Flash Fiction Friday Challenge prompt: Déjà vu. 556 words.

This fic is based on one by Loopstagirl, and I wholeheartedly recommend you read that one. You can find it on here called Holiday From Hell

He'd been here before. He knew it. He just wasn't sure when. Or rather, which time.

How many times had he been in this situation before? A few times. But this felt…familiar. A distinct feeling of déjà vu. His head swam as he tried to work out what had happened.

He yanked the chains that held him, but they held as tight as they had done every other time and he sighed.

Scott was sat on the floor, a scarf gagging him and his arms chained to a bar. The room appeared to be an old storeroom. There was nothing in the room except him and the bar running around two-thirds of it. No windows. Nothing.

There was that feeling again. He had been here before, the memory flooding back as clear as the day it had happened the last time, half his lifetime ago.

But why? That man was jailed for life for kidnapping three children, himself included, so who had kidnapped him this time? They would have known if the man had been released, surely?

Scott wasn't a cocky 15-year-old trying to find one brother and keep another safe this time. He'd been at Tracy Industries, at an unveiling of a new aircraft design. The last thing he remembered was taking questions from the press before the plane was shown.

There should have been a meet-and-greet after the show, and he must have attended, but Scott couldn't remember anything further. The pounding in his head told him he had probably been knocked out physically, but there was that funny taste in his mouth that told him at least some of his issues had been caused by being drugged.

The last time he had been in a room like this the bar had been just above his head and his arms had hung at an odd angle. This time he was taller, and his head rested on the bar. His wrists were in handcuffs, like last time, but his hands were resting on his head.

That was good, it gave his room to work both the lock and the chain. Unfortunately he wasn't wearing his suit jacket but he was still wearing his shirt. That meant he had his cufflinks and he could use them to free himself.

As that though registered he suddenly realised he could hear footsteps. Scott stopped and let himself relax. He needed to know who he was up against if he was going to get himself out of this.

The door opened and a person entered the room. They were wearing a black mask that didn't even seem to have eye holes. Oh. He knew that mask. It had haunted his dreams for weeks after he, Virgil and Oscar had been rescued.

They were carrying an old beat-up laptop and a stand, which they made sure was out of reach of his legs. Once they had set up the machine they turned to Scott. He may not have ever seen a broadcast at the time, but Virgil had played it out so often in his nightmares, and Scott knew what was going to happen. In that horribly distorted voice they said the words that Scott knew they would the minute they had entered the room.

'Time to call your father, Scott.'

He froze. It couldn't be him again, could it?