CODENAME: LANCÆLOT
by silverluna
Chapter Seven
~*~
He was alone again. This room was different. It reminded him of an interrogation room from some cop show, where cops would play Good Cop, Bad Cop. Where they would do things that real cops would get suspended for. His throat was scratchy from all of his screaming.
Alexander had roughly dragged him in here, shoved him into a chair he'd pulled out from a table. Its short drag had unnerved Lance. The sound was like a person crying out in utter anguish. He had handcuffed Lance's hands behind him, encircling them to the back of the metal chair. He bent down and, crossing Lance's feet, chained them to the bottom of the chair. As soon as Lance was restrained, Alexander pushed the chair close to the table. This sound was wicked, like glass shattering. Lance's heart sunk into despair.
Alexander leaned close to Lance's face. "Don't you ever talk to her like that," he said dangerously. Lance felt the color dripping from his face onto the floor. Only the washed pale look remained. "You think you know who you are, don't you?" Lance continued to stare straight ahead. He was too scared to even turn halfway to look at Alexander. He still remembered the ice blue eyes scanning him. "You think you know," Alexander hissed again. He was clutching his fist, but Lance couldn't see.
The seriousness of the situation was still hanging over him like a dark storm cloud. It was very frightening, and he wasn't sure where to run to escape it. For a few moments, there was silence between them. Lance fought to find his voice. He had to know.... "What about my friends?" he choked out, tears threatening.
Alexander turned his head in surprise. Lance, still looking straight ahead, missed it. "Your...friends?" He could tell Lance was holding his breath, waiting for an answer. A wicked smile crept over Alexander's lips. "Didn't you know? They're all dead." Alexander caught the splinter of terror, anguish, and denial in the tiny gasp/cry that Lance's parted lips released. Satisfied, Alexander pulled back, exiting the room and locking the door.
"LIAR!" Lance screamed at the top of his lungs. "LIAR! You bastard liar!" Hot tears poured out of his eyes. "It's not true! It's not true!"
Smugly, Alexander strode down the hallway. Little Flower caught a steely gleam in his eyes. She heard Lance's screams and questioned Alexander. She caught a few curse words escaping in between the anguished cries. "What did you say to him?"
Alexander told her. She looked annoyed, and he just laughed. "Well, it's true."
"That's not what he meant."
Alexander touched her hand. "This screaming fit is going to wear him out. Help break him down. Isn't that what you want?"
Little Flower didn't answer. Darkly, she gazed down the hallway.
After a while, Lance's throat hurt from all of his yelling. He felt as if his vocal chords were stretched to their limit. He missed the irony of the situation. His face was flustered and soaked with tears. He felt sick at the mucus lodged in his mouth. "God, please don't let it be true," he whispered. He took in a staggered breath. "God, if they could do this to me....they could do....anything to...." He couldn't say it. He tried not to tear up again. He didn't want to believe it was true. He stared off into space. He didn't know how much time had passed when the door opened. He didn't look up. It seemed as if someone had torn a huge chunk of his still beating heart out and dropped it in a bloody heap on his chest. As if shoving it back in would help. It would be too mangled to function. He began to go blank.
"Open up." It was a female voice. He didn't move. He heard her repeat it several times. Finally, he looked up when he felt cold liquid splash his face. Little Flower was standing next to him, holding a half empty bottle of water. A scowl scarred her face. "What is wrong with you?" she snapped. Lance looked at her. She angrily stomped her foot. No response. She set the water down on the table, and slapped Lance across the face. The slap was hard enough to jerk Lance's head to one side. Lance felt the pain go through him. Even though it hurt, he felt himself going numb. After a second, he brought his head back to face her. Little Flower was mad. He'd barely blinked. Instead of slapping him again, she roughly grabbed his chin, digging her long, red nails into his flesh. Lance felt a stab of deja vu. Lance fought panic; that scary magic shop keeper that had hassled him...and JC and Justin. Thinking of them made the tears spill over. No. They can't be dead....
Little Flower forced Lance's mouth open, pouring the water in. She put her hand to his lips, making sure he swallowed it. He took three sips before spitting the rest all over her hand. "I don't care!" His voice shook. "If my friends are dead, I don't want to live either."
Her lips pursed, and she pulled back, looking him over. A wicked smile crept over her lips, and a cackle of laughter was born. Spitefully, she kicked Lance's feet. "Friends? What would I really do with them?" Lance watched her, unsure of what she meant. "I wanted you, Lancælot. This whole thing is about you." Lance remained in the state of confusion. His chest constricted with fear and hope. "You think it was a kidnapping,." She shook her head. "But really, it was a retrieval mission." She paused. "Why would I really want those....people whom you call friends? Besides, they don't need you anymore. You're dead to them. You did know that they gave you to us, right?" Little Flower watched the panic, horror, fear, and disbelief wage a war on his face. She smiled delightfully.
"What?" Lance cried. He was unsure if she was alluding to the fact that his friends were still alive.
"I mean," she continued, "if you really believe you were kidnapped, what kind of friends were they to just stand by and watch it happen?"
Lance didn't catch the patronizing tone. "They didn't—" Lance tried in defense.
"But they did. I was there. I saw." While Lance wasn't looking, Little Flower put two pills on his tongue and forced more water into his mouth. He swallowed without realizing. "Besides, you're here with me now, Lancælot." She pulled the chair out enough so she could get in close to him. Seductively, she put her lips against his cheek. "Say my name," she mocked in his ear. "That was a fun game, wasn't it?" Lance was still trembling from the last thing she had told him. "I was there, you know. I heard what you said." A blank look from Lance stared back at her. "You know. The night we first met. Of course, that was under different circumstances." She grinned dangerously. When Lance didn't respond, she began to rattle of snatches of his phone conversation to his girlfriend, Melissa.
Lance's tongue slipped deep into his mouth, threatening to choke him. "How did you—"
"I was there. I saw," she repeated. Her eyes flashed darkly. In Melissa's voice she said "This is some CD I borrowed from a friend. She said it was a good CD."
Lance's mind twisted and was penetrated by the song which Melissa had been playing that night he'd talked to her:
Feel the vibe Feel the terror Feel the pain Its driving me insane I can't fake—For God's sake why am I driving in the wrong lane? Trouble is my middle name but—
Lance snapped his head to Little Flower. She was laughing. But not Melissa's laugh. "That was so much fun Lanceælot. Pretending to be your girlfriend. Christ, you should have seen your face. You really believed she'd come to rescue you." Little Flower laughed again. Then she swung on him, her eyes two voids which she forced him to peer into. "No one is going to come for you. No one knows where you are. No one even knows that we exist." She put her lips against his ear. He felt her hot breath streaming into his eardrum. "You're here with me now. So why are you so destructive? Do you realize what you've done? You can't bring it back to life now...What are you running from?"
Lance froze, maddening images rising quickly like vomit.
"How does it feel?" Little Flower murmured, tendering kissing Lance's cheek. She tasted the salty, cold sweat. She felt him shaking. Her lips traveled down to his neck. She bit him.
~*~
(A little more than 100 years ago)
"You can make me some of this? What is your name for it?" His voice was hairy and condescending.
She wasn't afraid of him. "Gris-gris," she repeated. She eyed this shadow man. "You want this mojo used on—"
He held up his hand. The woman in the bandana eyed him again. Her toothless half grin annoyed him. "Mojo?" he repeated, his voice suspicious.
"Yes. Mojo. A negative charm."
"Oh. Yes."
"This is the same man who—"
The shadow man nodded, his jaw tightening.
"I gonna need your help on these things." She slipped him a piece of paper with a crudely written list on it.
His hand shot out, pulling it into a small part of light so he could read it. "How am I supposed to get these?" he snapped.
"I don know. But you gotta, man. This gris-gris no work without those." The shadow man half crumpled the crude paper in his fist. The woman pointed a long, gnarled finger. "Save that. I write what you requested a little while back."
"What are you babbling about?" he sneered, unfolding the paper. After reading it over, he slammed it down on the countertop. "What do you think this is, old woman?" he shouted. The lantern in the corner swayed with his fury, throwing patches of light all over the dark.
"You want me help or not?" she snapped, frowning. She heard a low growl from him, but no words. "Now, if you want the gris-gris, you get me those things. You bring me that money as soon as you get 'em." A shadow fell over her eyes. "And this price has gone up."
He scowled, but leaned forward. "I don't care. I will pay what e'er you ask, but"—the shadow continued to mask him—"it had better work."
"Don start go doubting me now."
He clasped his hands together, thinking.
~*~
A nightmare robbed him of sleep. Panicked, he sat up in bed, cold sweat running down into the abyss of darkness. He was breathing hard. The second his eyes shot open, it was fading. Everything he dreamed was fading. He tried to catch the words, which he hoped were important:
Met him in a hotel, met him in hotel. Beneath ground. Tell me that he's missing— Tell me this is one for Lollipop Gestapo. You were wild. Where are you now?
Write this down. I have to write this down. He slid out of bed, crawling on the floor. Unzipping his bag, his hand slipped inside. He found something. Pulling out a notebook, he crawled back to his bed. He opened the drawer in between the two beds and found a pen. He flipped on the light by his bed. Furiously, he began to scribble everything he remembered.
Justin, in the other bed, began to stir. His eyes opened to slits. "Wha—what're doing?"
"Shh, go back to sleep, Justin," JC hushed. He continued to scrawl.
Justin watched until he could no longer take the brightness. Sleep came back for him and he willingly followed it.