Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully donít belong to me, but to CC, 10-13, and Fox. Not like theyíre explicitly mentioned anyway. The sadistic bastard belongs to me, who else would want him? No infringement intended.
Authorís Note: This is a sequel to I Know Someone. It really helps if you've read it. Ple-he-he-heaaasseee, *sniffle* please, Iím sobbing pathetically and groveling on my knees. Feedback is all I ask, nothing more. XScout@hotmail.com and if you liked it enough please mail me (and you WILL mail me, wonít you?)
I Know Someone II: Where Are You?
I Know Someone II: Where Are You?
There is no time in Hell. It is a purgatory immeasurable by any of man's ludicrous attempts to define it, to put a name to its aspects. I have no idea how long I have been here, it could have been weeks as easily as it might have been hours. Somewhere in my addled brain I have kept a calendar, trying to update it between periods of unconsciousness. I figure it's been a week, but there is no real way to tell.
I pull my legs closer to me, long since accustomed to the heavy weight around my ankle. Too bad the damn chain isn't long enough to hang myself. I can't seem to stop shivering, though I know it is an expenditure of precious energy, I am too tired to care. I burrow my head between my knees, feeling the ache in my leg pound through me, bringing focus to my mind. It is often said that men held in solitary confinement for long periods of time will go crazy after a while. Who am I to contradict that statement?
I'm not talking to myself per se, I'm carrying on an internal conversation with another person. Multiple personality? Certainly not. I am talking to you. You are a part of me, reaching within me to keep me sane, your memory all I need to hold on. Throughout the pain and the cold, I think of you. Your fair skin, your coppery hair. I listen to your silky voice echo in my ears, feel your phantom hands healing my wounds. When I close my eyes I can almost imagine you here with me.
But I am glad you are not, I wouldn't want you to see me like this. I am ashamed. It was so easy, too easy. What ever happened to trust no one? No, I went out jogging at three a.m. in the morning without my weapon. Couldn't sleep with that God damned bastard floating around in my head, so I thought a bit of physical punishment might bring some clarity of thought. I profiled him and didn't even have the slightest idea that he'd come after me. Fucking gullible. He shot me, right in the calf, in the middle of the street. I didn't hear him coming, didn't hear the gunshot, didn't even hear my own grunt of surprise.
I was too shocked to do more than try and read the bastard his rights. He found that hilarious. The last thing I remember after that was his foot rushing up to meet my face. From the way my jaw feels, I believe his foot continued well after I ceased to watch it.
Woke up in a cozy little stone cell, stainless steel jewelry adorning my ankle. I called out to you, but you weren't there. That was when I felt fear settle in my stomach, knowing I was alone. My sudden desperation made me forget the hole in my leg and I tried to get up. Oh God that was a bad idea. I dropped like a rag doll, my muscles screaming in utter agony. That gave me the adrenaline rush I needed to recoup. I pulled at the chain securing me to the floor, tested the bolts, searched the corners of the cell for loose mortar. I even pried up the drain in the middle of the floor to see if I could use it somehow. Sad to say, I am not fucking MacGyver.
I had just replaced the grate over the small hole when the door opened and he came in. He was carrying a cardboard box, its contents rattling as he set it down next to me. I just glared at him. He reached out one meaty hand and grabbed hold of the chain, yanking fiercely. Dragged me across the floor until I was pinned beneath him. Then he stuck his hands in that box and came out with bandages and a brown bottle. So, he wanted to keep me alive long enough to play with me? That was fine with me, gives you more time to find my sorry ass.
I will never, ever, complain about your bedside manner ever again. I passed out just as the gauze was being wrapped around my calf. That sums up the last definite day I can recall. Everything else is just a blur, a haze between 'sessions' as he calls them. I tried to be stoic, as I knew you expected me to be, throwing one-liners back at him, dumping his drugged meals down the drain. But that was an eternity ago....
And now I am reduced to this pathetic creature, too tired to resist whimpering when he touches me with his instruments of pain. Every now and then I am able to summon up enough strength to kick him, flailing out unexpectedly at any exposed part of his body. All that does is make his hands work faster.
I can hardly move now, my body pulsing with pain, my only solace is knowing that you are out there, searching for me.
I can't escape him, even in my sleep. He invades my dreams and now it is impossible to tell the difference between my nightmares and the reality that has become a nightmare. So I don't sleep. Instead I talk to you, I tell you inconsequential things that I never told you about when I had the chance. Things like how much I enjoy your perfume, the way your hair falls in your face when you're angry, the way your eyebrow raises at my theories, how good you looked in that beige suit you wore to the victimology seminar. Stuff like that.
Sometimes, in my most lucid moments, I tell you things that I have never told a soul, the darkest parts of my psyche revealed. I can trust you with my secrets, with my wishes. God, just the thought of you hurts almost worse than any physical pain that the bastard has inflicted upon me. A few days ago, at least I think it was a few days, we had just been through a very long session, a blur of sharp objects and swinging arms. I could do nothing but lie there, in a sickening pool of blood and vomit, the smell of my own fear and sweat filling my nostrils. I looked down at the blood and the only thing I could comprehend was the color - red. I thought you were there, in the room with me, your hair flashing red in the light. I called out to you, whether in fear or relief I am not sure, but one thing I was sure of was that I had to get to you, no matter what.
Broken bones and useless leg forgotten, I started trying to get up. But I couldn't. My leg just wouldn't hold my weight, my hands slipping pathetically in the bodily fluids on the stone floor. The bastard practically sat on me to keep me down. At least I can get some satisfaction from knowing that I caught him off guard.
I'm scared. I can admit that now, since you are not here to bear witness to my fear. My mind is clouded by pain, making it almost impossible for me to keep from cowering before the bastard. The moment he enters my cell I start trembling in terror, wanting to turn away, but unable to move my head without being overwhelmed by nausea. Every movement is accompanied by agony. I may be no doctor, but I believe my leg is gangrenous. At least that's what it looks like, covered with dark shriveled skin surrounding the wound. Little bubbles of gas around the area. Overall, pretty gross.
Not the kind of detached assessment worthy of you, but it's a bit hard to be objective when I'm the patient. He took to me with a coat hanger a while back, flayed my back to shreds. My chest matches the back, lines and circles carved into it over the past two days with a rusty razor blade. Least he could have done was buy a new one. The fucking lunatic thinks he's an artist.
He knows I am afraid of fire. I don't know if he knew before, or if he just happened to use fire as an implement of torture, but he knows now what it does to me. Burnt my arms as I squeezed myself into a corner, desperately trying to get away from the terrifying flames, screaming my head off. Not my best moment.
Today was a short session, one involving a baseball bat. It was short because I passed out after he hit me between the shoulder and the neck. Broke my collarbone like a twig. As I lay unconscious, I had visions of you. You knelt beside be and drew me into your lap, telling me everything was going to be okay. There was no pain, no fear, I was safe in your arms.
Oh God, I need you.
I can't think straight, too damn cold. Or too damn hot. My body seems to change its mind about every ten minutes. Fever. I didn't know a fever could last so long. It's been at least four days. Peaked yesterday when I went into febrile seizures. Apparently the bastard didn't want me to die on him because he dumped me in cold water to lower my temperature.
My world exploded at that moment. I leaped out of the tub like lightning, throwing myself onto my captor in some feeble attempt to escape from the chilling water. If I hadn't been half out of my mind with fever and pain, I might have been able to use the opportunity to escape from this Hell on earth. But I was slowed by my traitorous body, collapsing the second he put a fist to my abdomen. Almost drove a rib through my lung. Then I would have died and the bastard wouldn't be able to play anymore. Couldn't deprive him, now could I? Listen to me, I'm getting maudlin.
Plays with my like a cat with a mouse. I pull my legs to my chest and lay there as he toys with me, battering my already battered body some more. I don't fight, I don't resist. All I do is whisper your name, drawing strength from it, each time his meaty limbs pound at me. Where are you?
I lie in this cell and try to ignore the broken ribs that shift as I shiver, ignore the fact that I can no longer feel my leg, ignore that you haven't come yet. But I know you're looking for me, know with every fiber of my being that you are going to find me. I trust you.
It hurts. Oh God, it hurts so much. I wrap my arms around myself and pray that it will go away, that my suffering will end. My body is pulsing with pain, throbbing with every heartbeat. Please get here before it's too late, I don't think I can make it much longer.
You're not coming. I'm alone. The tears that I have refused to shed during my time here begin to trail down my cheeks, leaving tracks on my bloodstained face. I sob uncontrollably, the heaving breaths wrack my body with agony, eventually forcing me to stop. I need you, oh how I need you. I can't breathe now, I cough up blood in a vain attempt to suck air into my starved lungs.
I know you tried, I know you tried with every ounce of strength you had. Strength. Mine is gone, along with any hope that I had left. It disappeared when I realized that you were not coming. When you do find me, please don't be too hard on yourself, don't be dragged down by guilt. I forgive you.
You are everything to me, the only light in the darkness of my life, I can't bear the thought of you blaming yourself for my fate. Perhaps we weren't meant to be together, not in this life. But I am as certain of this as I have ever been of anything - what we have will never die.
I close my eyes, exhausted by the coughs that sent spasms of pain rippling through my body. I feel blood trickling down my lips to pool on the stone beneath my face, knowing that it is time. I take one last deep breath and whisper to you, "I love you, Dana."