warning: some violence in this chapter
He suspected the door was locked but tried it just in case.
It was locked.
Claustrophobia gripped him.
If he could turn a new scene on, he'd be able to bear being trapped. Though— even those beautiful scenes were poisoned.
"Dorian—please show a birch woods."
Nothing.
Did Elena mean to leave him in here? The white walls were almost worse than his cell because there was almost no sense of direction. It was like sensory deprivation.
He sat down against the wall, calming himself, trying to use the time to recover.
I could have gone with her…. I might learn things…. But I still have the illusion of free choice… to choose something horrible that isn't Elena…
This gives me time to plan my next move. If I could offer a pretext for us both to take zyx…. entice her to go overboard…
He didn't want to think of what happen if she lost control enough to take too much zyx… and lost control even more when she took it… He recalled what Ali had done when he had too much, and Ali had… principles. Elena had no such restraints.
It was a dangerous game.
It was all dangerous here. He had to take risks, or he wouldn't get anywhere.
He just wished he could guarantee that she wouldn't go as far as last time… If he could avoid kisses… Those had compromised him. If he could steel himself to touch…. Touch that didn't… stray too far…. Perhaps eventually steel himself to one-sided kisses, though he didn't want to do that. It was all horrific betrayal—the full import hadn't even sunk in; under normal circumstances, he would never have considered giving something like that to anyone but his wife.
But to get back to her…. He might have to give away pieces of himself that belonged to her.
As little as possible. With how Elena was… he'd probably have to give away something. Drugging her was a way to try to avoid that… but still, there was a danger.
It was true that if she really wanted him, she could bind him. The pretense was part of the game… the… flirtation.
She can't take everything from me.
But she already has wrung… feelings from me…. From just a kiss!
That's why I have to get in the danger zone as little as possible. Risk a little… but do almost anything else…. Because I don't want to find out if I'm really capable of giving everything away… from mere touches of an enemy…
If she can do that… I've deceived myself in who I really am… I could be anything, do anything… become something horrible…. Perhaps I'm nothing, and everything layered over that is a façade… Something capable of—being wrung out by someone superior….
She doesn't want someone like that. If I'm that—then she is wrong. If she's right—then… there is something to me… but… I'm capable of being owned, twisted all the same…
It would almost be a comfort to be hollow, because then he wouldn't feel this agony…. The horror of betraying the principles he clung to….
So he had to escape. Get away from these things trying to rip him up, graft in other ill-fitting things, twist other parts of him, until part of him was unrecognizable… a pastiche of a person, patchwork—half-alive, half-dead….
Perhaps I'm losing my mind.
That's what this place will do eventually…. Maybe being Broken means being partly insane, while partly aware of the absolute horror –
The door opened, dispelling any opportunity for more productive—or unproductive— thoughts.
Gleb and Kent escorted him to the elevator, and dread overwhelmed him.
Why did I choose this again?
For one thing— to have some relief from Elena.
If only I could've stayed Above… kept wandering among the beautiful rooms….
They threw him in his cell and locked the door.
He wasn't able to do anything but lie on his bunk, mind buzzing, before he drifted into uneasy dreams.
Pain cutting into his lower back woke him.
The blank gray ceiling…. the gray walls…. The table, bench, sink, and dresser… It was as if he'd always been here, the stark items etched deeply into his mind. The events of the past few days vibrating through him like a fever dream.
Was I actually dreaming all of that? he wondered. The first part had some pleasant things in it—then it spiraled into nightmare….
He dragged himself into a sitting position to escape the pain of the bed. Leaned over, his head in his hands. Aches bloomed over his muscles. And his scars felt strange, as if cut open again, cracked with dried blood…
Paint, he realized with dawning horror.
So it had been a waking nightmare.
He rubbed his face; his hands came away with flecks of green paint.
He rushed to the sink and washed his hand and face, then drenched his body with cold water, sluicing off the paint, the colors blending into a muddy slurry and streaming off of him. It spiraled into the drain in the floor, but still it felt like the paint was on his body.
The cuff was still on his wrist.
Stuck to the burn wound beneath. Nausea warred with vertigo.
Carefully, he pried it off, thankful it wasn't locked by anything other than Elena's orders. Pain lanced through his wrist.
The E was still there. Flecks of white paint burning like sparks embedded in his flesh.
He held his wrist under the water; it ached at first, and then the icy water numbed the pain. He kept it there, hoping it would dissolve the burn completely, but it only made it feel like he might get frostbite, and so he pulled his hand away. A few white specks were still entwined with the twists of flesh where the shock had burned him.
He felt faint.
He sat down on the chair near the table, shivering uncontrollably. It was too cold for the flimsy garment he wore. He felt vast contempt for it. Wished he could rip it off—but then he would be wearing nothing.
He looked in the dresser; of course there were no clothes inside.
But his pager was there… and painkillers and restorative!
He drank down the pills and felt a little better, although he longed to clothe himself in a blanket—anything.
Movement—the only remedy to keep from freezing.
He shuffled to the door and was surprised it actually opened. Out in the central room, light filtered down from the ceiling and he bathed in the meager warmth, so slight he might be imagining it.
At least it was from the real sun.
He wandered the other rooms; everything was empty. That was good, even though he missed those who'd been taken. No one else to torment. That probably wouldn't last long, though…
The pager. I can call Sahara. I won't keep her here. Just ask if she can ask Ali to send me down something to wear…
Before he could call her, Gleb and Kent appeared and strode toward him. His instinct was to dash away, but where could he go? They could find him anywhere with the monitor; Elena could shock him remotely.
So he stood his ground as they approached, didn't lower his gaze even though his heart threatened to beat out of his chest.
He felt especially vulnerable with just the linen cloth around his waist. It was a bit ridiculous it had come to this. No one should walk around like this; it's almost like wearing nothing.
Still, he was thankful for the minor shield….
Gleb grabbed his right arm. Kent grabbed his wrist, where the burn was.
He couldn't help but cry out.
Kent smiled. Twisted his arm, looking at him for more reaction.
Jason clenched his jaw, determined not to give them satisfaction. To clothe himself with dignity and honor, since he had virtually nothing else.
They dragged him to the interrogation room.
Part of him was relieved—at least this wasn't Elena's, and there hadn't been much torture here except in the beginning and last time. And he was often able to eat here. Daric sat at the table, a brown bag in front of him, smiling welcomingly.
Then he saw Raul leaning against the large supply cabinet in the back, tattooed arms folded. He looked at Jason with casual curiosity, then drew his knife from his belt and began to sharpen it.
Phantom agony from hanging upside down burned through him— he cut off the memory which led to what Rave had almost done, and what Elena had done—
"Jason!" Daric said, as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while.
Gleb and Kent prodded him forward.
"What happened to your arm?"
Jason cradled it, careful to avoid the raw skin. "Nothing."
"That's not nothing." Daric stood and stepped over to him. "We should tend to that."
"I've got restorative."
"It'll scar—we've got some cream. Raul, if you would—"
Raul looked up. "Yes?"
"Get us the cream in the drawer please. It's for burns."
Raul hesitated, brow furrowed, then shrugged. He dug rather unceremoniously in the drawers of the stainless-steel cabinet. Then he lifted out a small white jar and brought it over, going right past the chain, grabbing it to get it out of the way. It jangled, sending shockwaves through Jason's mind of hanging by his wrist, by his legs—
He looked away.
Raul handed Daric the jar, smirking a little, then sauntered back to the slab where he'd lain his knife. He picked it up, inspecting it.
Daric motioned for Jason's arm.
"I'd rather do it myself."
Daric handed the jar to him.
Carefully, he spread cream onto his arm.
It did soothe the burn. He supposed he should be grateful, but he felt wary. Something about this overt concern put him on guard.
"How's that?" said Daric.
"Good."
He reached for his right hand. "Oh, look! The splint is off!"
"It's healed enough, apparently."
"Wonderful! Did you see this, Raul?"
Raul looked up from caressing his knife. "Yes, I saw."
A shiver ran through him at that sardonic voice; its detached fascination had cut into him as Raul had tortured him last time.
And of course, he'd been the one to break his hand in the first place, although that didn't have the lingering trauma of being bound for the sake of being easier to hurt.
"The concern is touching," said Jason, "but you didn't even check in last time after… worse was done."
Regret crossed his eyes. "I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped."
Anger flared in him. "You claim to disdain pain—but you're just as bad as any of them."
"Elena allowed Rave his revenge— I could not contravene anything she said. I didn't want to stick around and watch…. I wouldn't have been able to do anything."
"You could've kept them from going too far."
"Raul was supposed to do that."
"Raul."
"Elena came to check up on you—my presence would have been redundant."
Jason strode over to the table. Daric was no ally. The good cop act was an interrogation tactic; he couldn't let himself be lulled into feeling safe with him, just to survive, to not feel on edge all of the time.
He grabbed the paper bag. Inside it was a ham and cheese croissant. He lifted it out. It smelled amazing.
He was just about to take a bite when Daric said, "Stop!"
"What is it?"
"You can't eat that."
"Why not?"
An apologetic look crossed his face as he walked back to the table and sat down with a sigh. "My hands are tied. I'm sorry."
"What do you mean?"
"Elena thinks I'm being too… gradual. It's not like we're under severe time constraints. You're worth taking the time with. But… we've got to be a little more… forceful."
"So I can't eat this unless—"
"You answer a question for me."
"What is it?"
Daric's eyes hardened, showing the steel behind the equivocation. "What is the formula for amina?"
"You know I can't give you that."
"Then I'm afraid I have to take that back."
Jason wasn't about to trade food for information.
He took a bite—
A shock slammed down his spine. Laced through his joints.
He grasped the back of the chair and sat down.
"Sorry, but that's not allowed, either," said Daric.
Another shock vibrated through him.
Shakily, Jason stood. He grasped the back of the chair, which, apparently, wasn't forbidden.
"That's better."
"So—" He forced his mouth to form around the words. "All that sympathy was—To make me let down my guard."
"If you follow the rules, all will be well with you."
"I can't give you amina."
"Then we'll have to keep escalating until you do. Within reason, of course. The limits give us an interesting palette…. The challenge a good mental stretch—not good to get too complacent in this game." He smiled, his mouth sharp as a razor's edge. "Of course, just asking the same question will get tedious. There are other things we want, not as critical, but that get to who you are as a person. That's always what I'm most interested in anyway. The journey is always the point—I let others reap the rewards." He motioned to Raul. "Let's get him into position."
Raul slid his knife into his belt and strode over. "Where do you want him?"
Daric picked up the sandwich from the table and took a bite. "Let's do the chain— one arm."
"Any preference?"
Daric tilted his head. "Left."
Gleb and Kent wrested his arm back; he struggled, but they knew just the way to stop him without shocks—the weakness of his left shoulder. A sharp jolt shot through his shoulder blade.
Raul grabbed that arm and wrenched it upwards.
He cried out and would have staggered to his knees if they hadn't been holding him up.
Raul snapped the cuff around his injured wrist.
Then grabbed the chain and yanked it up—
An inferno raged in his shoulder, blazing out all sensation but pain.
It lessened only slightly when he stopped being lifted. He hung about two feet from the floor, swinging a little. Desperately hoped it would stop so his arm would stop being consumed by fire.
Daric looked up impassively, munching on his sandwich.
"Just right." He set his sandwich onto the table and drew out his notepad. Scribbled something on it with his pencil. Then he stood and walked over to Jason, looking him up and down as if taking stock of his current state for future reference.
His eyes softened, sending the clinical detachment to the background again. He laid a hand on his right arm; Jason flinched.
"I'm sorry for this—but you know—it's only because of how valuable you are. We can't damage you permanently—I'm glad, because I wouldn't like to see you reduced to a shivering wreck. But we do have to be a little harsher. That is a compliment—we know a lesser man would break with lesser methods."
"I feel very privileged," said Jason.
Daric laughed. "That's one of the things I like about you—your humor. It also is a sign of your resilience. But it's one of the top layers… something that might be stripped away before long. It'll be interesting to see how long you keep that as a coping mechanism as we dig deeper for something stronger."
"This psychoanalysis is part of the torture, isn't it."
"It's not intended so. I admire you as a worthy target. I'm looking forward to seeing how long it takes, how hard it is, to truly get to your essence. Only then can I find out what you're really made of, and what nuances I'll need to Break you." He touched Jason's jaw; Jason turned away.
At least talking was a distraction from the excruciating pain. Barely—the pain was too bad for that. Fear wound through him that it would go back to how horrible it had been before.
"It—might damage me permanently," said Jason"
"We're under orders to give you no more scars."
"How… kind of you."
"Trauma has to be balanced with catharsis—can't go beyond the ability to grow scar tissue. Can't let the scar tissue become the dominant part—it will be too rigid, too many places that are numbed to sensation."
"I may not Break for you then…."
"That's the challenge." He smiled. Rubbed a bite scar, then stepped back. "Okay, Raul. I trust you to control your power this time."
Raul cracked his knuckles. "I've refined what I already knew how to do."
"You show a promising career. Otherwise we wouldn't let you near this one."
"Might be more of a fair fight this time." Raul looked up at him. "He'll never come close to being a match for me physically. But the mind is where the real battle's at."
The blow came almost without warning, Raul's fist as fast as a striking snake. One moment he was hanging there, almost still—the next, he was swinging, pain writhing through his stomach.
Raul was so tall that he loomed over Jason, a vibrant shadow, gleaming eyes, flashing teeth. Sheer enjoyment brightened his face as he rained down blow after blow—there was no way to brace for it. They snapped deep into his flesh, seemed to break something within him…. It seemed like Daric's admonition had just been for show… they were going to break one bone after the other….
It was over as suddenly as it had begun, and he was lying on the floor, knives pinning him there. It felt like his arm had been wrenched completely off of his body. There it was, lying beside him, inert…. But he still felt phantom pain from it…
He was surprised his arm came with him when Raul lifted him and laid him on the stainless-steel slab in the back.
He struggled, not sure why because Raul's power was inexorable. Raul pulled a leather strap down across his waist and bound his ankles as well, though he left his arms free.
His left arm lay across his stomach. All the salve was gone, and some of the skin had been torn off, leaving bleeding strips of flesh. He was surprised he hadn't noticed that, but his damaged shoulder had taken the full force of his weight. He could barely feel it now…
He turned his arm a little, which sent shockwaves through it, but he had to see.
The impression of the E had been rubbed off.
Relief flooded him.
They had done him more of a favor than Elena had, directing them to paint his scars with blood…
He laughed a little but stopped when it jarred his shoulder.
Raul chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He buried his hand in Jason's hair and lifted his head back, gently for such a blunt instrument, and looked down at him, a hint of affection in his gray-green eyes.
An unsettled feeling flipped Jason's stomach. He looked away. Though something told him he was supposed to be defiant… never act as if it got to him….
Raul grabbed his chin, forcing him to face him. Jason met his eyes. There was a disturbing fascination in them.
"It will be interesting to see what happens when we go further," said Raul, releasing his chin.
Daric sauntered over, holding his notepad. "I will be able to feel out the rhythm better with the intensified pace. I suppose this'll work for me after all." He ran his hand down Jason's left arm. "How are you feeling?"
Jason didn't dignify that with an answer.
"A little shock and awe is necessary at first. To show we mean business." He caressed Jason's hair, sliding damp strands back from Jason's forehead. "But we don't want to bombard you with too much at once. That's where Gray faltered. It can work, but not with someone as strong as you."
I almost did give in….
It was actually the drugs that worked more than anything … weakened by pain, I answered without thinking…. And in Paraguay I didn't even know what I said… If they're smart, that's the tactic they'll use.
I'd rather have that.
But no—I don't want to give away the information…. Amina in their hands would be catastrophic. Exactly the kind of people I wanted to hide it from. I had it buried so deep in my mind I almost forgot about it….
I have to resist at all costs.
"Pain is more for your benefit than anything."
He wasn't sure if he'd heard right. "Pain isn't… good." It reminded him of its mind-dulling violence with a sweeping spasm down his arm that made him bite his tongue to keep from crying out.
"Pain can be cleansing. Like a fire, burning away the underbrush…. Filtering the impurities…. It's got to be controlled, or it can destroy everything it touches. That's why we've got to gather and examine it… use it to make you a better version of yourself. The final magnificent version that can only become with our help."
"I'd lose my soul if I became one with you."
"I look forward to persuading you you're better off embedded in our whole."
It made him sick just thinking that they thought they could turn him like that… he couldn't imagine them brainwashing him to that extent.
But with creeping horror, he realized this was just the beginning of what they had planned….
"I'll be with you every step of the way and make sure your purpose is realized. I'll make sure none of your pain is in vain. All of your pain in the past… it was forming the scars that we would use to filter your soul into a glorious purpose…."
"I'll never help enslave people. If I do—you'll have ripped out my soul and crushed it into nothing. Then—I'll just be a hollow thing—useless to you."
"You're describing the shattered version. Besides, slavery isn't the purpose, but a means to an end."
"She told me slavery will be part of the' grand vision'. I can't be a party to that." He shuddered with the dread of more blows, an infinite number of them, stretching into a dim future that led to death.
There is something beyond death ….
But oh so long until then.
God—please… I haven't depended on you here lately. Because… you seem so far away. But please—carry me through… I'm too alone otherwise… worn too threadbare to bear the burden of massive evil…
"We will break you down into your essential components. In the end, you'll be stronger. But only we can facilitate this process. You're too damaged to fulfill your potential as an agent on your own—surely you have felt that."
He didn't want to acknowledge that at least in this instance, he'd hit on the truth.
"Repurposing your weaknesses and honing your strengths, we will shape you into the superior being you were meant to be. The one Elena sees in you."
Those things he could never accept—including the part that he could ever be a 'superior being'. It was mystifying Elena had chosen him—and that revealed her own flaws. That she saw something 'great' in him showed she wasn't the great being she saw herself as. He was less than he'd seen himself as… that's what he'd found out in the past few years.
He probably would unravel here completely.
As long as he never revealed amina… never betrayed Connie or his beliefs… going mad would be preferable…
Or…
He couldn't entertain the final option. Not yet.
Jason expected more pain.
In a way, it was worse.
They bound his arms.
Turned off the light.
And left.