81/10 Edge Of The Knife
A/N: As the task force gets closer to Alpha, the danger increases.
Edge Of The Knife
By Demeter
Lindsay catches a glimpse of her own reflection in the shiny blade, and she realizes that she could yet die today.
It didn't seem like such a dangerous assignment when they finally found Rosalie Johnson, a woman in her mid-sixties who rarely leaves the house because she can't walk very well and is half-blind. She agreed to talk to the investigators about her son Carl William who had gotten a special offer to escape a prison sentence. Evil met Evil, and Alpha was created. That's what they had thought.
It runs in the family, Lindsay thinks as she stares back at the man who's slapped her again, the blow seeming to make her teeth rattle. Her face is stinging with the pain, and she can taste blood.
Rosalie forgot to mention that Marcus, Carl's older cousin, came to her for a visit. And what a cozy family scene this is; the allegedly harmless woman was surprisingly quick when Marcus told her to get the rope and use it. He had a knife and he promised that he was faster with it than his kid cousin.
Hands tied behind her in the rackety chair, Lindsay curses her carelessness. Monsters don't come out of nowhere; they have parents and a history. Carl's existed long before the Dollhouse got him.
The system failed them both. People like you. There's nothing, Rosalie says, that she wouldn't do for her boys.
Lindsay can kind of sympathize, but she can't bear to think much of Cindy and their unborn child, because that would paralyze her. She has to stay focused, calm. "There are people who know where I am."
"Sure, but where are they now?" Marcus asks as he leans closer, tracing the blade across the fabric of her shirt, his grin widening when she shivers. Power play, she knows; he wants her to know he can turn this any way he wants to, at any time. Even with his aunt in the room.
She isn't scared, just cautious. Lindsay has told Boyd to stay outside, thinking she could relate to Rosalie, woman to woman, but obviously that's out of the window for now. The new goal is to stay alive. Boyd will know that something is wrong because this is already taking too long.
"So you know where your cousin is," she ventures. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so nervous."
When he punches her hard enough to nearly make the chair topple over, Lindsay knows she's right about it. Marcus doesn't seem like someone to reason with, but this is not about smart conversation, but buying time. Minute for minute.
"I don't know about you," she says after catching her breath, "but Carl is a killer. He's murdered at least six people that we know of. If you elp us stop him, you could still get out of this rather easily."
Marcus laughs, the sound grating on her nerves. "Are you crazy? I'm the one who taught him all the tricks. He wouldn't be that good with a knife without me. I could show you."
Lindsay has looked more than one killer in the eye. Marcus Craft means business; his inhibitions aren't lowered by drugs or anger, there simply weren't any to begin with. And in the mirror of his anticipation, she can see the possible, likely outcome of today. She straightens her shoulders against the pain, knowing it won't happen. "Killing a cop, not a smart decision."
"Oh, I don't know, it will be a while until the killing part yet."
Mrs. Johnson might be more evil than they'd thought her to be, but she isn't very strong indeed. Lindsay has almost slipped her hands out of the coarse rope wound around her wrists, and it's not a minute too soon when the older woman disappears from the room.
With some satisfaction she realizes that Marcus didn't think she'd fight back. Her fingers wrap around the base of the knife, a sensation of warm and wet as the blade breaks the skin.
Lindsay focuses all the strength she has left on that one well-placed kick. He curses her, lets go of the knife that clatters to the floor to clutch offended body parts, while Lindsay stumbles backwards.
"Stop hurting him!" the elderly woman screeches. She's only left to return with the ancient looking revolver. Not wanting to take the chance of her knowing how to use it, Lindsay raises her hands.
"It stops right here, Ma'am." Behind her, Boyd has appeared, and Lindsay finally gets to take a deep breath. More than ever, she feels that on the upcoming weekend, a decision is imminent.
Edge Of The Knife
By Demeter
Lindsay catches a glimpse of her own reflection in the shiny blade, and she realizes that she could yet die today.
It didn't seem like such a dangerous assignment when they finally found Rosalie Johnson, a woman in her mid-sixties who rarely leaves the house because she can't walk very well and is half-blind. She agreed to talk to the investigators about her son Carl William who had gotten a special offer to escape a prison sentence. Evil met Evil, and Alpha was created. That's what they had thought.
It runs in the family, Lindsay thinks as she stares back at the man who's slapped her again, the blow seeming to make her teeth rattle. Her face is stinging with the pain, and she can taste blood.
Rosalie forgot to mention that Marcus, Carl's older cousin, came to her for a visit. And what a cozy family scene this is; the allegedly harmless woman was surprisingly quick when Marcus told her to get the rope and use it. He had a knife and he promised that he was faster with it than his kid cousin.
Hands tied behind her in the rackety chair, Lindsay curses her carelessness. Monsters don't come out of nowhere; they have parents and a history. Carl's existed long before the Dollhouse got him.
The system failed them both. People like you. There's nothing, Rosalie says, that she wouldn't do for her boys.
Lindsay can kind of sympathize, but she can't bear to think much of Cindy and their unborn child, because that would paralyze her. She has to stay focused, calm. "There are people who know where I am."
"Sure, but where are they now?" Marcus asks as he leans closer, tracing the blade across the fabric of her shirt, his grin widening when she shivers. Power play, she knows; he wants her to know he can turn this any way he wants to, at any time. Even with his aunt in the room.
She isn't scared, just cautious. Lindsay has told Boyd to stay outside, thinking she could relate to Rosalie, woman to woman, but obviously that's out of the window for now. The new goal is to stay alive. Boyd will know that something is wrong because this is already taking too long.
"So you know where your cousin is," she ventures. "Otherwise you wouldn't be so nervous."
When he punches her hard enough to nearly make the chair topple over, Lindsay knows she's right about it. Marcus doesn't seem like someone to reason with, but this is not about smart conversation, but buying time. Minute for minute.
"I don't know about you," she says after catching her breath, "but Carl is a killer. He's murdered at least six people that we know of. If you elp us stop him, you could still get out of this rather easily."
Marcus laughs, the sound grating on her nerves. "Are you crazy? I'm the one who taught him all the tricks. He wouldn't be that good with a knife without me. I could show you."
Lindsay has looked more than one killer in the eye. Marcus Craft means business; his inhibitions aren't lowered by drugs or anger, there simply weren't any to begin with. And in the mirror of his anticipation, she can see the possible, likely outcome of today. She straightens her shoulders against the pain, knowing it won't happen. "Killing a cop, not a smart decision."
"Oh, I don't know, it will be a while until the killing part yet."
Mrs. Johnson might be more evil than they'd thought her to be, but she isn't very strong indeed. Lindsay has almost slipped her hands out of the coarse rope wound around her wrists, and it's not a minute too soon when the older woman disappears from the room.
With some satisfaction she realizes that Marcus didn't think she'd fight back. Her fingers wrap around the base of the knife, a sensation of warm and wet as the blade breaks the skin.
Lindsay focuses all the strength she has left on that one well-placed kick. He curses her, lets go of the knife that clatters to the floor to clutch offended body parts, while Lindsay stumbles backwards.
"Stop hurting him!" the elderly woman screeches. She's only left to return with the ancient looking revolver. Not wanting to take the chance of her knowing how to use it, Lindsay raises her hands.
"It stops right here, Ma'am." Behind her, Boyd has appeared, and Lindsay finally gets to take a deep breath. More than ever, she feels that on the upcoming weekend, a decision is imminent.