FIC: SINS OF THE FATHER 5/15

[carolinablu85]

Title: Sins of the Father
Chapter: 5/15
Author: carolinablu85, also known as CarolinaBlue on vh.net or CarolinaBlu on the wiki (I know, I'm a fountain of creative names)
Pairing: Luke/Noah 
Rating: PG 13-ish to R now, it gets a little dark here - violence, abuse and non-con moments (not graphic)
Spoilers: set in spring 2009, after Luke and Noah battle housing discrimination but before Damian/evil twins. Thus, before the Colonel came back from the dead last year
Summary: Noah meets Alan and attempts an escape, Luke battles the demons within.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. I own a pair of sneakers, a cellphone, and some other stuff. The show? Nope, not that.
Author's Note: The first major 'epic' story I ever wrote (and finished)!
Chapter 1  /  Chapter 2  /  Chapter 3  /  Chapter 4


The next time Noah woke up, he knew immediately that he wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t his father in the basement with him, it was the strange door guard from before. What was his name? Alan? The former soldier was standing by the stairs, leaning casually against the post, studying him just like before. Noah struggled instinctively, trying in vain to free his aching wrists from the handcuffs. After a few more minutes of silence he couldn’t take it anymore, and glared up at the man. “What?”

Alan shrugged. “You don’t seem all that much like your father.” There was an air about this man, something Noah really didn’t like, that made him uneasy.

He chuckled darkly. “Good.” The less he was like his father, the better. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but nothing took the strain off his arms. He began to feel more and more uncomfortable when Alan wouldn’t stop looking at him. “Was there something else you wanted?” Luckily the last helping of bread and water had stayed in Noah’s stomach, making him feel a little bit better and a little bit bolder.

The man smirked. “Yeah, and we’ll get to that soon.” Noah narrowed his eyes, getting slightly freaked out and confused by this guy. Alan moved closer, standing directly in front of Noah, their feet almost touching. “Your father saved my life during Desert Storm,” he continued, apropos of nothing.

Noah coughed, trying to curl in on himself and get a little more warmth in the cold, dark basement. “And I’m guessing I’m going to end up regretting his decision to do that, huh?” he replied in turn.

He got a sharp kick to the knee for that. “Colonel Mayer is a good man and a great soldier. It’s time you learned that.”

“Gotta disagree on that first part,” Noah grumbled, wincing just before a fist slammed into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped for air, trying to work oxygen back into his lungs. “You… think I’m going to change my mind?” Noah managed to ask. “Forgive him and be the happy family he seems to think we once were? I’m not going to change, about my father or who I am.”

Alan reached out, his hand going around Noah’s neck. It wasn’t tight, just resting there, barely applying any pressure at all. “I’m not here to change your mind.” Noah frowned in confusion, but it immediately gave way to shock and fear when Alan’s hand slid down from Noah’s neck to land directly over his heart. His brain nearly exploded when the hand ran back and forth across his chest, feeling at the muscles there.

“Get away from me!” Noah shouted, trying to shove himself and the chair he was cuffed to back a few feet, away from Alan. The man let him go, smiling; they both knew there was nowhere for Noah to run. Noah stared panicked at Alan, finding it hard to breathe again. No, no way.

“What’s the matter, kid?” Alan’s smile grew into a full grin, and he took a few steps closer. “I thought this is who you are.”

“Not this,” Noah snapped. “Not you.”

Alan shrugged. He was directly in front of Noah’s chair again, and Noah found himself shaking. Alan put his hand on Noah’s shoulder, gripping it tight enough to leave bruises, then moved it up slowly to cup the side of Noah’s face. No matter how hard he tried, Noah couldn’t break free. “Way I see it,” he leaned in close, “You don’t have much of a choice in these things.” And then Alan kissed him.

All Noah could think of was that this wasn’t Luke. He could always feel love, and emotion, and want, when he and Luke kissed. There was a unity involved, an equal give and take between them. Noah had never really gotten the term “partner” when applied to gay relationships, until Luke. They were partners in everything, including affection. But this… this was ugly and violent, and it was taking something Noah didn’t want to give.

He tried to pull away, turn his head, but Alan’s grip on his face just tightened harshly. This kiss was an attack, Alan’s lips and tongue and teeth vicious on him, and there was nothing Noah could do. When Alan finally came up for air, Noah turned his face to the side, gasping and gagging. Alan watched him, smirking. “Not bad,” he said.

Noah glared up at him. “Get. Away,” he bit out.

“Sorry boy, but I don’t think you’re calling the shots right now.” He reached for him again, and Noah reacted on instinct, kicking out and connecting sharply with Alan’s kneecap. Alan stumbled back a little, grasping at his leg. “Son of a…” he came forward again, striking Noah hard across the temple. The momentary daze that Noah was left in was all that Alan needed, and the next thing Noah felt was Alan’s mouth on him again, on his lips, his jaw, his neck.

“Stop,” he mumbled, struggling to get back to awareness. The last punch had left his head ringing and his vision blurred, and it was taking a lot of effort just to try to move.

He felt himself flinch as a hand gripped the back of head, fingers twisting painfully in his hair. The other hand pressing on his chest and then traveling lower down his body finally gave Noah enough strength and adrenaline to fight back. He curled upwards, kneeing Alan in the stomach and using his legs to shove the man off of him. Alan shouted angrily but stayed back, glaring at Noah, breathing hard.

Noah’s breathing was just as erratic, and he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “Don’t touch me again,” he said quietly. He could feel welts starting to rise up on his skin, marks from Alan. Noah had never wanted to take a shower more than he did right now.

Alan glared for a second more before he broke out into a laugh, shaking his head. “Noah, I don’t think you really get how much what you want doesn’t matter.”

“How can my father…” Noah trailed off, unsure of the situation now more than ever. Did the Colonel know Alan was gay? He didn’t see how that was possible.

Alan lazily made his way closer again. “The Colonel’s a master strategist, kid. I owed him and Kelley from way back; they saw a need and a purpose for me now. Not that this is strictly business for me, of course,” he ran his fingers across Noah’s cheek and lips. Noah ducked away as quickly as possible, shuddering. No no no no no.

“Nothing you can do about it, so you might as well relax and get comfortable now. I got all the time in the world.” He cocked his head to the side, pretending to contemplate something. “Of course, you could just go along with whatever your dad wants, and he might tell me to go.” Noah’s eyes widened, and Alan continued. “Or he might keep me around for awhile, let me have some fun. Who knows?”

Noah felt bile rising in the back of his throat, had to take a few deep breaths to keep from throwing up. He tugged helplessly against the cuffs again and was shocked when one of the steel bands suddenly began to give way. Noah fought with everything he had not to outwardly react. Maybe getting his chair and arms slammed back against the wall so many times had snapped one of the restraints?

Alan continued to talk, and while Noah was sure whatever he was saying was fascinating- and terrifying- he instead concentrated his entire will on breaking the cuff around his left wrist. He felt the catch finally break free and start to swing open, and he quickly held it closed with his fingers, not wanting to alert Alan. He was still weak and aching right now and no where near capable of fighting the man. Noah swallowed painfully. And he really didn’t want this guy to have any power over him. Any more than he already did.

Alan must have realized he wasn’t listening, because he quickly stepped over and grabbed Noah by the hair, yanking his head up and forcing him to meet his gaze. Noah groaned at the too-quick movement, his vision blurring for a moment. “I won’t be ignored, Noah,” he said, sounding both casual and threatening.

Who does this guy think he is, Glenn Close? Noah asked himself. The image of a rabbit boiling on a stove came to mind, and Noah had to wonder when the exact moment was that his life became crazier than a movie. Maybe right now, he thought, as Alan’s fingers traveled through his hair, down his face, and started sliding under the collar of his shirt. Oh, hell no.

Noah was about to throw his strategy out the proverbial window and just start punching the guy when the door to the basement burst open and Sergeant Kelley came barreling down the stairs. Alan immediately pulled his hand away and took a few steps back, leaving Noah both gasping for breath and wondering just what Alan’s purpose really was in the this nightmare. And who exactly was in on that plan.

Kelley eyed them both for a second before speaking to Alan. “We have a situation. With Brett. He may have been arrested last night.”

“What?!” Alan yelled. Kelley nodded. Noah had to close his eyes and work to keep his heart from beating too fast. Brett had been the one holding Luke. Brett had been arrested. That meant Luke could identify him, and maybe they could find him. They could get him out of here. Save him.

You think that family you’re freeloading off of really cares about what happens to you? Noah flinched a little, as though his father was in the room with him right now screaming the words again. The Snyders would try to find him… right? Then he remembered his broken handcuff. Whatever was going on in the world outside this cabin didn’t matter, Noah would find a way to get out of here himself.

Kelley was moving back up the stairs, beckoning for Alan to follow him. “Come on, we have to meet with the Colonel and figure things out. Now.”

“That’s fine,” Alan glared over his shoulder at Noah, who, although he was completely freaked out, glared right back. “I’m sure I can finish this later.”

“Finish what later?” Kelley looked at Noah, then Alan, then Noah again. His eyes took in the new marks on Noah’s neck, but he said nothing more. Noah wasn’t exactly expecting help from the guy who had attacked him a few days (was it days?) ago in the Java stockroom, but he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening at all.

“Need to know basis, Tim,” Alan shrugged. Kelley narrowed his eyes and stared some more, but ultimately said nothing. He motioned for Alan to continue following him up the steps, and once more Noah was left alone in the cold, almost pitch black basement.

He shuddered violently, feeling dirty and scared. He couldn’t go through that again, and he definitely couldn’t let it go any further. What had already happened was bad enough. Noah just felt… felt wrong right now. Damaged. And he couldn’t help but wonder what people would think if they found this out. Could he have done something different to stop Alan? Damn it, what would Luke…?

A sudden thought shook him- almost pitch black. Where was the light coming from? Oh, thank God. The door was cracked open. Probably in the hurry the two men were in, they hadn’t noticed the door wasn’t shut all the way behind them. Hope and adrenaline filled Noah so quickly he almost passed out.

He let the handcuff around his left wrist drop open and quickly pulled his arms free of the chair, barely wincing when the movement pulled at stiff muscles. Standing was the next step, and Noah managed to do it without falling over or throwing up. Another victory. He stumbled forward, gaining strength with each step.

The promise of Luke, of home, of not here, lent him even more speed and stability. The wooden stairs were no match for him now, and before Noah really knew what was happening, he was slowly pushing open the basement door. Or, more accurately, pushing up. The entrance was in the floor like a trap door or a storm cellar.

Noah shoved it back closed with his foot, pausing to catch his breath and listen. There was no sound at all in the cabin. Where were they meeting with his father? He shook his head- who cares? Focus!- and ran as quickly and quietly as he could to the front door. He took a deep breath and, after a glance at the woods surrounding him, escaped into the darkness.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Jack slammed the door shut behind him, wishing more than anything that he could use Brett’s head as the doorstop. And slam it a couple more times. “No luck?” Margo asked needlessly, waiting by his desk.

Jack just looked at her, an eyebrow raised and a grimace on his face. He sat down heavily in his chair, and even the squeaking noise it made seemed to get on his nerves. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Not a damn thing,” he half-groaned. “He’s running his mouth enough, but nothing useful is coming out.”

Margo suddenly looked more nervous. “Has he said any more about Al-”
“No,” Jack interrupted her cautiously ventured question. “No, he hasn’t. And he’s lucky. If he had tried to spread that filth again I’d have given him a matching set of bruises for his jaw.”

“I think your cousin did enough damage,” Margo said without any bite. Jack smirked half-heartedly; it was the one bright spot to this bitch of a situation. Jack was both happy and unhappy that he had missed the confrontation. He was glad he hadn’t witnessed Luke’s reaction to the taunting, but really wished he could have joined Holden in beating this bastard down. “Not that I blame him,” she added much quieter, for Jack’s ears only. Jack sort of grunted in agreement. “There’s got to be something we can do with this guy,” she continued, trying to draw Jack out of his funk.

Jack sighed, glancing down at the file on his desk, before looking up at Margo. “I just wish I knew what.” He studied Margo then, noting the tired look in her eyes. “Have you been here all night? You okay?”

Margo waved a hand, smiling starkly. “Oh, oh, I’m fine. I was home for a bit for some food and a nap, don’t worry.” Her voice lowered again. “It’s just kind of hard being there right now. Casey is…”

“He okay? He and Noah are friends, aren’t they?” Jack remembered then that Casey had been here to hear Brett’s crap too.

Margo gave her own weary sigh. “He’s trying hard not to push, not to ask me what we’re doing, but…” She shook her head. “He’s really worried and upset. And he wants me to fix this. I think part of him is angry with me.”

“With you?” Jack was standing again, leaning in close to Margo.

“Jack, Casey and I have never really had a stable relationship. And I’m supposed to be in charge of finding his missing, possibly grievously hurt friend. It’s been three days and we’ve found nothing. I hate having to go home and see Casey looking so hopeful, and I have to crush that hope. He’s just not that happy right now.” Margo tried to smile again.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’ve become really good at sneaking into the farmhouse so no one can ask me for the updates I can’t give.” Jack and Margo looked at each other in understanding, just as Dallas hurried over to them, arms full of files.

“Okay, so, I think I figured out who this Alan guy is,” Dallas said in his usual fashion, no preamble or introduction. He dropped about half the folders onto Jack’s desk.

“What’ve you got?” Jack asked, still a little surprised to see him. Dallas was supposed to be off this week but had come in to work anyway when he heard who was missing. He had spent the last six hours pouring over every police and military file they could find on Noah’s father.

The younger cop opened one particular folder, pointing out a military identification file. “Alan Reddik. He was in Desert Storm, served in a battalion with Tim Kelley, Brett Henderson, and Winston Mayer.” He showed them a picture of a built, tall man with a dangerous look to him. Jack hated him on sight.

“He served back in the States with Henderson and Kelley before he was dishonorably discharged about five years ago. Since then there have been a few police reports of disorderly conduct and assault in a few different states, and he and Henderson have been marked as ‘persons of suspicion’ in a few random crimes over the years, sometimes with Kelley too.”

“Dishonorably discharged?” Jack repeated, worried.

Dallas nodded, face solemn. “I couldn’t get the records for the case, but charges were brought against him by a young recruit in his battalion. Whatever happened or didn’t happen, we can’t access the information.”

“But he was discharged,” Holden pointed out.

Jack nodded before doing a sharp double take. Holden? “Hey, when did you get here?”

“Just now,” he answered quietly. “Wanted an update if you had anything.” The looks on the three cops’ faces was all the answer he needed. “Great.”

Jack exchanged a quick look with Margo and Dallas before pulling his cousin away to talk privately. “How’s everyone doing?”

Holden rubbed the side of his face with one tired hand, looking like Jack felt. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Lily’s with the kids today. They’re not, uh, taking the news so well. Not that any of us really are. I think Lily needed some time alone with them to be a Mommy for awhile, take care of the kids she can take care of.”

“And Luke?” Holden shook his head. “Not good, but it’s not like that’s a shock. I’m half-surprised he hasn’t run off to solve this case on his own.” He gave a dark chuckle.

Jack studied him more closely, seeing how this was taking a toll on him as well. “How are you holding up? You can tell me, Holden.”

Holden was silent for a moment. He wasn’t doing great, but that was to be expected. He tried to express to his cousin what he really needed to get off his chest. “The thing that really gets me? The guy is doing this to his son. His own son. How could anyone in their right mind who called himself a father do this?”

Jack had wondered the same thing on more than one occasion over the last few days. When he thought of Sage, of Parker and JJ, he just couldn’t understand how someone could treat their own child this way. “Well, we know the Colonel isn’t in his right mind, for one thing.”

His cousin conceded that with another shake of his head. “And to think that this is what Noah had to grow up with? This man was the only constant thing in Noah’s life, and every time he’s around he just hurts him. I mean, is it any shock that Noah had a hard time starting a relationship with Luke? That,” he waved a hand at Winston Mayer’s profile and ID file, “is the only love the kid has ever known.”

“Until now,” Jack insisted. “You and Lily and- God- and Luke have done a lot for him. And Emma? Lucinda? Ethan and the girls? Hell, Janet’s been on my ass worrying about Noah since this whole thing began. Noah’s got a support system, he’s got a whole bunch of Snyders pulling for him. You haven’t failed him there. You haven’t failed him at all. Don’t worry about that, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll just worry about everything else,” Holden grumbled.

Jack clapped him on the back. “Well, that’s what fathers do.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *
He was alone.

It was the first time since Noah had been taken that everyone finally decided to give Luke some space. Quite honestly, he wasn’t sure if he was glad or not. He really didn’t think he could handle one more person telling him Noah would be okay and home soon. How the hell did they know that? They couldn’t know that; no one knew what Colonel Mayer could really do to his son, not even Luke.

So on the one hand Luke was glad for the peace and quiet. But on the other hand, the peace and quiet left Luke alone with his thoughts, which were conjuring up a hundred scenarios, each one more “worst-case” than the last. The probability that Noah would be returned to him alive and well was dwindling with every passing minute. Luke could actually feel each one of those minutes as they ticked by, weighing down his shoulders. It had been almost three days, and Noah was still missing. Luke was alone.

Tired brown eyes roamed around the family room, landing unconsciously on the liquor cabinet. Of course. Luke shook his head at himself angrily. I can’t go there. But the picture frames sitting on top of the cabinet drew him a little closer. They were all family photos, including one of him and Noah of course. It had been taken at the film student expo a couple of months ago when one of Noah’s short films had been up for an award. They were both wearing suits.

Noah had teased Luke about his color choice, saying he knew his film would win as soon as he saw Luke in that orange dress shirt- it was a definite sign of crazy things to come. Luke had shot back that he knew the film would win as soon as he saw the film, because his boyfriend was just that good. Then they had rolled their eyes at each other, smiled, and one of Noah’s friends had taken the picture.

Luke blinked hard and somehow found himself standing at the cabinet, one hand holding the framed photograph, the other reaching for a bottle of Vodka. He didn’t want to think anymore. But even as his fingers grazed the chilled opaque glass, his stupid overactive imagination created one more scenario.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Noah asked, standing next to him with his arms crossed, face trying to disguise his disappointment.

His disappointment always cut Luke to the core. “I just need…”

“You just need? You just need one drink, right? Just one?” Noah took a step closer. Luke could almost see himself reflected in the blue of his eyes. Noah had the bluest eyes of anyone Luke had ever seen. Had Luke ever told him that? “You think you’ll be able to stop after just one?”

“I don’t know,” Luke found himself answering honestly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t you dare touch that bottle. Why would you do this, Luke?”

Hearing his name in Noah’s voice almost broke him right then and there. “Because you’re gone, Noah. You’re missing, we can’t find you. I can’t see you or touch you, or…” he paused to catch his breath. It hurt so badly to look at this fake Noah, but he couldn’t look away.

He was wearing those really great jeans Luke had coerced him into buying (they were a little out of Noah’s usual spending budget, but damn he had looked good in them) and his Java t-shirt, of course, over a long sleeved white shirt. Wasn’t that the outfit he had been wearing the first time they had…?

“You’re seeing me right now, aren’t you?” Noah asked, using that placating tone he always used when he thought Luke was getting a little carried away.

“You’re not real,” Luke decided he had to point that out.

“So?” Noah prompted. “I can’t see or touch you right now either. Maybe I’m out there somewhere breaking down too. When we get back together, do you really think I’m going to be happy you were drinking?”

Luke had pulled away from the cabinet, shut it, and locked it without really realizing. Fake-Noah was right, everyone was right. He couldn’t control what was happening in the world right now, but he could control himself. “I’m trying, I am,” he told his hallucinated boyfriend.

“I know,” Noah replied gently, lovingly. “I’m pretty sure I am too.” His lips quirked up into that shy smile that had driven Luke crazy from Day One.

“Where are you?” Luke couldn’t help but ask, the words scratching his throat as they made their way out. That smile was still in place. They were standing pretty much toe-to-toe, but Luke felt like he could stretch and stretch his arms out, and he’d never be able to touch Noah.

“I’m right here,” Noah answered quietly.

“No you’re not,” Luke snapped at him desperately. He hated that Fake-Noah was looking and sounding so real. He hated himself for having to sit at home like a worried, helpless spouse while the cops and private investigators did all the work. It wasn’t in his nature to just sit by and do nothing, but so far ‘nothing’ was all Luke could do.

“Hey, don’t get mad at me, Snyder. I’m just the figment of your imagination.”

“It’s not fair! It’s not fair that Fake-You is here and Real-You is out there hurt somewhere.” His head bowed down almost to his chest. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t look at this Noah anymore. He needed the real one. Noah was a steady, peaceful influence in his life. Without him he lost his center, his focus, his ability to stay calm. Noah grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Noah was home. “I miss you so much.”

“I could be okay, you don’t know anything for sure.” That was the best comfort he could get Fake-Noah to give him. “And I miss you too. You know if I can get free, I will.”

“The Colonel won’t let you. And there’s no way you’re ‘okay.’ I-” and then he stopped again. Oh well, if he couldn’t confess this to his actual Noah, the imaginary one would have to do. “I know a little more about your past than I’ve let you believe. I looked up some public records last year, after your dad died.”

“Fake died,” Noah corrected.

“Shut up. I looked up reports from some of the bases you were on when you were growing up. I know he hurt you when you were little. And that was before he went completely off the deep end when you came out. So I may not know exactly what’s going on right now, but I know he’s hurting you.” And that was killing Luke.

“I’ll be okay,” Noah’s voice was softer. “You’ll find me, I know it.”

Luke’s head was still down. His eyes closed to ward off the tears that kept threatening to fall. “Where are you?” he had to ask again.

It couldn’t be possible, but Luke swore he felt lips brush against his forehead, a breath moving through his hair. “You’ll find me.”

His head snapped up, eyes opening urgently. Noah? But there was no one in the room with him. It was empty, the liquor cabinet was untouched and locked, and the framed picture of him and Noah was still clutched tightly in his hand. But there was no one in the room with him.

He was alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * *
He was running. Just running. He didn’t know where he was or where he was going. He had no idea how long he’d been running for. As soon as he had gotten out of the cabin, Noah had picked a direction and kept a straight course on it (he hoped). If it weren’t for the canopy of trees above him, he would have tried to use the stars for guidance, but the branches almost blanketed out the entire sky. He knew by the way the air was getting lighter and hazier that dawn couldn’t be that far off. He had to reach something soon- a town, a campsite, a road at the very least.

Sharp pains shot through him again, and he knew it was time to take another break. He leaned against a tree, left arm coming up to cradle his midsection while he coughed and gasped. Okay, so maybe running with cracked (broken?) ribs wasn’t the smartest of ideas ever, but the alternative- his father and Alan- was way worse.

He glared down at his useless right hand, the handcuff still dangling from the wrist, metal digging into his skin with every step he took. Emma would probably say he “looked a sight” right now. His shoes and clothes were dirty and torn, and all the cuts and bruises seemed to weigh him down like fingers tugging him backwards. All in all, Noah was feeling pretty miserable.

If anyone were to see him now, bloody and dirty and partially handcuffed, they’d probably think he was some escaped convict. Or the Junior Unabomber. But hell, Noah would gladly let them think whatever they wanted. Please do. Call the cops, get me arrested. God, he would love to be arrested right now.

Break time was over. Noah pushed himself away from the tree and began running again. When a twig snapped somewhere off to his right, Noah immediately began heading more to the left. Then again, maybe he didn’t want to run into whatever could be hanging out in the woods at this hour.

A hundred different movie scenes ran through his head- Blair Witch. The River Wild. Cabin in the Woods. Deliverance. Noah unconsciously picked up his pace. Another noise, now behind him, and Noah broke out into a full-on sprint. Something was wrong, definitely wrong.

He could hear running water up ahead and veered toward it. A river meant civilization, right? Following the river would lead him to people. Isn’t that how Lewis and Clark would do it? The twig-snapping was now definitely evolving into footsteps, heavy and moving quickly. Oh God, please don’t let it be-

“Noah!” a voice yelled out angrily. With the darkness around him and the way the voice echoed through the trees, Noah felt like he was being chased by a monster instead of his father. Another shadow off to his left, and Noah realized the three men were trying to surround him.

He tried to pick up his pace even more, scrambling through the brush, winding around trees and trying to keep some semblance of balance. Falling would be very bad right now. Falling would hurt. Low lying branches scratched at his arms, pulling and catching on his shirt, but Noah pressed on. He was almost to the water…

And then Sergeant Kelley leapt out at him, grabbing one shoulder and trying to knock him down and subdue him. Out of desperation Noah swung his arm around, catching the larger man in the throat with his elbow. The part of Noah not panicking actually got a perverse sense of joy at the surprised look on Kelley’s face. Oh, does your neck hurt? See how that feels?

But Noah couldn’t waste time reveling in the poetic justice. Kelley had put him off-balance with that grab, and Noah had to push along the ground with his hands for a moment until he could get his feet back under him. He sidestepped another shadowy figure- his father?- as it came at him from the other side. Noah slipped on the wet leaves covering the ground, and suddenly there wasn’t ground under him anymore.

Noah was falling, tumbling and rolling down a sharp hillside. His world was literally turning upside down, and while self-preservation had him try to catch himself and stop his downward slide, a large part of him was simply panicking and wondering what the hell was going on. It took the handcuff attached to his right wrist catching on a tree root to bring him back to awareness, mostly because the sudden stop wrenched his shoulder right out of the socket.

Noah was pretty sure he yelled out at the bone-deep pain that rocketed through him. He was on his stomach, still sliding slowly down the steep incline, even as the open end of the handcuff tangled in the roots and brush above him. Noah gritted his teeth- couldn’t let the men catch up with him- and yanked hard. His vision went white as he pulled on the dislocated shoulder, he could feel the bone grinding roughly against the socket and almost threw up. Again.

He swallowed hard and yanked again, and then his wrist was free and he was falling again. Okay. So. That plan may not have been your most thought-out ever, Mayer. Was it strange that the voice in his head was starting to sound more and more like Luke?

Noah could hear real voices and movement on the hill above him, and tried to control his tumble so he wouldn’t hurt himself any further, trying to keep his injured and useless shoulder from getting wrecked on anything else. He fell past rocks and branches, felt them digging into his skin as he plummeted. God, how long was this hill?

And then it was over. Well, not Noah’s fall. Just the hill. He had hit the edge of the ravine or cliff or whatever (topography not being his strong suit), and Noah had just a moment of free-fall sensation before he hit water with a cold and unforgiving splash.

The water should have been a shock to his senses, a wake-up call for him to keep moving, but for some reason it wasn’t. Maybe his shoulder or his hunger or just the stress of everything, but Noah just couldn’t get himself to move. The water was like a blanket, wrapped around him tighter and tighter. It was everywhere.

There couldn’t possibly be an end in sight, and Noah tried to remember if any famous directors had died from drowning. You know, so he’d have some company. He waited for his life to flash before his eyes, wondering if it would be like watching a film reel. But as black spots started taking over his vision, growing larger and larger until there was nothing but black all around him, Noah had to chalk this up to just another one of life’s disappointments. He was going to die now, without getting to watch one last movie.

I’m sorry, Luke…

… … … …

There were flashes of movement and sound around him. Noah’s eyes must have been open, at least a little, but he couldn’t really figure out the specifics. It was kind of like a DVD skipping scenes. He was soaking wet on the bank of some river, coughing up what felt like gallons of water while someone pounded on his back. Then hands were touching him, lifting up off the ground.

Another flash, and he was back in the van, shivering so hard he had to be creating new bruises as his body banged against the metal floor. Then he was lifted again, and carried down some steps. Back in the cabin? Another flash as someone- his father maybe- gripped his useless right arm and pulled. Hard. There was a popping sound at his shoulder, and by the time the pain registered in Noah’s mind he was sinking back into the darkness.

… … … …

Noah fought against opening his eyes when he woke up this time. It seemed like every time he opened his eyes recently, the world was sucking a little bit more than it had when he closed them. He was afraid of just what he’d see this time. But curiosity finally got the better of him (he’s been hanging out with Luke far too much), and ever so slowly he looked around. He was back in the damn basement. At least he wasn’t tied to the chair anymore.

Instead he was lying on the cold, hard floor. In cold, wet clothes. His jeans were heavy and scratchy against his legs, weighing him down. His shirt clung like a second skin, pulling at all the scratches and welts on his body. Noah groaned softly, part of him wishing he had never woken up at all.

“You awake over there, Noah?” a voice called out. Noah flinched, rolling onto his back to glare at his father. Winston studied his son, shaking his head sadly. “I wish you hadn’t done that. You could’ve hurt yourself a lot worse. It wasn’t very smart, son.”

“Don’t want to be here,” Noah slurred, the words barely making their way out of his throat. He coughed from the effort, feeling it reverberate through his chest and up to his aching head. Wow, he felt like crap. He blinked heavily, flinching again as his father crouched down next to him.

“We don’t have to be here. All you have to do is accept us, accept me, and we can go create our own lives together. It will be better than what we had and better than what we have now. Don’t you want that Noah?”

“No,” Noah whimpered, shaking. He coughed again; he could still taste the river. His lungs crackled on every intake. That probably wasn’t a good thing.

“I know you’re not happy son, you’ve never been happy. I understand that. Don’t you think it’s time to change? I’m your father, you know I want what’s best for you. Don’t you think I’ll do everything I can to make a good life for you?” Winston put his hand on Noah’s shoulder, the one he had just reset a few hours ago.

Noah shook his head, tried to pull away from his father’s grasp. The sound of rattling chains drew his attention down to his arms. What the hell? He wasn’t handcuffed anymore, and there were bandages covering the wounds the cuffs had made around his wrists. They must have been bleeding pretty badly for him to get actual medical attention.

But now the restraints were even worse. Noah was actually chained to the floor. A long length of chain was wrapped several times around his forearm, looped through a grate in the floor, and then wrapped and buckled around his other arm. Jesus, he was in the Abu Ghraib of Illinois, if he was still even in the state.

Noah let out another whimper, too panicked to be embarrassed, and tried to yank his arms free of the chains. All it succeeded in doing was getting the metal links to snap and dig into his skin, but Noah kept at it. He got free once, he could do it again-

“Stop it, Noah!” the slap to his face brought him out of his panic, and Noah collapsed back down onto his back, trying as hard as he could not to just cry his eyes out. He just wanted all of this to be over.

And it was then, for the first time, that Noah thought about giving up. About giving in to his father. But all that came out of his mouth was more coughing, burning his throat, and when Noah was able to open his eyes again his father was looking down at him not with compassion or love (not like Luke would), but with calculation.

And Noah knew even if he never made it back to Oakdale, even if he never saw Luke again, he could never go anywhere with his father. “Just go,” he whispered, not sure if he was begging, if he could produce enough volume in his voice to make it sound like begging. He didn’t care; his head felt so fuzzy and drained.

He heard Winston sigh. “I’ll be back to check on you later, son. Don’t struggle too much with these chains, you’ll just end up hurting yourself more.” Of course, like it was his fault he was chained up in a basement. “I’ll have someone check your bandages and your shoulder.” Check his bandages? They had a medic with them? His eyes closed as his father climbed the stairs. His father wasn’t a medic, only knew the most basic of first-aid. Same with Sergeant Kelley, Noah knew his specialty wasn’t medicine. That only left…

“And somehow we’re alone again, Noah.”

Alan.

Noah’s eyes popped open and he tried to push himself up and away. The chains only let him move a few inches, not enough to feel safe.

Alan crouched down next to him, not touching him yet, thankfully. “I was impressed by the escape attempt, kid. Didn’t know you had it in you.” He eyed Noah up and down, taking in the wet clothing that clung to his body. “Also don’t mind this new look of yours.”

Noah could feel the man’s gaze running over him like a caress and shuddered, not bothering to hide his distress. “Don’t touch me.”

Alan held up his hands, smiling a little when Noah flinched at the movement. “Hey, I’m here strictly for your own good.” Before Noah realized it, one of those hands was on his stomach, trying to slide under his shirt. “And this certainly seems good to me.”

“No!” Noah was able to shove the hand away just as it touched his bare skin. No, no, no, not now. He couldn’t fight back right now. He felt a wave of dizziness take over, and his head fell back weakly to the floor, eyes closing.

“Relax, Noah.” He felt the hand on his face again, then running through his hair. He tried to shake his head free, but the hand kept touching him. “I’m supposed to make you feel better, aren’t I? Trust me, this could feel great.” The hand touched his chest again, his stomach, moving lower…

He gave another cry, wordless this time, but instead of pushing away he barreled forward, knocking the body next to him away with as much force as he could muster. The chains pulled him back before he could get very far, but it enough to get the hands away from him, and that was all that mattered. He heard Alan curse from somewhere next to him as he landed with a thud, surprised that Noah still had some fight in him. That thought distracted him, and he didn’t notice the small object that fell from his pocket with a soft clink on the ground.

But Noah did. Even through the foggy mess of his mind, he recognized the object for what it was and quickly rolled onto his back again, hiding the object beneath him.

Alan cursed again. “Fine, be that way. You can play hard to get all you want Noah, but we both know it’ll be easy for me to get what I want. Think about that while I go eat my lunch. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood when I come back next time.” He stood up, brushed himself off, and moved up the steps, shutting the door and leaving Noah alone in the darkness once more.

Noah just lay there, shaking and silent. He couldn’t let there be a next time. He couldn’t. Slowly and carefully he turned onto his side, his back facing the stairs. It took him a second too long to remember what he had taken from Alan, but finally his mind caught back up with him. A cell phone.

He struggled with the chains around his arms for a second before he was able to grasp the phone in his hands and flip it open. And sweet Jesus, he had reception down here. For the first time it what was probably days, Noah felt what must have been a smile on his face.

He reminded himself to focus and fumbled for the keys. Then Noah punched in a few numbers- the only phone number he had ever bothered to memorize in his entire life, the only phone number he knew by heart…

TO BE CONTINUED! Coming Up: a phone call spurs Luke into action, Winston decides to punish his son...