Continuing

Scott tries to calm himself down, embarrassed for getting sick like this. But he doesn't have the strength to push Hope away. The only thing he could do was accept her comfort and lean into it for support.

His stomach finally settling down, he sits back against the wall for a moment, his face pale, his palms clammy. He takes several deep breaths, his hands starting to shake from the stress. Not responding to Hope right away, he manages to get to his feet again, though a bit wobbly. Going to the sink, he splashes some cold water on his face, trying to pull himself together again.

There were no numbers to describe the way he felt, or what had happened. There was no logical route to get around the pain. There was no mathematical answer to this emotional equation. But speaking the truth now... allowing the memories to be exposed through his words... it brought them into the open - the only place where they could be conquered.

Exhausted, he leans on the sink, lifting his face to see into the mirror. He saw himself, thin, pale, and fading to nothingness. Shifting his gaze, he sees Hope behind him, still there, available and waiting. She said he could be done. She said he didn't have to say anymore. But the valve to open up the stream of emotions and words had been loosened, and the flow did not want to stop.

"They took everything," he almost whispered. All his pride, all his confidence and self-worth had been destroyed. He didn't know how to beat this thing. He didn't know how to overcome the feeling of helplessness... of weakness. Fighting never did any good. He wasn't strong enough.. resistance only meant pain and foolishness.

"Fighting... didn't do any good. I was too weak." His eyes glaze over with a look that signals he's lost in the images of the past. "So I... I gave up." A stray tear runs from his eye, but he doesn't blink.

Pushing off the sink, he wanders past Hope, back to the hallway, and back into the office. His feet wanted to take him the rest of the way, to the exit and outside. But his heart felt pulled somehow to stay... to stay and finally finish what he'd started.

He paces for a moment, feeling as though he were almost stuck in a dream. But with Hope with him again, he forces the words to surface once more, picking up where he'd left off.

"They beat her so bad. And I could have stopped it." His voice starts to waver. "I could have given them what they... what they wanted. But... I didn't. I watched her... slowly die. Blood was everywhere... The concrete stained... the smell didn't go away."

His lower lip begins to tremble, his fists growing so tight at his sides that his knuckles turn white. "Every day I sat in that same cell, living it over and over."

Turning around, he looks at Hope. "His favorite weapon was a chain." He shows how large the links were with his fingers. "Across my back... across my legs. Not hard enough to break anything... just hard enough to tear things up, bruise and bleed."

Scott rolls up his sleeve to reveal a scar that went from his wrist, clear up to his elbow. His hoodie had always hidden it. "It took him three hours to make that. He went clear to the bone. But he made sure I didn't bleed to death." A source of anger is revealed, flashing briefly in Scott's gaze. "No... they wouldn't let me die."

Though more tears come, the words won't stop now. "They used something like a cattle prod when I was at the computer. Any time I refused, or made a mistake, I'd get a shock that would almost knock me out. But when they were really mad, I'd get the shot."

Pulling up his other sleeve, Scott reveals all that's left of the marks left around his veins where he'd been injected time and time again. "I don't know what was in it. But you haven't felt pain until you've been given one of those shots. They only kept those for the very end when they'd given up because afterward, I was in too much pain to function. Half the time I'd pass out, just to wake up in the cell again... cold... tired."

Scott's mind reals with the images that won't stop. They were light a freight train without any brakes. "One time they did get too frustrated, so one of the guys tried to kill me." Lifting up his shirt shows a wide scar in the middle of his rib cage. "But they wouldn't let me die. They just patched me up to see how much longer I could last. All I wanted to do was die, but they wouldn't let me... I finally got sick."

He swallows hard, the fog starting to settle over his mind again. "I don't know how long I was sick... or what happened... I was too weak to remember. I just wanted it to end. I prayed I would die. I'd been told my family and friends had all been murdered... I didn't want to be rescued to face that anyway... I just wanted to sleep and never wake up."

Suddenly, he was at the window again, not even remembering walking across the room. He places a palm on the glass as he often did, feeling the smooth coolness. For some reason, that feeling was a comforting one. There was no harshness... the glass hid nothing, yet was a protective barrier... It absorbed the sun's warmth, yet remained refreshingly cool.

"It's over, isn't it?" Scott slowly turns around to face Hope again, his good eye piercing her own. "The war... the battle... it's over... I don't have to worry about it anymore... do I?"

The question was one of partial knowledge that bringing his fears to light was a form of conquering them... but it was also one of partial pleading that it really would be over soon so he could live again.


Ryder grins as Katie dons the t-shirt. “There we go. Alright then. Off we go.”

Carson motions for Jason and Katie to follow after Ryder, while he takes up the rear. Heading off the porch, the scenery is a gray darkness, insects still singing their lullabies until the sun appears.

Ryder leads the way without a flashlight, his lightweight backpack carrying only binoculars and his canteen. The long knife and gun at his hip signaled he was ready for anything – not expecting trouble, but not to be surprised.

He steps over tree roots and bramble, every so often looking over his shoulder to make sure everyone was behind him. They kept up just as he suspected they would. His own attitude was a little different this morning. He had a mission to carry out, and wasn’t letting his personal feelings get in the way today. While perhaps Katie’s words to him the night before had given him a glimmer of hope, he’d really surrendered to the fact that yet again, there was nothing that could be done about his brother. And as such, he would simply carry out his responsibility to help this team recover the antidote they were seeking.

Jason keeps up behind Katie, his long legs assisting in getting through the brush.

Ryder’s quiet this morning. Guess he’s in a sticky position. Only on-call half the time, but all the time worrying about his brother. Guess maybe if I hadn’t known Brian was on the Agency’s side, I would have gone in too, to save him. Just reminded me on Scott, ya know?

Carson moves stealthily at the rear, keeping his eyes out for anything. It had been a long time since he’d walked this terrain. Yet sometimes it felt as though it had just been yesterday. Looking ahead, he keeps an eye on Katie, though he knew Jason would be doing just that. Though Carson would probably trust Katie more than anybody else on this mission, an alternative motive was to return her safely home. He was in charge of this, and having her hurt or worse was simply not an option.

As the group treks on, the sun begins to peek above the horizon. Through the dense undergrowth, small rays penetrated to light the way with starry brilliance against the persisting darkness.

A small break is taken, but only for a few minutes before Ryder presses the team on. Miles are left behind. A river is encountered, and Ryder scouts out the best point to wade across, his knife drawn, wary of lurking crocodiles. Safely on the other shore, he leads the group further, to finally climb the summit where the secluded vantage point rested.

Ryder leads the way to the edge of the cliff, motioning for everyone to drop to their stomachs to avoid being spotted. Crawling to the edge, he points to the clearing below where a large building stood several stories high. It was almost surreal, as if the scene had been manually generated. The bush was no place to find a business building. But it was there, looking as though it had been transplanted from the city.

“There she is,” Ryder points out. “And she’s busy today, just as I thought she would be.”

“It’s them alright,” Carson confirms. He knew this place. He’d been here. He’d worked here. Some things had changed, but it was memories that guided his thoughts on how to get in, and where things were located.

Men in casual dress were coming and going. It was only a dirt road that led to the building, but it looked used enough to almost be a highway. There were several trucks, and several cars that looked top dollar.

“What’s there angle?” Carson questions. “They used to claim they were an international food shipping warehouse.”

Ryder shakes his head. “Naw. Now they’re listed as a freelance hub. In other words, they say they rent out offices and the like to any businessmen. For example, you could be a lawyer, and set up office here. You could be a telemarketer and rent a block of offices. Funny thing… they’re always full-up.”

Carson rolls his eyes. “I wonder why.”

Jason furrows his brow. “You mean they claim to be that, but nobody can ever get in?”

“That’s right, mate.” Ryder hands him the binoculars. “They set up signs, they have business cards printed, they even have phone lines set up – but it’s all a ruse. If I called a lawyer there, I’d probably just get a spiel about them not taking on any more clients at this time. Sounds official and the feds stay away.”

Carson lies on his stomach, resting his chin on his hands to watch the activity below. “So what’s with all the activity all of a sudden?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t been able to get word from my source in over a week. But the place has been crawling. I don’t know if they’re just getting a new team in so they’re playing switcheroo on everything, or if they’re setting up new fake businesses or what. But the feds still aren’t involved. It’s all just the Agency as far as I can tell.”

“You think it’s something special? Like something going down?”

“No… I really don’t think so. I think it’s just routine stuff. But it’s been too busy to try to get in. There’s just no way to go unseen.” Ryder pauses, letting the group just watch for a while. He turns his head to eye Katie. “So where do you fit in all this? Why did Reese send you?”