Disclaimer: I don't own the Alex Rider series. The chapter title comes from 'Celebration of The Lzard' by The Doors. Great band. Great song.
Hope lots of people read this and review and make me smile 'cause I'm doing the auld exams at the mo. Ugh. Higher Level Irish and Maths. Nasty stuff. Please make my day.
The lights are on. Apart from the little blue mat there's nothing in this cold grey room. Just grey walls to look at. It's the same size as Yassen's bathroom in Estrov.
Nothing.
No windows. Only grey walls and the acrid stench of blood and heat and dust and sweat that makes him gag.
They drag him out - they throw him back. He curls up in a ball and tries not to vomit. He's got nothing to vomit with. The lights drum down on him and he feels so... bad. He has nothing in here to arm himself with. The chains bite into his wrists and ankles so he can't fight. When they come, he can't do anything but pray it ends.
God. The lights burn a bright blaze into his eyes, drilling into his groggy brain when he tries to shut them out. God. Save me. Help me. Why don't the bulbs ever break? Even for a minute so he can just... just... survive. That's all he wants to do. Is survive. He doesn't care about anything else. He knows he's slowly going crazy. Slowly. He loses touch with reality for minutes on end sometimes. Yassen visits him and sneers at how weak he is.
Daniil smiles when the guards pile in, laughing with them.
Ella beats him with them. Their fists become hers.
Now he's staring at the grey walls again. Breathing in his own smell, terrified. Every small noise sends him shaking. Trembling. The sound of boots on the corridor. It's been so long since he's spoken to anyone. His only human interaction is the beatings. And the torture. And...
The other things they do.
The walls seem to contract and wobble, the boundaries of reality stretching. Not now.
He can't see any of them now.
He wants to be on his own.
Fo how long this time? If he can close his brain down for a bit, maybe he can forget? Maybe if they stay away. Maybe if the lights break. Maybe he can get some sleep. Maybe a long, timeless sleep instead of the half-hour here and there before another bitter wake up.
Perhaps he can die.
No! He has to survive. That last inch of himself must survive, no matter how difficult a feat it is. He has to survive. God, please. That's all that matters. He needs to survive, please God. Please. It's the only thing he lives for.
He has to see snow again. Has to let Daniil know just how funny he is. Has to show Yassen just how much he... needs him. Has to tell Ella how he's wrong. Has to talk with Alex and learn about him from him. Has to swim again. Has to read something. Anything. Has to watch another movie. Has to reply to John. To his...
To his...
To his father.
He turns over on the mat to lie on his back, listening to his beating heart. Vaguely aware of wondering if he's got the energy to pull himself to together and live. Can he really be bothered?
Now is.
Now is.
Now is.
Now is the third day in a row that they've beaten him awake and then back into unconciousness.
He'll never sleep again, why try?
He's tried everything to stop the lights. He's pulled the mat over his head. Burying his face in his arms.
Nothing works.
His face is in the wall.
Seeing only his own hands over his own eyes.
Red fingers on fingers.
Smelling of sweat.
Footsteps on the corridor send him shaking again. The harsh rasp of desert boots send him shying away from the door, trembling even though he knows he shouldn't. He's just weak, that's all. Don't pause at my door. Please God.
The door grates open and the fists start up and he vomits again. And again. And again.
He's not even sure what day it is anymore...
They unlock the door and laugh down at him as he shies away from them subconciously. One of them, a man with wide, freckly hands, grins sadistically as he unhooks the heavy chains anchoring him to the floor and slaps on the hand cuffs. He tightens them cruelly, just because he can.
Jamie's ankles are bound even tighter and chained to his waist to stop any kind of real movement. They place a bag over his head that chokes off all of his senses and he wants to scream but it won't come out.
Another click. They drag him out of his cell and along the cold floor, scraping his bloody legs painfully. He clenches his teeth. He's not going to cry out.
They dump him in a room close by and remove the bag more forcefully than necessary. It's a smaller room with a black table and dimmer lights. Three chairs. It's so warm in the tiny room, as if the heat is all choked up inside. In the far corner he can just make out the gloomy outline of a slanting plank behind him, an old cloth slung on top. The tap on the wall drips ominously, the only sound in the room.
They rip off the shackles painfully and tear off his crumpled, filthy t-shirt and navy trousers, stripping him naked. He remembers when he was given them, they were grimy but a lot cleaner. The days are suddenly clear again and he remembers thinking basic training would have something to do with combat and guns. He wishes suddenly that Yassen had taught him about surviving torture.
They bundle him into one of the plastic chairs and grab his hair, tugging his head, forcing him to look across at the dark haired man. He's wearing a white shirt with his sleeves rolled back and he grins at Jamie. The teenager tries to smother his terror and project calm. The man, Marc Bonnet, reaches across and punches him in the jaw, just for the hell of it.
"James. Feel like talking yet?" he asks. Jamie tries to shake his head but someone forces it down, colliding with the table with a messy cracking sound. Blood spurts out and drops onto the table and he wants more than anything to make it stop. His mind is so scrambled his words come out slowly and exaggerated.
"Just to tell you to fuck off" he shudders. He wants to stop the pain but his mouth won't let him. His body needs relief but he can't stop his brain defying him. He remembers so many past conversations just like this one. Bonnet sneers and clicks. Something slugs him twice and he collapses forward onto the table. He stares up at the man, his vision wavering for a minute, everything resounding twice around his head.
"Well that's just fine. You've been in basic training for twenty days now. It's supposed to end in about eleven, maybe twelve more. But I think we'll keep you back a little longer. It's been so long, Yassen's given up on finding you. I've sent people to his house tonight. Tonight he's going to die, James. And no-one, no-one at all, is going to come for you" Bonnet bares his teeth nastily and Jamie tries to spit at him but all that comes out is blood. They've broken his jaw.
"Or maybe daddy John will swoop in for his little bastard? I know that's what you're thinking. Let's put him to sleep boys. Rack him up" he says.
Something nestles in his stomach, a weight of panic perhaps, as they grab him roughly from the chair. They drag him over to the plank, straightening it with a kick. They lift him up by both ends and hold him down, throwing the built-in straps over his body to hold down his forehead, chest and feet with a vice like grip.
They tip the plank back and he's thrown upside down with a sickening thump. He can feel blood rushing to his head to pool, bare feet in the air.
"Last chance, James. Tell us everything and it'll stop" Bonnet says, standing over him, holding his ankles.
He shakes his head, eyes closed and their hands press down on his shoulders. He hears running water and a cloth lands on his face, more hands holding it down. He can smell the stale odour of the cloth and as his nostrils flare a trickle of water flows through it and down his nose and mouth.
He coughs and splutter, gags and suck the cloth into his nose and mouth, which suffocates him. He struggles and his hands jerk, his whole body racking with shuddering trembles to get away from the straps and he tries to vomit. He groans and it comes out as a slur. Rough hands clamp him down more. Yassen's ghostly face swims before his exhausted mind as water floods his face.
Help me. Help me. Don't let them kill me.
He tries to breath but he can't. Spitting. Gurgling the pouring water. His neck goes rigid with effort to breathe- effort to cough. A slush of the water hits his bloody ears, sending a siren of pain wailing in his head. His jaw is agony and he knows that the blood must be mixing with the water, tainting it scarlet.
"His pain threshold is incredibly high. Remarkable. Look. He's lasted two minutes already. The last Stiletto one we got hold of did a minute and a half and we thought he was tough".
Still the water comes. Drowning him in slow motion. Choking. Suffocating. His lungs are swelling, bursting. They force his neck to go limp and he swallows and swallows more and more water. He's going to survive. They won't let him die. They won't...
"Oh shit. Marc! He's spitting it back up. Marc, his pulse is slowing. We need to..."
"Yassen. You've got to stop sitting by the phone, mate. He's not calling. He can't" Daniil wandered into the hall, scratching a hand through his dishevelled hair. His eyes were bleary and full of sympathy as he leaned against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position. He yawned and stretched, trying futilely to roll the kinks out of his shoulders.
"I know. I'm waiting for a contact in Scorpia to ring back. You know him. David Gills. He works with their tech squad. He promised he'd call me back as soon as he heard how Jamie was doing" Yassen said flatly. Daniil studied his friend, frowning. Yassen looked like microwavable shit. The corners of his lips turned down slightly in a subconcious frown. He hadn't shaved, stubble visible on his face for the first time in years. He had huge dark circles under eyes that looked lost. He bunched both of his fists but other than that remained perfectly still beside the phone.
"When'd you call him?" Daniil inquired, tilting back his neck and closing his eyes. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't.
"Thirty six hours, twenty eight minutes ago. I'm sure he'll get back to me soon" Yassen replied stoicly, not bothering to glance up.
"..."
The steady sound of his breathing was all that could be heard in the hall as Daniil tensed. He wondered absently how Yassen could keep his temper in check. It was a concious struggle for Daniil not to be out, hunting for any Scorpia personnel who might know anything. The fact that no amount of violence would bring Jamie home frustrated him greatly.
"Don't start. I already know, alright? What about Matthew? Did you see him yet? He won't let me take a team to get Jamie. He won't even tell me where they're keeping him. I don't even know where they have him, Daniil. I shouldn't be like this. It's a weakness. But..." Yassen trailed off, rubbing an eye blearily.
"I know. Last night, I dreamt he was still little. Y'know? When he was only seven, maybe eight. I really-"
"Don't. The last thing I need are feelings right now. I want, right now, to leave everything I have. Give up everything I've worked to gain in Stiletto. But I can't leave. We'd never be able to get him on our own. It's what Rothman wants, us to charge at her. I won't give her that. It would be pointless. Besides-"
"We don't even know where he is" Daniil finished.
"Exactly. All we can do right now is follow up on leads. I'm flying to Madrid tomorrow to have a little 'conversation' with certain people. You should hold down the fort here. Make sure nothing gets too badly screwed up and-"
The phone rang loudly, startling both of the Russians. Daniil got to his feet and paced the hall twice, anxiously.
"Hello? Yes. Max? What's wrong?" Yassen said, climbing to his feet aswell. Daniil sighed, disappointed. He'd been hoping that Gills would call back. No such luck. He wandered into the living room and flicked on the television, sinking onto the sofa to watch the news.
"I'm sorry, Yassen. I don't know. Ella told me to get you on the phone and I didn't know if you were still in Estrov or... Have you heard anything about Jamie?" Max's voice crackled down the line, sounding flustered and worried. Yassen jogged up the stairs and into his room, closing the door. He preferred to take calls in complete privacy.
"No, nothing. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth. Anyway, what is it Ella wanted?" Yassen replied flatly, lying down on his bed. He stretched slowly, relishing the hollow relief this distraction gives him.
"I'll put her on. She wouldn't tell me. But I think it's bad. She won't talk to me. She just sits in her bed and crys, Yassen. She won't stop. I don't know what to do" Max confessed, his voice wavering slightly. Yassen frowned at that.
Max wasn't as hard as Ella or Matthew. More his mother than anything else. He was friendly with Jamie but not the same kind of person. More pliable. Less intense. He was slightly soft, having been kept well away from his father's business. But he didn't get upset very easily. If he thought it was bad, it probably was.
"Put her on. Look after Emma Jane, alright? Let me deal with this" Yassen said quietly. Max mumbled a thank you and Yassen listened to the fumbling noises over the phone as the handset was passed to someone, presumably Ella. He blinked twice before rolling on his side and snagging a proplus tablet from his bedside locker, dry swallowing it. He needed to be awake. When he slept, nightmares sniffed him out.
"Yassen?" Ella's voice was jagged and empty of anything but misery and perhaps fury.
"Yes?"
"I'm pregnant and it's Jamie's"
Yassen realised he was going to need more proplus tablets.
Proplus tablets are stay awake pills, just in case you didn't know.
If the Yassen bit seems a little dragged, it's because I wrote the dialogue first at 2 A.M and then filled in the descriptions and stuff.
Rightey oh. There's the Jamie chapter I've been looking to get out for a while.