Thanks for the reviews and follows!
Again, this part contains violence and language.
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Twelve Years Earlier
Location Unknown
When Joan came to, she was seated in the rickety chair that the leader of the group had sat in previously. She tried to wiggle her fingers and felt her skin contact the bar across the back of the chair, confirming her first thought that she was tied to the bar. Her feet were free, her damaged leg spread in front of her. Joan could see the area had swelled to an alarming size.
Joan slowly lifted her head, the strange tingling still filling her body from the Taser. Her body felt almost detached from itself. Pain from broken bones was intensified and throbbing after being shocked multiple times.
She met the gaze of the leader, who was standing in front of her holding a knife. "Isn't it amazing," he began, "How a piece of metal can do so much damage?" He held the knife up in the dim light, admiring the glint.
Joan gasped for breath, resisting the urge to pull back. She knew she was helpless, but she refused to show fear. He placed the blade against her jaw.
"This is usually the point where the men give up," the leader continued. "I usually run the blade down their skin," he demonstrated with the dull side of the knife, trailing it down her neck and along the exposed flesh of her shoulder. "Then bury it deep in their skin." Joan watched warily as he began to do that, only to stop when a droplet of blood appeared. "But I have other plans for you."
Before Joan could react, the leader cut the front of her thin sweater exposing her bra and stomach. The chill instantly hit her, and the leader smiled wickedly as her body reacted against her will. He ran the tip of the knife against her lacy bra, laughing when Joan tried to pull back. He pulled the knife away, and then picked up a lighter. He ran his fingers along the plastic of the lighter before flicking it on and holding the flame to the blade of the knife.
Joan watched as the flame flickered, the metal turning red after several long moments. She swallowed slightly, fear filling her as he held the knife near her stomach.
"Please, don't," she pleaded.
"Are you going to talk?" he asked, pausing. Joan could feel the heat from the blade just millimeters from her skin.
She whimpered slightly, thoughts of Arthur and Meg running through her mind. God, I'm sorry, she thought, forcing the answer out of her lips.
"No."
The single word was followed by a scream as he pressed the long side of the blade to her bare stomach. He held it there several moments before pulling it away. Tears streamed down Joan's face, followed by another scream and another and another as he repeatedly pressed the scorching blade against her skin.
He finally stopped when the heat vanished from the blade, taking a step back as he looked at Joan. A look of frustration covered his face he looked at the woman. He had no idea how she was still remaining silent in regards to the information he needed. Without speaking, he set the knife down. He stared at Joan for several moments as she fought the pain. Tears flowed freely down her face, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.
"You are stronger than I thought," he finally told her. "I actually respect that. I will break you, though."
All Joan could do was stare at him with hatred in her eyes. She had never been through so much pain in her life. She didn't respond; rather, her eyes nervously followed his hands as he reached for the tray.
Oh God…no.
The man picked up a whip, running his fingers down the leather curiously. Joan whimpered, unable to control the sound that came out of her throat. She used her foot to push away from him, the rickety chair protesting the movement. The heel of her injured leg dragged pitifully as she tried to get away from the terrorist.
"Don't," Joan cried softly as he took a step towards her. "Please, don't. I…I'll tell you. I'll tell you."
The leader looked at her, slowly unfolding the whip. He stepped closer to Joan, leaning down so that he was in her face. "Will you tell me everything?" he asked softly.
Joan nodded, her heart pounding. "Will you let me go?" she whispered.
"Depends," he teased her. "If you tell me what I want to hear, I will let you live."
Joan stared at him, realizing that he was going to kill her no matter what. They had been torturing her for hours, and she had nothing left to give. She closed her eyes, thinking of Arthur, and the future they wouldn't have.
She was ready to die.
Joan opened her eyes and with a cry, she threw her head back then slammed her forehead into his face. She felt momentarily pleased at his cry of pain, but that was soon taken away as he harshly backhanded her.
She felt blood trickle down her cheek from a cut – whether it was reopened or fresh she didn't care. Joan drew her foot back and kicked out, feeling her heel connect with his knee. He yelled slightly, more out of surprise then actual pain.
"Fucking bastard!" Joan screamed, kicking out again. She missed, breathing heavily at the pain running through her body. She drew back her foot again, weakly kicking out. The simply movements were exhausting her tortured body quickly.
He easily sideswiped her strike, moving behind her. Before Joan could react, he had wrapped the whip around her throat.
He pulled tightly and Joan gagged. The air to her windpipe was cut off quickly and she was unable to do anything about it with her hands bound behind her back. Stars threatened her vision, black edges forming in the corners of her eyes. She leaned her head back, trying to create some slack to get a desperate breath of air. The result was her neck being pulled back even more.
Just when Joan thought she was going to pass out, he released the whip. She gasped for precious air, her windpipe protesting the gulps of air she was trying to suck in. Fingers wrapped around her long hair and yanked back.
Joan cried slightly as her head connected with the back of the chair, her neck once again being pulled backwards. The man took his elbow and slammed it into her face, effectively and undeniably breaking her nose. Blood flowed quickly and she struggled to keep the blood from running into her mouth. Air was more important, she concluded, and parted her lips. Joan drew in a ragged breath, nearly choking on the blood pooling in the back of her throat.
He brought his face close to hers and whispered harshly, "You try something like that again, and I don't care about any information. I will kill you. Got it?" When Joan didn't answer, he pulled down on her hair. "Got it?!"
"Yes, yes!" Joan gasped out. Tiny drops of blood appeared on his cheek at her answer.
He finally let go of her hair, shaking loose strands out of his fingers disgustedly. He threw the whip behind him, making his way to the door. Stopping, he glanced at her. Smirking, he drew back his booted foot and connected the steel of the toes into her injured knee. She cried out, blood trailing down her chin and dripping onto her chest.
Joan panted, trying to keep the hysterical screams down as he walked out the door and slammed it behind him. I'm going to die here, she realized. I'm never going to see Arthur or Meg or my family again. A renowned sense of panic filled her, and using her uninjured leg, she began rocking the chair back and forth, attempting to tip it over.
It was weak enough that she hoped that she would be able to break the chair when she fell, though Joan had no idea what she would do if the chair did break. Her hands would still be bound behind her back, but she had to try.
For the first time that day, luck was on her side. Joan felt the chair tip, and as she landed with a thud, she could feel her bounded hands loosen among the splintered wood as the chair shattered.
Her hands were free.
Joan struggled to push the ropes away, pins and needles flooding her hands as the flow of blood reached them. She ignored the pain, using her right hand to push herself into a sitting position. She used the tray to try to pull herself into a standing position, her fingers touching the edge of the gun.
The door flew open at the commotion, the tallest man of the trio entering the room to see what the noise was. His eyes widened when he realized Joan was no longer bound to the chair. Before Joan could wrap her fingers around the gun, the man slammed into her, hard, sending the weapons flying in different directions as Joan collided with the tray.
Adrenaline ran through Joan's veins as she pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her knee. She knew that the chances of winning a hand to hand combat were slim when she was on the ground. She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head telling her she didn't stand a chance of winning at all.
The man had been thrown off balance and was struggling to get to his feet. Joan realized that when he had collided with her, he had injured his ankle. Somehow, Joan's hand found a baseball bat, and Joan wrapped her hand around the wood as she forced herself to her feet. Thanking years of softball playing briefly, she swung the bat as hard as she could with her right hand.
To say the man was shocked at the pain was an understatement. He instantly doubled over as the bat struck his stomach, but Joan didn't stop. She swung again, hitting the man in the leg. He went down to a knee, and she swung again, nailing him in the head. Joan didn't stop, even as she heard the sickening crack of his skull, and he stilled.
Finally, she dropped the bat, wild eyes searching for the gun. She instantly regretted her action when the smaller man charged into the room. Joan stooped slightly, reaching for the bat, only to have the breath whoosh out of her when the man slammed against her. He tackled her to the ground, his knees pinning her body to the floor.
His fist sank deeply into her stomach. As his hand hit her burns from the knife and Taser, Joan seemed to snap out of her stupor. She slammed her forehead into his nose, a look of surprise coming over his face. She swung her uninjured knee up, hitting the man in the groin. Surprise turned to pain, and she shoved him, reaching out blindly.
Her hand wrapped around a knife, and before he could react, Joan swung the knife. She had no clue where the knife hit, and she drew back, stabbing out again and again. The man struggled slightly, before he fell backwards, lifeless.
Joan gasped in pain, forcing herself to her feet one more time. This time, she reached the gun, picking it up and crying a short sob of relief as she checked it.
Fully loaded.
Whimpering, Joan hobbled heavily to the door. She was not shocked to see the leader making his way down the hall. Joan laughed when she saw the look on his face, the sound from her throat nearly hysterical.
"You fucking coward," Joan forced out, swinging the gun toward him with her right hand. Her left arm dangled uselessly next to her. The man smiled despite the situation, taking a step towards Joan. "Don't move!" she screamed hoarsely, removing the safety from the gun.
"You really were a worthy opponent," the man said. "I'm almost sad that it will end like this."
A look of surprise and anger filled him when Joan pulled the trigger, the bullet burying itself deep in the wall behind him. "What the hell!" he cried, taking a dangerous step towards Joan.
"Don't move!" Joan repeated, taking a wobbly step backwards. Adrenaline kept her on her feet, despite the pain in her knee.
He laughed slightly, walking towards Joan. Her hand shook as she held the gun, making Joan think that her chances of hitting him were narrow. "You don't have the guts to kill me."
Joan pulled the trigger again, the bullet this time grazing his shoulder. "You goddamned whore!" he yelled, wrapping his hand around his shoulder. "You will pay for that!"
"How?" Joan asked, her voice raspy. "You've already tortured me, broken bones, burned me…what more could you do?"
His gaze locked on the ring around her finger. Realizing what he was looking at, Joan shifted uncomfortably. Usually she left her rings at home when on operation, but this time she had kept the diamond on. The leader smirked slightly, not answering her question.
"Someone loves you very much," he said to Joan. She didn't answer, narrowing her eyes and gripping the gun tighter. "I wonder what would happen if you came back…shall we say, deflowered?"
Joan's eyes widened, and without a second thought, a suddenly steady hand pulled the trigger. The leader looked confused for a second then his expression went blank as Joan pulled the trigger again. He collapsed to the ground. Joan slowly limped over, nudging him with her foot. He didn't move. His eyes stared up at her, lifeless. There was no doubt in her mind that he was dead.
Still, that didn't stop her from aiming the gun at him again.
With a ragged scream, she pulled the trigger. Joan shot him repeatedly until the clip was empty. Even after the bullets stopped striking his body, she still pulled the trigger. The clicking seemed to echo loudly in the room as blood rushed to her head.
Gasping with exhaustion and pain, she cried out, sinking to the ground. The gun tumbled out of her hand, the deadly weapon falling beside her.
Her body was shaking, and Joan knew that she was going into shock. "No, no, no, no, no, no," she whispered. "No, I'm not going to die here."
Forcing herself to her feet, Joan made her way the door. Anxiously she pushed it open and stumbled out of the house. The cold stung her body, and she used shaking fingers of her uninjured arm to pull her sweater closed. Her body ached, her shoes gone from the fight she had just gone through. However, the idea of getting to see Arthur again made her move.
Joan had no clue how far she walked. All she knew was that as she made her way to a road, her legs finally gave out on her. Her head, knee, arm, and ribs throbbed violently. As her vision swam and Joan finally laid her cheek to the pavement, she whispered into the cold ground.
"I love you, Arthur."
The last thing she was aware of was the sound of a car engine coming closer.
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End Part 4