Entrez dans L'Avenir
AnniKay
Sam/Mercedes/Puck
Disclaimer: I own Nothing…Murphy, Falchuk, and Brennen along with Fox and others own this fandom and all the characters there in…Anything you recognize obviously belongs to them
Summary: As Commune and their friends begin their junior year of college, they begin to understand that they are taking their first real steps into their future.
****THANKS to everyone who has taken the time to review! Your encouragement helps more than you know!****
Dedicated to OceanLyric & MsGreenJeans73 at AO3. They were the quickest reviewers on Chapter 14.
Thank you for sticking with me through this journey!
Thank all of you for being avid readers & reviewers of my stories:
I appreciate all of you.
Boredom Busting Fic Rec
I feel my boots trying to leave the ground by Em_Jaye
(MCU Fic)
Chapter 16
***RECAST*** The role of Noah Puckerman will now be played by Ed Skrein ***RECAST***
Lyndie Greenwood as Sabrina Crane-Thompson
Joaquim de Almeida as Gonçalves Arturo Casillas Bonastre
Rachelle Lefevre as Dr. Lynda Belcher
WLIO Nightly News
"Good evening, Lima, this is the WLIO News at Eleven and I am Sabrina Crane-Thompson. Tonight, is Sunday October twenty-fifth, two thousand fifteen. It has now been almost twenty-four hours since the explosion at the KAMA concert in Tijuana Mexico. And roughly eighteen hours since the world found out that thirteen women associated with the music group, including Lima natives Brittany Pierce, Santana Lopez, Zelmira 'Sugar' Motta, and the group's front woman Mercedes Jones were missing, presumed kidnapped in the confusion cause by the evacuation. The FBI, the US State Department and Interpol are working with the Mexican authorities to ensure the safe return of our hometown girls." The light skinned Black news anchor, whose abundance of curly black hair was tamed into an aggravatingly thick low ponytail, paused thoughtfully. "A press conference held earlier today allowed each of the missing women's families to ask for their safe return. Unfortunately, it is statistically accurate to say that the first forty-eight hours are critical in bringing home any kidnapping victim safely. We can only pray that each of the thirteen young women are found and safely returned to their families, friends and communities." Bree Thompson's mother did wish for the safe return of the missing young women. She never wanted to imagine what their poor parents were going through. But deep inside, she actually felt a little bit of joy for the amount of dread, fear and anxiety the abductions were probably making certain people feel. Jake Puckerman had broken her daughter's heart and then, he and his friends had gotten her tossed off the Cheerios as well.
She felt far less joy in the next statement she was called upon to read from the teleprompter. "In related news, twenty-two-year-old Lima resident, Rachel Berry has been taken into questioning by the FBI. Agent Jordan Todd states that Ms. Berry is under investigation for possible ties to a human trafficking gang involved in the abductions at Estadio Caliente. Another source close to the investigation says that there is evidence of contact between Ms. Berry and the head of the crime syndicate behind the kidnapping going back to at least January of this year." Antwan Berry had handled her divorce and ensured that her daughters would always have the lifestyle she'd wanted for her children.
Take the Money and Run (The Steve Miller Band)
Ambient PoV
After the explosions rocked the arena, Arturo's underlings immediately went to work. They rushed the stage, and working quickly, they separated the women from the men. Even the hardest, least trusting of the KAMA crew was unsuspecting of the big men in the familiar 'Rangeman' uniforms. At least they were until they got a face full of aerosolized spray of benzodiazepine and propofol which rendered most of the women rapidly unconscious, though for several of them, it was really more of a twilight state. Xena, Kelly and Mercedes, even though her dose was given in a different medium, felt held in a state of suspended animation where their bodies were asleep while their minds were hovering around the edges of wakening…slow and sluggish.
In all the confusion, the thirteen false Rangemen had no difficulty getting the thirteen completely or mostly unconscious women into four false ambulances. Each 'bus' had one driver and three henchmen in the back with the women. The last actually left the venue on a motorcycle through a separate parking lot entrance and raced to a parking garage to make sure that everything was in place for when the ambulances arrived. In the empty backs of the vans, the henchmen were quickly and efficiently stripping each young lady of every bit of stage apparel and jewelry. When they reached the first 'roundabout after leaving the soccer stadium, the back doors of the faux ambulances opened as they made the rounds, they heaved loosely wrapped bundles into the grassy center. It took only moments for them to circle the traffic rotary twice more before separating and each taking a different exit to muddy the waters.
The vehicles met back up a few blocks away and drove on to a large parking garage very close to the US-Mexican border. They parked all together near the vehicles in which they would be leaving the garage. The moment they were in place, Lourenço Javier Casillas Bonastre called his brother and let him know that everything was in place. Arturo fired off instructions via text from his burner phone, brought just for that job, to the phones of the crew, also brought just for the one job. They were told to break into groups of two or three and evenly match their captives to the women. Originally Javier was to go with Mercedes Jones. However, in the time it had taken for the men to follow their boss' instructions, three of the ladies had begun coming out of sedation. Xena, whose body was taller and had more mass than many of the other women, was the first to begin to fight off the ill effects. The dose given to her of the aerosol was not enough to keep her fully sedated. She came out into a fugue state and in her fear and confusion, she lashed out and started fighting for her life. While she was able to injure one assailant, the injuries were only superficial and deep bruising.
Kelly Ann Rogers was nowhere near as tall as Xena, but she'd led a very exciting life in her twenty-three years. The anesthetics didn't settle in properly and she too started to awaken enough to fight. And fight she did. Unfortunately, Kelly was closest to a man who would not and did not hesitate to choke her until she lost consciousness again. Mercedes, having been given an injection rather than just getting sprayed in the face, should never have been able to come around at that point. However, her adrenaline and her fear combined to push the drugs through her system faster than should have been possible. Much like Xena, when Mercedes reached a certain level of awareness, physical, if not mental, awareness, she did so kicking.
Seconds after her body 'awakened', Mercedes foot shot out and painfully impacted a very fragile portion of the male anatomy…of the same bad guy she had kicked in the same place in the stadium during her initial kidnapping. Jose Rodrigo Hernandez Raphael had never experienced pain like he felt in that moment. He let out an inhuman sound of fear, pain and anger. Then he turned to the side, vomited and passed out. Javier texted Arturo to let him know that there had been a change in the plans as they were now down a man. That done, he quickly took Jose to a nearby medical center, dropped him off outside the front door and returned to load up his three dancers. Because the schedule for handing over Mercedes Jones was incredibly tight, Javier assigned Fernando, his designated partner for the day, to take Mercedes to meet with Arturo in his absence.
Despite the statement that Javier would give to the American FBI and the Mexican Federales agents, Mercedes Jones was not still in transit to the location of Arturo Casillas when he was interrogated. At the time of Javier's interview, she wasn't even still in transit to the location of Corbin Richardson. After leaving the parking garage, Fernando had driven his precious cargo for two and a half hours to Mexicali and delivered her into the waiting hands of his boss. Once Arturo had Mercedes in hand, he had taken her by helicopter to a small airstrip outside Cancun. By eleven am Tijuana or two pm Eastern Standard Time, the young songstress had been delivered into the impatiently waiting hands of Corbin Terry Richardson.
Corbin Richardson had been plotting and planning for roughly twenty months, in one way or another, for that very moment. He was almost dancing with glee as he came down the steps of his personal Dassault Falcon 900LX. Smirking to himself, Corbin remembered selling off all three of his Cessna aircrafts when his cousin's husband's unfortunate 'accident' had shown him how easy it was to tamper with their internal radar systems. Especially given how impossible it was to prove that they'd been tampered with after a catastrophic system failure. However, the moment he laid eyes on the woman who had been haunting his dreams for almost two years, much of his joy left his face. "What the hell did you do to her face?" He shouted angrily at his MBA classmate.
Arturo's shrug was completely unconcerned. "I did nothing to her face. It would seem that Fernando took exception to her causing a major injury to his cousin, Jose. Your little obsession is quite the wildcat." At the rising anger in his old friend's face, Arturo put up a calming hand. "I am sure that he only backhanded the little bitch a couple of times. After all, she did send his cousin to the hospital. Besides, you did more damage to that cute little blonde freshman we used over the King holiday weekend in eighty-nine."
Richardson was still angered by the bruises blossoming on Mercedes' face. But having known him for decades, Corbin knew that Arturo was a ruthless motherfucker, and he was not foolish enough to anger the Mexican king pin. Corbin was one of the very few people that knew the real reason Arturo had left America when he had. Though their entire peer group agreed that beating a man to death for raping a pre-pubescent child should not be a crime. None of them were saints, the idea of consent was an amorphous concept for all of them, but even they had their standards. Unfortunately, the man Arturo had killed was not only white, but he was also extremely, extremely wealthy and had connections that would have made it almost impossible for Casillas to escape prison time or deportation even though the 'crime' was committed in defense of a third party. While a couple of them would have been more helpful had the child in question shared their skin color, but eight of the eight of them agreed. Together Corbin and several of their friends were able to give Arturo the time he needed to close out his life in New York before he returned to Mexico. Though, honestly, Corbin still owed Arturo more than Arturo owed him. There were quite a few whores at Harvard that could have presented legal problems for Corbin without one of Arturo's cousin's gift with chemically combining narcotics.
Rather than giving into ineffectual anger, Corbin forced himself to focus on the fact that he finally had Mercedes Jones completely under his control. Within forty-five minutes of the arrival of the unassuming navy-blue Honda City at the airfield, Mercedes had been loaded into the internationally capable private jet and the bird was in the air. Arturo returned to his car and opened the Ghurka briefcase that Richardson had given him. A quicker than believable count assured the human trafficking boss that his old friend had, indeed, paid the remaining million American dollars as agreed upon the delivery of the merchandise. The original million had already been distributed to Arturo's henchmen in payment for their services. He reminded his driver to take the car and ensure that it was fully detailed before returning it to the agency where he always got his temporary vehicles. Only then did Arturo return to his very normal looking office in a high-rise commercial building that wouldn't have looked out of place in Manhattan, Chicago or LA to handle his crew's check-ins and prepare for his part in the auctions that would take place once the women arrived at their ports of call. Had there been more people in the building that Sunday, they would have seen a tall, good-looking man of a certain age dressed as if he had spent the morning on the golf course before coming into his office to clear up some paperwork from the previous week. And that wouldn't be an unrealistic assessment. After all, the twelve women of KAMA were only a small percentage of the merchandise Arturo's crew was handling that week.
However, Arturo was not a fool. He had heavily researched the security firm which protected the tour that was his target. Ranger Manoso and his crew were the most dangerous part of the entire assignment and Arturo didn't fool himself into thinking that just because he'd successfully kidnapped their charges, those men would back off. No, they would definitely be out for revenge even if they were unable to get the women back. So, while he was taking the time to manage his other merchandise, he was also packing up the things he would need to work from his compound near Zacatecas. In total, it took him three hours to finalize his weekend's work. A total of thirty-five different pieces of merchandise were transported through his network that week. There was quite a lot of money to be moved into untraceable accounts. Arturo smirked to himself. He knew his 'friend' Corbin would be perturbed to know that his two million dollars was only a tenth of the revenue Arturo's operation had officially brought in that week.
As he hit send on an email to the building management, letting them know that he would be out of town for several days, the entire office went dark. Despite the disorientation of the sudden blackout, Arturo moved with surety to the interior-most corner of his office. With practiced efficiency, he moved a large painting of a map of the Caribbean, uncovering a biometric safe. He was shocked when he realized that somehow the separate power source that kept the safe operational for up to 48 hours after being cut off from its traditional flow of electricity wasn't working. However, before he could turn to arm himself from a smaller hidden cache of weapons, he kept behind a shelf of false books on the shelves bracketing his office door, Arturo felt the muzzle of, what felt like, a forty-five mil Sig Sauer. A quietly authoritative voice spoke to him in his native tongue. "Put your hands up, turn around slowly. I don't want to kill you…But I certainly will enjoy making you wish that I did."
Phantom Limb (Jason Hawk Harris)
Puck PoV
I remember hearing that the first 48 hours after a kidnapping was vital and most abductees not rescued or returned in that time period were very, very, very rarely ever found. As we were hitting the 38th hour after Mercy had been taken, I could see that we were all starting to lose hope. In the twenty-six hours since the press conference, so much had changed, so much had happened. The BAU team and the Federales had managed what most people believed impossible. They had taken down the head
of major human trafficking ring and Interpol was working hard to bust up the slave markets in Dubai, Helsinki, Doha or any of the other markets our ladies were to be said to be headed to for sale.
Arturo Casillas had been arrested in his office in one of Mexico's largest financial buildings. Honestly, from what the Rangemen; who had been in on the bust; had said his office looked like he was just a CEO at Goldman Sachs or some shit. There had been a short skirmish but no gun fine. Hector said that Casillas was actually pretty good with his switch blade. Lester just smirked and said that Hector was better. Just to make sure that all the nuances of his interrogation were caught, Ranger, Dr. Lewis, Hector and Sammy Boy's cousin Spencer had all sat in on the questioning. They had dissected and analyzed everything said and scheduled the meeting we had the afternoon of the second full day Mercedes had been missing.
While they were busy at the cop shop, Hummel, Anderson, Baby Mama and James had all gotten there and after spending 30 seconds, reassuring us that Mercedes was strong and very much too vicious not to fight her way back to us, Anderson dipped to make sure that Joaquina was actually okay after her abduction and rescue. I got it. She was his cousin and according to his mother there had been real deal brain matter in her hair that Mrs. Analyn had had to wash out for her. Joaquina deserved to be surrounded by her family like we were, and her mom didn't get there until like eight hours after Anderson and the rest of that part of the crew had gotten there.
Kurt and Quinn both said they came to support us but honestly, they were fucking falling apart. Mercy was pretty much their sister, so I understood. But I just didn't have it in me to keep them together while I was only barely keeping my shit under control. I was so glad when Devon got there and the three of them were able to fall apart together.
I had tried to get some sleep, but honestly neither Sam nor I could sleep. Hell, for the first time I'd ever experienced, I hadn't wanted to bone, fuck, make love or even make out. I knew we were scheduled to meet with the full Rangeman team, the BAU team, our parents and a few of the Federales at two pm local time. I'd gone down to the beach and ran until I could finally feel something other than fear and worry and rage. Granted, it was pain, my chest felt like it was going to explode, and my legs wanted to kick my ass for making them hurt like that. But it was something different. I showered and found Sam sitting on our bed staring off into space. It was easy to tell that while I had taken my frustration out on the beach, Sam had hit the hotel's small gym.
I did acknowledge to myself that it wasn't fucking healthy to shut each other out like we were doing. But honestly, even being in the same room with Sam without our Mercy, just made the missing her even worse. The most I was able to do was rouse him after I showered and dressed. Before I left, Sam pulled me in for a hug. He needed it to ground him to the present, to get him out of his head. I needed it to verify that at least one half of my heart was physically safe. I didn't really want to let him go... but staying hurt too much.
When I got to the conference room, I was surprised to see that I was only the second person there. I dropped into a seat and zoned out myself. I was shocked out of my mental Wandering by Spencer putting a cup of coffee and a bagel and schmear in front of me. "Hi man," I said before thanking him. "Hey, is that 48 hours thing the Dr. Spencer Reid "character" said on that Criminal Minds show?"
The groan that came out of Spencer was one of the deepest groans of hatred that had ever been groaned. "I wish that Director Freeh had not decided that the best way to improve the image of the FBI was that show that showed the real FBI. People already loved the X-Files, Profiler, they had that Bones show already in the works. Criminal Minds was... less than necessary. And if he really wanted a show that would bring our skill set to the fore front... Why did he ever agree to opening up our case files and letting the show runners & writers use our real names? It was ridiculous. It makes our job exponentially harder than it has to be. Do you know how often we introduce ourselves to small town law enforcement office, and we aren't believed? It is maddening." He babble-groused. "But yes, unfortunately, this will become even more difficult after the forty-eight-hour mark" He said gently "Since you are family, Noah, I won't lie to you, if Mercedes' abduction continues into a third day, it is far more likely that she will have been -at the very least- injured or otherwise harmed."
The "FUCK". I wasn't able to contain at the very thought of our beautiful, kind wife being actually injured or raped by that bastard Richardson echoed through the ballroom turned conference room like a cannon blast. I knew that was what Spencer meant even if he couldn't bring himself to use the word. "Shit, man I'm sorry, that was loud."
"I understand." He said calmly.
I could see in his eyes that he really did get what we were going through. Like he'd been on our side of this fucked up situation. "So, the Mauve shit was real." I asked with compassion and grace. I wished. No. I blurted that shit out like a bull crashing through a China shop.
He nodded. "Her real name was Moira. But yes. She was real. We had actually met in person. Even managed a real date. But ultimately her resentful stalker caught up with her before we were able to figure out the connection and Dakota Filler killed her and was, in turn killed by J. J. " I must have shown the question in my face because he answered it before I could verbalize it. "It was a justified shooting, but the show's writers felt that after JJ killed the Hero Syndrome Killer that shot Garcia and shooting several other unsubs, her character was becoming to hardened and so several of her saves have since been attributed to Hotchner or Morgan... though honestly, we do tend to bring in closer to eighty-seven percent of our unsubs alive rather than the 54% of the show. Granted part of that discrepancy can be attributed to the show acting like we always shoot only to kill when the simple truth is that our main goal is to always make sure that all victims are found, recovered or rescued. Dead unsubs are worthless to us."
I nodded. I could see why having gotten the exact answer I had not wanted; I felt a subject charge was in order. "You know before we knew you weren't just a character on a TV show -let store her cousin – Moms D was on a crusade to get Angel Mom to name Sloane, Spencer, after Dr. Spencer Raid from Criminal Minds."
I was proved wrong his earlier groan was nothing compared to that one. "I do not understand, how the Director ever allowed the use of our names and histories." He muttered as he buried his head in his hands on the table. It was surreal to see this man with three Ph. Ds and more just pure intellect than any person alone should have, having a full on hide from the world moment.
"Wait." I blurted -again showing more tact than his cousins usually did. "So, Hankel and that whole bullshit he put you through?"
Spencer looked up and didn't need to say a word. I could see it all over his face. "Is he dead? Because if he's not dead, Chaz and Carmine have connections... and if they don't, there is every chance Couch Sue or Don Motta do have those connections."
"He's dead." Spencer said quietly. "His episodes were actually handled extremely accurately."
"I'm so fucking sorry that you went through that shit. I am so glad that you made it through. But I have to admit, I am a little sorry that fucker is dead. Because, honestly, having met your family... Crazy or not they would have fucked him all the way up." I said with all honesty. "Those Pucketts, your relatives, they take protectiveness and vengeance to a whole 'nother level.
He nodded. "Yes, that was the impression that they gave my father."
"Well, he shouldn't have left little ass you to take care of your mom like he did. I mean, yeah, you handled your shit and held you both down... but he should never have done that to you."
David Rossi and Derek Morgan came in and overheard the end of our conversation. "Kid's right. Your father deserves whatever his former in-laws dished out." Morgan chuckled as he took a seat. Soon, the table was filled with the other members of the BAU, Ranger Manoso, Stephanie, Lester, Tank and Hector as well as our parents. Sam came in with Devon basically leading him by the hand. He'd completely checked out and I couldn't blame him. It wasn't his fault that I didn't know how to process my own feelings of inadequacy and guilt enough to be able to help him with his, we were falling apart without Cede. I knew that we loved each other differently than we each loved her. I just hadn't realized that our love for Mercedes was so much easier and more integral to our very states of fucking being than we'd even admitted to ourselves, let alone each other.
Honestly, a big part of me was worried as hell that Sam and me might not survive this shit. I got a little bit of hope that I was wrong when Sam pulled Devon over and took the chair next to me with Dev on his other side. When he grabbed my hand and held onto it like a lifeline, I started to understand a truth that my shame and fear was causing me to doubt. Our love for each other might be different, but it wasn't less than our love for Mercedes. I shoved the half of my bagel I hadn't eaten over to him. I doubted he'd eaten anything that entire day. But like me, he probably wouldn't be able to stomach much more than that.
People streamed in, well Ranger Manoso seemed to appear in his chair ready to get the meeting started…but I was pretty sure that he was literal magic or maybe Sam was right and he had undergone ninja training during his special ops training. The BAU team members minus Garcia were arrayed on one side with four of the Rangeman contingent on the other side. Moms D and Hell Bent were on Devon's other side and my mom and George sat with Angel Mom and Sand Man across from us. Once everyone was seated, Ranger started the meeting by reporting on what had been learned from the interview of the human trafficking ring's head honcho.
"Bonastre was getting ready to disappear to a black site. A secondary office that he keeps totally off the grid. He claimed that he knew we were coming, but thought he was far enough ahead of us to disappear there before we could catch up. He was wrong." A slight smirk broke his usually inscrutable mien. "We have learned that Jones was transferred to Richardson's custody around sunrise. But we're not able to confirm that timeline. Our sources place Richardson still in LA during that time." He looked at Tank for confirmation before moving forward.
"Bonastre also said that Richardson's flight plan was for the Maldives, but eyes on the ground state that the property there is still shut down with no movement at all since Richardson pulled up stakes last week. However, satellite images of his estate in Montenegro are showing far more activities than would be expected of an empty, summer vacation holding in October." He concluded.
Honestly, I expected the explosion…I was kind of proud that it didn't come from me. Instead, Devon's was the top that blew. "What the fuck? Are you trying to say that that son of a bitch has my little sister, and you don't know where the fuck she is?"
Hell Bent looked like he had the same question. But Danica looked just wrecked. Stephanie was quick to reassure us all. "Yes and No. Our techs are sure that she's in transit to Richardson's compound in Montenegro. There hasn't been any activity in any of the other properties he has in any of the non-extradition countries and no one at this table believes that he is stupid enough to go anywhere that we can get him out of easily."
Looking around, it appeared that we could all agree with that statement.
Ranger nodded and continued his report. "While Ms. Garcia felt certain that Rachel Berry was just a patsy, Bonasarte claims that his second in command had been in communication with her and has made it clear that she was the reason he and his crew knew which markets to send the Lima women to in order to gain them the most money. He is sticking to that story... which, given that our knowledge that it isn't true didn't come through any official channel, doesn't bode well for the Berrys." He said bluntly.
"That sucks for Antwan and Hiram but honestly fuck Rachel!" Sam said quietly. "Did we learn anything that will get Mercy Back?"
Ranger looked like he wanted to sigh. "From Bonasarte... No. However, we have people on the ground in Europe. It is simply a waiting game because unfortunately, we were not able to find out where he was planning to refuel."
I was beyond angry "So what good came out of all it this bullshit with that asshole you guys worked over?"
"As you know Grunt came down with the group from New York and he was able to get through Bonasarte's defenses once we got him into the office. He found us the offline headquarters. There, our men found all the information on the last seven years of the victims of this human trafficking ring." Tank's deep voice filled the tense silence. "The FBI, the Federales and Interpol are already working through that intel. They won't be able to bring a lot of them home... but we should be able to give a lot of their family's answers. The other families will at least have a place to start looking for them."
"So, what now?" Benton said with a definite snarl. "I mean, wonderful for all those families. But what is the plan for getting Mercedes home?"
The look of glee on Stephanie Plum's face was actively way more fucking frightening than it should have been. "Ranger has a contact in the area. He's got some experience dealing with human traffickers." Her smile turned fucking scary. "He hates them with a well-deserved fiery passion. He's already in place near the private airfield Richardson tends to use whenever he flies directly to Montenegro."
Aaron Hotchner nodded. "Prentiss and her team will also be in place well before the plane touches down."
"Prentiss will make sure that Mercedes is safe and see to it she receives any medical care needed." JJ assured us all. Or at least she tried to. Mentioning that Cede would need medical attention was not reassuring to any of us. I wasn't sure about Sam, but it made my mind immediately jump to all the worst conclusions.
ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS
I Made It (Rich Homie Quan)
Corbin Richardson PoV
As we flew away from Cancun, I almost couldn't believe that everything had worked out so well. Quite honestly, I was unconcerned with any of Arturo's side kidnappings. If they were successful, Arturo would be happy, which would slightly benefit me…if not, it didn't negatively impact me at all. To me Arturo's little side hustles were simply a distraction for law enforcement and Ranger Manoso's unfortunately loyal cabal of mercenaries. Still, as I waited for the time to be right for me to enjoy my Treasure, the realization of months of obsessive desire, I turned on the news to see if Arturo was as smart as he believed himself to be. Or rather if his crew was as loyal and capable as they were portrayed to be. As I listened with half an ear to the reports of the explosion, I took some time to answer some emails and make sure that all was in place of a corporate retreat for the brick and mortar store district managers. The latter was technically the job of one of my assistants, but I did like to keep my fingers somewhat on the pulse of the company's peons. It looked better from a PR standpoint for me to do so. After completing those mundane tasks, and rewatching the "Rub You the Right Way' video to alleviate some of my anticipatory tension, I tuned in more fully.
I found myself surprised by the fact that more than an hour after we were in the air, news of the abductions was still being repressed successfully. Even on social media, all I could find were the expected celebrity imploring for help and donations to aid those effected by the Tijuana Concert Bombing. I reached out to the only woman alive I deemed worthy of any level of respect. "I am surprised that you're calling me right now." Linda said in leu of hello. "I would have assumed that you would be too busy enjoying your hard sought hoochie-mama."
"Mercedes is not a hoochie-mama, Linda." I rolled my eyes. My cousin invoked a feeling that I identified as familial love…but she was quite bigoted in her own strange way. She found all women of color to be beneath her, and it came across in everything she did. In fact, Linda Barnes had a very rigid social hierarchy. Our family was at the very top. Next came affluent white males, then comfortable white males or very, very affluent Black men, or other very, very rich men of color…then affluent white women. It was deeply involved and probably had more to do with her dichotomous sense of superiority and inferiority. Honestly, I much preferred my own form of latent bigotry…where green was the only color that I cared about. The ages old fight was not the point of my call. "I wanted to check in with you. I noticed that the news is only discussing the explosions…"
"We knew that Manoso and his men were professionals and damn good at their jobs. It's why you had to bring in your old Harvard buddy and the idiots from Texas. They're probably holding any press releases until the families have been notified. It is standard operating procedure for most abduction or hostage cases. That SOP also tends to hold true in almost all of the BAU's cases. Unfortunately, they are already on their way to Mexico. I was unable to make Cruz listen to reason." She pointed out adroitly.
Speaking of some of the redirections that I had instituted to obfuscate things for my enemies and keep them occupied on as many fronts as possible, I asked her about a longer-term project that she was supposed to be bringing to fruition that would shield my oldest friend from his unknowing culpability in all of my machinations. "I managed to help a tech here to find the breadcrumbs you laid out that lead to the Berry girl. He's convinced that it is his own great detective skills that led him to her and his charm that got me to allow him to follow his lead. The poor bastard is so busy trying to prove that he's as good an analyst as his ex, he was almost too easy to influence. On Friday evening, he told me that he had more than enough evidence to have her brought in tomorrow…Monday at the absolute latest. I gave him the go ahead to turn it over to the Ohio field offices and have her brought in for questioning."
I smirked to myself. Nicholas's former fiancée had been invaluable in gathering information about my obsession. However, if the information had led back to his door, it would have harmed our decades long friendship. I did not want that to occur. Quite honestly, it was one of only two relationships in my life that I valued in more than a transactional fashion. So, I'd subtly used Rachel Berry to confirm or deny all the information he'd given me in such a way that she could have easily been considered the primary source. I could have easily chosen a different patsy for this misdirection…but I found Rachel Berry's behavior abhorrent and wanted her punished. For me, the best-case scenario would be that her lawyer father would be unable to get her name cleared and she would have to spend time in a federal prison or mental facility. Worst case scenario, she suffered some small measure of humiliation, and hopefully though doubtfully, learned some humility. A lesson she desperately needed. I'd been quasi-diagnosed as having narcissistic personality disorder in the early nineties and Berry's behavior was worse than mine had ever been. "I do appreciate all your hard work."
"Good, you should." She said with a wry grin I could hear through the phone. "I cannot wait until I can wash my hands of that tech. He isn't as good at his job as he believes, but since everyone knows that the tech analyst for the primary and secondary BAU teams is not leaving her position for anything other than a federal prison…he has been superficially headhunted by several other alphabet agencies. By this time next week, I will be able to shuffle him off to one of them and let him believe that it is a promotion. That will cut off that line of inquiry if anyone looks too closely at the Berry solution."
Arranging an accident to permanently do away with that loose end was a necessity that would easy enough to do. I found it doubtful that the world would miss one mediocre, middle aged tech boy. However, rather than make that point to my often-infuriating cousin, I returned to her primary task. "Do you believe that Ms. Berry's arrest will help to add a distraction to those I would prefer looking elsewhere?"
I could almost see Linda's noncommittal shrug. "It may peel off some of the attorneys' focus. But I doubt it will distract the BAU or Rangeman very much at all."
I knew that it was unlikely to do more than that. "Yes, well that is probably the best I could have hoped for…after all…though, I'd prefer that it simply removed Rachel Berry from the field of play totally." But I was hopeful that it would at least be enough to scare the little bitch straight. The things that went through her head when it came to my Mercedes could not be allowed. No one was allowed to cause Mercedes Jones any pain…other than myself, of course. And I was sure that given time and the work of Dr. Becher, Mercedes would learn to enjoy the pain I gave to her. As the call ended, my pilot stated that we were reaching our first refueling point in Antigua.
I used the hour of our refueling stop to maintain Mercedes state of unconsciousness and allowed myself a small measure of enjoyment of her lush figure. I did maintain the unnecessarily rigid rules of engagement that Dr. Becher insisted upon. Apparently, going too far too fast would only hinder the good doctor's work. Still, I gorged myself on the scent and feel of her. I also took the time to wash away the stage makeup and treat the swelling Arturo's henchman's anger had caused. Thankfully arnica gel and ice packs were stocked in the first aid kits on all my planes. It did such a wonderful job healing the visible effects of a rigorous sexual encounter. Unfortunately, my joy at finally having Mercedes Jones in my sphere of control, I decided to enjoy myself before re-tranquillizing her. So, I untied her arms and legs from the large bed and started to wash the stage antiperspirant and strip her of the unbecoming underwear…to replace it with much more fitting lingerie, of course. In the midst of cleaning her soft skin, I remembered a vital part of my long-term plans for her. Arturo's chemist had created a special blend of rifampin, grisofulvin, St. Johns Wart extract and soy isoflavones that he was positive would completely disrupt Mercedes' hormonal contraceptives. Moving quickly, I grabbed the prepared syringe from the mini fridge in the main cabin and I returned to the bedroom. I gave her the required shot before continuing on my current mission of getting her out of her stage wear.
As I was cutting away the plain brown shaper panty, I learned exactly why Arturo's compatriot had been so angry. A thick knee hit me in the face followed quickly by a balled-up fist to my temple. My world shattered into a kaleidoscope of pain and light as she battered at me again and again until she gathered her bearings enough to scramble off the bed. She didn't make it very far. The drugs had lessened in her system, but they were not completely gone. Her thick thighs and sturdy calves carried her admirably as she stumbled towards the door. I was thankful that she was swaying and trying to find her equilibrium. Otherwise, she may have made it into the cabin. Though she'd not have found any help there, but I'd have hated to have to replace my flight crew, NDAs only worked so well when it came to people's morals. "Fuck." I yelled as I grabbed a small, pepper-spray looking can that carried the aerosolized sedatives. I sprayed two quick shots into her face, taking another wild but accurate punch in the endeavor. Her brothers had taught her well. The blow landed on my ear causing a ringing that was most distracting. Thankfully, the spray did its job quickly.
In what may have been a fit of pique, I took great pleasure in stripping her completely naked. It filled me with an odd sort of pride that I was one of very, very few people to see the lush form in front of me in a state of pure, unfettered nudity. Securing her hands and feet once more, I trailed my fingers up one well-turned leg to the joining of her thighs. I smiled seeing her fully waxed, the lush mound of her sex doing little to hide her clitoral hood. Though my smile dimmed as I realized that only the hood was visible. Further examination proved to me that Mercedes' body was completely unfazed by my earlier attention or even by my most recent touches. I found myself in a rather strange conundrum. I wanted to know if further digital manipulation would prove more fruitful than just superficial touches. However, Dr. Becher had expressed very real concerns that even fingering my beloved, even while I believed her to be completely insensate, could create a remembered trauma that would harm the doctor's ability to help Mercedes realize her love for me. I would follow the prescribed course of action. I was not a child. I was well able to delay my gratification in order to win the ultimate prize.
Brain Washed (Shayne Ward)
Dr. Lynda Belcher PoV
There were large numbers of people who would assume that given the scope of my studies, I was a 'horrible person'. That my studies were unconscionable. I was never able to care. I'd discovered my calling early. A voracious reader from the moment I learned how, I was eight years old when I first read Paul A. Verdier's 'Brainwashing and the Cults'. The thought of how easily a Svengali could bend seemingly normal people's wills to their own intrigued me. After that I read whatever I could get my hands-on on the subject. 'Mein Kompf', Lowell D. Streiker, Zablocki's articles…those led me to psychology. The study of the human psyche opened an entirely new realm of study for me. I graduated high school at fifteen and received my bachelor's degree in psychology and aberrant psych from Stanford University at eighteen. By the time I was twenty-one, I had a PhD in the field from Harvard and was working on my MD from Yale. I completed my residency in two thousand and eight and immediately began researching why certain human minds were so open to manipulation. My first paper was published in twenty-ten and looked deeper into my theory that part of the problem with historic Svengalis was that they very rarely if ever took into account the fact that there are major differences in how genders perceive the world and therefore, there are differences in how to approach mental manipulation. I was currently studying individual 'brainwashing' of the feminine mind.
My approach to the subject was simple. I began by interviewing several women who had undergone more traditional 'brainwashing'. Women who'd been members of cults. Women who had survived kidnappings by giving into what people believed to be Stockholm syndrome. I'd interviewed dozens of women who had escaped toxic relationships after decades. Gaslighting was the amateur's best mental manipulation tool. To create a real, deep and lasting change to the psyche took time and an attention to the individual and to details that just weren't possible in a cult or even larger setting. However, the initial steps were much the same. First and foremost, they needed to be culled from the herd…separated from their support system. For most cases that needed to be a gradual process. The ideal separation was so well done that the intended 'victim' never realized that they were alone with only their 'lover' for support.
Complete isolation is the bedrock of all types of brainwashing. It is the only way to have any hope of success at rewriting the human psyche. I had some worries that having divided attentions on this current experiment would lead to lesser results. While Subject A had been properly psychologically isolated before being given into my care, Subject B was an entirely different matter. However, my last trial had been a perfect example of complete and total isolation and applications, best practices would presuppose that my next field test of my theories should be conducted in a manner with a known and expected difference. That was what made this all so exciting. Upon my initial evaluation of Subject A, I'd been underwhelmed at the challenge she presented. So much time in Hollywood and on the modeling circuit had already been detrimental to her sense of self and had created an underlying, deeply rooted feeling that she was wrong or bad…creating an easy bedrock upon which to build psyche destabilizing guilt. From there, it had been entirely too easy to help her reach a place where she agreed with me that the guilt was rooted in a fundamental truth that she was wrong.
Here was where my methods differed from the established psychological community's thoughts on mental manipulation. Traditionalists state that at that point a break of the psyche needs to occur. However, women are constantly barraged by things and people who tell them that they are wrong…usually getting a woman to commit a level of self-betrayal is quite easy. Keeping her in that frame of mind however takes a level of skill and understanding of the differences in how the genders, all of them, think and perceive things that is rarely found in the preponderance of psychologists let alone most psychoanalysts. My studies and previous trials had led me to the conclusion that the 'breakdown to build up' was very much an antiquated methodology that led to the reformation of the previous personality far too easily. Currently Subject A was undergoing a complete rebuilding of her personality centered around the positive emotions, situations and sentiments connected to my current benefactor. The aim was to make sure that her personality was entwined and interwoven with Richardson at the center. She would be unable to see a life where she did not actively enjoy making him happy in whatever manner pleased him best. I was already seeing some success in restructuring her inherent sexuality from completely hetero to a more bisexual leaning omni. The ideal end result would have her sexual preferences fully in line with her 'husband's', including the presence of her sister wife, Subject B and any male lovers he chose to introduce into their relationship.
I was less than confident that I would have as deep a success with either of these subjects as I'd had with my previous subjects. Subject Alpha, my first real world test subject was a young woman who had gained substantial amounts of weight in the five years since she'd married. Given the rather public profile of both her spouse and her parents, that was not something that her family could allow. In collusion with her husband and her father, I managed to create what has, so far, been long lasting change. In the five years since I released her from my care, she had continued to lose weight for eight months and then maintain that weight loss until the present time. Subject Beta, my next test subject was the younger, much too liberal for her uber-conservative family, had been successfully reoriented to align more closely with her family's social and political leanings. Quite honestly, because of the deeply personal nature of her views and the under lying reasons she held them, I doubted that even my surgically targeted mental manipulation methods would hold fast for more than two to five years.
Though in being completely honest, the quasi-evaluation that I had done of my current benefactor caused me to wonder if that would be his preferred outcome anyway. His sadistic version of desire would find consensual sex…even with the underlying knowledge that that consent was gleaned only through 'brainwashing'…unappealing very quickly. I would be surprised if he were able to handle it for longer than three to six months. That would be a very interesting case study in and of itself. But, while Richardson was paying my slightly inflated fees and keeping me in a style I only dreamed of becoming accustomed to, he wasn't the focus of my study at this time. I could observe him, but it wasn't incumbent on me to psychoanalyze him. I was actually very much hesitant to remain in any sort of contact with Richardson after my work was concluded. His plans had the likelihood of undoing any success I reached with my two subjects and the second could very well leave me open to criminal prosecution rather than simply civil litigation. I was well aware that I should have walked away from discussions with Richardson when I realized who the initial, only, subject was. But the challenge she presented to me was just too good to pass up. Subject B would be the very first person I would work upon who had no positive feelings toward the changes I would try to instill in her psyche. If I was successful, she would be the truest proof that my methods worked that I would likely ever have. It was simply an offer too good to refuse.
I am so sorry for the long wait on this chapter.
I have no excuse other than I couldn't seem to write more than a sentence at a time.
I hope that you will enjoy the update.
I promise that I have not forgotten about this universe.
I haven't stopped trying to write every day.
I hope that I can get back to regular updates again.
Your prayers for my muses to return to me would be GREATLY appreciated.
TTFN,
Anni