Flee (18 page)

I
did. There was only one reason to have me trussed up this way. But I refused to
let my mind dwell on what she intended to do. Letting my fear build would do
nothing to help me. Instead I focused on observing as much as I could around
me.

"You've
been through it before. Twice, actually. The first time with that psycho you
were fucking when you were a kid." She gave me a knowing smile, rubbing in
the fact that she knew all about my past, all about me. "Must have been
scary, trapped in the car, the water rushing in on all sides. Let me be honest
with you, Chandler, during training I didn't like drowning at all. I'll bet you
hated it even more."

I
didn't say anything. I worked on trying to control my breathing, my heart rate,
listening to the flap of pigeons outside the window, and breathing in the
neighbor's slow-cooked beef. So far, I'd managed to keep panic at bay, despite
Hammett's mind games and whatever drug I had in my system. But once I sucked
that first bit of water into my lungs, I'd lose control over my body. The
sensation of drowning is so frightening, and it works on such a base,
reptile-brain level, that no amount of self-meditation was going to stop me
from freaking out.

No
one could resist waterboarding. That's why it was such an ineffective method of
gathering intel. Victims would lie like devils, agree to anything, make up
insane stories, just to get it to stop. There was no way to be sure if what
they were spilling was truth or what they thought the interrogator wanted to
hear.

I
looked my sister straight in the eye. "I'll tell you everything you want
to know," I said, working to keep my voice even.

"I
know," cooed Hammett, rubbing her index knuckle cross my cheek. "But
let's have a bit of fun first."

She
reached behind me, and I heard the sink go on. I closed my eyes and felt a
towel go over my face. I wondered if Kaufmann was dead. If not, maybe there was
a slim chance they'd leave him out of this. At least I could tell myself that,
and hope that they didn't realize how much he meant to me.

I
thought of how much I wanted to say to him, how I'd failed to form the words
before he'd slipped into drug-induced unconsciousness, how I might never have
the opportunity now.

I
heard footsteps, someone else coming in.

"I
thought you were going to wait for me."

Victor.

"How's
the old man?" Hammett asked.

"Just
gave him something to wake him up. He'll be around soon."

My
throat closed. I'd told Victor that Kaufmann was like a father to me. In my
need to open up, to trust Victor, to forge what I thought might grow into some
kind of bond, I'd betrayed the only person I had in the world.

I
felt Victor's hand on my thigh, travelling up between my legs. I flinched,
trying to twist away. Except for a small twitch, I couldn't move.

He
chuckled. "Wow, you go from hot to cold pretty quick. A little while ago,
you couldn't get enough of me."

I
thought I might be sick.

"How
was she?" Hammett asked, shooting me a taunting smile.

"Adequate,"
he said, pinching my left breast. "But too needy."

"What
I needed was a bigger cock," I said. "Rather than child-size."

I
sensed the punch before it came, and was able to clench my stomach muscles as
his fist hit. Even so, the blow shuddered through my body and made me gasp for
air. Before I had a chance to recover, I was slid, table and all, under the
kitchen faucet. My hips lifted, tilting my shoulders downward, making blood
rush to my head. Tepid water soaked the towel. Victor punched my belly again
and again, and I fought not to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut, keeping my air
passages closed.

I
lasted maybe a minute before my body betrayed me, and I had to take a breath.
The water rushed into my lungs. I coughed and gasped and choked on more water.
A roar rose in my ears, blotting out all sound. My body convulsed against the
restraints.

Then
I went away. No more Chandler. No more memories. No more humanity. I was a
blind, panicked animal, struggling for survival. The fear of dying, the pain of
my lungs sucking in liquid, the blackness of death clawing at me, reduced me to
nothing but pure, terrible sensation.

When
they finally pulled off the towel, I couldn't stop coughing. My nose and throat
were raw. My lungs felt like I'd inhaled fire. My whole body trembled. I couldn't
control my weeping, but managed through raw, brute force not to beg.

Not
that begging would do any good.

"Do
you know what we're looking for, Chandler?" Hammett asked.

I
continued to cough, gasping in air like I'd never get enough.

"This
must be so terrible for you. The memories it brings back. I'd really hate to be
you right now, dear sister. Your pain and fear must be unimaginable."

"Nice...
scar," I sputtered. "Your pimp do that to you?"

Hammett's
eyes got big, and she cracked a smile. "You're feisty. You'll be fun to
break."

I
went under the faucet once more, no towel this time, the water running directly
up my nostrils. I coughed and gagged and eventually retched all over myself
before they pulled me back.

Victor
leered down at me. "What, no more jokes about my cock?"

"What...
cock?" I managed. "I thought you... finger banged me."

He
jammed the wet towel against my face and shoved me under the water again. This
time, rather than punches raining down on my stomach, the stun gun zapped my
side.

I
really had a lousy track record when it came to men.

The
pain went on until I couldn't take anymore. And then it kept going.

Choking,
gasping, and then drowning. The water pulling me down, closing over my head,
filling my lungs, like I was in the car again with Cory. No... not with Cory...
with Kaufmann. And this time, I was the one who had driven into the water. It
was my fault. All my goddamn fault. And yet there he was anyway, kind,
beautiful Kaufmann, looking at me with that softness in his eyes, saying he was
proud of me, that he cared for me, giving me more than any human being ever
had.

And
it still wasn't enough.

I
must have died, because next thing I knew, warm lips were on mine, blowing air
into me. I tried to bite down, but they pulled away too fast. Coughing took hold
of me, vomiting, spitting out water. Bile seared the back of my throat. But the
rest of me felt like I was floating.

"Bitch,"
Victor said, jolting me back to earth.

"Easy!"
Hammett commanded. "You want to kill her again? We need information,
dummy." 

A
light slapping on my cheeks.

"Chandler!
Where is your phone? The one Jacob gave you?"

"It's..."
My words gave way to more hacking. I thought my throat would shred, my lungs
erupt from my body.

"Where
is the phone, Chandler?"

Somehow
I managed to laugh between coughing fits. So The Instructor was telling the
truth. She wanted my cell phone. "It's... up your fat ass," I said. "With
your head."

I
felt the stun gun press against me, then abruptly pull away.

"We're
wasting time," Hammett said. "Bring the old man in."

A
pain descended over me, worse than anything physical. I thought about begging.
Not for me, for Kaufmann. But I knew it wouldn't make any difference. All I had
left was the truth, and I knew that wouldn't help either of us. The Instructor's
orders to die rather than give my psychotic sister what she wanted  raced
through my mind.

So
when they brought him in—my friend, my only friend. the only person in this
whole cruel, terrible world that I cared about—the only thing I could do was
apologize.

"I'm
sorry, Kaufmann. I'm so, so, very sorry."

His
eyes found mine. "Don't tell them shit," Kaufmann said. His hands
were shackled in front of him, wearing the cuffs I'd last used on Victor.

Victor
shoved him into the kitchen chair and held up a remote control. "My
neighbors won't be home for a few more hours. But just in case." He
pressed the button, and the stereo began to blast. AC/DC,
You Shook Me All
Night Long
, the volume cranked up to the max.

Then
Victor went at Kaufmann with the stun gun.

Kaufmann
managed to hold it together, at first. Stoic grunts. Minimal tears.

When
Victor applied the stun gun to his more sensitive areas, the screaming began.

"You
can stop it at any time," Hammett shouted close to my ear. "Just tell
me where the phone is."

Tears
blurred my vision and streamed down the sides of my face. "I threw it
away."

"Where?"

My
body shook in a sob. I had to tell her something. Anything. "The Hancock
Building. Lobby entrance, first bank of elevators. The can under the ash tray.
Make Victor stop."

Victor
didn't stop.

"Make
him stop!"

Hammett
patted my cheek and made a
tsking
sound with her tongue that I could see
more than hear. "Dear sister, I was trained in identifying
microexpressions, just like you were. Your face tells me you're lying."

Kaufmann's
cries grew louder, more uncontrolled.

"I'm
not lying! Make him stop!"

"He'll
stop," Hammett cooed, "when you tell me the truth."

Out
of the corner of my eye, I could see my old friend's face, a rictus of agony.
He let out a long, keening howl that wasn't even identifiable as human.

Something
inside me broke.

"It's
on the 96th Floor!" I screamed. "Above the restaurant! It's above the
restaurant!"

Kaufmann
stopped screaming. Victor cut the music off.

"I
swear to Christ it's above the  restaurant on the 96th floor of the Hancock
building," I said. "The bar above the Signature Room."

Hammett
was studying my face. "She's telling the truth. Where in the bar,
Chandler?"

"Kaufmann..."
I could see him in my peripheral vision. He slumped between the wall and the
chair, his face turned away from me. "Kaufmann..."

"Where
in the bar is the phone?" Hammett leaned close to my face and spoke slow
and clear, as if talking to a small child or an idiot.

Victor
gave Kaufmann a shove. His head lolled against the back of the chair, eyes
staring into mine. But Kaufmann wasn't there anymore.

"He's...
not... breathing," I heard myself say.

Victor
brought his fingers to Kaufmann's throat, feeling for a pulse. "Must have
had a heart condition." He made a face of fake concern. "Oops."

No. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no...

The
towel again. The faucet. I kept repeating the 96th floor, over and over, but after
all that had just happened, I was willing to die before I gave them any more
than that.

"We're
not getting anything else out of her now," Hammett said, stepping away and
wiping the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her silk blouse. "How
long will it take to get your team together?"

"An
hour. Perhaps less."

"You
all have credentials?"

"Of
course."

"We'll
call in a bomb threat. Clear the room, give us time to find the transceiver."

"What
about her?" Victor said, pointing his chin at me.

"We
may still need her. She's not going anywhere. Besides," Hammett smiled and
turned away from me. "I'll bet she wants some alone time with her dear friend."

Victor
chuckled. "He was like a father to her, I hear." He gave Kaufmann a
shove, and his body slumped off the chair and fell to the floor, his dead eyes
accusing me.

"Emotions are a liability. Despair is a slippery slope. Keep
your emotions in check, and remember your training. You can function at a
higher level than other people. Use your logic, your reason, your senses. Bury
your emotion. If you're crying, you're not in control. If you're not in control,
you're dead."

Hammett
left the kitchen, Victor following. I heard them stirring elsewhere in the
apartment for a minute or less, then the door opened and closed, and I was
alone.

"Kaufmann?"
His name rasped from my throat half whisper, half plea.

He
didn't make a sound, but then I knew he wouldn't.

"I'm
so sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry." A sob shook my chest. I tried my best to
choke it back.

I am ice.

I am ice.

I am ice, goddamnit
.

Another
sob came, then another. They took control of my body, like dry heaves, ripping
my guts out, tearing me in half. I wanted to curl up, to forget.

More
than anything in the world, I wanted to die.