Chapter 9: The Descent
- Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Each notice makes me happy! This chapter is dedicated to LLCoyote and Kaylee for their lovely reviews :)
Thank you also to xyber116 for beta'ing this chapter.
Trigger warnings: POV torture, allusions to Non-con
I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.
Seven-and-a-half years after The Blackout
Rachel didn't know what time it was, what day is was, even what the damn month was. All she knew was that Bass was done "whiffle-waffling around," and wanted to know how to turn the power back on by "any means necessary."
After that poorly executed interview with Miles, he had turned her over to Bass. Miles was supposed to have let her go, but things didn't exactly work out according to her scheme.
And Bass was worse; Miles hadn't told him anything and he didn't believe that the power couldn't be turned back on. He had tried being courteous for a few months; then he started threatening her – and her family – for information and eventually, after many attempts to convince him she knew nothing, something inside him snapped.
She didn't know how long she'd been in this tenebrous broom-closet. At random intervals a militiaman opened the door, blinded her with his lamp-light, exchanged her slop-bucket and water-pitcher for fresh, and asked if she was ready to talk. She never was; if this was her cosmic punishment for ending the world, then so be it.
She didn't know how long she been in this 36" x 18" x 6' cell. All she knew was that she had become apathetic and no longer felt hungry or thirsty. She estimated that it had been more than a week but less than three.
In the beginning, she plotted ways to escape. She picked at her handcuffs, trying to deduce their mechanism, and thus how to open them. It seemed so easy in the movies, but without tools it was damn near impossible. She pried a nail out of the closet paneling, using teeth, fingers, and determination. She eventually damaged the locking mechanism sufficiently. In the beginning, the militiamen came in pairs, one to watch her while the other swapped out the buckets. They noticed her damaged handcuffs, and this triggered Bass' first visit…
She shook her head, forcibly dislodging the memory.
In the beginning, she kept herself hydrated, knowing that water was vital for catabolism. She had tried to keep herself occupied by trying to remember exactly how her body fat was being broken down into energy by beta-oxidation followed by the Krebs cycle, but after several futile hours gave up, it had been too many years, and biochemistry was never her favorite sub-discipline of chemistry. Inorganic chemistry – especially studying silicon – now, that was pure chemistry. So, she listed off all of the common silicon dopants like boron and phosphorous, and eventually tried to name all the Lanthanides and Actinides. Her frustration at being unable to remember one of the fourteen Lanthanides made her switch to something easier.
Rachel easily named all fifty states, and most of their capitals. Boring.
She then switched to reciting poetry. Ben had gone through a phase where he'd write Shakespearean sonnets on notes for her. Ben was always seeing her through his own lens. He thought poetry would keep their marriage together, when she'd rather he just do half of the dishes.
As far as poetry was concerned, Rachel personally preferred William Blake's cynical Songs of Experience. Rachel recited the Clod and the Pebble, but the poor naïve little Clod of Clay reminded her too much of Ben. The Tyger reminded her of their own hubris, of creating the nanites that ended the world, and then knowingly turning them over to Randall Flynn. But A Poison Tree, now that was a poem that fit this situation oh so well. "I was angry with my foe: / I told it not, my wrath did grow. / And I watered it in fears, / Night and morning with my tears; / And I sunned it with smiles, / And with soft deceitful wiles. / … /In the morning glad I see / My foe outstretched beneath the tree."
She had recited A Poison Tree a hundred thousand times, under her breath, a mantra – an incantation against Bass. But now, now she didn't even have the spirit, the energy, to recite the poem. She just sat knees-to-chin, fiddling with her wedding ring, next to the full water-pitcher and the empty slops-bucket. She knew she should be concerned that she hadn't used the bucket in who-knew-how-long, but that took energy, energy she just didn't have.
Fifteen years after The Blackout
Miles stared longingly at his almost empty bottle of scotch. Sometimes he wished he could literally crawl into a bottle. The opposing forces of trying to keep his word to Rachel, the need to have Charlie not hate him, and trying to lead without becoming "The General" again were tearing him apart. He knew the fighting was hardening Charlie – probably too much, certainly more than Rachel would want – and she refused to get help from him, even talk to him, until he told her what he had done to her mom.
God. Where to start? Before Miles would be able to confess half of his sins Charlie would have fled from the sight of him, and would never look at him with those blue eyes again. Those eyes saw him as a better man, a man worthy of respect. He had tried lately to be that kind of man. For her.
If Miles started chronologically, he would have to tell Charlie about how he had had a weekend-fling with a hot, kinky, (or so he thought at the time) college co-ed, and had found out Sunday afternoon when Ben came over to apologize, that she was Ben's girlfriend of two-and-a-half years. Rachel claimed they had broken up, Ben said it was just a stupid fight, and Miles was caught in the middle of that shit-storm. It took years for Ben to forgive him, and Rachel just pretended it never happened.
Miles took a swig of scotch. Charlie might not hate him after that story, but she would after the next.
Everyone – Bass, Miles, Ben, Rachel, and little Charlie were staying at Dad's place in Indiana after the Monroe family funeral. Miles had found Bass at his family's graves and stopped him from doing anything stupid. They had gone to a bar to properly mourn, and Miles had gotten too shit-faced to drive them home. He had called Ben's cell for a ride, but Rachel picked up instead. A very pregnant Rachel picked them up in her station wagon and had helped Miles get Bass situated on the couch. He had been staying in Miles' old room, but Rachel didn't think they could get him up to the second floor. Rachel was helping Miles up the stairs to his old room and he had gotten a whiff of her lavender body-wash and his mind flashed back to their fling.
Miles had pressed her against the banister, kissing her neck, tangling his hands in her hair. Apparently, she had told him 'no' several times but he didn't remember that. What he could remember was that he had her blouse halfway off when his world contracted to a painful starburst centered on his balls. He had leaned against the other banister while she told him, "Get out of this house, I don't want to see your sorry-ass face until you're sober."
This would probably be the point where Charlie spat at him and stormed off into the night, never to be seen by him again. Every girl certainly would want to hear that her Uncle almost raped her pregnant Mom, right? Miles snorted at himself. He had harbored a lot of guilt about that incident and after he had sobered up – on the Monroe back porch of all places – he had called Bass and told him as little as possible while getting him to pack up both of their shit and leave the house. That was the last time Miles saw Rachel until years after The Blackout. He knew she never told Ben what had happened and he had made every excuse he could to avoid Ben and his family – he couldn't bear looking at 'em. The only time he couldn't get out of it, was watching little Charlie during tiny Danny's surgery – He just couldn't say no to Ben, not under those circumstances – but at least he hadn't had to see Rachel.
Miles shot-gunned the rest of the scotch in his glass and poured himself another.
If, which was highly doubtful, Charlie had stuck around to hear more – maybe insisting that Alec wouldn't know any of this, thus he must have done something else – then he have to get to the event that would really drive her away. He had taken Rachel away from Charlie. Had kept her away from her family for all these years. Had been directly in charge of her keeping for most of three years. Had tortured her, had let Bass torture her, hadn't questioned Bass when he said she had died – at least not after seeing the broken body.
Miles rolled a slug of scotch around in his mouth. Yeah, there was no fucking way he was gonna tell Charlie any of that, he thought, but he didn't want to lie to her either. Was there some part of the truth he could tell her, convince her by omission that that was it, that that what Alec was telling her about, without her utterly despising him?
Miles wondered what would happen to him if Charlie started hating him; if he could fall any further than the sinkhole she had found him in.
- Author's Note: Happy Fourth of July! Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)
Referenced William Blake's Poems (In the public domain)
The Clod and the Pebble
Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.
.
So sung a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle's feet;
But a Pebble of the brook,
Warbled out these metres meet:
.
Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to Its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite.
.
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
.
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
.
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
.
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
.
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
.
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
.
And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
.
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.