Devil in the Detail

Dean lay on the floor covered with a mixture of blood, faeces and worse. He curled into a ball. His bones ached and his gut was cramped and burning. Only now did he allow himself to groan. He knew he must be bleeding, but he couldn’t bring himself to check out his bruised and battered body.



Handel had become bored with using his fists, and Louis had refused to let him use the knife, so in the end he had to settle for whipping him with a length of the chain. Dean screamed as the individual links cut into his back, bruising and burning like a thousand nettle stings.



Sam was gone, dragged out of the room, barely conscious, and when he had repeatedly asked and goaded in an effort to find out where his brother was, the gag had been stuffed back into his mouth and tied so tight it had split his lip.



Now he lay surrounded by filth, barely able to move knowing that Louis would be back, understanding now exactly what they intended to do with him.



After what seemed an age to him, the internal pains began to subside, he crawled onto the cleanest spot he could find to sit down and arms clenched about his knees, squatting rather than sitting, he shivered. The leather cuffs were no longer attached to the chains, but he started to pull at them with his fingers, feeling trapped by them, as a symbol of servitude. He tore at them with his teeth, tasting the salt of his own sweat in the leather, but they were new and firmly fastened. He yelled, enraged, stood slowly and paced before settling back against the wall. He was cold and hungry. He felt sick, so nauseous, he swallowed uncomfortably. He closed his eyes against tears that threatened to flow. He felt too weary to fight anymore. He knelt forward, forehead against the wall, the cool bricks soothing his throbbing cheek. Finally from sheer exhaustion he slept. Drifting in and out of dreams, all painful and nightmarish to varying degrees.





Vicky ran frantically through the brush towards the warehouse, her soft blond hair flying behind her. Handel had locked her into the office, but she had undone the screws on the door hinges with the letter opener she found in a drawer and now she had to go back to find Ben, the pain in her heart had nothing to do with the exertion of running. She reached the doorway to the warehouse and ran through it and stared at the wet patch on the empty floor.



She turned sharply back, the squad car was still there, and she realised it wasn’t empty. Heart pounding, she yanked open the door. Ben looked up, grinning his goofy lopsided grin. His arm was partly bandaged. “Care to help me, Vic. Can’t seem to tie this off on my own.” Laughing and crying she dropped against him, covering him with wet kisses. “Steady now,” he said, “we got work to do, both them boys did their best to save me in one way or another, and I class that a reciprocal arrangement.”





“On your feet, pretty boy.” Handel stood in the room, gun and baton at the ready. Dean struggled to his feet, legs weak and unco-operative. He flinched automatically as Handel pulled lengths of thin chain from the bag he had brought with him and Handel laughed at the fear in his eyes.



“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, not expecting an answer.



“Oh, Sammy’s safe, Dean. For now. Arms in front of you, nice and calm, one at a time.” Still wary, even though Dean could barely stand.



He clipped the chains to the walls once more then strung Dean between them, just as before, with just enough slack to let him kneel, the gag tied back around his head. Handel left the room returning with a bucket and sponge, and none to gently began to clean him down. The water stung his wounds and he fought for breath as the sponge passed over his back.



“Can’t risk infection,” Handel said with a snort. “Louis has plans for you Sweetie. Time to take your meds.” The hypodermic slammed none to gently into his thigh, but Dean barely noticed amongst all the other pain messages pulsing through his body. “This stuff would even make me responsive.”