Used
by Gail (gem225@hotmail.com)
Part 4 of the Mentor series.
Rating: adult
Please do not archive this story without asking me first. The copyright belongs to me.
Warning: This one has violence and cutting in it. If you're at all squeamish about these things, please don't read it, or have a friend who can handle it read it first and tell you which parts are safe. I wouldn't want anyone to have nightmares from my story.
First version: I needed a lot of help to get this story done. Big thanks to Mareen, who read it in the early stages and listened to me agonize; to Tinnean, who kept cheering for me and Tom; to Lexi, who wanted more; to Kita, who read the cutting scene and told me it worked; to Cipher Muse; and especially to Alexandra/Isilzha, who did the final beta and said all the right things at more than all the right times.
Thanks to Tinnean, Mandy, and Scarlet for all of their encouragement and patience about the second version, and more thanks for Tinnean and Elizabeth for betaing it. I couldn't have done this without any of them, especially Tinnean.
*****
I can see that Douglas is surprised to see me, but he smiles.
"Tom." Such a simple welcome, saying much more than any one word should be able to express. He did that to me last time too.
"Hello." I can't bring myself to say his name yet. I swallow. This really is a bad idea, but it's too late to leave now. "May I come in?"
He steps back. "Of course."
I come in and wait as he closes the door and takes a better look at me. His breath hisses out of his mouth. "What the hell...." He stops and shakes his head. "What happened to you?"
I knew he'd see too much. "I ran into a door. It doesn't matter." It really doesn't. I can't tell him.
"A door?" He's in front of me, touching my face with gentle fingers. The swelling's gone down some, but his touch still hurts, and I pull back without meaning to. He frowns. "Looks to me like you got into a fight. How does the other guy look?"
I manage a smile at that. "Just fine."
"I'd have bet on you beating the shit out of him," he says more seriously than I like. He shouldn't be worrying about me.
I don't want to answer, but he's looking at me with those concerned eyes, and I can't help it. "He's better than I am."
He looks like he's about to say something, but doesn't until after he takes a breath. "I was eating. Would you like some? There's enough."
Food. "Yes."
I follow him into the kitchen and sniff. Whatever it is, it's going to be good. He takes down another plate and lifts something covered with red sauce out of the casserole dish, then puts the plate down on the table.
"Sit," he says, still gentle.
He's a good person, the opposite of the man who made me look like this.
I do what he wants and sit at the table. He brings over silverware and a glass of water. I notice that he's drinking water too. I'd expect him to have wine, but that's right, it's a work day tomorrow. That's something I haven't had to think about in a while now. Two weeks? He told me it would be at least that long, and it might have been longer. I haven't had a chance to find out. Does it matter? Not really. I'll go on.
It's been a long time since I had the chance to eat my fill, and I devour what he gave me. It turns out to be manicotti stuffed with cheese, and it's wonderful. He finishes what's on his plate and just watches me, then gets me more before I can ask. He even waits until I'm done with that before saying anything more.
"What do you want to tell me, Tom?"
And the calm acceptance in his voice makes me want to tell him everything, but I can't.
"I fucked up." I can't say any more than that.
"That's not much to go on." How can he be so calm and accepting? "But all right, you fucked up. What did you fuck up?"
"I really can't talk about it." The understatement of the year.
"All right. Why are you here?"
"I wanted to see you." It's more than that, but I can say that and not lie. I don't want to lie to him.
"I'm glad to see you, too." His voice is even calmer as he continues. "You need a place to stay." He doesn't even make it a question.
This is insane. We had one night together, a night that I tricked him into, and he's feeding me manicotti and trying to find out why I look... how I look. Exhausted, I know. Battered. Used. "Yes, but it doesn't have to be here."
"I can't imagine I was the first on your list to go to. I really think it does have to be here."
He's right, but... He's right.
"You look like you could use a shower. When you're finished eating, I'll show you where you can take one."
I cram the last bite into my mouth and stand at the same time he does. He reaches over to keep me from falling down when I sway, and I end up leaning against his body. He's shorter than I am, but he doesn't have any problem supporting me. That's right, Douglas Carr is strong. Strong enough to keep me pinned on a bed, although I wanted to be there.
"Sorry," I mutter and try to pull away, but he won't let me.
"It's this way."
He guides me to a bathroom. Inside, he lets me try and stand on my own, and I manage once I get a hand on the sink.
He takes a pile of dark green towels out of the closet and sets them on the counter. "Those are yours."
"Thanks."
He smiles and touches my shoulder, then takes his hand away. I almost wish he'd left it there, but I'm damned if I'm going to say so. "You're welcome. If you need me, call."
"Sure." I think he's waiting for me to take off my clothes, but I'm not going to do that in front of him. He finally gets that and leaves, shutting the door behind him with enough firmness to show me he's not happy I wanted him to leave. Too bad.
I undo the buttons of my shirt and ease it off. At least nothing is bleeding.
I get into the shower and start the water, then steel myself, soap up the washcloth, and start washing my body. The soap gets into the cuts, and stings them; the bruises are mottled now and still hurt when I touch them; and my nipples are sore, but better than they were when I got dressed earlier. I can't even make myself touch my cock, although that's not because it's hurt in any way. That's because he told me not to.
He told me a lot of things.
I can't let Douglas see what I let him do to me. I'm going to have to be careful.
I'm drying my legs when the door opens. I get the towel up just in time.
"I thought you might want something else to wear." He lays a dark blue robe on top of my clothes.
"Thank you." I don't move.
He takes a breath. "It isn't just your face, is it?" I don't know how he can be that calm. If someone I'd slept with once showed up in bad shape, I'd be more likely to tell them to fuck off, not feed them and let them stay and try to deal with their problems. "How bad is it?"
"I'm fine," I say stiffly.
"Don't lie to me." Those words make me shake, even though the tone isn't even close to as harsh as I know it could be, has been from another man. He comes over to stand right in front of me. "I have eyes, Tom. You can hardly move."
I expect him to say more, but he just stands there. I shake my head. "I just need a night's sleep, Carr. Do you have to hear my life's story to pay for that?" Maybe sarcasm will make him stop. He has to stop.
"You came here. I'd like to think it was because you trusted me." Always calm. "But if what you want is sleep, of course you can have it." And he turns around and leaves.
Damn. I don't want to hurt him, but he has to stop asking me questions. I get back to patting my body dry, then put on the robe. It's soft - velvet, I think, and it's not as bad to wear as I'd thought. I wonder if it's Douglas's. Probably not. Probably one he keeps around for guests, and therefore not velvet, just something that feels like velvet. He wouldn't give a guest his robe. Funny, though - I liked thinking it was his. Got to stop that.
I open the door and look for him, but he's not around. If I knew where I was sleeping, I'd go there, but I don't, so I head back toward the kitchen and find him there, with a drink this time, a bottle of scotch, and a second glass.
"Would you like some?" He lifts his glass. "A nightcap."
"Yes." I'm remembering the last time this man and I had drinks together, and I hope it doesn't show.
"Don't worry, Tom, I'm not expecting sex." A sharper tone this time. So he is human. I was beginning to wonder.
"Good. I'm not offering it." And now I'm snapping back.
He looks about to retort, but sighs instead. "I'm more tired than I thought."
He doesn't look that tired. He looks younger, relaxed. It is his home, after all. I'd expect him to relax here.
He pours some scotch into the second glass and pushes it across the table, and I sit down and take it. "Thanks." I welcome the burn as I drink. Anything to remind me that I'm here, with Douglas, not there, with... him.
"You're welcome. And you said you were tired too. Sorry. I'm keeping you up when you need sleep."
I look at the clock on the wall and find that it's barely nine. I don't care. I haven't been getting very much sleep lately.
I toss down the rest of the scotch and stand. "Yeah. Sleep would be good. Where's the couch?"
He shakes his head, and I wonder if he's decided to throw me out after all. "I made up the bed in the guest room with fresh sheets while you were showering. You'll be more comfortable there."
He amazes me. He's talking about fresh sheets when I won't even answer his questions.
"I'll be gone tomorrow," I offer. It's the least I can do.
He doesn't answer for a moment, then he sighs. "We'll talk about that in the morning."
He shows me to the guest room, which is just next door to the bathroom, and points out his room as well. He doesn't say why, but I know he's telling me that he's two doors away if I want him.
I say goodnight and go into my room. His dark eyes are on me as I close the door, and he's smiling.
Douglas Carr is much too trusting for a CIA man.
*****
I wake up and know that it's time even before I check the clock. I get up, put on my jeans, go to the front door.
Mr. Alexander's waiting there when I open it. I hoped he wouldn't be. I don't want to do this, but I have to. I really have to. He told me I did.
"Very good." He steps inside and reaches out to touch one of the cuts. I tense, but he just traces it with his finger. "Fresh ones would look better, but these will do."
Yes, I'm sure they will.
"Get in bed with him. Make it good, Tom. Then I'll take you back to my place." His eyes are glittering. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, sir," I whisper. I don't want to go with him, and I don't want to do this, but I will since it'll make him happy.
His teeth show in the faint light. "Very good. Now go. I'll be there soon. Make sure he's properly interested."
I nod and go quietly down the hall until I'm at the door of Douglas's room. I take a breath and open it. I can see the bed and a motionless form in it. I make my way toward the bed, watching that form the whole time.
Before I can get there, he stirs. "Tom?" His voice is drowsy, and it almost makes me stop to hear that he's thinking of me, remembering that I'm there.
"Yes," I murmur. "Sorry."
"What is it?" He sits up, and I get into the bed, right against his warm body, and run my hands over his back. No top. I wonder if he's wearing pants.
"Please," I breathe against his mouth, then take it, losing myself in the taste of him. Oh, god, this is so good. I can almost forget why I'm here. I don't even care that it hurts where his skin touches mine, or that his fingers against my back find too many of the cuts and welts. I just want to keep kissing him. It makes me feel almost free.
He pulls away. He must have heard the same sounds I did. Damn. "Stay put," he snaps and is out of the bed before I can grab him. I watch him take out a gun and start for the door, moving just about as well as someone with IDD training. He is good, but it's not going to help him now. He can't win this game. I should have made him stay.
Enough of that. My job is to help Mr. Alexander, and staying here isn't going to do that, so I make my way to the door. But I hear a shot, then another, then the sound of running feet, and instead of going to see, I freeze. I don't even know now what I want to happen.
I don't know how long it is before someone's coming down the hall. From the steps I know that it's Douglas.
"Fucking bastard," he mutters, and puts the gun back in the drawer and shuts it, then looks at me. "I told you to stay put."
I know that voice. It's the one of a senior agent, telling a junior one he's just fucked up, and there's no way that I'm going to do anything but stay put now as he strides over to face me.
"I wanted to help." But who? I don't know any more.
"I think you've done enough of that already," he says slowly, and I hear something in his voice I don't like: suspicion. "We're going to talk now. I'm very interested in why my front door was open so that some guy could get in here. And I think you're the one who can tell me all about that."
I shift my weight to get away, but then he's got a hand around my wrist, and I find out how strong he is. He twists until I'm down on my knees and gasping with the pain he's inflicting.
"Give me your word and I'll stop."
"Yes," I get out. Then the pressure and pain stop, and he's helping me stand.
"All right." There's a sadness in his eyes but also a hardness. "Come on."
"Are you going to call the police?"
"I want to hear your story first." His voice is grim. "I might call them later if I think I need them."
"No," I whisper. I can't tell him.
"Fine. Then I will call the police, and we'll see what they have to say."
He means it. I don't want the police involved. He wouldn't like that.
"Did you shoot him?"
His eyes narrow, and he hits a light switch. I blink as the light comes on, but he doesn't seem at all affected. "No. I wasted two bullets on a perfectly harmless wall. Why are you so concerned? Oh, of course. You're worried about your friend, who's probably the one who did all that to you."
He can see everything. No good trying to hide now. I stand still as his eyes move over me.
"You should go to a doctor," he says after a long moment, and I can't believe he gives a damn. "But I'm pretty sure you won't. All right, Tom. As of now you're my prisoner."
I want to laugh, not because it's funny, but because it's true. Of course I am. From one jailer to another. What does it matter? If he thinks this is bad, he should see what's going to happen when Mr. Alexander gets his hands on me next.
His eyes are fixed on my face now, and I wonder what he sees there.
"Come on."
He motions toward the door on the other side of the bed, then keeps himself between me and the door to the hall as I go toward it. It's the bathroom. Why there? Is he going to lock me in? There is a window - I think I could get out of it.
He flicks on the switch and shuts the door. "Sit." He gestures to the toilet. I sit down too quickly and let out a gasp. It hurts, but I shouldn't have let him see that.
"He beat you, then," he says flatly. "What the hell kind of relationship have you gotten yourself into, Tom? Wait," he adds before I can answer. "Not relationship - IDD. I've heard stories about their training." That's not good. People aren't supposed to talk about IDD training - about IDD anything. Maybe Mr. Alexander knows this and that's why he's so set on getting something on Douglas. "Did someone decide you needed some more? And somehow it has to do with me. That night. Someone decided they could use you against me."
He doesn't even need me to tell him anything. So I don't.
He opens the mirrored cabinet above the sink and takes out a small bottle, then takes the top off a glass container with cotton balls in it. "These have to be cleaned. They're not infected yet, but I think they're going to be."
He opens the bottle and squirts some of the liquid on the cotton ball, then starts wiping it over the nearest cut on my chest, his face tight and angry. It stings, but I don't care. It isn't that bad, and it is what I deserve.
Of course he's angry. I just don't understand why he's doing this. Shouldn't he want them to get infected? Shouldn't he be thinking about how he could make me feel worse?
I watch him go through cotton ball after cotton ball, his face still set in that anger, until he's through with the front.
"Turn around." I get up and straddle the toilet, then feel him as he starts on the back. "Jesus," he whispers, and I wish I knew why. I haven't seen my back, just felt it. "All right," he says when he's down around the middle, "tell me what this is all about."
"You know I can't tell you that." I sound so calm.
"I already know more than you like." He's still cleaning. "I could start making calls, do some research, and find out just who pointed you at me. Or you can tell me what is going on, and keep the name of your friend a secret. Your choice."
"You'll make sure to find out who sent me anyway." I'm sure of that. He wants to know. I saw that in his eyes.
"No, I keep my word. I'll send a message to this shit, don't worry, but I don't need his name to do that." He reaches for another cotton ball. He's gone through about half the container now. "Well?"
"No." I can't betray Mr. Alexander.
He takes a deep breath, but doesn't stop cleaning. "You must owe this guy a lot. What has he got on you, other than that you slept with me?"
"Nothing that concerns you." There is no way that I'm discussing Mr. Alexander with Douglas Carr. I can't, for more reasons that I can think about.
"Tom," he starts, that anger still in his voice, then he stops. "All right. Stand up."
I could take him and get out of there now. But I gave my word, and there's something in his eyes that warns me he's waiting for me to make a move. It's stupid to give him what he's waiting for, and without surprise on my side, he just might win.
"I'm too tired to have this conversation now," he says next. "I'm going back to bed, and you're coming with me."
Of course he wants me where he can keep an eye on me, but he's going to trust me in the bed with him? I really don't understand.
We go through the door back into his room, and he opens a drawer and pulls out something that clanks.
Handcuffs.
"These are not a toy," he says evenly. "I would like to trust you, but you've shown me I can't." It shouldn't hurt to hear him say that. "I don't want to call the police and try and explain why I have a man who looks like he's been used for god knows what, and for some reason I don't want to see you get into any trouble. We'll talk more in the morning, and I'll figure out what to do then. Give me your right hand."
I stare at him. Why is he asking? He could just take it.
"You gave me your word, Tom. This is part of it. I won't hurt you. You're safe here, unless your friend is going to come back?"
I shake my head. That much I'm sure of. Mr. Alexander isn't going to risk coming back here tonight.
"I almost wish he would, since I'm ready for him now, but it's probably better this way." He holds out his hand with the cuffs dangling from it, and I hold out mine. He takes it and snaps the cuff on, just tight enough to feel it but not to hurt, then locks the other loop to the near post. "Now take off your jeans, lie down, and try to sleep."
I do, and watch as he goes to the other side of the bed, lies down, and pulls the covers over both of us. He's turned away from me, and I can't blame him. The only reason I can think of for him keeping me here is that he thinks I'll weaken and tell him IDD secrets. Maybe he thinks he can break me. I smile to myself in the dark. No, there's only one man who can do that, and he's safe.
Is that good, or bad? I frown. I've never thought that way before. He's Mr. Alexander. He should be safe. But... I don't know.
I fall asleep thinking of him. I always do.
*****
"Be still, Tom," his cool voice reminds me. I feel the knife being drawn over my skin, and the pain comes right after that. It's almost welcome by now. He loves this. If I can get through it, he'll talk to me, smile, give me almost anything.
If I can get through it. I can't always. If I beg for mercy, if I scream, if I do anything but lie quietly, the game is spoiled. And he doesn't like when the game is spoiled.
Sometimes it seems as though he's doing this at random, sometimes it seems planned, but most times it just seems that I have no choice. I don't have a single thing holding me to that bed, but I have no choice.
*He's* holding me there. Because he's told me that I want it. That I need it. That if he stopped, I'd beg him to continue.
I have. I would again if he stopped now. All that matters is pleasing him.
God, I don't even know if the name he calls me is my own. All I know is that it's the name he's given me.
His lips are wet as the knife moves steadily down my body. Soon it'll be at my crotch. I keep still. It's all up to him.
I am letting him do this.
The knife cuts again, and I can't hold in my scream. He's never cut that way before, so deep and fast. I have to be bleeding too much.
He laughs. "Good boy."
I did what I was supposed to do. He wanted to hear me.
And I know that the game has changed, and will keep going.
Maybe there's no way I can win this game. It's a thought I don't want to have. But I do, and then another one comes, one that I like even less.
I wonder if this game is supposed to kill me.
*****
I wake up from that dream - that memory - moaning, the cuts burning as though he'd just put them there, and there are arms around me, familiar arms, and I don't care that I shouldn't be here, that I fucked up and got caught, that I don't know what to think any more. I let him hold me and bury my face between his neck and shoulder and don't even try to pretend I'm not crying. He knows. Douglas knows me. But he doesn't know that I let him. I have to make sure he never finds that out. How weak I am, how desperate, how easily used.
His hand smooths my hair over and over. He doesn't say a word, but it doesn't matter. He's there, and I'm safe.
He's still holding me when I fall asleep.
*****
"Tom. Tom."
"Yes, sir?" I know what to say. "I'm sorry, sir."
I open my eyes and see that I'm talking to Douglas Carr, dressed in a button-up blue shirt and dark blue pants, and that he's sitting on the bed next to me. That's right. Last night, Mr. Alexander's plan, its failure, the nightmare and then crying. He's watching me with the strangest look in his eyes. I can't understand it at all.
"Tom," he says again, then stops. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
It's getting light outside. The clock says it's seven-thirty. "I'd rather get up, if that's all right."
He told me that I was his prisoner, so I do need to ask him.
He reaches for the cuff on my wrist and unlocks it. "Of course." He gives me another look, and this one I can read very well. He's warning me, and his words confirm it. "You're still bound by your word. If you try to leave, I will stop you, and you won't like what happens then. Is that clear?"
"Yes." I'm not going to get that far in shorts and nothing else, but I don't need to tell him that. He knows.
He studies me for a moment. "Good. Go into the kitchen and sit down. Don't touch anything."
Orders. I'm good at those. "Yes, sir."
"Don't call me 'sir'." His voice has a strangeness in it like the look before. "I'll be in to start coffee in a few minutes. Just relax."
He picks up my jeans from the floor and hands them to me. I stand to put them on, and the stiffness of my body makes me bite back a cry. I don't want him to know that it still hurts.
He gives me a sharp look before he turns to leave, and I let out a breath. I haven't fooled him. I don't know why I try. I haven't yet, as far as I can tell.
I go to the bathroom to piss and think about grabbing one of his shirts and a coat and getting out, even though Douglas has my wallet and keys. I can contact Mr. Alexander - it's not that hard to get enough change to make a call. He might even be somewhere close, watching to see if I can get free. It's probably what he expects. But I don't want to leave. I know it's not safe to be here with this man who knows me so well, but what Mr. Alexander's going to do to me... right now I don't want that. I know that as soon as I see him, I will, but I'm not seeing him now. What I see is Douglas Carr's anger as he cleaned my wounds last night, and I know now that his anger wasn't at me. So I pass by all the possibilities and ease myself down on to the chair I sat in to have dinner last night. The dinner that Douglas Carr offered to me.
Mr. Alexander fed me sometimes, but I had to earn it. All I had to do with Douglas was be here and need it. Incredible. How has Douglas Carr survived so long in the world?
I wonder what he's going to tell his superiors. He'll have to tell them he has an IDD agent and find out what they want done with me. This might even be what gets him on the next rung of whatever ladder he's trying to climb.
Maybe Carr had that in mind all along. Maybe he fed me dinner just so that he could get me talking, and all of his seeming kindness is to soften me up so that I'll fall even more quickly when whoever's playing bad cop comes along.
I stand, forcing my body to obey me. I have to get out of here, even if it means going back to Mr. Alexander. Especially if it means that. This is insane, thinking that my word is supposed to mean anything. That's not how IDD agents behave. We do what it takes. Always.
"Going somewhere, Tom?" And Carr's there, moving toward me. His eyes are cool. "I see that I got here just in time. Sit."
It's definitely an order, and I obey it. This time I remember that he doesn't want the honorific. "Yes."
He gives me a long look and takes something out of the freezer. It looks like a bag of coffee beans. "I don't want to cuff you, but I will if you try anything. You're not leaving yet."
"I won't tell you anything, Carr." I can't. He doesn't understand.
"I don't remember asking you to tell me anything this morning, Tom." He turns away from me, and I start looking around as he goes through all the steps to get coffee brewing. It's a nice, clean, warm kitchen, one that looks as though he uses it.
"Did you make the food last night?" It won't hurt to try and soften him up.
He fits the basket with the ground coffee beans back on the holder and pushes the switch. "I did."
"It was really good." One of the best meals I ever had.
"Thank you." He comes over to sit across from me. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop trying to play me. You do us both a disservice." Damn. I'm supposed to be good at playing people, but I'm supposed to be good at a lot of things and right now I don't know what the hell I'm doing. "Tom, I know that something's going on. I know that you let someone into my house for some reason, and I'm pretty sure that this person sent you here because he knew I'd let you in."
It doesn't matter what I admit. He's figured out too much already. "Did you know that when you said I could stay?"
"I didn't. I was worried about you. I still am." His voice is calm, but his eyes are full of fury. "I will not let you go back to this person. That much you need to know right now."
He doesn't understand. "It's where I belong."
He gets up and pours two mugs of coffee, then brings them back, along with a pill bottle. The label on the bottle reads 'ASPIRIN' in big bold letters. He puts down the mugs, then shakes out two white tablets. "Take these."
I pick them up and look at them. They might not be aspirin. Probably aren't. Mr. Alexander would tell me to be careful of anything given to me by the enemy.
But this isn't the enemy. This is Douglas Carr, who's watching with eyes that make it very clear he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
I open my mouth and toss in the tablets, then drink some of the too-hot coffee to wash them down. Only then do I let myself look at him again. His eyes are still on my face, and I know that I've made a much bigger decision than whether or not to take some painkillers.
"He would have told you not to take them."
I nod.
"He hurt you."
I nod again.
"You couldn't get away."
I could have. I didn't. But I can't make myself tell him that.
"Tom, he made you feel as though you couldn't."
Yes, but... I don't want to hear him talk about this any more. "I have to go back there."
"You are not going back there, if I have to have you arrested to stop you." He takes a sip of his coffee, then sets the mug down. "You're worried about his opinion." I nod. Of course I am. "Would he like that?"
Hell, no. He wouldn't like that at all. IDD agents have been arrested, but always for a reason. I know he can't be happy about me being here, but bringing the police into this would only make it worse. Or would it? Am I supposed to go there and tell them Douglas did this to me? I could. They'd believe me. Mr. Alexander would approve of me doing that.
But I don't want to lie about Douglas. I don't want him to get hurt because he took me in.
"Tom. *Tom*." His voice is sharp enough to cut through my thoughts. "That was stupid of me. I don't want you worrying about what he would want."
Like I have a choice.
He leans forward, his dark eyes holding mine. "Tell me, Tom, do you really want whatever he's going to do to you?"
No. Yes. No. "Yes."
He freezes. "I see." His voice is careful, but there's a note of despair in it. But why should he care? "That's too bad, because you're not going to get the chance to get yourself cut up and beaten and fucked."
I wince at those words coming out of his mouth, and at him proving that he knows what happened to me.
"That is what he did to you." I nod. "Fucking IDD," he mutters and stands. "All right, I need to get some things done. Pick up your coffee and come with me."
He isn't going to leave me alone for a moment - and no surprise. I am his prisoner. I should have gotten out when I had the chance.
I follow him into another room, a study, I think. He shuts the door behind him and points to an overstuffed chair. "Sit there and be quiet unless you need something."
"Yes, sir." Dammit, he said not to call him that. "I'm sorry."
"You go right ahead and call me 'sir', Tom." His voice is cool. "I like the sound of that. You're better off acknowledging I'm the one running things now."
I ease myself down to the chair and find that I'm shaking. Douglas Carr is turning into one of us, into IDD, and I don't know what he's going to do to me, what to think, how to act.
He stares at me. "I'm not going to hurt you." The flat statement shakes me even more. "But I am going to tell you what to do."
"You're a lot like Mr. Alexander." His voice has the same command and certainty. Then I realize what I just said. Where the fuck did that come from? "Did you drug me?"
He blinks. "No."
He could be lying, but he got me to tell me my real name the first time we met, after all. He gets to me.
"So I have my name. Thank you, Tom." He sits down at a small antique desk and slides up the hood to show a monitor. "Last name Alexander, in the IDD," he mutters, and I wince at the anger in his voice. "Guess what, Alexander, I'm going to find you and make you pay for what you've done."
Something is going wrong with me. I told Douglas too much, so much that I can't believe I did. "You can't do anything to him."
"Because he told you no one can touch him, or because you don't want me to be able to?" He's looking at me now. "Tom, that bastard hurt you. He did it on purpose, and he did it because he enjoyed doing it." The computer beeps at him, and he swivels around to look at it. "Dean Alexander, yes, and right here it says that you're assigned to him," pause, "permanently. That's unacceptable."
Hearing him say that, and knowing that he's into our system, is too much. "Fuck you, Carr. I'm leaving."
He's up as quickly as I am, but that's all right. I can take him, I will take him. I smile and step forward. "CIA shit. Think you can handle me?"
His eyes are bright. "Let's find out." He circles as I keep him in my view. "Hotshot IDD guy, aren't you? You'll have to get past me to get back to your Mr. Alexander. And you won't get past me."
"Like hell I won't," I snap out and step toward him, intending to throw him to the floor. He clearly doesn't know what he's doing, and his file had no mention of any training in martial arts.
But I'm the one who ends up on the floor, my right arm twisted behind my back.
"I suppose if I were your Mr. Alexander, I'd get out the knife now, wouldn't I?"
I clench my jaw. Will he? He could. I've earned it.
He releases me and stands. "Don't get stupid again, Tom. I can take you any time I want." He goes back over to the desk and sits. I stare at him. I could leave now. "Sit down." There's no particular command in his voice, but I do what he says anyway.
I lost. I know my place.
*****
A while later, he sighs and closes the hood. "Damn Alexander." He turns to look at me. "Come on. We're going out. I need more food."
I follow him back into the bedroom and put on my shirt when he hands it to me, my shoes, too.
"Do I have to cuff you to me, Tom?"
I shake my head. I'm torn. If we leave, I have a chance to get away, but if I get away, I have to go back to Mr. Alexander. He might even be waiting outside for a chance to grab me, and that might get Douglas hurt. "Maybe we should go later," I say carefully.
He sits down on the bed and puts on a shoe. "I need to eat, and so do you. I thought I'd make steaks for dinner. You could use some more good meals."
There he goes again, talking like I matter to him. I want to reach out and touch him, and I do. He looks at me and smiles, and I lift my hand off his shoulder. Dumb move.
"Tom," his voice is suddenly gentle, "you're safe here."
I sit down on the bed, because I can't stand up when he's being so nice. "Safe? What is that?" I shouldn't talk, shouldn't say anything, but it's as though some kind of gate has been opened inside me. "Safe is doing what he tells me to, exactly as he tells me to do it. That's what safe is, Douglas."
He reaches over and rests his hand on my shoulder. "Safe is here. And I hope, safe is me."
"It's too late for that."
"The man who came back to my room and asked me to show him everything wouldn't believe that. I wish I'd never let him leave." He squeezes my shoulder. "I didn't want to let you leave, and I shouldn't have. I knew it wasn't as safe for you as I told you, Tom. I knew I was putting you in danger. I'm sorry. But dammit, stop fighting me. Stop believing that you deserve to be hurt." He shifts closer. "Stop believing that you need to be hurt."
I want to believe him. I can't.
He lets go of my shoulder and starts unbuttoning the shirt I just got buttoned. "If you go back to him, it will happen again," he says quietly as his warm fingers brush over my skin, avoiding the cuts. "Over and over and over, until you can't even imagine anything else. Think about it. I'll help, but I can't unless you let me."
I wet my lips. "No one can help." He has to believe that, has to let me go. He'll get hurt if he keeps me here.
"You're wrong." He smiles at me while reaching down to undo my jeans. I swallow a moan. His fingers are so warm, gentle, and knowing. "But it doesn't matter now. Right now all that matters is making you feel good. You'll let me do that, won't you?"
Mr. Alexander wouldn't like me doing this... and then Douglas's fingers are stroking me into even more hardness, and I don't give a damn about anything but the pleasure he's giving me and the look in his eyes, the look of joy and the focus he has on me.
"I'll let you do anything," I say, and I mean it differently than I would, or have, to anyone else. "Please, Douglas."
"That's right, Tom," he breathes and keeps stroking me. I could lose myself in those dark eyes, and I will. There's nowhere else I want to be, and whatever else I should be thinking about, should be worrying about, is gone.
Maybe they won't come back this time.
*****
Posted 11/24/04
To the interlude that follows part 4, Calculation
