Steve clenched his teeth as he another blow from the metal club struck his ribs. He glared at the guard.
Don't scream, he urged himself. Don't give Chief the satisfaction.
"I guess you're not ready to quit yet, are you, Patch?" The voice was harsh and sadistic, matching its owner perfectly.
Steve watched through his swollen eyelid as the guard he knew only as Chief walked a few steps away and took a drink of water. Steve's parched throat and swollen tongue begged for some water too, but he knew not to ask. It would only prompt more abuse.
You can get through this, he said silently. Kayla and Stephanie need you to get through this.
Using the momentary break in the beating to gather his reserves of strength, Steve flexed his wrists. He felt the blood dripping down his arms from the wires wrapped around his wrists, which looped through a chain hanging from the ceiling. He could smell his own blood and sweat. The odor was nearly overwhelming; the air was hot and stagnant in the windowless room.
When will this end? he asked himself. Right now, the closet that had become his home seemed inviting. Please. Please let it end soon.
The break was over. Chief picked up the metal club and approached Steve again. Everything within Steve's mind screamed to give in, to give up, to do whatever it took to make it stop. But there was nothing to give in to. Begging would only incur laughter and derision.
As the blows began to rain on his body again, starting with his legs and methodically working upwards, Steve felt himself drifting away. He could see Kayla's brilliant blue eyes and smiling face. She was holding Stephanie and waving her little hand at him.
My Sweetness and Little Sweetness. Give me your strength.
A sharp pain and a cracking sound forced the vision away. Steve could not stop the cry that escaped his lips as the club slammed into his ribs.
Instinctively, Steve tried to twist away, only to be betrayed by another scream of pain as the movement wrenched his shoulder.
"Had enough yet, Patch?" Chief asked with a gleeful chuckle.
Steve could not respond. The club struck his back. Steve screamed again, no longer able to hold back the cries. The blows came rapidly now.
God, he's not going to stop. Steve understood now. I'm going to die.
"Steve!" He heard his name called out in Chief's voice. He was confused. Chief never called him by his name.
"Steve! Watch my finger." Steve snapped his head forward and suddenly saw Dr. Friedman sitting in front of him. Blinking several times, Steve felt the pain fade away and realized his hands were no longer bound.
"That was very good," Dr. Friedman said in his usual calm and quiet voice.
Steve shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. "Maybe for you, Doc. I don't think 'good' is the word I would use."
"You did very well with the new memory," Dr. Friedman insisted. "You know how this works now. The first time through is always the hardest."
"I guess so." Steve sighed. "I just wonder why this was the last thing I remembered. I mean there are some details that are still fuzzy, but I don't feel like there are big holes in my memory anymore."
"The mind is an amazing thing, Steve." Dr. Friedman leaned back in his chair. "It has a way of protecting us from traumatic events. What you went through in that compound . . . well, events like that are the very definition of traumatic. The easiest way to protect you from that trauma was to block it out."
"Okay, I get that. But then why did it come out in my nightmares or when somebody grabbed my wrist?"
Dr. Friedman gave Steve a small smile. "Because your mind also knows deep-down that the only way to move past the trauma is to ultimately face it. Blocking it out is only a short-term solution."
Steve was quiet for a moment. He thought back to his childhood and the night he had tried to kill Duke. When Adrienne had come to town, he experienced something similar to flashbacks to that night. He remembered how, over the years, he had convinced himself it had been an accident. He had told himself he was just a small child playing with matches who had been punished by being given away.
It was only when Jo and Duke had returned that he had remembered what had really happened. The day he had told Kayla the story had been the first time he had told anyone. And, like always, she had been there to help him deal with those memories. Just as she had helped him deal with everything he had been through in the last year.
Looking down at his wrists, Steve said quietly. "I guess it's time to go through it again, huh?"
"If you're ready," Dr. Friedman replied.
Taking a deep breath, Steve nodded. Dr. Friedman held up his finger again. Steve focused on the finger and began talking. "I tried to escape, but the guards grabbed me. I struggled, but I couldn't get away. Chief took the wire and wrapped it around my wrists and then tied them to the chain hanging from the ceiling. . . . "
An hour later, Steve left Dr. Friedman's office feeling as if he had run a marathon. He was exhausted, but also exhilarated. After going through the memory of his beatings several times, Steve had been able to work all the way through without getting lost inside the memory. As skeptical as he had been about the therapy at first, he could not deny it was working. His nightmares had lessened in both frequency and intensity and he had lost the overwhelming fear he had felt for so long.
He stopped by Kayla's office to tell her about the session, but her assistant informed him that she was working in the lab. Not wanting to disturb her there, Steve left a short note and decided to head on home.
As he left the hospital parking lot, Steve kept an eye on the rearview mirror. As expected, the nondescript black sedan pulled out not too far behind him. Steve was actually surprised that it was so close. Until then, his ISA followers had taken care to stay back to avoid detection.
Maybe they're as bored with this as I am, Steve thought to himself.
Taking his normal route home, Steve bypassed the major surface streets and took his usual shortcut through the side streets. Still thinking about his session with Dr. Friedman, Steve was startled to see the black sedan quickly closing in behind him.
What the hell is going on?
Suddenly, Steve understood. The street he was on came to a dead end up ahead, just after he would normally turn left into a short alley that connected to the street that ran past his apartment building. He had no doubt that, if he made that turn, another car would be waiting, cutting off his path.
The bastards in the ISA had finally decided to make their move.
Steve knew he had only a few seconds to figure a way out. He quickly ran through his options.
I've got one advantage, he realized. This is my home turf.
Steve knew the area intimately - and that the ISA had moved just a little too soon.
Stepping on the gas, Steve took a hard turn to the right at the end of the street. What looked like a solid wall of vegetation was really just a thin line of overgrown brush.
The car crashed through the bushes. It skidded on the loose dirt. Steve fought for control of the car as it broke through and dropped onto an old dirt path. Luckily, it appeared to have been used for some utility access over the years, leaving a path just wide enough for his car.
Glancing in his rearview mirror, he caught sight of two dark-suited men walking through the hole he had made in the brush.
"Should have done your homework, dudes," Steve said. Steve smiled as he reached the end of the dirt path. There was a fence ahead, but the gate that usually closed off the path was open today.
With barely a pause to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, Steve turned onto the main road and sped away. As he continued his journey home, he wondered why the ISA had decided to move against him now. He may have not been a big fan of the ISA, but he knew they would not have gone after him today without a reason.
As Steve pulled up to the apartment building, he looked carefully for anything unusual. He did not see any unfamiliar cars, so he parked in his usual parking place and got out of the car. Instead of going through the front door of the building, Steve walked rapidly around to the back.
Stopping in front of the patio of one of the ground floor apartments, Steve got an idea. He knew this particular apartment was empty, so he took out his all purpose tool and pried open a window. Climbing through, he carefully closed and relocked it and then made his way to the front door. He opened it and headed down the empty hallway to the back stairs.
When he reached his floor, he again carefully checked the hallway before heading for his apartment. Working quickly, he unlocked the door and sighed with relief when he found Jamie and Stephanie playing on the floor inside.
Asking Jamie to stay a little longer, Steve walked to the kitchen and collapsed in a chair. That had been entirely too close. Glancing at the counter, Steve saw a note by the phone. As he read it, he knew why the ISA had made their move today. Jamie had taken a message from his Merchant Marine buddy. Nowicki's and Deakins' unit was back in the States.
Obviously, the ISA didn't want to take the chance that Steve would contact the soldiers, so they had tried to grab him today. To warn him? To take him away? Steve wasn't entirely sure, but he was not going to take any more chances.
Picking up the phone, he dialed the number for the Spectator and then asked for Jack.
"Jack Deveraux," Jack answered.
"Jack, it's Steve. You remember how I told you that I was going to expect your help at some point?"
"Yeah." Jack said slowly.
"Well now is your chance. Listen very carefully and do everything I tell you to do. And, for once, don't screw this up."