Steve cautiously opened one eye.
He could see
…
Lamar didn't notice at first. Distracted by McGarrett falling over, his focus had been solely on pulling the heavier man upright. While McGarrett rested against the wall, Lamar collected the electrolyte gel packets and the water bottle that Scott had left behind and bundled them back into the plastic bags. There was nothing in the basement resembling a first aid kit so Lamar could do little to help the commander's current condition. It seemed abundantly obvious, however, that even if there were no chain, McGarrett would not be walking out of the basement on his own, and despite his emaciated condition, he was too heavy for Lamar to carry.
Lamar sighed. He dropped the plastic bag in the corner and turned back to the commander. Then he realized-
McGarrett could see him.
The blindfold had slipped, and a bruised eye peered out cautiously. At first Lamar wasn't sure how much the Five-0 commander could actually make out. It was dark in the basement, and they were far away from the little flashlight that hung near the cage.
Briefly, he wondered if McGarrett hadn't noticed the blindfold had shifted, or, at the very least, didn't recognize him. What little light reached them was on Lamar's back, leaving his face in the shadows. If he were lucky, he thought, he could replace the blindfold and carry on as though it had never happened. Clean up any evidence pointing to himself, drive someplace with signal, call the anonymous tip line…
But then Lamar looked again at the Five-0 commander. Saw his posture. Met his eyes.
McGarrett was terrified.
Lamar slowly capped the water bottle he was holding. He set it down and reached forward gingerly for the lopsided cloth clinging to the man's face.
McGarrett jerked away.
"Take it easy," Lamar murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you."
But actions had consequences, it was obvious that Lamar's actions more than ten years ago had repercussions that were still in play: namely, McGarrett didn't believe him. As Lamar reached again for the blindfold, McGarrett flinched and turned his head. Lamar caught the edge of the cloth and tugged, lifting it away. The face underneath was bruised, and dark rashes marred the skin across the nose and forehead where the cloth had rubbed incessantly for days. Lamar wondered how long it had been since the man had seen light. Had Scott kept him blindfolded the entire time? The sores suggested he had.
McGarrett blinked a few times and squinted at Lamar.
"Do you know who I am?" Lamar asked slowly. "Do you remember me?"
McGarrett nodded tersely.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Lamar repeated and reached for the chain, but the commander pulled away. "Take it easy," Lamar murmured.
As though suddenly conscious of his nakedness, McGarrett drew his legs up closer and huddled against the wall. His eyes darted frantically back and forth across the room, then settled on Lamar again. "What do you want with me?" he rasped.
"I want to help you."
McGarrett snorted softly. "Help me?"
"Yes." Lamar reached out again, but McGarrett jerked away.
"Stay away from me," McGarrett bit out with a growl. Through his one unswollen eye, he watched Lamar warily. "Just stay away."
Lamar sat back. "All right."
A minute passed while the battered cop seemed to collect his thoughts. Finally, he said, "If you want to help, untie me."
"I can't." The knots in the cables were tight and Lamar had already tried unsuccessfully to loosen them. And the chain between the man's legs… he hadn't been able to find the key yet. From the looks of it, Lamar needed bolt cutters or something stronger to get it off.
But McGarrett interpreted his response differently and barked a short laugh. "So you don't really want to help. Nothing new there. You just want to kill me and save your own sorry ass." It was the most the 5-0 commander had spoken in days. The short sentences left him breathless, and he leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, breathing hard from the effort. "You're pathetic."
"I didn't do this to you," Lamar muttered again. "I just found you-"
"found," McGarrett spat out bitterly.
Lamar sighed. Going to the corner and opening a grocery bag, he pulled out one of the water bottles. "Fine. Why would I give you water? Or food?"
"Prolong the torture."
"What about my voice?" Lamar tried. "You must have heard the person. It wasn't me."
"They never spoke," McGarrett said.
Lamar sat back down, leaning against the wooden pillar in the center of the room. He rubbed his temples and let out a soft groan. It had been a trap, though not quite like he had imagined.
Looking back, all the signs had been there, though. You're too trusting, Scott had once told him. I'll help you, but don't make the mistake of thinking that we're friends.
Lamar wished he'd paid more attention. At the time, he'd just been relieved to have someone on the inside who would watch his back without demanding too much in return. He'd trusted Scott, and Scott had used him. Had Scott planned this all along, from the beginning? Or had he simply taken advantage of an opportunity?
The betrayal hurt.
"You put on a good act, Foster," McGarrett spoke quietly, interrupting his thoughts.
"I go by Lamar now," Lamar murmured. He wasn't sure if McGarrett heard him.
The Five-0 commander tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "The bureau called… notified me when you were released." He paused to catch his breath and coughed hollowly in the damp air. "Said you were a changed man… Assured me I was safe. I didn't believe them." Exhausted, he stopped again, his chest heaving, and it took a long minute before he seemed to recover. "I hoped… that maybe they were right."
As McGarrett shivered, Lamar saw the goosebumps forming along his legs and torso. He wished suddenly that he had blanket or even a jacket to give him.
Not noticing the scrutiny, the former SEAL continued, "I knew I'd see you again at some point… rules and… and restraining orders be damned."
Lamar shook his head and again ran a hand raggedly through his hair. "It wasn't me. None of this is my doing, I swear it."
McGarrett's mouth twisted into an unconvinced frown. "Then why are you here? What do you want with me? And don't… don't give me that want to help you bull."
"I don't want anything with you." Unsure how to convince him, Lamar tried to sort out the right words to say. "I didn't do this- not the cage or the beatings or the burns or… whatever he did to you. I've been at work. I have a job, a house, a car…" Or had, he thought miserably. So much for my new life.
"And you… magically… ended up here?" McGarrett asked through narrowed eyes. He still had trouble catching his breath.
"A friend told me."
"Friend."
Lamar winced. "Acquaintance. Cell mate. Scott Agaran."
"He did this?"
"I don't know. I think so," Lamar said. "He… I think he got out a few months ago."
"Why not… tell the police?"
"I didn't know what he'd done," Lamar shrugged. "He just said he had something for me. He said he owed me one, so I figured it was payment. I didn't know… all of this," he waved his hand emptily at the room.
"Some friend."
Lamar didn't say anything, too angry at the deception and annoyed at himself for falling for it.
McGarrett was silent for a long time. "You have a cell phone," he finally said. "Why not call for help?"
Lamar held it up. "No signal."
"And the blindfold?"
Lamar hesitated. "I left it because I… I didn't want you to see me. I knew what you would think. It doesn't look good."
"No it doesn't," McGarrett agreed with a lopsided scowl, still unconvinced.
"And I tried to untie you but," Lamar waved vaguely in his direction, "they're too tight. The chain… I need something to cut it. Can't find the key."
It was very quiet in the basement as McGarrett processed this information. "So you're innocent in all this," he finally stated, his voice hoarse but still able to carry a hint of dry skepticism.
Lamar held his gaze. "Yes." He didn't move as the other man continued to study him.
"The water?"
Lamar frowned, confused. "What?"
"What's in the water?"
It took Lamar a moment to realize what McGarrett was asking. He quickly picked up a water bottle and uncapped it. "Nothing," he said, pouring a bit into his own mouth and swallowing. "Just water."
"The gels?"
"Just gels."
Drawing his knees to his chest again, McGarrett looked apprehensively around the dark room that had been his home for the past several days. Apart from the cage and the supplies that his captor had brought, the basement was clean- almost meticulously so. The room held some of the usual clutter that might have littered an old basement, but these things- a few broken pieces of furniture, molding books, rotting seat cushions- had been shoved together into a corner. All of the instruments of torture that had apparently caused McGarrett so much pain over the past several days had disappeared, and all traces of them removed; only the memory of remained. But there existed other fuel for nightmares in the darkness, and the cage and potent reek of urine and feces were ever-present reminders of what the former SEAL had endured.
McGarrett's eyes lingered on the cage for some time, then drifted to the stairs leading up to the trapdoor. "Where am I?"
"Manoa Valley Arboretum," Lamar answered honestly. "Basement of an abandoned church in the jungle."
"And how long-" he coughed again, "how long have I been here?"
Lamar frowned. "You don't know?" He eyed the cuts and bruises that marred the other man's body. Some had started to harden; others still oozed sickly. "How long do you think you've been here?"
"Three days. Maybe more," McGarrett responded uncertainly. He glanced questioningly at Lamar, who shrugged.
"I don't know. I didn't know you were missing."
A frown flashed across McGarrett's face but quickly disappeared. "What now? What's your plan?" he asked apprehensively.
Lamar had been trying to figure that out himself. "Drive down the valley until I get signal. Call 911." He glanced at his phone as he spoke and realized the battery was also rapidly dying. Not that it made a difference. Call for help. Get arrested. Go to jail. But what else could he do? "Bring back the cavalry, I guess."
"And if this Scott person returns before you come back?" McGarrett asked.
Lamar hesitated. The thought had occurred to him, but they'd been lucky so far. "You have a better idea?" he asked.
McGarrett studied him tiredly with his one good eye while the other eye squinted through a swollen bruise. The former SEAL's entire body trembled weakly as he shivered in the damp air, and goosebumps stood out sharply on his skin. Several times he began to say something, only to stop abruptly, his jaw tightening. It was abundantly clear from his wary expression that he still didn't trust Lamar at all. "You could finish it," McGarrett finally rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lamar frowned, nonplussed. "Finish what?"
"Me." McGarrett tilted his head back against the wall and released an exhausted sigh. "Wouldn't take much." A cough wheezed through the cracked lips. "You wanted revenge. Take it."
Revenge. Lamar had burned with grief and anger for years following his son's death. His only child, lost in pointless war halfway around the world. McGarrett had been the one to encourage his son to enlist, communicated with him throughout his training, kept in touch even overseas. From what Lamar had seen, McGarrett had spent more time communicating with Colin than Lamar had himself. Had McGarrett not been there, would his son have made the same choices? Chosen the same career? Or would he have gone down a different path?
Lamar had thought the latter. Or, rather, he had convinced himself of it. Looking back, however, he was startled to see his memories play out as though through another man's eyes: Lamar recognized everything he saw- every action he'd taken, every word he'd spoken- but found it all unfamiliar somehow. Overbearing, controlling, unforgiving… he hated the man he saw in his mind.
I drove my son away. Too many years had passed now that he finally admitted it. The realization did not dull the pain- a parent was never meant to lose their child- but it brought fresh understanding and fresh heartache. His eyes flooded suddenly with tears and he turned his face away. Lamar's grief had ebbed with the years but would never cease; it was a cut that never seemed to scab, a wound that never healed.
McGarrett flinched slightly as Lamar stood up. Wordlessly, the convict walked over to broken SEAL and looked down at the man who had borne the brunt of his grief and rage. "I don't want revenge," he said quietly.
Then he turned and left the basement.
