|posted on 14-Dec-2002 1:06:42 PM|
Disclaimer: Roswell doesn't belong to me. If you want to sue me, you have to catch me first.
Summary: What is evil? Alex will find out, more than he ever wanted to know.
Rating: NC-17, just to be safe.
I wrote it so there has to be: Violence, torture, curse words, rape. And above all else, the loss of innocence.
Beta read by JW.
June 17, 1999
I was walking to Liz's house when they caught me. Three men in dark suits, government issue. They grabbed me and pushed me into an ally not too far away. It was a dead end so I couldn't go back and they were blocking my way forward. "Alexander Whitman? We'd like to ask you a few questions." The first two men were tall with dark hair and looked strong. You could tell from their large arms and fit frame. The third, who had spoken, was a short blond fellow with icy blue eyes. Before I had time to protest or call for help, one of the large guys drew back and punched me in the face. After that everything went black. I don't know how long I was out or where I was. All I knew was that I had a very painful headache and that I was bound to a chair with a dark hood over my face. "Where am I? What do you want?" I asked. Hoping that if I played dumb maybe they'd let me go, but also fearing that they wouldn't. "We would you to ask you a few questions Mr. Whitman. If your answers are to our liking, we will free you to go on your merry way. If they are not, well..." He left the threat unfinished. They then started asking me questions about my friends. Questions that I had no answers for. "What do you know of Max Evans, Mr. Whitman?" I answered the only way I knew how. That he was a kid who went to my school. They were not happy with my answer. I gasped and tried to get air back in my lungs as someone punched me full in the chest. "What do you know about the shooting at the CrashDown, Mr. Whitman?" I kept sucking in air, trying to breathe. Not yet recovered from the punch I had received. It seems I wasn't answering the questions fast enough. I received another punch to my chest and a backhand to my face. They went on asking me questions about mundane things. Who Isabel Evans was. What my connection to Liz Parker was. What had happened at the CrashDown the day of the shooting. They were not pleased with my answers.
I awoke to find myself in a holding cell, 4ft by 4ft. There wasn't enough room for me to lie down. It was closed in with a steel door that looked very sturdy. There was a latch at the bottom that opened to let in a bit of light. Other than that, the room was dark. I raised my shirt and looked at my chest, which was marred with bruises and welts. I touched a few and bit my lip to stop myself from crying out in pain. A few of my ribs were broken, that much I knew. My face wasn't much better. My lip was busted, and I didn't have a mirror to see what I believed to be two black eyes. I was kept in this room for hours I think, but I couldn't tell because they had taken my watch. After a few hours the latch at the bottom of the door opened and a plate of food and a glass of water were slid in. A piece of meat, some potatoes, and nothing else. No spoon or fork. I am I not animal and I refused to eat with my hands. I dampened my shirt with some of the water, and tried to clean some of the blood off of my face. The rest I drank. After I was done I got up and started beating on the door. "Let me out of here! Goddamn it, let me the fuck out of here!" I beat the door again and again screamed at the top of my lungs. No one came. No one at all. So after a time, I gave up and sat down. I grabbed the plate and threw it through the open latch. It smacked the side of the wall outside. So I sat there for hours with nothing else to think about but who were these people that had taken me. And why did they want to know about Liz and Max so much. I had been asking the same questions to Liz myself, and Maria after she started acting weird as well. But neither of them would tell me anything. After a few more hours the doors opened and it was time for another line of questions.
Two men held me by each arm and took me down a long hallway to a small room with a large two-way mirror in it and one chair in the middle. "Sit down, Mr. Whitman." They said then pushed me towards the chair. I did the unexpected; I picked the chair up and hit the nearest man with it. He fell to the floor but the other guy grabbed the chair out of my hands and boxed both my ears, then kicked my legs from under me. Once I was on the ground me kicked me again in my broken ribs. I just stayed down there coughing up blood. The man that I had hit, got up, kicked me in the face and spat on me. They then left the room and locked the door behind them, leaving me there. After a short time the door opened, and the blond guy from the alley walked in. "It's not in your best interest to cause problems, Mr. Whitman. Just tell us what we want to know and everything will be fine." It was the same voice that had asked me the questions from before. "I don't know anything." I told him. And it was true I don't know anything. I have no clue what he wants. "I think you do, Mr. Whitman. I think you do." Then the door opened again and the two large men walked in holding duck tape and what looked like a phone cord. I didn't put up much of a fight. My ribs hurt so much and I hadn't gotten up from the floor because I was scared I might fall down, I was so dizzy. They taped my hands and feet and put me face down on the ground. Then they ripped my shirt off my back. "What do you know about Max Evans, Mr. Whitman?" I answered like I did before. One of them, I didn't see which one, whipped me with the phone cord until the blond man said I had had enough. God it hurt. It went on like this for a long time, them asking questions and me not knowing the answers. Thankfully, I passed out.
I woke up back in my cell. My hands and legs had been untied. My back was all torn up from the phone cord, but at least the blood had stopped and the wounds had begun to scab over. I passed out again and have no way of knowing how long I was out. When I awoke again, there was a plate of food slid under the latch with a glass of water. Still no spoon or fork. You'd be surprised how the human mind gets tangled up in little things like that. I was so hungry and my body hurt so much, but I am not an animal. I did as before and threw the food into the wall outside, used the water to clean my wounds the best I could and drank the rest. I wonder if my parents know that I'm missing? If they have called the police. Or do Liz and Maria know? Or are they in a cell not so different from mine somewhere in here? God I hope not. I don't give a shit what secrets they were keeping. All I want is for them to be safe. Time went on in my little piece of hell on earth. They'd come and ask me questions, when I didn't answer they would beat me with whatever was handy. A phone cord, their fists, a broken piece of a chair, whatever was handy. And it went on like this for days, but I was losing perspective on that. The longer I was in that hole, and the fact I refused to eat, the more I passed out. I have no idea how long I was there. Hours or days, hell weeks, I couldn't tell you. The only thing I knew was that no one was here to take me home. There was no police breaking down the door to save me. I was all alone.
Everything changed the last time I woke. The door opened, but there was only one of the big guys there. He taped my hands and feet like before, but this time he didn't pick me up to take me back to the room. Instead he undid my pants and underwear and pulled them down below my knees. I was pushed face down into the floor. "Stop!! Please!!" I screamed and begged, but he didn't respond. My screams went quiet and I believe my heart stopped when I heard him unzip his pants. He.... hurt me for along time. I tried to fight back. I tried to kick and get away, but he was too strong. After...after he was done, he got up and closed the door without saying a word. And I lay there, tied and naked, crying. I always held out some hope that I might get out of here alive. That I might get home and be with my friends and forget all about this. But how can that happen now? I shut my eyes as tightly as I could and shook my head over and over again in the darkness of my cell. I don't know why I was doing that. It wouldn't make any difference. It wouldn't make it any better. My legs were propped against the wall since there was so little room in this hellhole for me to lie down. My legs spasm from the strain of being stuck like that for so long. And my back hurt so much, along with other things. As before, I passed out, and was grateful for the darkness that surrounded me. Hoping that, at least in my dreams, I would be safe. I was wrong.
In my dream I was home. In the CrashDown surrounded by all my friends. I was sitting at the front table with Liz beside me and Maria across from me. We were laughing and talking, just having a great time. That is, until he appeared. Max came in the room, and then Liz disappeared from my arm and appeared in his with Maria beside her. And they were laughing. It wasn't a happy sound; it was a spiteful and cruel sound. The same laugh the blond man has when he watched me be beaten and tortured. God how I hate the sound of that laugh. I tried to get up and go to my friends, but I was pushed down on the ground from behind. That bastard was holding me down and raping me again! Right there, in the CrashDown, with Liz, Maria, and Max watching and laughing at me. I screamed and begged for help, but they just kept laughing. "Poor Mr. Whitman. It seems your answers weren't good enough. We will have to take it out of you somehow." That monster whispered into my ear as he violated me. That hurt, just like it did in my cell, but the worst part was the laughing. They just stood there pointing at me like I was some sort of a freak. Why didn't they help me? Why were they letting him hurt me? Then it came to me. They don't care. From the very start, when I had asked questions about what was going on, they lied to me. It's their fault. It's all their fault. If they had just told me, then I wouldn't be here. I would be home, safe in my bed. It's their fault! Theirs and Max's! I hate them. I'll kill them! I woke up, screaming it out for all to hear. "I'll kill them! I'll kill them!" I don't know if I was talking about my friends or the people that had done this to me. I don't think I even see a difference between the two anymore.
The next time the door was opened, it was both of them. They didn't say a word about why I was nude. They just drug me out and took me to the room. The blond man was waiting for me there. "Mr. Whitman, it would be so much easier if you would just answer the questions." God the questions! I don't fucking know!! I wanted to shout, but my throat was too sore to give anything other than a whisper. "What was that, Mr. Whitman?" He asked, then walked over and put his ear near my mouth to hear better. I thought about biting the thing off, but that wouldn't get me free. So I did the only thing I could. "Just tell me the answers you want to hear." I rasped out. He pulled away and looked at me with those icy blue eyes. Then he began to smile. Please don't laugh I prayed, to whatever god who would listen. As I said before, it's the little things that we humans get tangled around in. And if I heard that laugh again, I think I would lose what little I have left of my mind. The two large men took me back to my cell. But I didn't stay there long. After a bit, I was taken to what looked like a lab or small clinic. They cleaned my wounds and dressed me. They also hooked up an IV to pump in the vitamins that I had lost from not eating. I am not an animal. After a few days, I was given solid food and water. The blond man came and talked to me some. He told me that I would be their eyes and ears. That anything I learned, I would pass to them. That is, unless I wanted to be put back into my cell. I agreed. And why the fuck not? What do I care if I'm selling out my friends? What do I care that I've known them since I was 5 years old. I'd sell out my own mother, as long as I never saw that cell again. After a few days, when I was better, they took me out of there and we were on our way back to Roswell.
I was dropped off at my house. It seems I was gone only a few weeks. My parents hadn't even come home yet from their vacation. They were calling home to see if I was all right. Never giving a flying fuck if I was being tortured and starved? Bastards. All of them. I went to my room and grabbed my phone to call the school as I was told. My hand froze as it got near the phone and I peered at the cord. God how long would it haunt me? I ignored the knot in my throat and called the school. They had been told I had gone on a vacation with my parents, and that I would be showing up there Monday morning. After I was done with that, I called the blond man with the cell phone that had been given to me. "It's set up." I said and waited for him to respond. "Good, Mr. Whitman. Just do as you're told and everything will be fine." I hung up. I put the phone on my counter and pulled out the envelope that had been given to me as well. It was filled with hundred-dollar bills. I hid it in my sock drawer, knowing my parents would never look there. That is, if they ever stepped foot in my room. I took off my clothes and lay down on my bed. Wincing from my wounds that were now covered in bandages. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before I fell asleep. Tomorrow would be my first day at my new life. So what if I was going to rat out my friends? So what if they would be picked up and put in a cell not so different then mine if I gave them the information they wanted. Who would care? Them? The hell with what they care about! My parents? As if they'd notice the scars on my back. Or care that I would wake in the middle of the night screaming. God? Would he care? Where is he? Why didn't he protect me? Wasn't that what he is supposed to do. Does he care? If you know, you'll tell me, right? Please....?