No torture here, either, but the expression of some rather extreme religious views. Can I just repeat that these are the views held by the characters, they are not my views.
Chapter Seventeen
Molly was sitting in the shade of the large oak tree, feeding Violet. The teething problems had abated and she now had two central incisors in her lower gum to show for all her suffering. Molly had resumed breast feeding and, after a couple of accidental nips, Violet had gotten the hang of suckling without biting Mummy, much to Molly's relief. She had missed the intimacy of nursing her baby. Somehow, the breast pump just didn't have the same appeal.
She still expressed milk and, since her production rates were more than sufficient for Violet's needs, sent the surplus to St Thomas's Hospital for their Mother and Baby Unit. And Sherlock continued with his middle of the night bottle feeding sessions. Violet was still waking at around two am. Molly suspected that she and Sherlock had made a secret pact to meet up, nightly, for clandestine play sessions.
Mycroft and Michele were supervising the other four children on the Jungle Gym. William was still the undisputed champion of this particular discipline. His balance and co-ordination were streets ahead of the other three and not just because of his four year age advantage. He had always been utterly fearless where heights were concerned. Mycroft still marvelled at the similarities between his nephew and his brother, at a comparable age. It was uncanny and not a little unnerving.
Of the other three children, Katy was the next most agile but she managed to imbue all her movements with a ladylike grace that reminded Mycroft of his mother. She had also inherited her grandmother's ability to destroy with a look. 'Withering' did not begin to cover it! Poor Charlie, who was Katy's victim of choice more often than not, had no rebuttal for his sister's scathing disapproval. He just quailed.
Freddie, on the other hand, was not remotely daunted by Katy's superior attitude. When she tried to stare him down, he would say,
'I not listenin' to your looks, Katy,'
and simply turn away. Charlie had a bit of a boy-crush on Freddie and followed him around everywhere – partly for protection. Freddie, on the other hand, thought Charlie was the most fun playmate ever. They each had their own special interests but were more than happy to join in with anything the other one suggested.
And, at the moment, the game was 'Follow the Leader', climbing up the scramble net or one of the ladders, trotting over the suspension bridge or swinging across the monkey bars, and sliding down the wooden pole or the metal slide – then doing it all over again. William was leading the way, varying his technique by occasionally shinning up the wooden pole and commando diving down the scramble net, two manoeuvres that completely stumped the other three children.
Mycroft and Michele were acting as referees and giving a helping hand, when required, and lots of verbal encouragement. But when the mobile rang in Mycroft's pocket, he excused himself and walked away, out of hearing range, to answer the call which he saw was from Anthea.
'Sir, we have a development of sorts,' she opened.
Mycroft heard the reservation in her voice and asked for an explanation.
She went on to outline Sherlock's theory about the identity of the abductors. Mycroft was as sceptical as his PA.
'Let me speak to him,' he instructed.
Anthea handed the phone to the pacing detective.
'Sherlock, I really cannot…'
'Mycroft, you are blinkered! You have assumed from the beginning that you are the intended target and that Arthur is just a pawn in the game. But what if he was the intended target all along? What if this has nothing whatsoever to do with you and your importance to the security of this country? It is the only solution that fits all the clues!'
'But, Sherlock…'
'Arthur has been gone for more than twenty-four hours yet there has been no ransom demand. What kind of kidnapper makes no demands? The sort that already has what they want – they have Arthur.'
'Sherlock, listen to…'
'NO, Mycroft!' Sherlock roared. 'Listen to me! This is NOT about you! It's about HIM!'
Mycroft closed his eyes and heaved a deep, inpatient sigh.
'Money!' he snapped.
'What? What money? What about money?' Sherlock spluttered.
'How much do you imagine this snatch operation has cost? Frayne's fee alone would be a minimum of five figures and that's just the beginning. Arthur's family are ordinary, working class people. They are not rich. Where would they find the resources to finance such an operation? And how would they even know where to start? Frayne doesn't exactly advertise his services in the Yellow Pages.'
Sherlock rubbed his forehead and lowered his voice, so that only his brother could hear.
'Mycroft, please. I just know that this is about Arthur, not about you – or, at least, not about your position. I have no idea how his family financed this snatch or even why they ordered it, in the first place, but I do know that something happened, when Arthur went home, which has resulted in him being kidnapped. I just know it!'' That last sentence was hissed down the phone with all the intensity that Sherlock's frustration could put into it. 'Let me ring his sisters, talk to them, find out what they know.'
Mycroft could feel his brother's anxiety. He could not reconcile the idea that Arthur's own family could be responsible for this situation with his knowledge of their somewhat lowly, mundane, normal life style. But he could tell that Sherlock had the bit between his teeth on this and would not rest until he had tested his theory.
'Very well,' he said, at last.
'Yes!' Sherlock punched the air, like a teenager, and practically jumped for joy.
'BUT - ' Mycroft brought him back to earth again. 'Don't ring them. I want you to go there, speak to them face to face, and make sure they understand that this is not yet in the public domain and must remain that way until we know what or who we are dealing with. Do you understand?'
'Yes, of course I understand. I'm just as concerned about Arthur as you are.' Sherlock snorted – then regretted what he had said. 'Actually, I know that's probably not true,' he added, 'and I will keep a lid on the situation, I promise.'
'See that you do,' Mycroft replied. 'And take someone with you. DON'T go on your own.'
'I will take John,' Sherlock reassured him. 'He'll keep me right. He always does.'
ooOoo
On entering the room in which Arthur was imprisoned, Dr Knowles and Blake discovered their captive lying prone, on the bed, barely conscious, flushed, sweating and trembling, violently.
Blake crossed the floor in three strides and pressed two fingers to pulse point under Arthur's jaw. His heart rate was racing. The MIB turned to the other man and said,
'You're a doctor – of sorts. Do you have such a thing as a thermometer in that bag of yours?'
The doctor looked at him, askance. 'I'm not that kind of doctor!' he exclaimed.
Arthur opened his eyes and gazed, blankly, at Blake then closed them again, still shaking.
'What's wrong with him?' asked the doctor.
'How the fuck should I know?' Blake growled. 'I'm not any sort of doctor! Maybe he's reacting to that drug you gave him? Maybe you damaged his kidneys when you beat him? Maybe he's in shock?'
'Cover him with the blanket,' the doctor ordered, reacting to the word 'shock'.
Arthur was lying on top of the blanket so Blake had to roll him, in order to pull it out from underneath his body. The movement caused him to gasp and groan, involuntarily, but he offered no resistance. Blake draped the blanket over the prone man and turned to the doctor.
What now?'
'We need to give him water, lots of water, to make him pee. If there's blood in his urine that would suggest he has kidney damage.'
Blake glared at his companion.
'If he dies…' He left the sentence unfinished, for Knowles to fill in the blanks, and left the room to get some more bottles of water.
In his absence, the therapist reached into his 'tool kit' and took out a Bible. He walked over to the chair that Arthur had occupied earlier, for the film show, and sat down. He leafed through the book until he found the page he was looking for. Then he began to read, aloud.
'"Do you not know that the wicked will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor male prostitutes nor homosexual offenders nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God." Corinthians 6:9-10.
He paused, as Blake returned to the room, with four 500ml bottles of water.
'"Do not lie with a man as one lies with a woman; that is detestable."Leviticus 18:22,' Knowles continued.
Blake glanced, cynically, in the doctor's direction as he crossed to the bed and spoke to Arthur, whose eyelids were slightly parted, showing a sliver of brown iris.
'I've brought you some water. There's nothing in it. See?'
He broke the seal, pulled out the spout and took a swig.
'"If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They must be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads." Leviticus 20:13, the doctor droned on.
'Come on, roll over and drink,' he urged the recumbent man then put his hand under Arthur's shoulder and pushed him onto his side. With a sharp intake of breath, Arthur rolled his hips to assist with the change of position. He really needed that water. His mouth was dry.
Once the 'patient' was properly positioned, Blake held the water bottle so that he could drink. He glugged down about half the contents without even pausing for breath.
'"Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion." Romans 1:26-27.'
Knowles finished his monologue and closed the Bible, holding it to his heart, eyes closed, with a rapturous expression on his face.
Blake and Arthur both ignored him, as the second half of the contents of the bottle were dispatched. Then Blake turned to the zealot and said,
'Since you seem to have a direct line to that god of yours, you better put in a request to make sure this guy doesn't snuff it. My boss will not be happy if we lose him. He hasn't fulfilled his purpose yet.'
And on that note, the MIB left the room.
Arthur, who was nowhere near as seriously injured as he was making out – though he was in a huge amount of pain – heard this utterance with a sharp rise in curiosity. He hadn't fulfilled his purpose? What on earth could his purpose be, he wondered?
Meanwhile, Mr God Botherer (a new name that Arthur had just applied to the so-called doctor) was talking again, though not reading this time, even though what he was saying sounded like a prepared speech.
'You know, Arthur, all denominations of Christianity have their own views on homosexuality, this is true. But I believe – and I think you do, too, if you're honest with yourself - that homosexuality is a behavior that a Christian can be delivered from.'
Arthur closed his eyes and let the man whitter on. It was actually quite soothing, like listening to a bedtime story – with a similar basis of reality to the text.
'But even if you believe that, with all your heart, it's still not going to be easy to achieve deliverance. And, trust me, Arthur, I understand how discouraging it can be to pray for deliverance and yet still feel attracted to a person of the same sex.'
Arthur put s big mental tick in the 'Closet Gay' box, next to Knowles's name. Just as he had suspected.
'But, the fact that you are struggling, Arthur, doesn't mean that God isn't listening to you. He is listening, believe me, and he wants to help you. But he can only help you if you help yourself.'
Lulled by the man's monotonous tone, Arthur felt himself drifting off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that, in the first instance, since his gaolers did not know that he had been up at the window, that meant there was no surveillance in the room, and in the second instance, his rapid pulse and flushed appearance from the physical exertion of climbing up to the window had been interpreted as illness, and had saved him from another beating or perhaps worse.
Coupled with his new-found knowledge of the actual location of his prison, Arthur felt almost hopeful that he would be able to get out of here under his own steam, even if Mycroft had no clue as to where he might be.
'If you really want to be saved from homosexuality, as I am sure you do, you might be thinking that your prayers are being ignored,' Knowles continued.
'Every day will feel like an uphill battle. But this is a necessary process, Arthur. It's essential that a Christian, like yourself, struggling to be freed from the tyranny of certain desires, must understand that deliverance can never be instant. Deliverance from homosexuality has to be long and difficult. Otherwise you might think it was too easy and, therefore, not something precious. For a thing to be worthwhile, it must be worth fighting for, yes?'
He paused for an acknowledgement from his audience but all he got was the slow, steady breathing of a sleeping man.
Undaunted, he went on, anyway.
'Have faith, Arthur, that God is with you, holding your hand, every single step of the way. And, if you are steadfast and patient, eventually you will see progress.'
Knowles sat nodding, sagely, and Arthur dreamed of being in the arms of the man he loved, safe and secure in Mycroft's warm embrace.
ooOoo