leave drops of blood on his fingers as they are pulled out, but McGarrett doesn't make any more noise. His eyes glaze over, unfocused and drifting slightly, as Wo Fat slices off his boxer shorts.
Wo Fat picks up McGarrett's penis and rolls it in his hands. It begins firming, hardening, as he carefully tugs on it. So gentle compared to his previous groping.
Earlier, when collecting the utensils for the torture, he had also grabbed a duffle bag filled with his sexual torture devices. He searches through it quickly, locating the specialty bag. From the bag, he pulls a thin metal rod and a large speculum. While McGarrett pants through his erection, face set so sternly his forehead creases thickly, Wo Fat slips the metal blades of the speculum between his lips.
"This is the only consideration you will receive," Wo Fat says, pulling and pushing the handle so the device rocks in McGarrett's mouth. "We'll see how you've done." He rips it out and sets it against McGarrett's rectum.
"No," McGarrett says sharply, like he expects to be obeyed. Wo Fat doesn't stop, slides the blades in centimeter by centimeter, relishes the way it drags through the soft tissue, settles deep into McGarrett's channel. Then he opens it.
"Stop, please stop," McGarrett begs, writhes on the device, cries out as it slips in until the handle stops it. The erection is gone, flagged by the sudden spike of pain. Wo Fat is unconcerned. He can put the rod in now and re-erect McGarrett, and it will be more painful.
No lubrication, not even spit, makes its way onto the rod before Wo Fat puts it against McGarrett's piss-slit. Instead of continuing to beg, McGarrett falls silent as the rod is pushed into him. Even when Wo Fat increase the speed and depth at which he is inserting the sound, McGarrett makes no noise.
This is not good.
Angered, he shoves on the speculum, forcing the handle hard against the sphincter and the testes above. McGarrett arches with it, gasping as the pain increases for a terrible minute.
"Who is Shelburne?" Wo Fat twists the speculum, calm again now that McGarrett is releasing small whimpers of pain.
"I don't know. No one's told me."
There is truth in McGarrett's eyes, truth in his voice. Wo Fat spins the speculum again anyway. Then he moves away from the bed. McGarrett's eyes follow him as he leaves the room. He returns shortly with a lamp, a simple bulb attached to a pole with a wide, circular base. It's off right now, but he'd turned it on before he started torturing McGarrett. It is very hot.
The base is removable, and the pole is sectioned, and Wo Fat takes off pieces until he's left with the bulb on a two-foot stick with a thread-covered grip. The plug remains attached, and it dangles, thumping against the floor with an indiscernible rhythm. He checks the speculum, cranking it open a few more notches while McGarrett begins fighting his bonds again.
"Don't do it," McGarrett says, voice tight with fear. "Please, man, I don't have the information you want. I can't help you even if you do this. Please stop. Stop! Stop!"
Wo Fat doesn't stop. He can barely hear McGarrett anyway. His concentration is great, watching the way McGarrett's hole tries and fails to close on the speculum. He places the bulb inside McGarrett's rectum, shoving it in and forcing it deep. Distantly, he hears McGarrett screaming and smells his burning flesh. He focuses on the way the grip bites into his palm before pulling the bulb out. He waits a few seconds, barely aware that McGarrett has stopped screaming, and then he pushes it back in.
Rape has always been an unpleasant thing for Wo Fat, but his father taught him well. McGarrett breaks when he plugs the lamp in.
"Shelburne was my mother. She died in a car explosion when I was fifteen. You killed her. You've already got your revenge."
"No, Shelburne is still alive," Wo Fat says. He thinks back to when his own father was killed—an assassin shooting the man at Wo Fat's engagement party. He'd set the car bomb for Mrs. McGarrett because the cop they'd gotten to investigate was not doing as good of a job as he should. He'd meant to kill the cop's kids too, but he'd met Mary McGarrett, an innocent child grieving for the parent torn from her, and he'd let them live. Obviously, it was a mistake since this McGarrett has done nothing but interfere with his business since coming back to the island.
"Shelburne is dead," McGarrett reasserts, eyeing the lamp that is still heating up, and still stuck in him. "You think my own mother would fake her death and run away from her responsibilities?"
"My mother was the same."