FRAGMENTED - Fragment 11, Part 3
-Thursday, January 18th 2007
- 12:53 pm
The body looked stiff, what he could see of it at any rate, cold, and an unfamiliar spike of unease lodged itself between his ribs. Glancing at the silent man haunting the doorway, he was not at all surprised by the empty look turned his way.
“You’ve got ten minutes. Be quick.” Yosuke informed, pulling the key from the makeshift prison lock. Min-Soo nodded, turning back to the bound boy before him. The tall musician lay crammed in a tiny corner, a large stifling blanket draped over his head and tied in place. His ankles were duct taped together, most likely his wrists were as well but he could not see them beneath the cloth.
“Hey? You awake?” The physician called, shuffling closer as the hard steel door slammed shut. The boy did not stir. In fact, he did not even appear to be breathing.
Frowning, Min-Soo hurried to the singer’s side and slid to tired knees. The lantern settled on the stone with a sharp clank, casting a sickly yellow glow across the unmoving figure. “Hey?” He urged again; lowering the supply bag next.
He received the same reply. Absolutely none.
Swallowing the short man reached out, grasping the many knots keeping that ugly hemp rope in place. It was drawn uncomfortably tight. The knots were expertly coiled, kinked one after the other. It took him a good solid five minutes just to untie it. Yanking the blanket off the boy, he was met by closed eyes and pale features. Clucking his tongue, the Korean snatched a pair of scissors from the bag, cutting through the thick layers of tape next. Once every last stitch unwound, he tossed them aside and focused once again on more pressing matters.
Through it all Jaejoong hadn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
Surprisingly gentle hands grasped slim shoulders, turning the limp body onto a beaten back and into a shaft of light. The appearance of flushed cheeks and the telling sheen of moisture glistening beneath a veil of ebony did not reassure him.
“Wake up kid.” Min-Soo insisted, fingers rising to press into a cool neck. The lack of warmth despite the obvious glow of fevered perspiration unsettled him. It was cold in this tiny little cell, but no where near as bad as the last had been. If anything he should have felt warmer not the opposite. His search was rewarded with the thready thrum of a pulse. It wasn’t quite regular but it was strong yet.
Well, at least he was still alive.
“Come on, wake up.” He ordered more firmly, tapping a heated cheek, and once again Jaejoong did not respond.
Min-Soo frowned, pulling the satchel to his leg and tugged it open. Digging through the minimal supplies he’d been allowed, the physician’s lips tightened with displeasure as his search came up empty. No smelling salts. Figures.
Turning back to the unconscious vocalist, he quietly weighed the pros and cons of the current situation. With such limited tools he could not accurately gauge the young man’s condition, let alone without the boy being consciously present.
Quickly he shook the youths shoulder. Jaejoong kept on sleeping undisturbed.
This prolonged unconsciousness worried him. It left a strange taste upon his tongue and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Digging into the sack once more he successfully located an old fashioned thermometer and deftly slipped it between unresponsive lips. It was a bit of a dance to get the instrument beneath the singers tongue, but he managed. Satisfied, the physician closed his hand over the boy’s mouth, sealing slack lips about the glass tube.
Glancing down at a dull timepiece, he tilted towards the lamp, counting the seconds. Even the touch of the boy’s lips against his skin felt not quite right. Almost clammy, cold, yet damp with beads of moisture.
Impatiently, Min-Soo plucked up the instrument and sat back into the light.
100.1. Not deadly, but certainly not good.
Tossing the thing into the bag unhappily he examined Jaejoong. This sprouting fever didn’t just come out of nowhere. None of the men in the compound had been ill, and no one outside of them had even been to the facility in years. They couldn’t possibly have contaminated the area with germs. He himself hadn’t been ill, and it was also unlikely Jaejoong had dragged in a virus on his own. He’d been held captive too long for it to have survived without manifesting sooner nevermind not seeming to affect anyone also. Which really only left one option.
An infected wound.
Huffing a dissatisfied sigh, Min-Soo glanced about bare legs. The brutes hadn’t bothered to clothe the boy before dragging them both from the previous compound, which made searching them easier.
Snapping on latex gloves, he worked his way up one leg and down the other, paying special attention to scuffed knees and scraped feet; the older of the wounds on that part of the body. He found no inflamed or hot spots. All the scuffs and bruises, while unattractive with some beginning to turn yellow, were healing normally.
A chill shivered through the boy’s body, drawing the man’s attention.
Finished with the lower half of his frame, the Korean doctor snatched up the blanket and wrapped it about bare limbs. Jaejoong could dress later when he finally woke up. The cloth could keep him warm until then.
Next the man searched his upper half, paying extra attention to the week old bullet wound. He had suspected it of being the culprit, seeing as it was the most likely candidate. But surprisingly, it appeared fine. His eyes likewise did not seem any worse than they had been before and he moved on.
That left only his back.
It was a bit of a struggle trying to work the singer down onto his side, lying across the floor. This room was significantly smaller that the last had been, and even if the tiny toilet in the corner hadn’t been present the vocalist wouldn’t have been able to lay flat. Bending his knees, he hovered over him, bunching the thick wool knit sweater up along his shoulders. The lashes along the singers back had been left uncovered for the last video and now glared back at him. It was an ugly sight; the skin was red and flayed in spots. Thankfully none of the cuts were deep enough to need stitches. That did not save them from the threat of infection however. And sure enough, he found one particularly deep, short slash across Jaejoong’s hip that burned hot and looked slightly purple.
It was infected.
Shaking his head, Min-Soo snatched up a fist full of alcohol wipes and antiseptic, and began systematically bathing each injury. He paid extra attention to the infected one and two adjacent that looked not too far from turning. He slathered each as thoroughly as he could manage with a healing salve and covered them tightly with gauze and liberal amounts of medical tape.
Snatching a small bottle from his coat pocket, the man poured out two aspirins and diligently coaxed them down the boy’s throat to help combat the fever. It wasn’t much but unfortunately it was all he had.
“How is he?”
Startled Min-Soo turned, spying the solitary man standing just a hairs breadth away. He hadn’t even heard the door open.
Shaking his head, the physician tugged Jaejoong’s sweater back into place and tucked the long blanket about his body.
“I can’t wake him.” He replied, silently packing up the supplies and soiled wipes.
“They knocked him out on the transfer to this facility. He might be out a while.” The man replied dispassionately, shifting to lounge lazily against the doorframe. Grabbing the rope, Min-Soo coiled it tartly and stuffed it too into the plastic bag.
“He needs antibiotics.”
“You’ve been given all we have.”
Shaking his head, Min-Soo tugged off the gloves, tossing them aside. He’d figured as much. Pushing up slipping glasses, he turned once more to fully face the new arrival.
“They’re gone. He needs more. At least one of his wounds is showing signs of infection, and he’s developing a fever. If it’s left untreated, he will die in these conditions.” The physician informed rigidly, tone somber but noticeably irritated. The guard nodded, having expected the diagnosis. The boy had been unusually lethargic before being knocked unconscious.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The response surprised the doctor. He’d anticipated a flat out refusal. Well, might as well see what else he could get then. With a few more tools, he’d have an easier time keeping the kid alive at least.
“He needs something to eat, and drink too.” He said somewhat clinically. “His body is starved of nutrients. It needs that nutrition to fight this illness.” Without missing a beat the man shook his head.
“That’s beyond my control.”
“But-”
“It’s out of the question.” He replied sternly. Min-Soo huffed, irritated. He really hated this job.
“I was ordered to keep him alive. I am only asking for the necessary tools with which to do so.” The Korean man insisted. He blinked startled when a hand rose offering a small plastic sack. It had appeared seemingly out of no where. Glancing up at the quiet sentry, he paused before accepting the bag. Peeling it open he was startled to find a bottle of eiyō zai*, a stick of beef jerky and a small chunk of cheese.
“Like I said, it’s out of my control.” The man spoke again, nonchalant, pushing up from the wall. “Finish up.” Without further comment he turned and slipped out the door. Lamp light flickered off a spot previously hidden by the man’s imposing frame and Min-Soo was surprised to realize it was a camera. The man had been blocking its view with his own body.
Dumbly the Korean turned, dropping the bag into his lap. He almost jumped when dull eyes met his gaze.
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-Thursday, January 18th 2007
- 4:10 pm
Voices drifted down the hall, faint, indiscernible in their vagueness. The words were hushed, whispered on baited breath, but the tone coloring the exchange was unmistakable.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Man-Young breathed, glancing with trepidation up at the taller men huddled before him; pausing the quiet scrutiny of the silver object in the first man’s hands. The reserved figure nodded, adjusting the tie currently strangling his neck.
“I feel we have no choice.”
“If the culprit discovers the video has been tampered with, he will kill him.” The Korean hissed, the anger in his tone masking his true fear.
“If we do not, I fear more than just his life will be at risk.” The authoritative businessman sighed, sliding a hand into the pocket of his neatly pressed slacks. The manager’s brow furrowed anxiously, his heavy gaze sliding between the taller pristine man and the detective silently flanking him.
“What could possibly be so bad it would lead you into taking this risk?” All but fuming and confused as hell, the solidly built Song shifted, easing his weight off his injured leg. An angered finger jabbed at the pensive yet mute officer, accusing and displeased. “You can’t possibly condone this, detective. Not after all these boys have been through!”
Ikeda raised a placating hand, gently pressing upon the smaller man’s shoulder and lowered Man-Young forcibly into the chair he had been attempting to vacate. “Calm down.-“
“Calm down!?”
“Shh, Man-Young, lower your voice. Do you want the boys to find out about this?” The businessman asked, his visage calm but a tinge of irritation colored his timbre. A pair of thin brown eyes peeked curiously around the hall corner, peering into the seating area currently housing the disgruntled cluster of men.
“Find out about what, Matsuura-sama?”
Startled, Song turned in his seat, spying the slender form of Dong Bang Shin Ki’s leader hesitantly pressed against the corner of the junction between the hall and safe house living room.
“Yunho. What are you doing here? Why aren’t you eating with the others?” He questioned, his gaze falling nervously before flitting to the president towering over him.
“I heard voices.. What are you hiding from us?” The brunette queried firmly, sliding from his perch to pad quietly towards the group; studying each solemn face in turn. Ikeda eyed the youth sympathetically. He had never been one to develop an unprofessional emotional attachment to his cases, but even he had to admit this particular one was one hell of a traumatic roller coaster. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what these poor boys were going through. The manager sighed, gazing expectantly up at the silent head of Avex, before returning his attention to the young man.
“Matsuura-san has intercepted tonight’s video. He believes that an alteration of the footage is necessary.”
Yunho’s eyes went wide in shock.
“What?! No! You can’t do that, he said-!”
“Yunho-san, please, calm down.” Masato spoke softly, reaching to grasp the youths shoulder. “Let us explain.”
“Apparently, something rather terrible was filmed, and Avex believes it is in everyone’s best interests to alter the video. To make it appear damaged in transit to conceal the contents and prevent it from being released.” Man-Young explained, tiredly resting back in the rather stiff arm chair, raking a weary hand over worn features. The young man shook his head, dark eyes narrowing in anger at such a preposterous idea.
“It’s too dangerous. You’re playing with Jejung’s life! Nothing on that video could be worth that.” He adamantly insisted, glaring down at the offending object in question.
“I am afraid that is a decision you are not entitled to make. The contents of this film are-“
“Let me see it.” Yunho interrupted the man, stepping forward to snatch the video from his producers’ hands; all respect forgotten in light of his band mates’ plight. Masato frowned, his hand rising to the boy’s chest, pressing him back as he held the disk out of the youths reach.
“I cannot do that.” The ire in Yunho’s eyes continued to burn, growing hotter and redder the longer the man held him away.
“Why? I want to see it. He’s my friend! If something’s happened I need to.. know.” There was a faint hitch at the end of his sentence, and Matsuura couldn’t help the twinge of sympathy that panged inside his heart. As much as he himself cared for Jejung, his pain at the boys absence was nothing compared to this young man’s.
Unfortunately, that didn’t alter the facts however.
“You don’t understand. What is on this video-“
“Can’t be any worse than what I will imagine if you do not let me see it.” With that Yunho smacked the offending hand away and rushed forward snatching the delicate video from the Japanese businessman’s hand. Without another word, the brunette turned and stalked towards the entertainment center.
“Yunho-san, wait-!” A firm hand grasped the president’s arm, halting his forward momentum. Song shook his head.
With a defeated sigh, Masato turned to the quiet detective. “Ikeda, will you keep an eye on the others please? One witnessing this is one too many already.”
“Yes sir,” Came the formal reply before the man in question turned and disappeared down the hall.
Without a second thought, Yunho inserted the video into the dusty old DVD player. Eyes anxiously trained on the small television, counting the seconds as the loading screen danced by agonizingly slow. Several painful moments later, the picture began to resolve. The image was dark, reflecting only simple gray walls skirting around the familiar form of their tormentor.
Eien stood, hands clasped behind his back as black rimmed eyes gazed long and hard into the camera; as if they could peer beyond the mechanisms and glass and into the dancers very soul. “Good evening boys.” The madman spoke, his voice flat, and strangely, unaltered for once. There sheer sound and weight of it startled the brunette. It was a slap in the face if ever he heard one. He couldn’t believe the man’s audacity!
Not missing a beat, the figure continued, dark eyes hard as he spoke in a queer deep tone. “Today.. is going to be somewhat different I’m afraid… It has been brought to my attention that you four gentleman are not abiding by the rules of the game. That is not allowed.”
Yunho swallowed. Hard.
Eien knew.
“I fear, you must be punished for your foolishness.” And the look in his eyes stated nothing of regret, reflecting only hatred and barely restrained anger beneath the hard curves of his disgusting mask. The dancer felt an uncontrollable swell of rage. How could this man have the audacity to try and punish them for attempting to save Jaejoong? Especially considering the man’s own twisting of the rules, cheating when he saw fit. It wasn’t in the least bit fair. He felt then a foreign desire to throttle the madman. But as always he was completely helpless to raise so much as a finger.
“Please, enjoy the show; I am sure you will find it rather… enlightening. Do keep in mind that all you see and hear from this moment on is a direct result of your foolhardy decision. You would be wise to remember, the next time you decide to pull some half assed rescue attempt, your punishment will be much more severe.” Without further warning the screen dimmed, sinking into an inky blackness.
It did not last long.
Slowly a dark room pulled into focus, tiny and claustrophobic. It could not have been any larger than five feet wide and four feet long; draped entirely in concrete and stone. From the offered view, the tiny space was all but empty. No windows dotted the roughly hewn walls, no furniture cluttered the miniscule flooring. In all honesty, it was little more than a glorified closet and the very sight of it made Yunho’s stomach turn. The worst image of all however, was the picture of utter suffering huddled in the corner; draped in a thin blanket and shaking from the cold. At least, he hoped it was the cold.
He did not have to see beneath that unruly mop of ebony hair to know who the poor soul was, and his heart nearly broke in two at the sight.
A faint creak, heavy and deep announced the arrival of a second body and not a moment after a figure, garbed and hooded in black, shifted across the edge of the screen.
Jaejoong’s hold tightened on the blanket clasped snuggly about his shoulders. Dead eyes rose, attempting to give a name to the shadow standing before him. The new man did not speak, and for a long march of terrible minutes he did not move. He simply stood, transfixed, as if his presence alone was meant to torture the wounded boy at his feet. The Korean shifted, his head leaning back against the stone wall.
“Who is it?... What do you want?” Jaejoong breathed, his voice guarded and sounding none to happy. Whatever the man’s purpose was, it was quite clear this occurrence had never happened before.
Never once replying, the shaded figure stalked forward and the door quietly closed; the metallic clang of setting locks faint but terrifying. Something in the man’s mannerisms sent warning bells jingling through Yunho’s mind, and without realizing it, he had shifted to the edge of his seat in overt apprehension.
Who was this shadow? What was his intention?
Not a word was spoken as the black figure stalked the huddled boy, edging the youth further into the corner as he stopped directly before him. A flash of red and a cocky smirk flitted across the screen as the hooded head turned, momentarily offering a blurred view of the unknown man’s profile.
Yunho swallowed. His mouth had suddenly gone dry.
No sound passed between the two men on screen as the hooded figure slowly lowered, crouching down before the petite youth like a hunter stalking its prey. Jaejoong shifted further away, his pained back smashed harshly into the wall as knees drew up and dug into his chest.
“What do you want?” The vocalist repeated, the venom and recognition obvious.
Yunho’s heart skipped a beat.
There was something strange in his tone, it wasn’t exactly fear, but it was certainly unsavory. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he knew whatever it was he didn’t like it.
A strong hand fell to a bruised ankle. Almost immediately the appendage jerked away spurred by revulsion. “Don’t touch me.” Jaejoong barked, blank eyes thinned as he drew the blanket tighter about his body like a shield.
The same offending hand rose once more, this time daring to caress a bruised and bloodied cheek, undeterred as it was slapped away.
The teasing touches continued for an agonizingly long moment. Fingers ghosted over thin shoulders, and dwindling arms, flitting to the soft curve of a slender hip and bent knees. Each time the disgusting appendage was shoved away, battling in the momentary ebb and flow of sickening taunting and utter disgust. It was when those rough fingers fell to split lips, seeking entrance that Yunho finally realized what exactly was happening.
Bile boiled like acid in his stomach and a hand rose to clamp against his abdomen, as if physically trying to restrain the vomit threatening to spill across the floor.
“I said, don’t touch me!” The captive singer spat again, anger and revulsion dripping from every syllable as he shoved the cloaked figure away roughly. With surprising strength, he managed to knock the man onto his back side.
Without warning the shadow sprung forward, snatching a slender ankle and yanked hard, dragging the boy practically onto his back before the vocalist could react. Arms and legs went flying in a chaotic struggle as heated breath panted through the tiny room. “Let go!” Fingers grasped at clothing and skin, the staccato tang of fabric ripping in twine harsh against the unforgiving walls; echoed by a startled cry from the small Korean.
“Stop it!” Jaejoong bellowed, his good hand shoving, grasping, clawing at the face peering so disgustingly down at him. At that point his breathing had gone erratic, quickly crossing from enraged to terrified.
Yunho watched transfixed and mortified as his bandmate and best friend struggled with the much broader man, attempting to fend of the attacking advances with dwindling success. He physically flinched and recoiled in his seat as another sharp rip tore through the cell, and a flash of denim disappeared off screen. A hand like a vice fell to the squirming boys damaged throat, clenching about the slender column with impassioned force.
“S-Stop! Let go of me!” He gasped, struggling beneath the hovering body with every last stitch of strength he possessed. The hooded figure pressed closer, one free hand sliding down to disappear between their bodies, and Jaejoong cried out at the unknown touch; fighting all the harder. Between the digital snow and the hiding drape of cloak and blanket, it was impossible to tell just what the other man was doing to his bandmate, but the effect was as plain as if he could see every disgusting detail.
Yunho’s hands were shaking as a palm rose to press against parted lips. His breath caught in his lungs and eyes stretched so wide they stung.
“Stop it! D-Don’t!” Gasping around the grip attempting to crush his windpipe, Jaejoong’s cheeks burned with rage and shame. A wicked hand darted between their bodies again grasping a half-bared thigh, pulling the boys hips closer with a purr of satisfaction. “Don’t you dare!”
Jaejoong thrashed, eyes clenched, swinging wildly at his assailant.
A glancing blow connected with the hooded figures jaw, snapping his head aside; forcing the cowl to droop down around hunched shoulders with a predatory growl. And Yunho could not help the swell of pride he felt at the sight of blood on the red haired man’s lips.
The moment of elation however did not last, quickly replaced by rage and loathing as that same pair of lips lowered. Demanding and urgent, they sought that plump gasping mouth.
“Mm! NO! Ge-.. Get off me!” The singer bellowed, jerking from the contact. Jagged nails dug into the other man’s skin in a last ditch effort to stave off the creeping edge of darkness lining his vision. Finally the hand released, and the boy’s body shook with the violence of his coughs. But he was given no time to recover. Rough fingers grasped a thin shoulder, twisting the struggling body until his cheek slammed against the cold stone of the wall.
Yunho suddenly forgot how to breathe.
“Don’t do this.” The lead vocalist gasped, pressed awkwardly into the corner. The angle placed strain on too many wounds and he quickly found himself lightheaded and weak. Unbroken fingers fell, desperately disappearing beneath a chest pressed far too tightly into stone.
“Come on, baby. Be a good boy and scream for me.” The redhead growled lustfully, one hand lifting to fist in the boys long locks, snapping his head back painfully. The other disappeared between them and the dancer could not see, nor did he want to know what it was doing.
Jaejoong jerked.
An ear splitting scream rattled against the walls, wrenched from bleeding lips.
“Turn it off!” Yunho barely managed to gasp out as he shot to his feet and tore into the kitchen. In the blink of an eye he ripped the cupboard open, whipped out the waste basket and fell to his knee’s; heaving the contents of his stomach rather violently into the plastic bag below.
“I warned you…” Masato sighed softly, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and flicked off the video. Dropping wearily onto the sofa, the man smoothed a palm over worn features. Song sat rigid and horrified where the president had left him. Hands shook as short fingers dug into the arms of the chair, unable to comprehend and unwilling to believe what he had just witnessed.
Had Jaejoong really just been-?...Oh god.
“Now do you see why I feel the risk is necessary?” Matsuura stated softly, eyeing the Korean seated to his right, trying to block out the sounds drifting in from the kitchen. Man-Young sighed, lowering his gaze as he sank defeated and dejected into tweed cushions. “Can you imagine what he would go through if the content of this video was seen by the world?”
“But… Did.. Did he..?” Yunho inquired tentatively, eyes wide and damp as he wiped bile from his lips with a dark sleeve. His nose scrunched in disgust as the putrid scent of acid and half digested matter crawled up his nostrils, and he shoved the garbage can away.
The president merely stared at him in silence. The dancer didn’t know what was worse, this noncommittal response or a definite answer to his fears.
Moaning in misery, the boy dropped onto the floor, leaning back into the cupboards. A hiccupping gasp rattled passed cupids bow lips and he crumpled into himself, hiding stricken features beyond the barrier of trembling hands.
Fighting down another surge of persistent vomit and welling tears, he felt lost. Internally, he was torn in two. The risk to Jaejoong’s life was unfathomable, but at the same time, the risk to his sanity was just as dangerous. If that video ever got out, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the damage it would do. Neither seemed a choice he could willingly make.
Masato was right, this was not his decision. It was too difficult a burden for him to bear.
“We have no choice… What’s done is done. This is the only non-edited version. The new video is already on its way to the station. And it will air.. All we can do now is pray.” The president mumbled, silently drawing his aging form from the embrace of the sofa and moved to crouch before the blank television, extracting the DVD.
Without another word, he snapped the disk in two; the sound echoed faintly only by the retreat of quiet footsteps.
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TBC
*eiyo zai - a Japanese vitamin drink.
Authors Note: First off, I know people are going to want to kill me. But all I can safely say is please see this story through to the end. -hides from flying objects- Again I am sorry for the delay in posting. Far too many things have gotten in the way and it’s been a struggle. As a result I really do not like this chapter but I’ve kept people waiting for far too long already. I grappled with what to add and what not to add. In the end I decided to omit a few scenes to get this posted and get the story line moving again. Someone commented on the last chapter that the tempo of the story had slowed. Unfortunately a lot had to happen in a short period of time and that was the result. I am doing my best to get it going again. I hope the darkness in this particular installment doesn’t scare people away. I know it’s a lot. But I tried to get some light in there if you look for it. Hopefully I won’t run any readers I have left with this chapter. XD I’m crossing my fingers. Anyway, thank you to those of you who have put up with me and my slow updates. You all are what keeps me going. Thank you so much for the support and for reading. I love you guys. <3333 And I must stress, AKTF. Also, sorry for any formatting issues. As usual, LJ was a brat while posting XD
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