lucifersprize

Warnings: This Chapter:Graphic violence. Overall: Slash, sexually explicit content, graphic violence
The fiction includes a mental illness storyline. I am not qualified in mental health, everything I know about it is googled. It's fantasy folks, please don't shoot me though helpful criticism is always welcomed.
*Not real. The folks aren't mine. No damage intended.

Onlooker

Tuesday Morning

Even before Jensen opens his eyes he registers the searing pain in his chest. His shoulders ache and he can't move his arms for the rope biting into the flesh of his wrists. He feels the rough dirt floor, cold beneath him. There is pressure on his knees and the stench of sweat and acrid breath.

As he adjusts to consciousness Jensen hears soft sobbing from somewhere close by.

“Tom!!” he shouts but only muffled sounds come out. He tastes vile oily fabric in his mouth.

Rough hands pull Jensen into a sitting position and his eyes fly open. Jensen tries to see his captor but nothing will focus. Just a blur is visible, a mere streak of color.

“Sonofabitch.” The word is lost but the sentiment is clear. Jensen feels a sharp pain as the blur connects a fist to his cheek.

“You speak when I say, boy.”

Jensen nods, struggling to control his urge to fight. He understands the predicament they are in. He has to let his training kick in. Has to find a way to defuse the situation or slow it down until back up arrives.

“De-tec-tive Ackles. Y’ husband don’t seem to know the rules of this here game. Ya gonna help me with that?”

Jensen feels the pressure on his knee increase, the tread of a heavy boot imprinting on his skin. He starts to sweat but he refuses to look up, can’t bear to see what his carelessness has done to Tom. He doesn’t want to see the hurt and despair in Tom’s eyes. He knows exactly what this bastard does for kicks.

“I want you to choose Mr Ackles-Welling. Are you going to be a hero? ”

The voice becomes quieter, more sinister as their captor leans toward Tom, idly shuffling a pack of cards in one hand.

“ D’ya think its trick or treat time?”

“You or her?”

Jensen closes his eyes and prays that Tom has listened, those times when he gossiped about this case, knowing that Tom would never break a confidence. ‘Choose her. There is no her. Choose her, There is no her.’ Jensen repeats it in his mind, like a mantra.

Tom moans but no words form.

“Choose!”

Jensen feels the pressure on his knee abate as a booted foot is lifted, hanging menacingly above it.

“HER!! HER! I choose her.” Tom spits the words out, his voice thin and shaking.

“Agin Tom. So we’re clear. Ya should know I hate to lose. Y ‘understand I dun wanna to lose this game don’cha?“

“HER!!”

Jensen has no time to brace before a booted foot slams his kneecap to the floor. He hears the sickening crunch of bone, feels a shattering hot pain. He has the presence of mind to turn to one side. He slumps forward as the vomit surges across his throat, soaking into the makeshift gag and dribbling down his chin.

Jensen startled awake, shaking, soaked in sweat and crying, on the floor. He grabbed the bucket he kept beneath the bed and spewed into it.

In his mind Jensen heard the gravelly voice taunting Tom

“Aw and it was treat time too. I bin watchin’ y’ long enough to know you like to give head Tom. Suck it like the tastiest lollipop in the shop don’cha. That’s right ain’t it De-tec-tive Ackles”

The bastard had paused, looked downwards, then continued “ S’Pity. Ain’t real sure SHE likes it. We ain’t never seen her do it. Hey Ho things do change.”

Jensen rolled to one side and glanced at his clock. It was 6.00. He groaned and reached for his stick. Holding onto the side of the bed and balancing with his stick, he struggled to his feet. With bucket in one hand and stick in the other he made it to the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, he turned the shower to its hottest setting and put the seat down. At least in the shower he could pretend there weren’t tears coursing down his face.

Seven a.m. and Jensen was dressed and at somewhat of a loss for what to do next. He glanced out of the living room window. A pale, purple edged morning greeted him. It was dry with a bluster in the air, and a can skittered noisily along the gutter. It was a good morning to take a short walk. He was sure his physiotherapist would agree.

Closing his door gently, Jensen stepped into the hallway. He considered his neighbor's apartment briefly. It was the fourth day that Jensen had been living here and he had yet to encounter a single resident. He suspected that the cookies and cakes left by his door originated from this neighbor, but although he had knocked several times he could never elicit a reply. He had written a short note saying, “Thanks they’re delicious,” and left it, with the empty plates, on the ledge where he had found them.

Jensen considered the elevator, then, thinking of his doctor’s advice he turned toward the stairs. He took a second glance at the plants scattered about the hallway and scratched his head. In the four days he had been here, he was sure those plants had moved position at least three times.

The hallway curved gracefully then opened out to the landing of the elegant staircase. Jensen paused to appreciate the sight of pale sunlight illuminating the colors of a slim, stained glass panel stretching the full height of the building. As he did so, Jensen noticed a gentle humming in the lobby below him.

Part 4b continued here: anniespinkhouse.livejournal.com/2133.html