Sorry for the wait guys! Life is wild.

Also, a quick disclaimer: As we saw in the last chapter, this story is going to revolve somewhat around religion, and not in a good way. I just want to make it clear that I am in no way trying to bash religion or make it seem horrible. Of course, some of the actions in this story will be pinned on religious beliefs, and this doesn't excuse them, but it also is not indicative of religion as a whole. I think everyone is absolutely entitled to their own beliefs, and while religion is going to be used mostly negatively in this story, I am not saying that it is normal. I just want to make that clear before I go on, as I don't intend any harm, or wish to offend anyone! Furthermore, just as a warning, there are some descriptions of torture in this chapter. Nothing crazy gruesome, but just want to give a heads up.

Thank you all again for your wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter!


"Joseph. It is time to pay for your sin."

Panic thrummed deep in his chest. Joe took a deep breath of stale air, twisting his hands into the threadbare sheet of the cot. He could hear his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears, his skin crawling with what he knew intimately was guilt. He refused to give Egorov the satisfaction of knowing it, however, and Joe lifted his chin, eyes blazing with anger as he met the Russian man's gaze.

"You killed her, Egorov. Not me." The words came out weaker than he had intended.

Something like a laugh rippled out of Egorov, vile and dark. "I think we both know the truth."

He could still feel his finger on the trigger. The blood splattered across him. Vanessa's face. His finger on the trigger. Blood splattering. Vanessa's face. His finger on the trigger. Blood splattering. Vanessa's face.

Joe snapped his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Breathe. Don't let him get to you.

When Joe opened his eyes, Egorov was holding a gun towards him almost casually, a glint in his dark eyes.

"The usual," he said, flicking the barrel of the gun at him.

Slowly, Joe pushed himself off the cot, swallowing a surge of anger that rose from his gut as he stiffly stood against the back wall. Every other time, Vanessa had been with him, or was brought in, her presence an anchor for him. He knew what was coming, knew what to expect, horrible as it was. The unknown brought with it a new kind of horror.

"Where's Vanessa?" He asked, voice low. He hadn't seen her since they had dragged her from the room, screaming his name. Another thing he didn't think he'd ever be able to purge from his head.

Instead of answering, Egorov nodded his head towards Vadim, who lumbered forward with a pair of handcuffs dangling from his large hands. Joe swallowed, shaking his head.

"Where is she?" Vadim grabbed his wrist, and Joe jerked back, eyes wide. "Where's Vanessa?" He asked again, voice rising, looking past the burly man in front of him and over to Egorov, who was staring at him with an almost bored gaze.

"Cooperate, Joseph. If you hurt my brother, you know what happens."

Flashes of Egorov's fists slamming into Vanessa's beautiful face stilled Joe into submission, barely feeling the cold metal wrap around his wrists. He was tugged forward, and he lifted his eyes upward, away from the floor. Away from Astrid.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

The darkness of the hallway was a contrast to his previous room, kept brightly lit at all times, and he blinked frantically, willing his eyes to take stock of what was around him. He needed some edge over them, some upper hand. There must be something to learn about these men, the place he was being kept, so he could plan some escape. Find Vanessa. Escape.

Find Vanessa. Escape.

The thought kept him moving.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Joe could make out a long, barren hallway, rows of doors on either side. A school building. By the state of the hallway, one that had been closed down for a long, long time. What little fluorescent lighting was left flickered faintly, just barely illuminating the crumbling walls and piled garbage, adding to the reek of mildew and decay.

He was led forward, silently, but at each window that wasn't boarded up Joe craned his head, desperately searching for just a glance of ash-blonde hair or gray eyes.

Nothing.

Vadim yanked him to a stop as they neared the end of the hallway, facing him towards another plain door, window covered from the outside. A piece of him prayed Vanessa would be inside.

His prayer was left unanswered as Egorov hefted the door open, Joe's brows immediately furrowing in confusion. The room was small, similar to the last, lit with an almost obscene amount of fluorescent light, the walls dirty and stained. There was no cot, this time, and no toilet, only a chair placed ominously in the middle of the room. The oddest thing, however, was none of this, but the fact that instead of tile or concrete lining the floor, the ground was covered in what looked like sand, shimmering under the glow of the lights.

Joe swallowed, darting his eyes over to Egorov. "I'm not really in a beach mood," he said flatly, unsure. He hadn't heard all that much about what happened to the victims Egorov took captive, as the police force hadn't wanted two college kids working the ongoing case. He certainly didn't remember anything about rooms covered in sand. "Maybe you have a freedom themed room?" It was barely a joke, and a bad one at that, but the flicker of annoyance on Egorov's face kept him temporarily sane. If he could still piss off a kidnapper, he still held some power.

Vadim hauled him forward into the room with little resistance, Egorov's threat against Vanessa fresh on his mind. Joe would do anything to keep her safe. He would die for her.

He had just killed for her.

Egorov's voice pierced the silence. "For every sin, Joseph, there is a consequence. I take it you know that." Joe didn't answer, glaring at Egorov. The man continued. "Normally, I don't feel the need to share the process behind what I am doing here, but you are not just anybody."

"I'm flattered."

Egorov tilted his head, and Vadim pushed him down into the metal chair, his large hands resting on Joe's shoulders, holding him there. "A son of a detective. I knew it was risky, but there truly was no one else for this. You had already committed the sin, just as everyone else. And I am almost finished, so I can take some liberties for you to understand."

Joe took a slow breath. "Look, I…I don't even know what you're talking about, okay? Just-Just let Vanessa go. She doesn't need to be a part of whatever freaky thing this is."

Egorov gave him a long, odd look, and Joe struggled to hold his gaze.

Joe had been kidnapped plenty of times before. He had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and something about being the youngest child of a renowned detective made him a hot commodity for anyone looking for revenge. He prided himself on his resilience, even if Frank called it 'bullheaded stubbornness'. They didn't deserve to see his fear. Didn't deserve to hear him beg. But those times, he had been alone.

He curled his cuffed hands into fists. "Please. Just let her go."

Egorov clicked the door shut, crouching down in front of Joe. Vadim was moving, taking his hands out of the cuffs and replacing the restraints with rope, tying him to the chair. The gun pointed at him dwindled any chance of escape.

Egorov's voice was almost soft as he spoke, eyes leveled with Joe's. "Do you really think your actions would go without consequence?"

Vadim tied his legs to the posts of the chair, gritting his teeth as the rope cut into his skin. "I didn't-"

Egorov cut him off. "Silence."

Pulling almost absentmindedly against his restraints, Joe let his mouth click shut. His best chance for Vanessa was to cooperate.

"You committed the sin twice. Violence. That condemns you, Joseph. That leads you to the seventh circle. I have been given the power to judge, to cleanse, so that I can redeem."

He's insane.

"You're insane."

A scoff ripped itself from Egorov's mouth. "I am the exact opposite. I am."

It was the second time Joe had heard the man say it, and it made no more sense. "What does that even mean?"

Another horrifyingly sympathetic smile slid onto Egorov's face. "It means," he said slowly, nodding his head toward Vadim, who slipped from the room, "I am to punish you for your sins. To cleanse ourselves, we must pursue justification for others. You, Joseph Hardy, are guilty of violence."

His finger on the trigger. Blood splattering. Vanessa's face.

"You made me do that, Egorov. I didn't have a choice."

Egorov rose from his crouched position, placing his hands on Joe's forearms, leaning forward until their faces were centimeters away. His voice was quiet, soft. Joe could feel his breath slide across his face. "You pulled the trigger. And it is not your first offense."

Immediately, Joe furrowed his brows, letting out a sardonic chuckle. "I really feel like I would have remembered that happening. You're delusional, Egorov, or maybe you think I'm someone else, but I'm-"

"Iola Morton."

The name pulled the air from his lungs. He opened and closed his mouth, soundlessly, jerking his head back from Egorov.

The Russian man tilted his head. "I'm sure you remember her."

"No."

No.

Egorov's brows quirked upward. "No? You don't remember her?"

"No," Joe said, voice as hard as stone, "You don't get to say her name." Ice cold hatred pumped through his veins.

Pushing himself upward as the door opened once again, Vadim reentering, Egorov stared down at Joe. "If anyone is unworthy of that, it is you. You did kill her, after all."

The air around him was getting hard to breathe. It wasn't true, and he knew it. He had made his peace with that tragedy years ago. It had been overwhelming, once, the grief and guilt that had clung to him for so long, but he had clawed his way back to life, back to joy. He had been surrounded by family, friends, therapists that had all wanted the best for him, had held him up even when he thought he couldn't go on. And within the litany of comforting words on their lips had always been one sentence: It wasn't your fault.

He believed them now. He did. Before, he hadn't, and Joe had been sure he was the one who killed her. His actions had unequivocally led to her death, he thought. But he had never heard anyone say it but himself.

It felt like a knife had been ripped through his heart.

He's using her to get to you. Don't let him.

Joe schooled his features into something less shocked, forcing himself to quell the rage that threatened to take over him. He wouldn't let Egorov win. And he knew the truth.

"I didn't, Egorov." He turned steady blue eyes to meet Egorov's gaze. "It's taken me a long time to be able to say that."

The Russian man's mouth had hardened into a thin line. Vadim stood at the door, something in his hands, but Joe didn't tear his eyes from Egorov. "I told you before, sinners justify their actions. Often with more sin. Like lying."

"It's not-"

"No matter, Joseph. This is why you must be punished. Humans are so often misled by their own mind, by the people around them. You don't even know you've done wrong." Egorov lifted his chin, eyes glinting. "But you will. I am here to bring consequences to your violence."

He nodded his head towards his brother, and Joe shifted his eyes to Vadim, gaze trailing down to the item that was held in his hand. The first patter of fear rang in his head. Clutched in Egorov's hand was a decently sized log, the end of it curling with flames. In his other was a blowtorch.

"Look," Joe said, his voice thin, "we can skip the whole torture thing. Historically it hasn't worked too well, and then everybody goes home annoyed."

Vadim stepped forward. Egorov raised his brows. "This is not torture, Joseph. That would be cruel, a sin. This is punishment." He waved his hand, and Vadim stepped to stand beside Joe, the log close enough that he could feel the heat dancing off of it.

Joe forced himself to take a deep breath.

Don't let him see your fear.

"I didn't kill anyone."

Egorov narrowed his eyes. "So be it."

Before he could even register what was happening, Vadim pressed the burning log against his shoulder, Joe unable to swallow the cry that pulled itself from his throat, trying to pull away from the source of the pain. Vadim only pressed harder, his nerves screaming in agony as he grit his teeth, choking on his own breath.

Vadim pulled the log away. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, making Joe nauseous. His flesh.

Egorov was watching him impassively, hands folded behind his back. "This is what we must do to cleanse ourselves, Joseph. To become redeemed."

Joe could feel some sort of hysterical laughter bubble up in his throat. "You're fucking crazy."

He's insane. He doesn't even want anything. There's no reason for this. There's nothing I can give him.

Anger flashed in Egorov's eyes. "No. I am."

Pain erupted again across his arm, Joe giving a ragged gasp as his eyes crashed shut, yanking frantically against his bonds. The log was lifted, Joe only having a moment to desperately gasp for air, the relief lasting only moments before it was pressed against his left arm again. And again. And again.

His mouth tasted like metal. He must have bitten his tongue.

Just hold on. Hold on. Frank's gonna find you. He'll find you. He always does. Just hold on.

Even with the stream of comfort he was trying to give himself, Joe felt his heart drop at the sound of the blowtorch, whooshing alive with a steady stream of fire.

Please don't let this be happening to Vanessa. Please let her be okay.

He opened his eyes just in time to see the flame of the blowtorch rake across his chest, his t-shirt lighting up with flames. He howled as it burned, wildly yanking against the ropes that held him to the chair, trying to put out the flames that devoured the fabric of his shirt, burning his chest, his arms, his back as it did. He couldn't help the tears that mingled with the sweat on his face.

The world around him spun, his own cries of pain sounding distant and muffled. He was panting, haggardly, his body curled into itself as far as his bindings would let him, sweat dripping off of him. Flicking his eyes over to his left arm, he sucked in a horrified gasp, the view of his burnt skin swimming from the pain.

God. It hurts.

He didn't even recognize that Egorov had begun to speak to him until the man was inches away from his face again, tilting his chin up so the man could meet his eyes. "-for you? Do you understand, Joseph?"

Joe narrowed his eyes and spat, satisfied at the noise of disgust that came from Egorov as it connected with his face.

Egorov wiped it from his cheek, the grip on Joe's chin tightening. "You are an insolent sinner. You killed Iola Morton, and you killed Astrid Lowery, and you can't even show remorse. This is why you must be shown the consequences of sin."

Joe's angry retort was cut off by Egorov's fist connected with the side of his face, whipping it to the side.

He barely felt the ropes on his arms and legs being loosened, only realizing as he was pushed from the chair and into the sand beneath him. Joe winced, pulling his charred arm protectively against his singed chest.

Don't let him win.

Gritting his teeth, Joe pulled himself upright, sitting on his heels and meeting Egorov's gaze, defiance in his eyes. He just had to hold on long enough for Frank to find them. Or until he figured out where Vanessa was, and a way to escape.

"Take off your pants and shoes."

Joe blinked. Not what he was expecting. For a moment, he did nothing but stare, and Egorov leaned closer to him.

"Now. The pain of punishment must not be tempered by clothing. It is the only way to repent."

The pain was bad enough that Joe didn't even have it in him to make a joke about Egorov wanting to see him strip, instead jerking his body into movement and shakily pushing himself to his feet with his good arm. Slowly, he began to undress, wincing at the sharp spikes of pain that lanced through his left arm when he jostled it too much, toeing off his shoes and socks in a pile in the sand, leaving him only in his underwear. Vadim extinguished the log he held in the sand and picked up Joe's clothes.

Joe turned his gaze to the taller, more silent man, his voice hoarse as he spoke. "You can't believe this too, right? Do you hear how crazy he is? You don't have to do this."

Vadim barely glanced his way. Egorov chuckled, pulling Joe's focus back to him. "You don't understand. I am doing this for him. I am to redeem him."

A backhand from the man sent Joe back down to his knees, trying to protect his injured arm without touching it.

"And Joseph?"

He lifted red-rimmed eyes to glare at Egorov.

"You can stop asking about Vanessa. She has served her purpose here, and will no longer be needed."

Pain made his brain hazy, and Joe furrowed his brow, trying to understand. "What?"

Egorov stepped back towards him, curling his finger's into Joe's hair to yank up his head. Joe barely winced. "She's gone, Joseph. That is the answer to your question."

The ringing in his ears was back. His voice was rough as he asked, "You let her go?"

The smile that spread over Egorov's face sent a thrum of panic through Joe's veins. "You were foolish for what you did, taking my gun, threatening harm on me. On Vadim." He paused, as if he savored the desperation peeling off of Joe. "I told you your actions must be punished."

Joe's eyes went wide.

No.

"Whatever happens to her is your fault."

His vision went red. He lunged forward with a shout, only for something to grab him around the throat and slam him down on his back, his burnt skin screaming at the contact with the sand, a choked gasp ripping itself from his lips. Vadim's large hand was digging into his skin, Joe clawing helplessly at the vice-like grip.

Egorov's face appeared above him, a frown on his lips. "You will become repentant, Joseph. You will understand that your selfish, violent actions must have consequences. You will learn what it means to be judged. I'm sorry that your actions have caused such harm on other people, on Vanessa. But it is your fault. Let us not pretend anything different."

Joe sputtered angrily, unable to form words with the lack of oxygen he was being provided, his eyes wide. Vadim still hadn't let him go, the edges of his vision fading, his resistance against the large hand at his throat growing weaker. His vision swam.

"Vadim."

The pressure was gone, in an instant, and Joe gasped for air, pulling it into his lungs with deep, shuddering breaths, coughs wracking his body. He heard the door open and click shut. He forced his eyes open and dragged them forward, Egorov now his sole companion in the room, his hand on the door.

His voice cut through the ringing in Joe's ears.

"Thus was descending the eternal heat,

Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder

Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole.

Without repose forever was the dance

Of miserable hands, now there, now here,

Shaking away from off them the fresh gleeds."

Joe stared. "What?"

Egorov opened the door. Joe pushed himself forward toward it, gritting his teeth.

Vanessa. I have to find Vanessa. She's alive. She has to be.

A sigh came from Egorov, deep and tinged with something Joe didn't understand. He didn't understand any of it.

"Punishment," the man said, and the door slammed shut as he exited.

The heat in the room swelled, and Joe furrowed his brows. It felt like the sand beneath was getting hotter. No, it was getting hotter. Egorov's words rang in his mind.

Descending the eternal heat. Sand set on fire.

Realization settled like a stone in his chest.

Come on, Frank, where are you?

His only answer was the sting of hot sand against his knees.


Yikes! Not good, for sure. Sorry, Joe. Plots gotta do what plots gotta do.

Please let me know what you thought by leaving a review!

-Lee