So just a little warning, this chapter and the one that follows are gonna be a bit darker than the rest of the story—though still not particularly graphic. And while this is probably the most disturbing thing I've ever written (and believe me I did feel evil writing bits of it)—compared to some fics out there—it's actually fairly tame.
Chapter Twenty—Running Out of Time
To say that Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis was worried would have been an understatement. Desperate and frantic were more like it, though even those words seemed insufficient to describe his emotions.
Innocent should have returned from the hospital ages ago. This wasn't like her at all. The chief superintendent was always punctual, and on the rare occasion that she wasn't, she made sure to call in advance to inform everyone of her delay. Furthermore, Lewis had phoned her mobile countless times since then, no one picked up. He'd then phoned the hospital and had been informed that the chief superintendent had checked out at the desk over three hours previously.
He'd decided to try Hathaway then to see if he knew where the chief superintendent might've gone; the two of them were, after all, temporary flatmates—albeit reluctant ones. But James too wasn't answering either his mobile or his landline—though Lewis had tried both several.
Lewis had then been forced to confront what he'd secretly been fearing from the start: Innocent and Hathaway were together, and wherever they were, they were in danger.
Robbie sprinted down to IT and informed the team there of the situation. The information used to trace Hathaway's and Innocent's mobiles soon revealed a signal coming from the same house in Jericho. Lewis wrote down the exact address and informed the others to call him right away if the signal changed location.
Then, he ran off in search of Strange, eventually finding the former (and now current, if only temporarily) chief superintendent having a cup of coffee in the break room with his former protégé DS Adrian Kershaw. After taking a moment to catch his breath, Lewis explained what he'd learned and revealed his intention to go after his two fellow officers.
Expecting a protest from Strange, Lewis was shocked when no real objection was made. Provided that Lewis agreed to take two additional cars of back-up with him, Strange agreed to give him permission. Robbie's surprise intensified when Kershaw insisted upon coming along.
" James is my friend too," the younger man reminded him, " and I can't bear the thought of anything happening to Innocent either. Besides, you're going to need all the help you can get."
After contacting the officers who would serve as back-up and finding driving directions online, Lewis and Kershaw hurried out to the car park, where Robbie was confronted by the last person in the world he wanted to see right now—unless of course Lewis counted the bastard who'd taken his friends, in which case the man standing in front of him was only the second-worst person imaginable.
" I went down to IT for a quick question," Harvey Malcolm said. " And I heard them saying something about Jean…and your sergeant," he added as an afterthought, "being in some sort of trouble." Malcolm's voice was strained, and Robbie could hear the fear in it.
" Yeah," Lewis replied coolly. " That's true. Now, if you'll excuse us, Sergeant Kershaw and I have a very pressing engagement."
" Oh, my God." Malcolm let in a sharp intake of breath. "You're going after them—aren't you?"
" Never mind that. Just get out of the way!"
" Take me with you."
Lewis gaped at him." What?"
" You heard me, take me with you." For the first time since Lewis had known him, Harvey Malcolm was pleading—not imploring, not requesting, but actually pleading. " I…I need to see her…tell her I'm sorry…make sure that she's not… but she can't be…not …not Jean." He sounded not, as though he truly believed what he was saying, but rather that he was trying to convince himself that this was the truth.
Lewis took a moment to study the other man, realizing that Malcolm was being serious. Innocent's former lover was breathing heavily and shaking slightly, trying to hold back what appeared to be unshed tears. Something almost like pity moved in Lewis's heart for the man; obnoxious and perverted as he was, Harvey Malcolm must have had a heart after all.
" Alright, " Lewis said a moment later. " But under one condition: that you do exactly what I say, no questions asked."
" But surely as the senior officer, I…" Malcolm protested.
The inspector pushed past him." Then, we're leaving you behind."
" No, wait! I'll…I'll do it! I don't like it, but I'll do it."
Lewis smiled. " That's the first sensible thing you've said all week. Now, get in the car, Harvey, and you too, Adrian. We've got to hurry."
Although Innocent was doing her best to escape from Trout's grasp, there was very little that she could do. He was—after all—half a foot taller than she was and probably twice as heavy She bit and kicked and punched every inch of him that she could reach but to no avail. He did not seem at all perturbed her by her attempts to fight back. Quite the contrary, he seemed amused.
Once they had finally reached a door at the top of the staircase, he whispered in her ear, " Keep struggling, darling. It makes it all the more fun for me. I like it rough—don't you remember?"
He opened the door and pushed her inside. She tripped and landed sharply on the wood floor. She gingerly got to her feet and winced at the pain in her knees. It would be difficult to try to run away like that, even if she hadn't been wearing heels.
She had to try, had to make an attempt. But she was hurt, and Trout's massive figure was still blocking the door.
Maybe, there'd be time after… after it (Jean couldn't bring herself to call what was about to happen to her by its proper name) happened. Maybe Trout would fall asleep once he'd taken what he wanted. Maybe she'd be able to sneak out then.
It was a faint hope, but it gave her courage and reminded her of the task at hand: get out and find James. That was all she cared about anymore, and regardless of what Trout did to her, she was going to get out and find James. She couldn't consider the alternative so she kept repeating her goal like a mantra in her mind.
' Get out and find James'. Get out and find James. Get out…'
Eventually, Trout moved away from the door and walked toward her. She forced herself to keep focusing on what she needed to do, but she couldn't stop the involuntary shudder when Trout touched her face.
" Nice, very nice. You're not nearly as pretty now as you were then, but I think you'll do.' He moved his hand down from her face and onto her chest. ' Yes, I think you'll do perfectly.'
' Get out and find James,' she tried to remind herself, but it was so hard to focus on anything else when Trout's hand was on her. It was as though nothing had changed in the fifteen years that had passed. He was still big and cruel and terrifying, and she was still small and afraid and weak.
No, not weak. She was bloody extraordinary—that's what she was. Hadn't Hathaway told her that only a few moments ago, though it seemed a lifetime? Hadn't her own mother told her that more times than she could remember?
Emboldened by this new sense of purpose, she worked out a gob of saliva and spit it into Trout's eye. The slap came before she could blink.
" You're certainly feisty—aren't you? That Smythe girl was a feisty one too," he said, eyes shining with nostalgia. "But in the end, she knew when to quit. And you will too; I'll make sure of it. Before I'm done with you, you'll have lost all resistance."
" No, I won't. Whatever you do to me, I'm going to keep fighting."
He grabbed her arm and twisted it sharply behind her back, making her flinch in pain. He then brought his mouth close to her ear, moving near enough for her to smell his rancid breath." You're not going to have a choice. I want you broken—first your spirits and then your body. Just the way you broke me." He released his grasp on her arm and threw her to the floor. Do you have any idea what prison did to me?"
She did her best to look him in the eye, aware that breaking eye contact would reveal how truly afraid she was." I didn't 'break' you at all. Prison was your own choice, a fitting punishment for your crimes. A perfect cage for a monster."
" Oh, monster—am I? I'm not the monster here; you are—you and that Smythe girl and all your kind. Bloody teases! The way you prance around in those short skirts and high heels. And you were the worst of all, batting those pretty little eyes if you thought it would get you a clue. You led me on, tempted me until I couldn't stand it anymore. And then, just when I was so damned close to having you…you just had to spoil my fun—didn't you? And then the trial came, and you batted those pretty little eyes at the jury, and I lost everything—my home, my self-respect, my friends, my career. And I swore then and there, that somehow I'd make you pay, that someday I'd destroy you the way that you destroyed me."
Maybe there was another way to get out of this. Maybe if she could just keep him talking…"You were…you were dead? How?"
" A few friends in high places will get you anywhere. I take it you've never heard of Edmund Flannery?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Well, he's heard of you. He had a half-brother that you might remember though, George King."
Innocent shrugged. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but nothing was readily coming to mind. She shouldn't have been too surprised. She'd been on the force for so long that many of the names and faces had started to blur together in her mind.
" Poor chap," Trout continued a minute later, "died in prison with a nasty case of HIV he'd contracted there. Another man who you'd destroyed." He emphasized this point with a sharp punch to Innocent's gut. "Anyway, after ol' Georgie snuffed it, his brother learned that he and I had something in common: we both wanted you put in your proper place."
He paused for a moment, mouth curving in a crooked smile—no doubt imagining exactly what he planned to do with her over the next few hours. Jean found that she could not supress a shudder of her own at the thought.
Eventually, Trout drew himself out of the reverie and continued his story. "Now Edmund Flannery's a respectable gent; he didn't want to dirty his hands with murder, but he was more than willing to help me get away with it. A few well-placed bribes to a few dodgy prison guards, and I was home-free, dead as far as the world was concerned but still very-much alive. Of course, I had to kill 'em afterwards—couldn't risk them blabbing. Flannery too, though I was a bit more careful with his remains and was able to get good use out of his bank account and credit card before people realised he was missing. Even bought this charming place with his money, though it's listed under a false name."
Innocent looked around the room. There was really nothing particularly "charming" about it: the strong scent of mothballs, a ceiling covered with mildew, windowless walls in bad need of a paint job. So this was to be her fate, then? To be forced onto the lumpy bed in the corner and used until Trout grew bored with her and decided to take the menacing-looking silver knife off the badly-scratched end table?
' Not if I can help it.' She continued to glance around the room in search of something that could help her get out of here. The only useful thing she saw was the knife, but it would be tricky to get ahold of it. And knowing Trout, she wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he had another knife on his person.
" Lovely," she drawled sarcastically, making an effort not to show any of the fear that had taken hold of her. " You really must give me the name of your interior decorator."
" I'm so glad you like it, because it's going to be the last place you ever see." He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her over to the bed. " Enough talk. I've waited fifteen years for this; I'm not going to wait much longer."
Hathaway sat up in the dark room. He reached up to touch his head and felt a lump there.
' Must have happened when my head hit the floor, after …'
Everything came back to him at once. James got to his feet carefully and felt around in the dark. He couldn't see where he was going, but he didn't care. He had to get out—had to find Jean.
But what if it was already too late? He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. It had felt like only a few minutes, but for all he knew, it might have been hours.
He kept going, trying not to think about what Trout might have already done to Innocent or might be in the process of doing right now as Hathaway stood here, useless and trapped in this dark, dank basement.
James felt himself trip over something but quickly rose to his feet and kept going. Eventually, he found the doorknob. He reached for it and soon realized that it was locked. Though it took him several tries, the sergeant eventually succeeded in breaking down the door with a strong, well-aimed kick. Not even taking a moment to mentally congratulate himself on a job well done, James walked through the doorframe and up the stairs. He heard the loud unmistakable sound of mattress springs coming from a room nearby and walked over, noticing that the door was slightly ajar.
Without stopping to plan what he'd do when he got inside the room, Hathaway opened the door completely and walked through it.