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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong
to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Warnings: This is a very dark story and contains graphic scenes of violence
and non-con.

Rating: NC-17.

Feedback: Like it or loathe it let me know.

E-mail: kattanon@hotmail.com
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Shield: Night Part 2 (MM,bond,tort,humil,rape)
by Katt

Simon leaned back basking in the early afternoon sunshine, he felt good,
he'd just had a very enjoyable lunch and before that some very enjoyable
sex. The look of shock on Holland's face when he'd threatened to bring one
of those women here had been priceless. Of course it had been an empty
threat, Simon couldn't risk getting caught, not yet, his time with Holland
hadn't been concluded satisfactorily, and besides he didn't want anyone
else here intruding upon their relationship. However, Holland hadn't known
that and the threat had had the desired effect, just as Simon had known it
would, it had taken away Holland's ability to resist him, and so it had
taken away his power and given it to Simon. Simon turned his face towards
the sun, closing his eyes and pictured Holland's face when he'd been in
front of him, on his knees, looking up at him. He had looked so unhappy,
despair in every aspect of his expression, the bruises where Simon had
slapped him standing out their colour deepening, the cut in his lip
slightly swollen, his eyes full of unshed tears. God, Simon was sure he'd
never seen anything so beautiful in his life. When he'd thrust his erection
past those parted lips he'd lost control, frantically fucking the warm,
wet, unwilling mouth in front of him. That sensation combined with the
visual stimulation of gazing directly into those inconsolable eyes had
meant Simon's climax had arrived a little too quickly, but never mind there
was this afternoon to look forward to. He stretched lazily and got up,
turning he went back indoors. He looked at the monitor to check what
Holland was up to, Simon had left him still kneeling with his arms
handcuffed behind his back by the bed but now he saw he'd moved. He was
sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in a corner of the room his
head resting on his knees, face hidden from Simon's view. Simon undressed
and gathered up the gun and a small bottle from the table, with a last
glance to make sure he knew exactly where Holland was before he entered the
room; he prepared himself for a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.

Simon entered the room with the gun ready, Holland raised his face from his
knees and regarded him warily.

"Get up and come over here," Simon ordered him.

"No...no...keep away from me...can't you just leave me alone," Holland
sobbed. "Why me...why did you pick me... what have I ever done to you?"

Sighing Simon said, "I didn't pick you, you picked me you know that. Now
enough of this and do as your told, come here."

Holland just stared at him as if he was insane, his eyes wide with fright
and incomprehension. Losing his temper Simon jerked the gun upwards and
fired. Pieces of brick exploded from the wall several feet above Holland's
head making him duck.

"Don't make me tell you again boy." Simon told him, pointing the gun back
at him.

Reluctantly Holland rose to his feet and moved forward, stopping a couple
of feet in front of Simon. Moving back a little Simon waved the gun in the
direction of the wooden table, "Over there," he instructed.

Holland looked over to the table shaking his head,

"No...please don't I..." he said his voice quavering.

Simon moved quickly behind Holland pressing the gun against the back of his
head, his other hand pushing him forward towards the table. However
unwilling he was to move Simon's superior strength left him with no choice,
and Simon soon had him pushed up against the table using his body weight to
keep him pinned in place. Simon quickly transferred the gun to his left
hand and clutched the bottle he'd brought with him in the right. He pushed
the gun into the soft skin under Holland's left ear, and used his right arm
to push Holland's head and shoulders down, bending him over. Simon could
feel the body under him trembling uncontrollably, breath coming in panicked
pants. He knew Holland was just in the right frame of mind for what he had
planned. The first rapes had been necessary to show Holland his new life,
to establish Simon's dominance over him. Then the little experiment with
the morphine, he'd never tried drugs before on any of his chosen and he'd
been happy with the results, Holland had reacted wonderfully his arousal
intoxicating, his self-recrimination afterwards even better. Then this
morning when Simon had used a threat to get him to perform sexually, now
this, this would be the best yet when Simon showed Holland that he knew his
body better that he knew it himself.

Carefully Simon eased the cap from the small bottle, the aroma of cinnamon
immediately wafting into the air. It was a little clumsy doing this one
handed but Simon didn't want to release his grip on the gun so it couldn't
be helped. He carefully poured the spicy smelling oil out onto his fingers,
coating them thoroughly and then put the bottle down on the table top at
arms length away, he didn't want it to be knocked over, the contents
spilled. Then very slowly and very gently Simon trailed his fingers down
between Holland's buttocks, circling the puckered entrance to his body.
Holland began to whimper his distress but Simon ignored him, his entire
being concentrating on taking his time, restraining his lust, he had to go
slow so that he didn't ruin this. Carefully Simon pushed one finger into
Holland's body, the oil easing his entry despite the clenched muscles that
tried to keep him out. Holland squirmed under him, small sounds of anguish
escaping him, Simon pushed the gun barrel into Holland's neck even harder,
leaving a bruise in the shape of a perfect circle there, but it had the
desired effect and Holland stilled. Simon moved his finger gently in and
out of Holland's body, gradually going deeper, Holland was tiring and the
resistance from the clenched muscles began to lessen, Simon recognised it
was time to move on, "There's a good boy," he whispered to the terrified
man. "You see it's not so hard is it, it's not so bad if you just relax I
can make it so good for you, you'll see."

"No," Holland replied and Simon felt him trying to wriggle away from the
invading finger, but he was trapped between the table and Simon's body with
no escape.

"Sshh," Simon soothed.

Slowly Simon added a second finger to the first, moving them in and out and
then scissoring them apart gradually stretching the muscles of Holland's
ass. Simon's penis was painfully erect now, leaking pre-cum, how he wanted
to replace his fingers with his cock and pound into Holland, but he
restrained himself, some patience now and he'd be rewarded. As the clenched
muscles began to relax again Simon reached deep inside of Holland and found
the prize he'd wanted. When he gently stroked the hidden spot inside of him
he felt Holland start in surprise. He pressed home his advantage and
stroked again and again, "That's your prostate gland, it feels so good
doesn't it when I touch it, stroke it with my finger. Wait until I rub my
cock against it when I'm inside you, you're going to be begging me to fuck
you." He explained.

"Stop it...Jesus stop it please," Holland begged.

His voice told Simon one thing while his body was busy telling him something
else. Ever so slightly Holland had pushed himself back onto Simon's hand his
body craving more of his touch inside him, more of the pleasure that Simon
knew was shooting intense feelings of ecstasy straight to Holland's groin,
completely by-passing his brain. It was a purely biological response Simon
knew but he also knew that Holland would be horrified at his body's betrayal.
Soon Holland's sobs were interspersed by moans of pleasure; hunger,
exhaustion and fear weakened him just as Simon had known they would and he
could no longer fight the involuntary responses from his body. The time was
here, Simon removed his fingers and quickly reached for the bottle pouring
oil over his hand and liberally coating his erection, he groaned as his hand
passed over the sensitive flesh. He reached underneath Holland and found the
other man's erection there just as he'd known he would. He stroked his oiled
hand along its length and slowly pushed himself into Holland's ass. Just as
he'd planned the muscles had been well stretched, the stimulus from his
fingers on Holland's prostate further relaxing them, still he paused part
way in to allow the other man time to adjust to the invasion of his body.
Then, in one smooth motion, he pressed himself forward and was soon encased
in that tight, velvety heat he relished. He felt Holland's muscles clench
around him the pressure intensifying his pleasure. However, he also felt
Holland's erection beginning to flag and knew he had to press home his
advantage. So he began to move his hand backwards and forwards over Holland's
erection and he began to move gently inside him, taking care that he brushed
against Holland's sweet spot with each thrust. Simon could hear Holland
chanting, "No, no, no, no..." over and over again his voice desolate.

However Holland was lost and he began to thrust back against Simon his body
craving more of the friction, both deep inside of him and from Simon's
hand. Simon grinned knowing he'd won, and that Holland had lost everything.
He slowly, leisurely fucked Holland crooning to him, "So good, you're so
good, so hot, so tight. Oh fuck yes I knew you'd be so hot when you let
yourself relax and enjoy it...Oh yeah baby you want it don't you... you
like that hmm...you like having my cock up your ass don't you. You're a
whore I knew it...you love me fucking you."

Simon felt Holland clamp tight around him as he climaxed, his cum spilling
out hot on Simon's hand. Not having to be gentle anymore Simon moved his
right hand to Holland's hip and he pounded into him, crying out as he to
reached orgasm. He fell forward, resting against the unmoving man under him
for a moment. Then Simon reluctantly moved back, pulling his now flaccid
penis from Holland, damn he could bury himself in that sweet ass all day
long, he thought with a satisfied smirk. He pulled Holland upright turning
him around to face him. The misery, shame and humiliation were coming off
of Holland in waves, his face was pale and tear streaked, his expression
blank with shock. Simon smiled at him,

"It's no good crying now," he told Holland. "You just gave into your true
nature, you can't help it if you're a whore, a dirty slut."

He pulled the unresisting man over to the bed, and using the remnants of
the rope that he'd left there this morning he tied him to the bed by the
handcuffs, his arms still pulled behind him. It would do for now Simon
could come back later and tie him up properly, for now he had a tape to
edit, whistling Simon left the room.

* * *

Claudette stared up at her bedroom ceiling watching the first light of dawn
creep across it. Turning her head she gazed at the pile of books balanced
precariously on her bedside table, books about the psychological trauma
suffered by victims of rape, how to survive it and how to help someone
survive it. On her way home from The Barn she'd stopped at a book store and
chosen every title she could find, despair welled up in her heart, she knew
there weren't enough books written in the world which were going to make
this situation any easier to handle. Collins was a sick bastard but he was
also a master manipulator, he was destroying Dutch a little at a time,
knowing exactly what to do to cause the most psychological damage.
Yesterday had brought the third tape to be watched and although it hadn't
seemed possible each tape was worse than the one before it. That Collins
had made Dutch perform oral sex had been bad enough but he just had to go
that little bit further, making Dutch have to ask to do it, this monster
was a real piece of work. Claudette had felt terrible that Collins had used
a threat against her to get Dutch to cooperate. She almost wished he'd
tried to carry his threat out as there was nothing she would like better
than to have the chance to blow that pervert's brains out alright, but not
quite in the way he had in mind. It almost scared Claudette how much she
wanted to get her hands on Collins just so she could exact her own kind of
punishment on him for everything he was making her partner suffer. She had
never been an advocate of vigilante justice but now she wasn't sure what
her reaction would be if she found herself and Collins alone together. Then
there had been the battle of wills between her and Aceveda, when Collins
had threatened her and Danny he had begun talking about a 24-hour guard
being brought in from Justice. There was no way Claudette was going to be
saddled with that and she had refused point blank. Aceveda had only
relented when the FBI had assured him that this threat was a standard one
for Collins who had threatened the friends and family members of his
previous victims to get them to cooperate in the same way. They had also
reassured them that his next tactic was a standard one for him, all part of
the twisted games he liked to play with his victim's psyche. That they'd
also felt it necessary to explain that it really wasn't Dutch's fault that
he'd responded to Collins' ministrations, that his response was purely
physiological had incensed Claudette. However, it had been Vic who'd
rounded on them in anger and had asked in a deadly tone if they really
thought that anyone in that room thought that Dutch wanted to be raped,
that he was enjoying it. A pissed off Vic Mackey was not a pleasant thing
to be confronted with and the agents had paled slightly and sensibly kept
silent after that, Claudette remembered the look of gratitude she had given
him and the look of understanding she'd received in return.

Claudette gave up the pretense of trying to sleep, she had managed a couple
of hours finally giving in to the demands of her exhausted body, and Vic's
sensible advice that she'd be more help to Dutch if she was rested.
However, those couple of hours had come at the price of horrific dreams,
dreams where she could hear Dutch calling to her, begging her to help him
but she had been unable to find him. She had finally woken with a cry when
Dutch's bloody corpse had come to her asking over and over why she'd
abandoned him, why she'd never come, why she'd let him die. Shuddering
Claudette made her way towards her bathroom hoping that a shower would help
to blow the cobwebs away from her tired brain. While she stood under the
hot water she found the clues from the three tapes coming into her mind.
There had been hours of discussion on the subject, most of it frustrating.
There was the full moon from the first tape, and maps of Los Angeles and
the surrounding area had come up with two possibilities so far, the Mount
Wilson Observatory and the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory. These could also
both be linked in with the wood plane that had been pictured, the
observatory was situated in the Angeles National Forest, hence a
woodworking theme and the word plane could loosely be linked to jet. Or
they could just be grasping at straws, desperate for a lead, any lead. Both
of these areas were huge and difficult to search, they needed to narrow the
search perimeters down considerably if they were to succeed, and they had
to succeed. The glass of melting ice cubes was still a mystery, and in the
third tape a picture of a huge dog with three heads had appeared part way
through. So far forensics hadn't been a great help either, they had managed
to tell them all the things which weren't present on the tapes as opposed
to anything helpful which was on there. Analysis of the sound tracks of the
tapes had shown no aircraft sounds so it was unlikely that they were near
an airport, and there had been no traffic sounds either which meant that
they were probably not in an urban area. Vic's only comment to this news
had been,

"Well that narrows down the search."

Other than that it had been concluded that the building Dutch was being
held in was old, probably late nineteenth century or early twentieth
century, as if Claudette hadn't figured that out on her own. Finally, there
had been the attempts at tracking Collins through his bank accounts. Here
again he was at least ten steps ahead of them. He had his money split
between different accounts both in the US and in offshore accounts, and he
even had accounts set up in different names. It was a gigantic, confusing
paper trail, Agent Young had assured them that they had their best people
at the FBI tackling it, all they could do was wait for them to do their
job.

While she'd been thinking Claudette found she'd been doing everything else
on automatic and was just about ready to head back in to The Barn. She
could only pray that today they would get the break they needed, today they
would find the crucial piece of evidence they needed to find Dutch. She
remembered his voice in her dreams calling for her to help him, calling to
her to find him,

"I'm trying my hardest son," she whispered, "I'm gonna find you I promise."

* * *

Dutch lay on the thin mattress of the double bed, his hands still pulled
behind his back, shackled with his handcuffs which were in turn tied to the
bedstead. The early morning air was cold, goose flesh stood out all over
his body and he was shivering slightly. However, he didn't notice his
physical discomfort, his eyes were open, staring into the distance not
really seeing anything around him. He was lost in the depths of his own
mind, plagued by memories, both recent and years old. He remembered lying
in his bed as a child, his face turned towards the window looking at the
stars and moons that decorated his curtains, listening to his father's
voice coming to him out of the darkness. The voice telling him he was being
a good boy, making daddy happy, the voice soft, whispering not harsh and
yelling like it was in the daylight. His father's touch soft, stroking, not
hard and hurting like it was so often at other times. Dutch had known even
then that it had been wrong, those night-time visits from his father and he
had dreaded them, but deep inside of himself a small part of the child
there had not wanted them to stop, although it was wrong it was the only
time his father showed him affection, the only time he felt wanted. As
Dutch had gotten older his father's nocturnal visits had changed, no longer
confined to mutual touches his father demanded more, things which caused
physical pain, bruises and blood. He was no longer told that he was a good
boy, instead he became a slut. It was all his fault, he was the one who
made his father act this way, he was the one who led his father on and if
anyone found out about it he would be the one they would punish, the one
they would take away, he'd never see his mother again he'd be locked up. So
he'd kept quiet never telling the secret, locking it away deep inside of
himself where it festered in the dark. It only came to the fore during his
nightmares and even those had lessened over the years, only occurring when
he was working on certain cases, cases like Sally's. That had been
difficult, the nightmares extreme and unremitting until they'd caught Sean
the psychopath who'd robbed Sally of her life, if only they could have
caught and punished all those who'd robbed her of her childhood. That had
been the closest he'd ever come to sharing his secret with someone else,
when he'd gone to Danny's house to apologize for his earlier outburst. He'd
begun to explain how important the case was to him, how children like
Sally, like he had once been, needed someone to stand up for them, someone
to work for them, but he'd stopped himself in time before he'd told the
secret shoving it deep down inside of himself again. Now he had a whole new
set of memories to join those old ones thanks to Simon. He was so ashamed,
so humiliated and the nagging doubt in his mind that his father had been
right about him all those years before surfaced. Did he give out signals to
others, make them think he would want this, was it his fault? There had to
be something, why else would his father have treated him like that, why
else would Simon have chosen him. Maybe they were both insightful; maybe
they'd both seen something deep inside himself that he was blind to. After
all look at how he'd behaved, how he'd responded to Simon. When he'd
climaxed while high on the morphine he'd been given he'd tried to excuse
his reaction to himself. It hadn't been his fault he'd been drugged, out of
control. Then when he'd let Simon push himself into his mouth and he'd done
nothing to stop him, he'd justified it by arguing he'd had no choice, the
gun against his head, the threats against Danny and Claudette removing his
ability to say no. However, what excuse could he use for this last time
when he'd cum while Simon had been raping him, God could that even be
called rape he wondered? Although he'd been saying no, although his mind
had been screaming, he'd also been pushing himself back on Simon like a
bitch in heat his body refusing to obey his brain, craving those intense,
incredible sensations Simon had been creating inside of him. It was fitting
that he'd reached his orgasm just as Simon had been calling him a whore
because that was exactly what he felt like. He had might as well not bother
fighting back anymore, if Simon wanted to fuck him he should just let him
after all he could hardly be trying to protect his honour anymore, he
didn't have any of that left. The intellectual part of his mind was trying
to argue with this damning view of events. It was trying to remind him of
the copious reading he'd done on the subject. The very things he'd reminded
himself of when Simon had forced him to react when he'd been drugged. When
a man was raped they sometimes became erect, they sometimes climaxed, it
didn't mean they'd in any way enjoyed what had happened, it didn't mean
they were secretly gay, it was a physiological response beyond their
control. Dutch knew these things but they sounded hollow to him now, they
weren't helping him wrestle with the huge burden of guilt and self-loathing
he was feeling.

As if from a long way away he heard the door to the room opening and knew
that he was no longer alone, he shut his eyes tight trying to shut
everything out. Dutch didn't want to see, hear, feel anything; he just
wanted to be left alone, alone with his pain, his self-hatred. He knew
Simon was there but he didn't want to respond to him, he couldn't bear to
look at him, sure that Simon would instantly know everything that was going
through his head, that he would know all of his secrets and use them
against him. Dutch knew Simon would be gloating, enjoying his disgrace. He
felt that hated touch on his arm as Simon turned him over onto his back,
his arms and shoulders protested, pain shooting down to his finger tips but
Dutch ignored it. He felt water on his lips and couldn't stop himself from
opening his mouth and letting it in. Much too soon the water was gone and
Dutch's eyes finally opened in response to the vicious blow to his face,
the result of Simon's impatience at his lack of reaction.

"I said look at me when I'm talking to you!" Simon shouted at him. "It's no
use wallowing in self-pity, now sit up."

Reluctantly Dutch obeyed swinging his feet onto the floor.

"I'm going to untie you, make you more comfortable. Just behave and you
won't be punished." He was told.

Simon cut the rope attached to the bed and undid the handcuffs allowing
Dutch to bring his hands around from behind his back. His shoulder muscles
screamed in protest making him bite his lip to keep any sounds of pain from
escaping from his mouth. Simon grabbed one of Dutch's wrists and tied it to
some new rope which he'd secured to the head of the bed, Dutch didn't react
he felt empty inside, passive. However, this changed for him when Simon
reached out for his other hand, he laughed and said, "What no more fighting,
no more pretending you don't love everything I've done to you huh? Going to
be a good boy for me now are you, bend over for me when I tell you to?"

Dutch felt anger, white hot, blazing anger course through him, consuming
every other emotion in it's path, filling up every empty space inside him,
the places that used to house his self-respect, his dignity, his soul. He
was angry at himself, at his weakness, his inability to stop any of this
from happening to him, but most of all he was angry at Simon, at his father
for using him for there own perverted pleasure, for treating him like dirt,
not caring how much they hurt him. He twisted his wrist out of Simon grasp
and grabbed Simon's bare arm digging his nails in as hard as he could,
scratching as deeply as he could wanting to rip his flesh from his bones,
make him hurt, make him bled. He thrilled when he heard Simon scream in
pain, and dug at his arm even harder desperate to hurt as much as he'd been
hurt. Suddenly he was knocked sideways his head spinning from a punch to
his temple, Dutch felt as though everything around him was moving; his
vision grayed and then went black as he passed out.

The shock of freezing cold water cascading over his face brought Dutch
spluttering and choking back to consciousness.

"Get up you little bastard!" Simon screamed into his face. He was dragging
on Dutch's arm pulling him off of the bed and onto the floor. Simon reached
down and grabbed Dutch's hair in one hand; the other wrapped around the top
of his right arm pulling him upright. Everything was spinning, Dutch's head
pounding in pain from the blow he'd suffered earlier. He felt like one of
those new-born calves he'd seen on the television once, trying to stand for
the first time unable to coordinate their legs, slipping and sliding trying
to gain their footing. Simon was half dragging him, half carrying him
across the room towards the hated table. Dutch didn't know what he had
planned but knew he didn't want to be part of it and began to struggle with
him, trying to pull away. Simon merely tightened his grip and pulled
harder, "You can fight you little piece of shit! How dare you strike out at
me, just who the fuck do you think you are. You're gonna pay, you're gonna
wish you'd never been born when I'm through with you!" Simon screamed into
Dutch's face. His face was incandescent with fury, flecks of spit being
flung into Dutch's face with every yelled word.

Dutch felt himself shoved roughly into a hard wooden chair, he'd never
noticed it before and guessed Simon must have brought it into the room
while he had been unconscious. Simon quickly wrapped a rope around his
chest and Dutch found himself bound to the chair unable to move. Simon
pulled Dutch's hands up onto the table top and pulled a rope up from where
he'd already attached it to the table legs, he pulled it over the top of
Dutch's hands securing them to the table top. When Dutch had tried to pull
his hands away to stop them being secured Simon had leaned forward putting
his face directly into Dutch's face, "Don't you dare move your hands away.
If you do I'll get a hammer and nails and fucking nail them to the table
top." Simon hissed.

Dutch had let Simon tie them into place, as he had no doubt that Simon
wouldn't hesitate to go through with his threat. When he'd been secured
Simon had taken several deep breaths obviously trying to calm his temper
down, and get a grip on himself. He moved around in front of Dutch and told
him, "Now you're going to be punished. I thought you'd learnt you're place,
I thought you'd realised that you're nothing, you exist only to service my
needs. Well now I'm going to teach you a lesson, a lesson you're not going
too fucking forget. After all the love I showed you, making our last time
together good for you, this is how you repay me." Simon held out his newly
bandaged arm for Dutch to see.

Dutch couldn't help himself; he'd looked up at Simon and said, "Good I'm
glad I hurt you you sick fuck, I wish I could fucking kill you."

"Oh we'll see how tough you are, lashing out, threatening me, I'm going to
make you beg, make you cry...you're gonna wish you were dead by the time I'm
finished with you boy!" Simon threatened.

Dutch felt his blood run cold, although he felt that he'd snatched back a
little of his self-respect when he'd lashed out at Simon he now wondered if
the price he knew he'd have to pay would be too high.

Simon reached down under the table and brought up something metallic in his
hand. Dutch frowned unable to see properly what it was; Simon looked down
at him grinning, "Do you know what they do to animals who scratch their
owners too much hmm? They de-claw them," as he spoke he held up a small pair
of pliers in his right hand.

Dutch was confused, he didn't understand what Simon was babbling about
until he pressed his left hand down on top of Dutch's right hand forcing
his fingers out flat against the surface of the table. As Simon took hold
of Dutch's thumb nail with the pliers and smiled at him Dutch felt his eyes
grow wide with understanding, panic flared through him as he desperately
tried to pull his hand free. It felt to Dutch as if Simon was tearing his
whole finger off, not just ripping his nail out, the pain a red hot, sharp
agony. He couldn't internalize the suffering he was experiencing, he opened
his mouth and screamed, and while he did he heard Simon begin to laugh.

Simon had been right, Dutch had cried and screamed as he'd been tortured,
and when Simon began to rip out the nails on his left hand he'd begun to
beg as well. He begged for Simon to stop, apologizing for what he'd done,
promising to behave, promising to be good. However, Simon didn't stop he
just carried on slowly and methodically going from one finger to the next,
all the time laughing at the torment he was causing.

When he ran out of fingers Simon was in a frenzy and he hurriedly cut
Dutch's bonds and dragged him up pushing him face down over the table top,
pushing him down into the blood that covered the surface. Dutch couldn't
struggle, he couldn't think of anything but the pain from his hands. They
felt as though they'd been dipped in acid, the pain all encompassing,
throbbing in time to his racing heartbeat. Even the pain from Simon ramming
himself into him just joined in with the symphony of torment his body had
become. His throat was raw, screamed hoarse, yet he still managed to give
voice to his pain crying out with each thrust into his body. Finally, he
felt Simon tense and then empty his filth deep inside of him.

While he was still inside him Simon reached up and grabbed hold of Dutch's
sweat soaked hair pulling his head up from the table top, leaning forward
he slowly licked a path up the side of Dutch's face. Dutch squeezed his
eyes shut and tried to hold on to his sanity, which he felt splinter into a
thousand pieces when Simon leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "Smile
for the camera."

Dutch felt everything in him still at those words, denial tumbling from his
lips in harsh whispers, "No, no...you're lying..."

"Oh no I'm not...everything that we've shared with each other has been
filmed, recorded from every angle by half a dozen hidden cameras in
glorious Technicolor and in surround sound..." Simon smirked. Looking into
Dutch's forlorn eyes he added, "...and all of it has been sent to Claudette.
I wonder if she's enjoyed watching those tapes as much as we've enjoyed
making them hmm? I wonder who else has seen them? What do you think, do you
think they pity you or maybe you disgust them. After watching you whore
yourself to me they probably aren't even looking for you any more... I mean
why would they want a piece of filth like you back again."

Dutch's voice failed him, his denials falling silent on his lips. Although
he'd felt despair at his situation before he'd always held onto the hope of
rescue, he'd had faith that Claudette would find him and take him home, he
wanted to survive. At Simon's words he felt cold and empty, he wanted it
all to be over, he wanted to die.

* * *

Simon felt great, relaxed and content, everything with Holland had been
going along perfectly to his timetable, it really was amusing how easily he
could manipulate people. Sensing weakness in others and exploiting it was a
skill he'd enjoyed for as long as he could remember; it was like an
instinct. It gave him power over others and Simon enjoyed power, he enjoyed
breaking people. It was satisfying to take someone's sense of self and turn
it on its head, to make someone doubt themselves, doubt everything they
thought they knew about themselves, about the kind of person they were.
He'd done this with all of those he'd chosen to share himself with, honing
his skills with each new unwilling participant. So far he'd used nearly
every trick in the book with Holland with the most delightful results,
Simon knew that with one more little push Holland would be pitched into the
abyss, totally broken. Today would be the day when Simon would give him
that small push; he was going to tell him about the tapes. It was one thing
to be used and humiliated in private, but to learn that it had all been
witnessed by others that was going to be the information Simon knew Holland
wouldn't be able to tolerate. Then to think that strangers had witnessed
his downfall would be bad enough but to learn that the very people whose
friendship and respect he craved had seen everything, that would do it
Simon knew, that would break him.

First things first however he had promised Holland yesterday that he'd be
back to release him from his handcuffs, but then he'd gotten caught up in
other things and had forgotten. So first he'd uncuff him, then retie him to
the bed, and then have him. When he entered the room Simon noticed that
Holland was on his side with his back to him, he must be cold because he
could see small tremors racking his frame. As he moved forward Simon spoke
to the man on the bed,

"How are you this morning lover?" He smirked not surprised to receive no
reply.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hand lightly down
Holland's arm, his skin was icy and Simon could feel the goose flesh that
covered it.

"Oh baby you're cold I think we'd better do something about that hmm. I bet
you'd like me to warm you up wouldn't you, make you moan, make you cum just
like yesterday?" Simon asked him, expecting Holland to stutter out a
denial, to try to move away. However, much to his annoyance Holland didn't
react at all. Leaning forward Simon could see Holland's face, he could see
his eyes were closed, Holland was ignoring him and if there was one thing
Simon hated it was to be ignored. None too gently Simon pulled Holland over
onto his back so that he was lying on his cuffed hands, it had to hurt but
still no reaction. His irritation growing Simon unscrewed the top of the
water bottle he'd brought with him and nudged the open end against
Holland's mouth tipping the contents over his lips. Holland opened his
mouth eagerly drinking down the contents, Simon could see the flash of
disappointment cross his features when the last of the water had gone, but
still Holland didn't acknowledge him.

"Come on now open your eyes and look at me." Simon demanded, his patience
wearing thin. "It's no good pretending I'm not here."

Still nothing, well that wasn't good enough, Simon drew back his hand and
slapped the uncooperative man a stinging blow across his face.

"I said look at me when I'm talking to you!" Simon shouted.

That had the desired effect and he found himself gazing down into a pair of
dispirited eyes.

"It's no use wallowing in self-pity, now sit up." He instructed, intending
on uncuffing Holland and retying him so that he was better positioned for
Simon to have sex with him. Simon rather fancied making Holland lie on his
back so that he could watch his face while he took him.

Simon tapped his foot in impatience as Holland slowly obeyed him sitting up
and moving around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet
on the floor. Reaching forward he cut the rope tied to the handcuffs and
then as he unlocked the cuffs themselves Simon explained, "I'm going to
untie you, make you more comfortable. Just behave and you won't be punished."

Simon watched as Holland slowly move his hands from behind his back. His
wrists were raw, the skin broken and covered in dried blood where first
rope and then the metal of the cuffs had cut into them when he'd struggled
to free himself. Simon smiled enjoying the sight, the physical evidence of
Holland's suffering. He'd tied some fresh rope to the head of the bed and
reached forward grabbing one of Holland's wrists and deftly retying it with
the rope noticed the lack of reaction again from the other man, he laughed
and said, "What no more fighting, no more pretending you don't love
everything I've done to you huh? Going to be a good boy for me now are you,
bend over for me when I tell you to?"

The reaction was immediate catching Simon completely by surprise. Holland
wrenched his hand from Simon's grasp and reaching out grabbed onto Simon's
forearm. With strength that shocked Simon Holland dug his finger nails into
his arm, drawing blood. Simon saw Holland's face twisted in fury and cried
out when he felt Holland's nails tearing into the flesh of his arm. His cry
of pain seemed to spur Holland on and he dug in even harder, dragging his
nails down over Simon's arm, they were like claws trying to rip his flesh
from his arm. Simon was trying to pull his arm away from Holland's grip but
it was useless, the more he pulled the tighter Holland gripped him.
Desperate Simon made a fist with his other hand and he punched Holland as
hard as he could on the side of his head, on his temple. At last the grip
on his arm relented and Holland's eyes slid shut as he fell to his side on
the bed unconscious.

Simon clasped his hand over the wound in his arm feeling his blood running
down, dripping from his fingers. In his own quarters he braced himself as
he put his arm under running water and watched his blood swirling down the
plug hole. He winced in pain, as the wounds left by Holland's nails stung
sharply, wrapping a towel around his arm he went to fetch his first aid
kit. As he cleaned and dressed the wound Simon was busy trying to think of
a suitable punishment for Holland, he was going to make him wish he'd never
been born, he was going to crush him, show him no mercy. As he taped the
bandage securely to his forearm he grinned realizing he'd thought of the
perfect thing, he felt the stirring of arousal as he visualized what he was
going to do.

When he was ready Simon returned to the room holding Holland bringing with
him a chair and some other useful items he would need. A quick glance in
Holland's direction showed that he hadn't moved and was still out for the
count. Simon moved quickly getting things ready hardly able to contain his
excitement or his growing anger at Holland's actions. When everything was
in place he went over to the bed and untied Holland's wrist freeing him
from the bed, then he poured cold water over the unconscious man watching
as he came back to awareness coughing and spluttering. Leaning down until
he was in Holland's face Simon screamed at him, "Get up you little bastard!"

As Simon saw the confusion on Holland's face and felt the painful throbbing
from his injured arm he became incandescent with rage, he felt it rise up
within himself and he gave himself over to the power of it. He grabbed onto
Holland's arm and dragged him from the bed, reaching down to grab his hair
and haul him to his feet. Feeling himself growing angrier by the minute as
Holland attempted to stand upright Simon dragged him across the room
ignoring his feeble struggles. Simon screamed his anger into Holland's face
and pushed him down into the chair quickly securing him in place. He pulled
Holland's arms up onto the table and brought up the rope to secure his
hands to the tabletop. As he did so Holland made to pull his hands away,

"Don't you dare move your hands away. If you do I'll get a hammer and nails
and fucking nail them to the tabletop." Simon warned him. Belatedly Simon
regretted that he hadn't done just that and for a moment he considered
going to see if he could find a hammer and nails, but no he wanted to get
on with this, he wanted to start making Holland suffer. Holland seemed to
realise that Simon was in earnest and stopped struggling, allowing his
hands to be tied to the table. Simon noticed the open confusion on
Holland's face, he didn't have a clue what was about to happen and Simon
couldn't wait to see his face when he told him. Simon took a moment to calm
himself down, sometimes he could get carried away in his rage and this time
he wanted to relish every moment.

When Simon explained to Holland that he was going to be punished, that he'd
been ungrateful considering the love Simon had shown him he watched as
Holland straightened his shoulders and glared defiantly back at him,
threatening him. Simon looked him in the eye as he promised him, "Oh we'll
see how tough you are, lashing out, threatening me, I'm going to make you
beg, make you cry... you're gonna wish you were dead by the time I'm finished
with you boy."

Simon was gratified to see Holland's face grow pale at this words and his
expression lose its defiance becoming uncertain instead.

He didn't lose that uncertain look even when Simon showed him the pliers
and told him, "Do you know what they do to animals who scratch their owners
too much? They de-claw them."

It was only when Simon pressed down on his hand splaying his fingers flat
against the surface of the table and he gripped his thumbnail with the
pliers, that realization dawned on him. Simon watched, as Holland's eyes
grew wide with understanding, his expression first unbelieving and then
horrified.

As he began to pull steadily back with the pliers Simon never looked away
from Holland's face, he wanted to see every nuance of expression, enjoy
every pain filled, terror filled look and sound. He wasn't disappointed,
for a moment there was resistance to his pull and then he felt the nail
begin to rip away from Holland's hand and he thrilled as Holland screamed
in agony, the smell of fresh blood assaulting his nostrils. When he felt
the nail tear away Simon looked down and saw it still clamped in the pliers
ragged and bloody shreds of skin still attached to one end. Holland
whimpered and Simon saw that he to was looking down at the gory sight,
Holland felt Simon's eyes on him and pulled his gaze away from his hand,
and looked at Simon. Simon laughed at the fear and pain he found there, he
laughed at the tears that coursed down Holland's cheeks, revenge really was
sweet he thought to himself as he moved onto the next finger. Holland's
screams of pain were accompanied by Simon's laughter the entire time he
ripped out each one of the nails on Holland's right hand. When Simon began
to pull on the thumbnail of Holland's left hand Holland completely lost it.
Simon smelt the sour tang of urine as fear and pain meant Holland lost
control of his bladder, and then he began to beg just as Simon had promised
him he would, "N...no more please, please...I'm sorry, I'm s...s...sorry I
won't do it again...I'll be good I promise...p...please...I'm sorry."

It sounded beautiful to Simon's ears, and instead of making him stop it
just spurred him on, adding another level of enjoyment to the experience.
When the last nail had been ripped free Simon needed to rid himself of all
the pent up emotion he was feeling, the thrill, the excitement. He wasted
no time in cutting Holland free and pulling him upright bending him over
the table. Simon freed his erection and swiped his hand through the pool of
blood on the table wiping it on his penis to be used as lubricant. There
would be no consideration for Holland this time, no tenderness, this time
Simon was punishing him not showing him love. Holland didn't struggle this
time, but Simon heard his groan of pain joining his sobs as he rammed into
him. Simon set a hard, punishing pace, frantically fucking the body under
him as hard as he could. As he came it felt like heaven, he felt as if he
were flying. While he was still buried deep inside Holland's body he leaned
forward, pulling Holland's head up from the table top, and licked a path up
his face, relishing the taste of his sweat and tears, his misery and pain.
Now the moment was here, the final act, the small push that would send
Holland into the abyss. A cruel smile twisted Simon's face as he leant even
closer and whispered into Holland's ear.

"Smile for the camera."

Simon felt the man under him still completely; he even held his breath
until he breathed out his refusal to believe what he'd been told, "No,
no...you're lying."

Simon could tell that Holland didn't believe his own words of denial, he
knew that Holland was trying to convince himself as much as anything. Simon
slowly explained it all to Holland relishing every moment, he told him all
about the tapes and how he had sent them to Claudette, he wondered who had
watched them knowing he was echoing Holland's own thoughts. Finally, he
asked Holland what he thought they thought of him after they had witnessed
everything that had happened in that room, and how he had reacted to it
all. Simon had to stop himself from crowing in delight when he saw the
light inside Holland die. Simon knew that at that moment he'd broken him,
he'd destroyed another human being's soul, and the power that gave him was
intoxicating.

Simon pulled the unresisting man to the bed; he pushed him face down and
tied his wrists to the head of the bedstead. Simon looked down taking in
the battered and bloodied figure before him, Holland's fingers bleeding and
swollen, blood and semen smeared, drying across his ass, the bitter smell
of stale sweat and urine making Simon's nose wrinkle. Walking away Simon
looked forward to tomorrow.

* * *

Claudette sat alone in the viewing room, the fourth tape having been
watched the new clue noted, a very dramatic short film of lightening zig
zagging across a night sky. That had provided the intermission in the tape,
in between the heartening sight of Dutch fighting back and then the
absolute horror of his torture at the hands of that animal Collins. When
Collins had told Dutch about the tapes Claudette had seen her partner, her
friend break and she was more afraid for him now then she had been since
this nightmare had begun. What if he gave up, stopped fighting, stopped
believing in his rescue, and stopped caring if he survived?

Claudette felt tears spilling down her cheeks and swept them away angrily.
Her years on the force had taught her that emotions were seen as a
weakness, it was a male dominated culture for one thing and as a woman you
had to work so hard to prove yourself, to be accepted as an equal. Besides
there was a certain logic to this hard attitude if you started to get
emotionally caught up in your work as a police officer you would burn
yourself out in a year, you either toughened up or got out. Still this
wasn't just any case, this was Dutch and to have to watch everything that
was happening to him and to be unable to do anything was a torture in
itself. This damn game the twisted swine was playing wasn't helping it was
so frustrating, the feeling that if they could just figure out these
goddamn clues they could go and rescue Dutch, bring him home. The real
irony was that the person who would have been able to figure the clue trail
out would be Dutch himself, he had a knack of seeing connections where
other people didn't, of getting from A to D by completely bypassing B and
C. She remembered when he'd been interrogating Sean, Sally's killer, Dutch
had told him that one of the reasons he'd become a cop was because he just
liked solving puzzles, well here was one hell of a puzzle.

They still had two main areas which were the most likely areas referred to
by the first tapes clues, that was the area in the vicinity of the NASA Jet
Propulsion Laboratory and the Mount Wilson Observatory. The three headed
dog was apparently called Cerberus and was the guardian of the entrance to
Hades in Greek mythology, this came from Vic he'd been helping his daughter
Cassidy with a school project on mythology and recognised it from there.
Now lightening, Claudette thought about it, well it was meteorological and
so perhaps tied in with the observatory. Shit, who was she trying to kid,
she didn't have any idea what they meant. In fact she was coming around to
Vic's way of thinking that this whole clue thing was just Collins' way of
fucking with them, and the clues weren't clues at all just random bits of
bullshit he was sending them so they'd be so busy chasing after them that
he'd be able to get clean away after the time had run out for Dutch. Of
course what choice did they have but to play his twisted little games, they
had nothing else to go on. It was as if him and Dutch had fallen off the
end of the world, there was nothing, not so much as a sniff of a sighting.
Claudette felt despair welling up inside of her, she felt powerless and
useless. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, if she started
to think that way she would be of absolutely no use to Dutch. If you went
into an investigation thinking that you were bound to fail it had a
tendency to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she couldn't allow that
to happen. No matter what she would not fail Dutch, she would find him and
get him away from that monster, any other outcome was simply unacceptable.
Still Claudette could feel that small kernel of doubt nagging at her mind,
but she pushed it away knowing that if the unspeakable happened and they
did fail Dutch, if she failed him, she wouldn't rest until she hunted
Collins down and made him pay.

She turned as she heard the door opening, "Coffee?" Vic offered holding out
a cup to her.

Claudette nodded wearily reaching out accepting one of the two steaming
cups she saw Vic was carrying. Everyone working on the case seemed to be
fueled by really strong coffee, they didn't want to rest, to sleep knowing
that the clock was continuing to tick down for Dutch.

"You look tired, have you thought about taking a break, trying to catch a
few hours sleep?" Vic asked quietly.

Claudette turned to him observing his own haggard visage, "Ever thought about
taking your own advice?" She replied with a sad smile.

Vic shrugged taking a sip of the hot, bitter liquid in his cup, "Yeah well
you know I had a few hours yesterday but..." He didn't finish his sentence.

"Oh believe me I know," Claudette told him. "Bad dreams."

Vic nodded dropping his gaze to the floor. They sat quietly for a few
minutes then Vic glanced at Claudette before looking away again, "It's just
I hate the waiting around," He finally said. "This bastard Collins has got
us all swinging in the wind, playing his game his way, he's got us exactly
where he wants us. Then I get to wondering what he's doing right at this
moment while I'm sitting here drinking coffee, what's he doing to Dutch
right now?"

"I know that thought haunts me too." Claudette told him, briefly reaching
out squeezing his arm gently.

"I just feel so fucking useless, I need to be doing something, out chasing
down leads all this trying to figure these obscure clues well it's more
Dutchboys kind of thing." He sighed.

"You must be reading my mind," Claudette smiled. "I was just thinking that
Dutch would have figured this all out by now, and he'd be wondering why
everyone else was too dense to see something so obvious."

Vic laughed for a moment, but then sobered again. His eyes looked down to
the floor again, "How do you think he's holding up. It's just in that last
tape when Collins told him about the cameras and the tapes, it's like
something in him...well like something died."

"I know I saw it to, but Dutch is strong. I'm not being funny or anything
but you don't know him like I do, he's strong and he can get through this,
he will survive this." Claudette stated firmly, but it sounded a little
hollow to her own ears, it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself
as well as Vic. She just prayed that she was right.

* * *

Dutch had actually managed to get a few hours sleep, his exhaustion finally
overcoming the agony in his body. Before sleep had taken him, given him the
illusion of peace, he remembered he'd been praying. He wasn't sure anymore
if he really believed in God, at least not in a just and benevolent God, no
his God must be the Old Testament God he decided, the vengeful, cruel God
that wasn't popular in these politically correct days. He had to wonder
though what he'd done to deserve to be punished like this, maybe the people
who believed in re-incarnation were right, and he was being punished for
something he'd done in a past life. He was here because of some huge case
of cosmic karma; he must have been Genghis Kahn or Jack the Ripper or
something then because he was certainly getting shit heaped on him in
spades. Despite his lack of faith that God was listening to him anymore he
still prayed, the words filling his head. Before tonight he'd prayed for
Claudette to find him, he prayed to God to let her find a clue to his
whereabouts, for her to whisk him away to hospital, clean sheets, warmth,
safety and some really good drugs. Now his prayer had changed, and maybe it
would be more to the taste of the wrathful deity that seemed to be in
charge of his fate, he prayed for an end to his ordeal, but not rescue, now
he prayed for death. It might seem a little melodramatic but he couldn't
help it, he'd had enough. Here he was tied face down to the big iron bed
his hands a throbbing agony competing with the pain in his lower back,
blood and semen smeared across his buttocks and thighs, smelling of stale
sweat, stale semen and stale urine. Christ as if he hadn't humiliated
himself enough he had to go and wet himself. He wanted to cry, howl out his
misery but he wasn't sure he had any tears left inside of him. He felt as
though someone had ripped him open and scooped his insides out with a
spoon, he felt empty inside. He wasn't really there anymore, Dutch
Wagenbach was gone and a stranger had taken his place.

His thoughts turned to the tapes that Simon had told him about, he wondered
who'd watched them. Probably Claudette, Aceveda, the FBI, maybe Jim Ryde
the agent who'd helped him profile Sally's killer. He'd liked Agent Ryde,
had felt a flare of pride when he'd complemented him on spotting the fact
that a serial killer was on the loose. He'd wanted to gain this man's
respect. What respect would there be if he'd seen those tapes? Maybe the
whole precinct had seen them; Dutch visualized the scene, everyone sitting
down with sodas and popcorn watching the next installment in the destruction
of Detective Dutch Wagenbach. Would they laugh at him he wondered, maybe a
couple of them would think he was getting what he deserved, that he needed
to be taken down a peg or two. He knew some of his colleague's thought he was
a snob that he thought he was better than they were. They didn't understand
that he just didn't have people skills. He never seemed to fit in, always a
step behind everyone else. Then there was small talk, which was a complete
anathema to him; he just couldn't do small talk. When he tried he always
ended up tripping up over his tongue, talking about banalities like the
weather, sounding like an idiot, so he just kept quiet and then people
thought he was being standoffish, a snob. So he tried to make up for his
lack of social skills by throwing himself into his work. He knew that results
would earn him respect, perhaps friendship, he didn't like feeling like the
odd man out all the time. It was scary how accurate Sean had been in his
analysis of him in the interrogation room, but hey maybe everyone could see
it, maybe he was pathetically transparent, a needy whiner craving respect
he'd never get. How could he ever be respected now, now that he'd become that
monster's bitch, because he had to face it that was what he was? Jesus he'd
cum while that bastard had been fucking him. He deserved everything that
happened to him, he was weak and pathetic; a coward because all he wanted to
do now was to die, because he didn't have the courage to face anyone he'd
known in his old life.

He heard the sound he'd grown to loathe and fear, the door of the room
opening, the key turning in the lock, the hinge which needed a little oil
to stop it squeaking, and then he was back. Dutch buried his face in the
mattress, wishing himself away from here. He heard Simon's footstep nearing
the bed, then he spoke, "Aw baby you're a mess, I think I need to clean you
up don't you hmm. You'll feel better after a wash and a shave, maybe I'll
wash your hair, would you like that." As he spoke he was busy untying Dutch's
hands from the bed, he never paused, never waited for a response which suited
Dutch so he just kept still and quiet. "If you're a good boy and don't give
me any trouble I'll give you some water and maybe some medicine so you don't
get sick. If you're especially good maybe I'll let you have some soup, would
you like that, ‘cause you know you've lost a couple of pounds while we've
been together. Now just sit around and I'll take you over to where I'll
clean you up, you smell a bit you know."

Dutch did as Simon told him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes on
the stone floor in front of him, his shoulders slumped in defeat, he simply
didn't care anymore. There was a pause and he could feel Simon's eyes on
him, studying him, then he felt Simon's hand on his arm as he pulled him
up, Dutch tensed for a moment at the hateful touch, but then relaxed, he
was filthy and polluted now what did one more touch matter, what would one
more fuck matter. He passively let Simon steer him over to the middle of
the room and didn't protest when he tied his wrists with rope and pulled
them up over his head, back in the place where he'd first awoken what
seemed a lifetime ago. Simon didn't speak as he moved in and out of the
room, bringing in a couple of bowls of water, towels, soap, shampoo and
other odds and ends. Dutch had to admit it would be good not to have to
smell himself anymore, Simon had been right he did stink. As he stood
perfectly still he let Simon wash him; he didn't move only closing his eyes
when Simon told him to when he washed his hair. The smell of sex and terror
and pain being replaced by the smell of lemons and oranges and mint.

"Open wide." Simon instructed and Dutch dutifully opened his mouth and let
Simon brush his teeth.

However, he did pause before opening it when Simon showed him a couple of
tablets that he wanted him to take, but the promise of water to wash them
down with had been too much of a temptation so he'd opened up and swallowed
them down with a bottle of water.

"They're only antibiotics." Simon assured him, although Dutch didn't really
care if they'd been cyanide at this point.

He remained passive even when Simon leant forward and kissed him on the
lips, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth exploring every nook and
cranny, practically forcing it's way down his throat. He remained passive
when Simon untied him and took him over to the bed and laid him down on his
back. He remained passive when Simon tied his hands above his head again.
He remained passive when the monster began to dirty him again, because he
wasn't there anymore, he'd finally found his safe place, the place in his
head where he could hide when the monsters came for him.

* * *

Simon was very annoyed; Holland had managed to escape him not physically,
but mentally. Yesterday when he'd gone into clean him up Holland had barely
registered that he was in the room. He hadn't spoken to Simon; he hadn't
looked at him. Oh he hadn't disobeyed Simon either he'd just quietly done
what he was told, his head submissively bowed, eyes staring at the floor.
Simon had paused to study Holland while he had been sitting on the edge of
the bed and had made a mistake in his assessment of the situation. At that
point he'd merely thought that Holland had broken and would now be his
totally, his to shape, his to mould before the end, which was fast
approaching. When he'd gripped Holland's arm he'd felt the man tense and
then almost immediately relax, the fight having gone out of him. After that
Holland had obeyed every order given to him by Simon, he'd allowed Simon
free access to his body while he'd cleaned him and Simon hadn't been able
to resist indulging himself with a kiss. Holland's mouth had tasted so
sweet, his lips so soft and pliant under Simon's, and he'd explored every
bit of that delicious mouth, his desire for Holland growing with every
exquisite sweep of his tongue. Simon had untied Holland and wordlessly
taken him back to the bed, after quickly flipping the mattress he'd laid
Holland down on his back and had retied his hands above his head. He was
going to take him face to face; he was going to look into Holland's eyes
while he pushed himself inside of him. Simon had undressed and the
anticipation had already made him hard. He'd decided on no lubrication,
some pain would reinforce Holland's position, ensure he didn't forget who
was in charge, who owned him. Holland had allowed him to push his legs
apart and Simon had settled in between them, kneeling he'd pulled Holland's
backside up from the mattress positioning him partly on his lap with his
legs on either side of Simon's hips. Simon had leant his weight forward,
his arms braced on either side of Holland's shoulders he'd looked straight
into Holland's eyes as he'd slowly pushed his erection into Holland's ass.
Slowly, inch by inch he'd forced his way inside, he'd felt Holland's body
stiffen with the pain, he'd seen his facial expression tighten as he
finally fully sheathed himself completely inside of that tight heat.
However, what Simon didn't see was the fear, the loathing, the humiliation,
the defeat in Holland's eyes. In fact he didn't see anything in those eyes,
eyes that Simon had delighted in because of their open expression were now
shuttered and blank. Simon had been determined to get a reaction from
Holland, and so had set a punishing pace, thrusting into him quickly and
hard, but all to no avail. Holland's expression had remained blank. Oh he'd
flinched and grimaced when Simon hurt him, when he tore into him with his
penis, when he'd leaned down and bitten into the soft, warm skin on his
shoulder, Simon's teeth breaking the skin, drawing blood. However, Simon
knew that those were merely physical reactions and he wanted something
deeper than that, he wanted a mental connection with Holland, he wanted to
be able to see the submission, the defeat in his eyes, not this
featureless, blank stare. When Simon had cum he'd collapsed forward on top
of Holland and again he hadn't moved and Simon found he missed that
delicious squirming of Holland's body under him when he'd tried to escape
from Simon's touch. Simon had angrily gotten up and left the room, not
speaking to Holland and certainly not allowing him the promised soup. Simon
decided that if Holland was determined to ruin his fun then he could just
go hungry for the rest of his miserable life. He'd smirked at that thought,
that wasn't going to be too much longer after all.

Unfortunately Simon hadn't been able to go back to see Holland for the rest
of that day. He'd had lots of things to see to, arrangements to be made,
and preparations that required his attention. His time here in California
would be over soon and he needed to make arrangements to move on, as well
as the arrangements for Holland's last day. So here he was on day six, the
last day he really got to play with Holland and he was determined to make
the most of it, after all this would be the last few times that he would
get to take that delicious body. Simon was also going to make sure that
Holland reacted to him properly, no more hiding away in his head for him,
Simon was going to make him come out to play, come out to face his demons.

Simon was naked when he entered the room; he'd spent the night before
hardly sleeping thinking about what he was going to do today. He had a
bottle of water for Holland and a bag with some odds and ends he might
need. He saw that Holland was already awake, staring impassively up at the
ceiling, unmoving. Simon walked over to the bed and untied Holland's hands,
he was quite sure that even without his present defeated attitude Holland
was no longer a threat to him physically. The maltreatment he'd experienced
combined with the lack of food and adequate liquid intake had all taken
their toll on Holland physically. Simon had been speaking the truth
yesterday when he'd told Holland that he'd lost weight over the past few
days, and Simon had also noticed that Holland was increasingly unsteady on
his feet when he walked. Simon wasn't sure that Holland would even make it
out of the building under his own steam if he left all the doors unlocked
and wide-open. After he'd untied him Simon ordered Holland to sit up, which
he had done, all be it slowly, then he'd wordlessly handed him the opened
water bottle and stood watching as Holland had drunk it down. When he'd
finished Simon had said,

"Get up!"

Again Holland quietly obeyed and Simon decided to see how far this show of
obedience really went.

"Walk over to the table, bend over it and open your legs." He told the
still man in front of him.

There was only a slight hesitation on Holland's part before he shuffled his
way over to the table, and then he paused, not moving. Simon smiled to
himself, so not all of the old Holland was gone. He walked over to the
table and prepared to play. Grabbing Holland's hair in one hand and his arm
in the other he shoved Holland down over the table hard, Holland's head
smacking into the table top with an audible thump. Simon slid the hand he
had on Holland's arm down until it grasped onto Holland's left wrist, and
then he repeated the process on the other side. When he had hold of both of
Holland's wrists, his arms pulled out straight behind his back and his body
pinned to the table top, Simon leaned forward rubbing his erection against
Holland's buttocks and whispered, "Don't think you can hide from me, don't
think you can escape into your head and get away from me. I own you, I want
you, I love you and you'll stay with me forever, and there is no escape. Do
you understand that hmm...do you understand that there isn't going to be any
rescue, your colleagues have already given up on you? I've been giving them
clues you know, in the tapes I've given them clues that even an idiot could
follow, but they're not here are they. Do you know why huh? They don't want
you back, you disgust them, you're weak and pathetic, they aren't looking
for you any more. They've watched you whore yourself to me, they've watched
you squirm and moan and cum for me, they know you belong to me now. You
realise that don't you Holland, you belong in the dark and the filth because
that's what you are, you can't be with them anymore because you'd make them
dirty, you'd pollute them and you wouldn't want to do that would you hmm?"

When Holland failed to answer Simon pulled his arms across his back,
because he was holding the wrists and they were pulled behind Holland he
knew it would feel to Holland as if he was dislocating his shoulders.
Holland whimpered in pain and Simon hissed, "I asked you a question! You
wouldn't want to pollute them with your filth would you?"

"N...n...no." Holland stammered.

"Good boy." Simon said letting Holland's arms relax a little, lessening the
pain in his shoulders. "Now let me show you my love."

With that he plunged into Holland's body with so much force that he forced
himself fully inside in one long, brutal thrust. Holland's body tensed and
a pained gasp escaped from him. Simon didn't pause he just began to thrust
as hard as he could, he didn't have to worry about causing damage to Holland
now, the end was so close that any injuries he inflicted now wouldn't have
time to become infected. Simon still held onto Holland's wrists and every
time he pulled his hips back he also pulled back on them knowing he was
causing agonizing pain to shoot across Holland's shoulders and chest. With
every lunge into Holland's ass Simon made sure he was as brutal as possible,
he made sure he did as much internal damage as possible. He could feel
Holland's blood, hot and wet lubricating his way, and glancing down he could
see it trickling down the insides of Holland's thighs. Simon could feel sweat
running down his forehead as he kept up the punishing pace, he could hear
Holland's pain filled gasps and sobs, his own grunts of pleasure. As he felt
his climax building he let go of Holland's wrists and thrust into him as
deeply as he could, his hands grasping Holland's hips. As he felt his cum
shooting into Holland's bowels he pulled his hands into fists, gouging trails
in the already bruised flesh of Holland's hips. Simon slumped forward onto
Holland's back, the wordless, intense sex having drained him momentarily. He
lay there feeling the trembling body under him gradually still, the sobs
slowly subside and then he heard one single muffled word, "Why."

Simon smiled to himself and stood up wondering what had taken Holland so
long to ask the question.

* * *

He had to know why. It struck Dutch that his question was a little like the
old movie cliché when the hero is facing death and buys some time by asking
the villain to explain his plans, of course the daring escape or rescue
would be missing from this scenario, but he really did want to know why
before he died. He had the feeling that just like the baddies in those
films Simon wouldn't be able to resist the sound of his own voice as he
explained his warped thinking. Oh Dutch understood the psychology of
someone like Simon, a psychopath with no empathy for those around him
intent only on his own gratification, but why him, why policemen that's
what he wanted to know? So he'd simply asked after Simon's latest
attentions, "Why?"

Simon reached forward a hand gripping his shoulder and pulled him upright,
turning him around and pushing him back against the table, it's edge
cutting uncomfortably into his lower back, just one more pain to join the
rest. Dutch almost welcomed the physical pain now as it sublimated the
emotional pain which he could feel constantly eating away at his psyche. He
felt he could reach out and grasp his physical pain, touch it and watch
while it would eventually fade away and disappear. However, he knew the
psychological pain was different after all he'd spent years with his demons
locked away deep inside of himself, but they'd always been there never
fading just repressed, snarling and howling for release.

Simon pressed forward into his personal space, his pelvis pushed against
Dutch's, his hands on either side of his body gripping the table imprisoning
him and his face just inches from his, eyes staring, a smile on his lips.

"What took you so long? The others asked that long before now and I took
you for an inquisitive detective with a thirst for knowledge, for the
truth." Simon said.

"Tell me...I want to know...to understand. Why policemen...why choose me?"
Dutch asked, trying but failing to hold Simon's gaze. Those cold almost
inhuman eyes made him shudder and he couldn't prevent himself from looking
away, even though he knew Simon would see his reluctance to maintain eye
contact as a victory.

"Why policemen...because I was set up, framed and spent 10 years of my life
locked up in a cell because some dirty cop planted evidence in my car. The
bastard planted hairs from this dead kid in my trunk and then leaned on
that idiot Newman to get him to implicate me in the kid's death. That was
back in 1986, I got life with no chance of parole, and I had to spend the
next ten years in prison until they caught him out doing the same thing in
another case. Ten fucking years wasted then they give me a pardon and a
shit load of cash and expect me to what, forgive and forget...just fuck off
and get on with life...no way."

"You were innocent and this is what...your way of getting back at the
police." Dutch asked.

"Innocent...Jesus you really aren't as clever as I thought you were boy. I
was guilty as sin...yeah I killed the little shit, fucked him and strangled
him, but I didn't leave any evidence. No that shit for brains cop had to
plant some because he couldn't find any...because I was smarter than that,
smarter than them. The only way they could pin it on me was to cheat...made
it look like I was just some dumb fuck who couldn't clean up after himself
properly. Well they don't think that now do they. Christ, I even leave them
clues and they're still too stupid to catch me. Do you know the feds even
know who I am? They went back to Hamilton and asked a lot of questions
about me and they still can't catch me, they still can't save you. See I'm
smarter than them, superior, and so it's only right I can have what I want,
who I want." Simon told Dutch.

Dutch tried to digest all that Simon had told him. If it was true that the
FBI knew Simon's identity then why hadn't they caught up with him by now?
Maybe Simon had been right, maybe they had given up on him. Here he was
thinking there was some big search underway for him and instead everyone
was just getting on with their lives, and he was fading from memory. The
lack of emotion this thought elicited in him didn't surprise him; he was
tired and felt as though he was merely marking time now until this whole
mess was over. He almost didn't ask his next question, not sure if he
really wanted to hear Simon's answer, not sure he'd want to see the
reflection of himself the answer might provide. However, he'd gone this far
and so taking a breath he asked,

"Why me...why did you pick me? What...what was it you saw in me that made you
choose me?"

Simon stepped back from Dutch which surprised him and he looked up at
Simon's face, startled to see something that almost resembled pity there.

"I've told you before I didn't choose you, you chose me."

Genuinely confused Dutch shook his head, "I don't understand?"

"The moment I saw you I knew you were the one. Everything about you called
out to me I could sense your need, your insecurity, wanting to belong
somewhere, to someone. There's something about you, about all of the ones
I've chosen, a vulnerability that calls out to people. It makes people
react to you in one of two ways either they want to look out for you, like
your partner Claudette, or else they're like me and want to take that
vulnerability and use it, enjoy it, make you cry. You were made for this,
for me, that's why you belong to me, you always have."

Dutch could see from his expression that Simon was totally sincere, he
completely believed every word he'd just said and he realised that he did
as well. Of course Simon was right that explained everything, his entire
life he'd been walking around with "victim" emblazoned across his forehead,
he couldn't see it but everyone else could. His father, Lucy, the friend
who'd been Lucy's sponsor at AA and had ended up getting her pregnant and
taking her away from him, Sean Sally's killer had seen it that day in the
interrogation room and Simon had seen it. Perhaps his whole life had been
leading up to this point fate made it inescapable. Why try and fight it,
why try and hide from it? It was better surely to accept it, embrace it
even. At the very least it would be easier.

"You're going to finish it tomorrow?" Dutch heard himself asking Simon; a
little proud of the fact that his voice remained steady when he asked the
question.

Simon was watching him carefully when he replied, "Yes...it'll be your time."

Dutch actually felt relief flood through him at Simon's words, his eyes
sliding shut. It was going to end, it was going to be over and he knew he
was glad. Feeling Simon's gaze on him Dutch opened his eyes and looked back
at him, not flinching when Simon reached out and cupped his cheek in his
hand.

"Now you see it don't you...now you realise I'm right...now you know you
belong to me. We can be together one last time and the choice is yours,
either I can bend you over the table again like last time and hurt you or
you can lie down on the bed with me and I'll be gentle, prepare you, use
lubrication the choice is yours?"

Dutch knew he should refuse to chose or be defiant and opt for the table,
validate himself with the pain but he couldn't. He knew that in the long
run it didn't matter anymore so why be a masochist, why chose pain when he
didn't have to. So he silently turned away from Simon and slowly walked
over to the bed aware of Simon following him.

* * *

Claudette was barely suppressing the waves of panic, which were rising up
within herself. Time was running out they knew that Simon intended to kill
Dutch on day seven. The tape from the fifth day of Dutch's ordeal had at
least finally given them the clue that had narrowed down the search
parameters. It had come at the end of the tape, a tape that had confirmed
Claudette's fear that Dutch was beginning to give up. The damage caused to
his delicate psyche and self-esteem with the news that Simon had been
sending her tapes of his ordeal seemed to be irreparable. There had been a
complete lack of reaction from Dutch as Simon had washed him and kissed
him, an act that was even more intimate than the rapes because it usually
signified a depth of love and tenderness instead of the need for power and
control which the rapes represented. Then when Simon had tied him
unresisting to the bed and raped him again Dutch's face had been strangely
blank, totally devoid of any emotion; it was as if he wasn't there any
more. Then that clue, a picture of the Canadian flag. As they scanned the
maps it had all fallen into place. The theory, which offered the area of
the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory as the area where Simon had Dutch
imprisoned, was confirmed. The Canadian flag had to be referring to the
area around the Pasadena-LA Canada Flintridge City boundaries. The name of
the Devil's Gate Reservoir had leapt out at them with the realization that
the three-headed dog Cerberus had guarded the entrance to Hades, or the
Devil's Gate. Even the obscure glass of half-melted ice cubes that had been
foxing everyone who'd tried to explain it became clear when Agent Ryde
spotted the name Coldwater Canyon. After all what was ice water if not cold
water? Still this was a large rural area, some of it heavily wooded, and it
was still like looking for a needle in a haystack. The only clue they'd had
left then was the lightening, and no amount of desperate map reading had
yielded any answers.

It was nearly dawn on day seven, the final day; the sky had streaks of pink
and orange stretching out from the eastern horizon. Claudette was standing
in the car park she had had to get out of the building, escape the air of
hopelessness that pervaded the atmosphere of The Barn. Also she had had to
escape all the pitying stares which were being increasingly shot in her
direction. She hated that pity and the thought that those people had
already given up on Dutch, they had written him off as a lost cause. Well
she'd be damned if she would give up on him even if, as she feared, he had
given up on himself.

The tape that she had watched with the others only a few hours ago had
confirmed this assessment of his mental wellbeing for her. Another brutal
rape had followed Simon's mind games. As he had told Dutch that they
wouldn't want him back because he would disgust them, he would pollute them
Claudette had felt sick to her stomach. The tears that had welled in her
eyes had spilled down her cheeks when she heard Dutch's broken, desolate
voice agreeing with him. She had bowed her head as she had listened to
Simon's warped reasoning, his excuses for what he'd done and why. She had
looked up sharply when she heard Simon telling Dutch that it was his fault
he'd chosen him. Claudette had angrily swiped away the tears from earlier
when she realised Simon was twisting Dutch's thinking, making him believe
it was all his fault, that he'd given off some kind of signals which had
attracted Simon to him. The frightening thing was that Dutch seemed to
completely accept this version of events. Claudette was worried that if
Dutch felt this was somehow his destiny then he wouldn't fight anymore, he
wouldn't fight to survive. When he had meekly walked to the bed then and
lain unresponsive but completely submissive while Simon had raped him
again, all the while cooing at Dutch in a sick parody of lovemaking,
Claudette felt her assessment of Dutch had been confirmed. She shuddered as
a cool breeze blew over her and she wearily leaned back against the wall
behind her closing her eyes for a moment. She felt a little foolish but she
reached out with her mind and tried to will her thoughts to Dutch where
ever he was. She wanted him to know that they hadn't given up on him, not
for one moment. She wanted him to know that they wanted him back and that
they were close, so close that he just had to hang on for a little while
longer. Most of all she wanted him to know that she hadn't given up on him
and no matter what that she never would.

Claudette was jolted out of her thoughts when Vic burst out of the door
with a huge grin on his face,

"We've got the bastard Claudette, we know where he is!"

Claudette thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest, her head
spun for a moment. At last the words she'd waited all week to hear. Unable
to contain her excitement she rushed forward towards Vic,

"Where...how...are you sure?" The questions spilling out of her mouth one
after the other.

Vic held the door open for her as she brushed past him waiting impatiently
for his reply. He walked with her back towards the squad room, talking
rapidly as they went,

"The goddamn feds finally came through. Those guys they've got going
through Collins' dodgey finances found something. The sick fucker had an
account set up in the name Geoffrey Massara."

"The boy he helped murder back in '86?" Claudette asked.

"Yep. Anyway that flags up for the feds so they dig a little deeper, seems
money from this account was paid out to a property-letting agent in
Pasadena. So they contact this guy and he says that sure Mr. Massara was
letting a place for a few months. Says he's a rich businessman from New
York wanting some downtime to get back to nature. This guy sees this Mr.
Massara taking a load of electrical equipment into this place, computers
and stuff and just supposes its so he can keep in contact with his business
back east. Anyway they show him a photo of Collins and he says yes that Mr.
Massara. Shit we've fucking got him." Vic could barely contain his delight.

As they passed into the squad room it seemed to Claudette to be a different
building to the one she had slunk out of an hour earlier. Suddenly the air
was full of optimism, a bustle of purposeful activity as people hurried to
organize the long awaited and prayed for rescue of their colleague and
friend.

Unable to keep the grin from her own face Claudette reached out and grabbed
hold of Vic's arm stopping him for a second, "But where, where is he?"

"At an old timber mill about five miles from the Devil's Gate Reservoir.
Remember the lightening and that picture of a kite from yesterday's tape?
Well it's the Franklin Mill, as in Benjamin Franklin. This bastard thinks
he's so fucking clever...well he's in for a Farmington surprise visit!" Vic
crowed.

Claudette rushed after him into the melee of frantic activity that
surrounded them. Now they had to ensure that they were in the thick of
things. If the FBI thought they were going to be running the show they were
in for a surprise. Claudette was determined to be at the forefront of the
rescue, beside her she was sure that Vic was equally determined that the
Strike Team were going to amongst the first through the door too. As she
headed towards Agents Young and Alvarez she sent a silent plea out to
Dutch, "Just hold on a little longer son...just hold on and fight I'm
coming."

* * *

The sky was still streaked with the colours of dawn and the sun had barely
crept into the sky when Dutch heard the door to the room open. He sighed
quietly and prepared himself, today was the day he was destined to die and
he was determined to meet his end with as much equanimity as he could
muster.

"Time to get ready." Simon said.

Dutch turned towards him and was surprised to see he was holding one of his
suits in his arms. At Dutch's questioning look Simon told him, "I always
bring a set of work clothes to be worn for the occasion. Of course it's
usually a uniform but in your case it had to be a suit and I always liked
you in this one."

Dutch thought that this was probably the most surreal moment of his entire
life. Simon was talking about "...the occasion..." as if he was discussing a
party or something not his execution. The dark blue suit Simon held did
happen to be one of Dutch's favourites too, but now he knew Simon liked it
he found he rather despised it. Then he mentally chided himself, what was
he thinking, as if it mattered what suit he was going to be wearing. Jesus
he was loosing his mind, the sooner this was finished with the better.

As Simon came forward, and after placing the suit at the end of the bed,
while he began to untie him, Dutch had to satisfy his curiosity on one
point, "How...how are you going to do it. I...um...I know it's always
different, and I was...ah...wondering well... you know?"

He winced slightly as he tripped over his own tongue as he asked Simon to
tell him how he was going to die. He was supposed to be being cool and
collected, not stuttering and stammering like an idiot.

"Oh you'll see soon enough. Don't worry it'll be...it'll be over quickly I
promise." Simon smiled reassuringly at him as he said it, and Dutch
shuddered.

Sitting up he reached over and pulled his clothes towards him. Not only the
suit he noted but a shirt and tie and even underwear. He lightly caressed
the material with his hand it would feel good to have some clothes on
again, perhaps a little of his dignity would be put back with each item of
clothing.

* * *

Simon watched Holland as he gazed at the clothes on the bed, and slowly,
almost reverently ran his hands over each item. He would be sorry when this
was over he had been really enjoying his time here with Holland. It would
be a shame to have to leave it all behind and move on; he wasn't sure where
he was going yet. Perhaps Seattle or down to Mexico for a little break, let
things cool off a little now that he knew the FBI were onto him. Even Simon
realised it would only be a matter of time before they caught up with him.

Turning his attention back to Holland Simon saw that he was having some
difficulty dressing himself. His fingers were still red and swollen from
the punishment that Simon had been forced to inflict on him for his bad
behaviour, and he was finding it difficult to manipulate the clothes as he
tried to put them on. He'd managed to pull on his underwear and the shirt
but there was no way he'd be able to do up the buttons by himself, so Simon
stepped forward to help. Holland passively allowed Simon to take over and
sat still and quiet as he dressed him. While he did up the buttons on
Holland's shirt Simon noticed a slight tremble which was present in
Holland's body. A brush against his chest while bringing the two sides of
the shirt together to be done up also told Simon that Holland was rather
hot. A surreptitious glance at his face, which was calm with his eyes
closed, confirmed Simon's suspicion that Holland had a slight fever. Well
there was no need to be sentimental now; it was a good thing that this was
day seven. If he was going to be like Peter and get ill then, just like
Peter before him, he would be no fun whatsoever for Simon. Besides he would
be doing Holland a favour too, better to put him out of his misery quickly
before he suffered too much then let him linger on like Peter had. Thinking
back Simon remembered that Peter had been in such a state at the end that
he'd been barely able to kneel on the ground in front of Simon. When Simon
had pulled the trigger sending a bullet into Peter's brain he thought it
had been like putting down a sick dog.

Wanting to get on Simon quickly and efficiently got Holland dressed.
Holland himself passively obeyed Simon's instructions of when to stand up
and sit down, when to put his arm into the armhole of his jacket, when to
lift his feet as Simon put his shoes and socks on. When he'd finally
finished and stood up Simon could see a slight smile on Holland's face, he
quirked an eyebrow at the sight and hoped that Holland would be this
cooperative in a few minutes time. Taking Holland's handcuffs from his back
pocket Simon said, "Alright stand up and walk forward for four steps, and
then put your hands behind your back."

* * *

As Simon dressed him Dutch tried his best to ignore him. He let his mind
drift not really thinking of anything, noting that he felt a little light
headed. Of course he hadn't eaten since he'd been brought here and although
he'd been given water it hadn't been enough and he was dehydrated so it was
no wonder he was a little woozy. The inner calm that had seemed to settle
over him was still evident except for one tiny nagging worry that seemed to
be growing inside his head. How was he going to die? Dutch knew from the
reports he'd seen on the other murders that the method of execution was
always different. Simon had promised him it would be quick; but then again
Simon was a deranged serial killer so Dutch reasoned he probably wasn't the
most reliable of people. God, what if it was something really bad, like
fire or hanging, except no it couldn't be hanging since Dutch was pretty
sure Simon had used that one already. Just as he was sure he'd used a shot
to the back of the head before, damn at least that would be quick and
painless. Oops there was that surreal feeling again here he was calmly
comparing the various ways he could be killed and trying to pick a
favourite.

Then he felt it he was dressed. At last he had clothes on he was human
again, Dutch felt himself smile. He couldn't help it; it just felt so good
maybe he did have a little bit of dignity left after all? At Simon's order
to stand up and walk forward Dutch did as he was told, remembering the
harsh lesson he'd learnt the last time he had thought he could snatch back
some of his dignity and self-respect. His fingers still throbbed in time
with each beat of his heart to constantly remind him what would happen if
he disobeyed, if he fought back. So he quickly smothered the spark of
defiance that he had felt within himself and put his hands behind his back
and stood still while Simon handcuffed him. Dutch watched Simon move around
to stand beside him and take his right elbow in his hand, "Just walk with
me, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you to be good? This is for the best
you know that, it's the way it should be. You understand that don't you?"
Simon asked him, gazing earnestly into Dutch's face.

Dutch just nodded. He was busy trying to suppress that nagging fear within
himself that was rapidly growing and threatening to ruin his promise to
himself that he would met his end with quiet acceptance.

"Good...come on then." Simon said, gently pulling on his arm and steering
him to the door. Dutch hadn't noticed before that Simon had left it open. He
felt a pang of regret; maybe he should have tried to escape before Simon
had cuffed him. As he stumbled slightly as they passed through the doorway
Dutch knew that in his weakened condition he wouldn't have made it twenty
feet before Simon would have caught him, and then Simon would have been
really mad at him. The thought of Simon's wrath made Holland shiver. As
they walked down the corridor Dutch let his mind turn to Claudette. He
wondered what she was doing right now? Was she at home or at the Barn, did
she have a new partner yet? No he couldn't imagine she would forget him so
quickly, surely she still thought of him. He remembered how hard he had
prayed for her to find him during those first few days. How much he had
wanted to believe that she would lead a rescue party into that room at any
moment. Then he remembered how crushed he had felt when Simon had told him
about the tapes. Yes, he decided this was better for everyone. He wouldn't
have to face anyone from his past life and they wouldn't have to face him.
Simon was right he was filthy now and was sure to contaminate anything or
anyone he came into contact with. All that Simon had done to him, all that
he had let Simon do, all that he'd become was buried so deeply into the
core of his being that it could never be removed. The dark shame of it was
ingrained into his soul, poisoning it. It was better for him to be removed
from the world before he could spoil anything clean with his very touch.

Dutch had been so deep in thought that he was surprised when Simon said,
"We're here."

Dutch had to blink a few times to clear his eyes as they blurred slightly
for a moment. When he saw what the room contained he realised how he was to
die. The room was empty except for a large, old-fashioned, cast-iron
bathtub. It stood in the middle of the room on four iron feet in the shape
of lion's paws. It was the sort of thing that interior designers looked for
to add character to a renovated bathroom. It was also full of clear water;
a yellow hosepipe snaked across the floor from a tap that was placed
against the wall.

"I had a dream of your face looking up at me through water." Simon told him
by way of explanation.

Dutch didn't quite know what to say; he didn't know what Simon expected him
to say in reply. So he just stood there staring at the tub of water, not
sure how he felt about drowning. As Simon walked him over to the tub a
little voice began screaming in his head for him to fight. This was real;
he was going to die. Simon was going to hold him under the water until he
was dead. He would drown, suffocate with his lungs full of water instead of
air. Dutch could feel panic beginning to well up inside him and he could
feel himself beginning to pull back, trying to dig his heels in and prevent
his inexorable forward progress. He felt Simon's fingers digging painfully
into his arm as he dragged him forward, "Don't be silly, you know this is
what has to happen. I really thought you were going to be sensible Holland,
don't make me lose my temper." Simon threatened.

"I...I don't want to drown...I don't want to die now." Dutch said beginning
to struggle in earnest now.

He had thought he'd come to terms with this, he had thought he was ready.
Just a couple of minutes ago he had thought that this was the right thing,
but that was before he'd entered this room and saw his end before him in
that cold, clear water.

"Don't make it harder than it has to be." Simon hissed at him.

The grip Simon had on his arm tightened even more and he brought his other
hand up to grip the back of Dutch's neck. Now Simon was half dragging him,
half pushing him towards the bath.

"No...no don't." Dutch gasped out, as he tried to fight Simon.

"You little coward!" Simon spat in anger.

Dutch was afraid, but he had a sudden epiphany where he realised that he'd
been a coward for wanting to die. He had been a coward for not wanting to
face people, for not wanting to face the rest of his life. Now he had to
fight, he had to at least try, not go to his death like a lamb to the
slaughter. What if Simon was taping this, what if Claudette saw this? Dutch
suddenly felt that it was vitally important to try, for Claudette to see
he'd tried to live. He couldn't bare the thought that she'd think he'd just
given up, because he suddenly became convinced that no matter what Simon
said that Claudette wouldn't have given up on him. He also knew that she
wouldn't give up until there was no hope left, ashamed of himself he
thought the least he could do was the same.

Of course it was useless. He was too weak and Simon was too strong, all it
did was delay the inevitable for a couple of moments. A few minutes more of
life before he was overwhelmed. As Simon tipped him over backward into the
frigid water the cold of it made him gasp in a lungful of air, his throat
momentarily closing up in shock. Overbalanced with his hands restrained
behind him Dutch had no way of stopping Simon from pushing him into the
tub. His whole body was submerged, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to
hold onto the shocked lungful of air he had. Simon had his shoulders hold
pushing him down, then suddenly he pulled him back up to the surface. Dutch
spluttered gasping for breath as he broke the surface. Simon leaned down
towards him and Dutch opened his eyes when he felt his warm breath on his
cold, wet face.

"Now it's the end of this part, but don't worry you'll be with me for ever
now just like the others. I own your soul now." Simon smiled at him and
Dutch dragged in what he knew would be his last breath before Simon pushed
him down under the water again.

* * *

Simon was ecstatic the adrenaline rush was intense as he pushed Holland
under the water. This was power, to hold someone's life in your hands, to
be able to snuff it out it was better then anything. It felt better then
sex; no orgasm could ever feel this intense, this exciting, this good.
Holland had fought at the end and Simon wasn't completely surprised he had
suspected that he had some hidden reserve of defiance that could surface at
any time. Besides Simon had to admit a little fight only heightened the
experience for him, made it more fun. He looked down into the water and his
dream came back to him as he saw Holland's face staring up at him, eyes
wide and terrified as he fought the urge to breathe when there was no air.
Simon smiled down at him and pushed a little harder.

* * *

Dutch could hear the blood rushing in his ears as every cell in his body
screamed out for oxygen. His lungs felt as if they were about to burst
inside his chest and his brain was urgently instructing him to open his
mouth and breathe. As he looked up through the water he could see a
distorted image of Simon's face smiling down at him. Desperately he began
to kick his legs trying to get some kind of purchase with which to haul
himself out of the water into the air, but his feet slid uselessly against
the smooth, metal sides of the tub. He tried to twist and turn, trying to
break Simon's grip on him, but it was useless Simon was too strong and he
was weakening. Dutch had a roaring sensation in his head, his vision
greying at the edges. Then it happened, he couldn't fight it anymore, he
didn't have the strength left. So he gave in and did what his brain was
screaming at him to do, he opened his mouth and breathed in as deeply as he
could. He convulsed as he felt the water rushing down into his
oxygen-starved lungs. His throat spasmed as it tried to expel the liquid,
his body trying to preserve his life, but it was useless. Still his body
strained for oxygen that wasn't there, that lungs now full of water
wouldn't have been able to process even if it was. Dutch saw Simon's face
smiling down at him still as the darkness rushed forward and consumed him.

* * *

Simon watched as Holland tried desperately to break free knowing that all
the struggling was doing was to use up what little oxygen he had left
faster. Then he knew the moment was here. As he watched Holland went still
and he opened his mouth and drew in a lungful of water. The struggle for
life was fleeting after that, as his movements weakened and finally
stopped. Simon let go of Holland and straightened up, his gaze never
leaving the empty eyes that stared up at him through the water.

* * *

Claudette felt as though every sense in her body was on overload. The
adrenaline in her system had built up to such levels in the, seemingly,
interminable wait for the signal to go that her hand had trembled as she'd
checked her gun for the third time in as many minutes. The drive out to the
Franklin Mill had taken forty-five minutes, and then they'd had to wait at
the mill's padlocked gates until the bolt cutters had been brought forward
and until the different agencies involved had established an operational
hierarchy. The FBI was in overall control with a SWAT team in attendance.
Agent's Young and Alvarez had been reluctant to allow any of Dutch's
colleague's from Farmington to be involved in his rescue. They'd spouted on
about a conflict of interests and personal involvement not being advisable
in a situation like this; emotions could become over-heated and get in the
way. Claudette had been incandescent with anger at their attitude, and
Aceveda had had to order her out of his office to calm down while he'd
somehow sweet-talked them into allowing at least her, Vic and himself to
accompany them. He'd used some bullshit about inter-agency cooperation to
swing it, but Claudette didn't care how he'd done it just that she was
here.

"You ok?" Vic asked as he leaned in close to her, dropping his voice so no
one else could hear.

"Yeah...yeah fine I just wish we could get on with this. Christ don't they
know Dutch is on borrowed time here!" Claudette replied the frustration
plain in her voice.

Before Vic could reply a member of the SWAT team stepped forward and sliced
through the chain securing the iron gates to the mill. As one the contingent
of feds and police moved forward as quickly as they could.

They entered the main doors of the mill and moved forward down the long
corridor before them carefully checking the rooms that were situated on
either side of the passageway. Each room was disappointingly empty until
they'd made their way a third of the way along. Then they pushed the door
open to find themselves confronted with the room they'd seen on the six
tapes that Simon had sent them. It was all there, the table, the bed
complete with blood stains, but Claudette's heart sank as there was no sign
of Dutch the fear that they were too late growing within her. As they
turned away from the doorway they heard it, a sound of splashing water from
up ahead. At the end of the corridor there was a wooden door standing
partial ajar and it was from here that the noise could be heard. It sounded
like water was being splashed onto a wooden floor and then suddenly the
noise stopped, at that moment Claudette knew something bad had happened and
that they needed to get to that room as quickly as possible. She glanced at
Vic and saw the same realization on his face, and they weren't alone, as
one the law enforcement agents in the corridor began to silently approach
the now quiet room.

As the door was pushed open there was no mistaking the figure standing with
his back to them staring down into an old-fashioned cast-iron bathtub. It
was Agent Young's voice that rang out, disturbing the hush that blanketed
the room, "Freeze! Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly!"

Claudette was frozen for a moment as Simon turned towards them, his hands
on his head and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. To finally be face to
face with the animal who had come to symbolize complete evil for her was a
shock. However, as she took in his appearance, his wet clothes, his face
flushed with pleasure, and then as she looked at the water which was pooled
on the floor around the tub an awful realization came to her. She looked
into Simon's face and his smile widened as he said, "Your too late Claudette.
He's mine now."

It was Vic, who moved forward first, "What the fuck...."

He fell silent as he reached Simon and could see into the tub, "You
bastard...didn't you do enough to him!" Vic exploded.

He grabbed Simon by the throat propelling him backward into the wall,
seemingly intent in choking the life out of him. The FBI agents exploded
into action at the prospect of having their suspect snuffed out in front of
them, and they moved forward to pull Vic off Simon who was rapidly turning
an unhealthy shade of puce.

Claudette ignored all of that and walked to the tub, her whole existence
narrowing down to that point, blotting out the noise and commotion going on
around her. She looked down and felt a moment's light-headedness as she
found herself staring down into Dutch's still open eyes as they gazed up at
her through the cold water. For a second she felt herself consumed with
failure, Simon was right she'd been too late if only they'd got there ten
minutes earlier it could have been different. Then she felt angry with
herself, what the hell was she doing standing here giving up! She'd held
onto hope for the past week and she wasn't going to let that hope go now.
Quickly holstering her gun she reached down into the water and grabbing
Dutch by the shoulders she began to heave him out from underneath the
freezing liquid. His waterlogged body was far too heavy for her and she
turned and called out, "Help me get him out!"

There was a moments pause before Vic and Aceveda both pulled themselves
away from the group around a now handcuffed and recovering Simon to join
her in hauling Dutch out of the tub. As they laid him on the floor they saw
that his hands were cuffed behind his back,

"Bastard," Vic muttered glancing a look of pure poison in Simon's
direction, "I should have snapped his fucking neck when I had the chance."

"Forget him!" Claudette told him. "Turn Dutch on his side and pass me your
keys so I can get these off him."

As they turned him onto his side clear water ran out his nose and mouth in
a steady stream. Aceveda put two fingers to Dutch's throat, pressing down
trying to find a pulse he knew wasn't going to be present. His mouth
tightened into a thin line as he pulled his hand away and reached up
closing Dutch's eyes. As Claudette and Vic pushed Dutch over onto his back
he reached out and grasped Claudette's arm, "I'm sorry Claudette..."

She didn't let him finish, "No!" She angrily countered. "We have to try, we
can't give up on him now!"

With that she reached out and tilted Dutch's head back opening his mouth
and pinching his nose shut. Then as she'd been trained to do during those
first aid courses she'd had all those years ago at the police academy she
blew two quick rescue breaths into Dutch's mouth. Pausing only to place her
fingers against his neck to check for herself for a pulse she began the
rhythm of fifteen compressions to two breaths.

From across the room Simon looked on and laughed calling out,

"I told you you're too late Claudette. He belongs to me now forever, I own
his soul just like the others"

Pausing for a second Claudette glared up at him her voice full of steel
determination, "Oh no you're not having him, I won't let you."

Then she turned her back on him and continued with the CPR.

"Christ get him out of here and get the paramedics in here." Aceveda told
the FBI agents who pulled Simon from the room while his laughter echoed
behind him.

Claudette, sweat gathering on her forehead, looked at Vic, as she was about
to bend forward and breathe for Dutch again, "Help me, help Dutch."

He nodded and when she'd finished with the breaths he took over the chest
compressions. Soon they had a smooth rhythm established, but so far with no
result. As Vic counted his compressions, "...eight...nine...ten..."

Claudette leaned down to Dutch's ear, "Come on Dutch breathe...don't let that
sick bastard win...come back, I know you can do it."

It took another four breaths and thirty chest compressions before Dutch
obliged her. Claudette felt a tremble go through Dutch's body and glancing
sharply at Vic she knew he felt it to. She leaned forward and blew into his
mouth, paused and then did it again. As her mouth left his Dutch suddenly
convulsed and choked. Claudette felt her heart soar as she and Vic rolled
him over onto his side and he vomited up copious amounts of water. When
they laid him onto his back again he was definitely breathing, all be it
shallowly but he was breathing, a trembling finger pressed into his throat
also found a sluggish heartbeat.

A commotion at the doorway signaled the arrival of the paramedics who had
been on stand by out at the old mill's main gates. Immediately taking over
the first paramedic who's name badge read Alba looked up at Claudette from
where he knelt next to Dutch, "There's a history here of deliberate injury
and sexual assault, is that right?" He asked.

"Yes, and he'd been in the water when we arrived. He wasn't breathing and
we couldn't find a pulse so we carried out CPR and got him back." She told
him.

Nodding he asked, "Do you know how long he was down...how long was he not
breathing?"

"I'm not sure...five...ten minutes maybe." Claudette told him.

"Ok what's his name?"

"Dutch," at the paramedics slightly skeptical lift of an eyebrow she
clarified by telling him, "Everyone calls him Dutch."

He turned his attention back to Dutch, leaning over him he spoke loudly,
"Dutch, Dutch can you hear me...can you open your eyes? Dutch we're here to
help you but we need you to try and open your eyes for us!"

As he spoke to Dutch the second paramedic had cut away his tie and pulled
open his shirt and was using a stethoscope to listen to his chest. Alba
reached down and lifted Dutch's left hand wincing slightly at the damage he
saw there, but it didn't prevent him from squeezing one of Dutch's
fingertips. Dutch's hand moved at the pain that this caused, "That was good
Dutch now can you open your eyes?"

As he spoke he reached up and pushed Dutch's shirt off his left shoulder
and pinched his shoulder muscle. This time Dutch moved his arm in a reaction
to the pain. Alba looked across at his partner, "Ok GCS score is 6, E1, V1,
M4."

Nodding the other paramedic, whose name was Dageraad, shared his findings
with his partner, "He's bradycardic at 44 beats per minute, signs of cyanosis
around his mouth and definite hypoxia with sats at 82%."

"We need to establish an airway and work on that sat level before we move
him. Get out the kit and pass me over a blanket."

Alba folded up the blanket and put it under Dutch's head, and then tilted
his head back just like Claudette had before she'd began CPR. Then he moved
around so that he was kneeling at the top of his head. Glancing over at
Dageraad to make sure he was ready he said, "Pass me the laryngoscope and
get a size 9 tube ready."

Dageraad handed over a silver coloured metal device that had a cylindrical
handle and a curved head with a light on the end. Holding it in his left
hand Alba eased it into Dutch's open mouth hunching forward over him so
that he could look down along the device, "Ok I can see the cords," He said
as he held out his right hand for the tube which Dageraad had ready for him.

Alba began to gently insert the tube into Dutch's throat only to pause and
say, "I need a little cricoid pressure."

With a nod Dageraad leaned forward and placed two fingers on Dutch's Adam's
Apple pressing down gently. Alba carried on inserting the tube until, "I'm
done." He said.

He removed the laryngoscope and pulled a copper coloured wire stylet out
from the tube, and depressed the plunger on a syringe which was attached to
the outside of the tube.

"Is the ambu bag ready?" He asked.

"Yep, here." Dageraad replied handing over a pale green slightly elongated
sphere which was attached to a facemask.

Alba placed the facemask over Dutch's nose and mouth and began to squeeze
the bag every five seconds while his partner used his stethoscope to listen
to Dutch's chest in several places. Finally satisfied he sat back on his
heels, "I've got good breath sounds on both sides."

"Good, tape the tube into place and we'll move."

Dageraad used adhesive tape to fix the tube into place on the right side of
Dutch's mouth before Alba put the facemask back over his nose and mouth and
began to squeeze again. He looked up at Claudette's anxious face and asked
her, "Can we borrow you for a moment detective?"

"Of course what do you need." She answered.

"We could do with an extra pair of hands while we move Dutch out to the
ambulance. I need you to keep squeezing this bag for me. It's easy just
count...one...two...three...four...five and squeeze, and then repeat ok?"

Taking a steadying breath Claudette nodded and took hold of the bag with
one hand, the other holding the facemask in place. Her whole being became
concentrated on counting to five and squeezing air into Dutch's lungs.

The two paramedics soon had Dutch strapped onto a backboard and with
Claudette walking along beside them counting and squeezing, and Vic and
Aceveda bringing up the rear carrying their equipment bags for them, they
were soon loading Dutch into their ambulance. Once inside Alba gently laid
his hand over Claudette's to stop her squeezing the ambu bag, "It's alright
from here detective," He smiled reassuringly at her.

Letting go of the bag and moving back she watched as the paramedic
connected the endotracheal tube to the ambulance's oxygen supply. Behind
her she could hear the bags of equipment being quickly stored away and
knowing the ambulance was about to leave she realised she didn't want Dutch
to have to go on his own, "Is it ok if I ride along, only he's my partner
and I'd like to be with him?" Claudette asked.

Looking undecided for a moment Alba finally nodded and said, "Just sit down
and keep out of the way alright."

"Of course...thank you."

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance began the journey to the hospital
accompanied by the wail of its siren. Claudette watched as Dutch was wrapped
up in shiny, silver survival blankets and the paramedic concentrated on
closely monitoring his patient's condition. She found herself staring at his
pale face, half hidden by the mask feeding him oxygen, and she realised that
although they'd captured Simon and gotten Dutch back that the war was far
from over. This battle had been won but over the next hours and days another
battle would be fought, this time just to keep Dutch's body alive as it
looked as if he was hovering somewhere in between life and death at the
moment. Then Claudette knew that the hardest battle of all would have to be
joined, that would be the battle for Dutch's mind, for his soul. After all
he'd suffered Claudette knew that he'd never be the same again, but she also
knew she would be there to help him regain as much of himself as he could.

THE END

    

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