Follow Me to Heaven, 3/4
Title: Follow Me to Heaven, chapter three
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,974
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: It's midnight....
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Three
The door was just creaking open by the time Scott had gotten enough feeling in his arms and legs to force himself into a kneeling position. He looked up, his eyes flashing as he gripped the edge of the bed. Prosperus was entering, flanked by six men wearing dark green robes with the hoods pulled up to conceal their identities. Two of them were holding some kind of cloth.
"Ah, I see the paralysis is wearing off at last," Prosperus mused.
"It should've happened sooner," Scott snapped.
"I am sorry about that, dear friend, but you understand it was necessary?" Prosperus came closer, even as Scott regarded him in revulsion. "We can't allow you to get away. For your own best good, we can't allow it. While you had all that time to lay there and think, didn't you come to your senses at all?"
Scott clutched the mattress as he got unsteadily to his feet. "I had plenty of time to think about how my opinion hasn't changed one bit," he said, his eyes narrowed in warning. "I'm not going to participate in your sick ceremony."
"Now, you don't mean that." Prosperus came closer, grasping Scott's trenchcoat and moving to slide it off his shoulders. Scott jerked away, fire flashing in his eyes.
Prosperus just sighed. "You only resist because you don't realize that this will truly release you," he said. "You aren't even aware of how this devil is exercising his control over you."
"What about how Caelius exercises control over you and the other cult members?" Scott said.
"Cult?" Prosperus's eyebrows raised. But instead of getting angry, he chuckled.
"Caelius is an old, senile fool," he said now, lowering his voice to ensure that no one in the dining room could hear. "He believes he has these visions and gets these naive fools to believe it too."
Now Scott stared at him. The creep's attitude had done a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. "You mean . . . you don't believe it?" he said, incredulous.
"It's . . . profitable to play along with him," Prosperus said. "But you're an intelligent man, unlike the majority of Caelius's followers. See these men here? They're secretly following me, not Caelius. And when the time is right, we will revolt and take control of this organization." He leaned in closer. "If you really wish to save your friends, you will join us. I know Elliott is truly innocent. I can ensure that you will not have to kill him in the ceremony."
Scott stiffened. "You put on a good show of being loyal to Caelius," he said. "All day long you've been making me disgusted by acting like him. I don't know that I can trust you any more than I could trust him."
"What choice do you have?" Prosperus said. "I am the one who has the power to save all of you. The only condition is that you will join my reformed movement instead of Caelius's pathetic Brotherhood."
Scott clenched a fist. "I'm not going to join any cult," he said.
"Sean and Barry have already agreed to follow me," Prosperus said. "They pled with me to make sure you realize the gravity of the situation if you refuse."
Now the color drained from Scott's face. Sean and Barry had joined? Maybe they had decided that they had to infiltrate after all. And maybe they really did want Scott to join too. What should he do? How would he know?
He looked from Prosperus to the six men who had entered with him. The two holding the cloth were watching him, expectant.
His heart continued to race. ". . . So tell me," he said, looking back to Prosperus. "What do you even think you can gain by taking over Caelius's cult? It's not like he has the retreaters pay dues. How will you get the power you want?"
"My friend, with enough numbers, nothing is impossible," Prosperus smiled. "That is all that truly counts-the amount of your physical strength. I have been biding my time, watching the prospective members and choosing only the best and the most intelligent ones to invite to my organization. So many of them are weak. They give in, worrying about self-preservation or even becoming convinced that Caelius is right and they should kill the ones who have wronged them. But you, you are different. You are stubborn, you are strong. And I can see that you will do anything to save your friends. You will make the right choice, won't you?"
Scott looked away. The right choice. . . . What was the right choice? If he pretended to agree now, could he get out of it later? And had Sean and Barry really joined? Or was this creep trying to manipulate him?
"I'll make the right choice, if I know what it is to make it," he said, turning back. "I can't trust you just like that. And I don't want to get out of one mess only to plop in another."
Prosperus just smiled. "Very well. I will finish getting you dressed for the ceremony. You have until the nth hour to decide. Just use this signal if we are at the ritual and you cannot communicate with me directly." He raised his hand above his head in a beckoning gesture. "I and all of my followers will know what it means."
Scott frowned. "I thought you'd say I'd be killed if I refused," he said.
Prosperus shrugged. "I can be patient," he said. "You are free to join Caelius if you want. Of course, that means you forfeit your friend's life. So really, it's Elliott who dies if you refuse."
A weak moan of horror caught in Scott's throat.
"But we must dress you even if you do join me," Prosperus said, "so let's get on with it, shall we?"
At last Scott swallowed. If he went quietly, maybe he could think of a way out of this disaster. He gave a slow nod, sliding out of his trenchcoat.
"Good man." Prosperus gestured to the two holding the cloth. They came over, extending it for Scott to see. It was dark green, the same color as the robes, but it looked different.
"You must relinquish your vest, shirt, and pants too, I'm afraid," Prosperus said, eying Scott. "You will wear this ceremonial toga."
Scott's hands froze over the buttons on his vest. "Toga?" he frowned. "Ironic-it was supposed to be a garment of peace."
"And Caelius believes killing Elliott will bring you peace," Prosperus said. "Such a twisted mind."
Well, Scott could not help but agree with that. But Prosperus spoke so smoothly that it was hard to even think of trusting him. He only wanted power-he had admitted that.
No one in this place is trustworthy, Scott decided to himself as he took off his shirt. Our only chance is if we stick together. God helps those who help themselves. . . . Well, we're doing all we can.
He stepped out of his pants and draped them over the bed. At Prosperus's look, he sighed and pulled off his undershirt too, his blond curls bouncing with the motion.
The two holding the toga stepped forward, helping adjust the many feet of billowing cloth around Scott's slender form. He fumbled with the section going over his left shoulder, gathering it and the other folds together. His hands were clammy and shaking, the only outward indication that he was not calm.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Prosperus smirked. "It's after eleven," he said. "Everyone helps with the cleanup and the washing of the dishes, so meals can take some time." He looked Scott over, then nodded. "Perfect. Now, let's be off. Everyone is supposed to be in the place of ceremony by eleven-forty-five."
Suddenly Scott felt dizzy. They were taking him to the place where he was supposed to . . .to kill Elliott. . . . It had not seemed real when he had first been told, and it still did not seem possible that it could be anything other than a horrible dream. But he could not wake up from it. He had tried.
"Oh, one more thing," Prosperus said. "Take off your socks and put on these sandals."
Two more of the men set the shoes on the floor. Scott took a deep breath. Then he pulled off the socks and stepped into the sandals, feeling the straps going over his ankles as he pushed his feet into them. Outside, the wind howled as the rain pounded on the roof.
Help! he pleaded in desperation as he was prodded into the hall by the hooded men. He plodded forward, every step a mile.
There was no sign of Elliott as they passed the half-open door to the room where he had been. Scott ran his tongue over his lips. "Is . . . is he still in there?" he asked.
Prosperus shook his head. "He has already been taken to the cabin," he said. "By the time we arrive, he will be tied down on the altar."
Scott had not thought he could get any more pale. But now he felt faint. "Altar?!" he gasped.
Prosperus only gave a nod.
Scott drew a deep breath. He had to keep himself under control. He kept walking forward, his head high, his shoulders back. He would not look defeated. He could not be defeated. Elliott's life depended on him!
". . . Where are Sean and Barry?" he asked. "You said they joined you."
He could sense Prosperus was uncomfortable with the question. But then he said, "They will be there, too, just waiting for my signal . . . if you join us."
Scott's eyes narrowed. Prosperus was lying. Sean and Barry had not joined him. But . . . where were they?!
The last two of the hooded men went ahead to the front doors, throwing them open as the wind gleefully assisted. A particularly strong gust banged both doors against the walls. Prosperus pushed Scott ahead of him, following behind with the other four men.
Scott stumbled, stepping onto the wooden patio. The cold rain pounded on his body, drenching him and chilling his exposed arms and the right side of his chest. He threw his arms up in an attempt to shield himself, squinting through the downpour. The largest cabin, to his right, was lit by flickering firelight. That was where they were going.
He swallowed hard, shaking as he took another step forward, then another. How must Elliott be feeling right now? He would be so terrified, not so much for his own life as he would be for Scott's fate. He would know Scott would never recover if he was forced to deliver the killing blow.
"Quickly, get inside!" Prosperus ordered. He was not as nonchalant about being submerged by the rain as he had acted earlier.
Scott fought his way through the gusts and to the door, grasping the handle. Still trembling, he pushed it open and stepped into the interior. As Prosperus continued to prod him down the aisle, Scott stared at their surroundings.
Cult members and innocent retreaters alike were standing to each side of the pathway in the middle of the one-room building. Directly in the center were stone steps leading onto a platform and a stone slab. The silhouette of a man was sprawled supine on the slab, and Scott's next breath caught in his throat.
"El . . ." he whispered.
There was a hushed silence as Scott reached the end of the aisle and placed his foot on the first step. There were only six, but there might as well have been six hundred. As he arrived at the top, the firelight from a torch suspended to the side illuminated Elliott's worried face. He studied Scott, as if trying to determine how hurt he was.
And Scott could not restrain himself from running to his beloved friend's side. "El!" he cried, his voice strangled.
Elliott's wrists and ankles were tightly bound to the slab. He was adorned in a dark red kilt, revealing the cruel bruises over his body. He was clearly in pain, as well as embarrassed to be seen by strangers in his state. But even so, as Scott ran over, Elliott just struggled to give him an encouraging smile.
"I'm okay," he said quietly. "What about you, Scott? Did they hurt you?"
Scott shook his head, trembling as he reached for the ropes restraining Elliott's left hand. "No," he whispered. "I'm fine. But you . . . you're not fine or okay, El. What did they do to you?! What did they do?!"
More than anything, he longed to loosen the bonds holding Elliott to this unthinkable fate. But before he could try, Caelius stepped forward and shoved something into his hands.
"Here you are, my child," he declared with a pleased and confident smile. "Drive it into his heart when the clock strikes midnight and you will be free."
Scott just stared at the wooden stake that had been thrust into his grasp. Suddenly he was sure he was going to be sick.
"No!" screamed a horrified female voice.
Scott started, looking up and into the crowd. It was the same girl he had heard at the dinner table. Now she was breaking through the ranks to get to the platform. Two guards rushed forward to restrain her. She fought against them, her eyes wide and disillusioned.
"Master Caelius!" she wailed. "What are you doing?! I . . . I didn't know you were planning to . . . to actually kill him!"
"I won't, my child," was the reply. "The one he deceived shall do the honors, as I explained at dinner."
The blonde girl shook her head. "My dad was right about you!" she cried. "He said you were a fraud and that you were dangerous!" She gripped the shoulder of the guard holding her on her left. "I trusted you! I believed you when you said you knew the way to peace and salvation!"
"And I do," Caelius said. "Guards, please escort Cheryl outside until she is calm enough to rejoin us."
They moved to carry her down the aisle. But she still struggled.
"I'll never join you!" she screamed. "I know this isn't right! I'm going home where I belong!"
Caelius gave a sad sigh. "The others who tried to escape never got far," he said, "and they did not even know everything. Now that I have entrusted you with our secrets, my child, you must either accept or be silenced."
Even in the dim light, Scott could see her going pale. "You'll have me killed too?!" she burst out.
"Not if you come to your senses," Caelius replied. "But you only have until the ceremony begins to decide."
The guards forcibly lifted her flailing body and exited into the pouring rain. Scott stared after them, his eyes wide. He had suspected she was Cheryl when she had first spoken at dinner. And he had recognized her from the picture as soon as she had run forward several moments ago.
He looked to Elliott, who had also been staring at the spectacle. Caelius would not stop at anything. Cheryl was only fifteen!
Prosperus stepped closer to Scott. "Fifteen minutes," he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Scott swallowed hard. Fifteen minutes until he was supposed to kill Elliott.
Only fifteen minutes to figure out how to get themselves and Cheryl out of this horrible mess.
He laid his hand over Elliott's. The brunet looked to him, determination in his eyes.
They would think of something.
Another, unfamiliar voice rang throughout the dimly-lit room. "Why is everyone allowing this to happen?! Is this girl the only one who has any conscience?!"
A murmur went up. Caelius's eyes narrowed.
"Who said that?" he demanded. "Who is trespassing on this sacred ritual?"
Sacred! Scott's lip curled in sheer revulsion. What could be more devilish?
The one who had spoken now was silent. But his words had the desired effect-now cult members and retreaters alike were talking at once, quite a few of them upset.
"I don't like this, either!" cried one. "I signed up for a peaceful, friendly escape from my troubles-not to be a witness to cold-blooded murder!"
"How can you do this?!" yelled another.
And they were countered by Caelius's faithful followers.
"Master Caelius knows what he is doing!"
"It may seem cruel, but it will release this man of the burden he holds due to the other one's betrayal!"
Caelius himself stood by, the fire lighting on a pleased smirk he was wearing. His followers were louder and more numerous. He had picked out the retreaters who would be most likely to be on his side, and with only a few exceptions, they were loyal.
"Guards, seize everyone who disagrees with this," he ordered. "And let's not forget our 'friends' in the other cabins. Many will perish tonight."
Scott gasped. "No," he choked out.
Elliott gripped Scott's hand. Now, suddenly, there were so many they had to protect.
And they were not even sure how to protect themselves.
****
Sean straightened up, glaring at the wall in exasperation as they finished their examination. "It has to be here somewhere!" he cried. He and Barry had been looking over every square inch of the back wall without success. How much time had passed by now? An hour? Two?
He looked to his watch. "Barry!" he gasped.
The older man narrowed his eyes. "What is it?" he asked. He was frustrated and discouraged, too. There did not seem to be any way out of here at all. And yet, the guards were gone, seeming to confirm Sean's theory about a secret entrance.
Sean shook his head. "Those creeps," he said. "Those sneaky, unctuous creeps! They stopped my watch! It still says eight!"
Barry stiffened, looking to his own timepiece. Yes, it said the same thing.
"Who knows how much time's passed by now?!" Sean said. He kicked at the wall with renewed determination. "What if the ceremony's almost ready to happen?!" Or worse . . . what if it was in progress right now? What if it was even over?
No, he could not think that! If it was over, then . . . Scott and Elliott would both be dead. And he refused to consider that they had perished while he and Barry had been trapped, powerless to do a thing to help them.
But Barry laid his hands on Sean's shoulders. "Sean, calm down," he ordered. "We'll never get out of here if we lose our minds."
"Well, staying calm hasn't done anything for us so far," Sean retorted. He pulled away from Barry, staring at the wall. Despair was starting to creep in again. He slumped forward, his hands balled into fists as he rested his forearms above his head on the wall.
"They need us, Barry," Sean said then. His voice was completely different, no longer filled with fire. Now he was despondent.
Barry shook his head. "I know," he said. "But we've checked for a panel. We've even looked for a lever that's somewhere away from the wall. I don't know what else to do, aside from trying to break the wall in." And, he thought wryly, they might have to resort to that.
Slowly Sean looked up. "There's not much place to even check for a lever," he remarked. "The only thing here is that stupid podium." He walked over to it, opening the doors in the back to look over the controls. "Nothing," he said. "Just the stuff that turns the microphone on and off, like we found before." He flicked the switch to On, then tapped the microphone. Feedback rang through the room as both he and Barry winced.
When the sound stopped, Sean leaned forward. "Attention, ladies and gentlemen," he intoned. "There is a crazy cultist on the loose. Apprehend him at first sight."
He stared blankly at the microphone. It was up too high, even for him. He should adjust it. . . .
He froze. "Barry!" he called. "I've got it!" He grabbed hold of the microphone, wildly turning it every way he could. "This has to be the lever! It's the only thing that could be one!"
Barry looked over, amazed. Was it possible? He had not even considered that it could be used for that purpose. And so far, nothing was happening when Sean moved it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
In desperation Sean turned it completely to the right, facing the wall. A creaking, grinding sound met his ears. He whirled, staring as the wall slid to the side, revealing an identical room just beyond it.
Barry was staring too. But then he recovered, running forward to the space. "Come on!" he called. "There has to still be time to save them!"
Sean dashed after his friend, his heart gathering speed. Somewhere in the house, a clock had begun to chime. One, two. . . . Would it go all the way to the dreaded number?
Three, four. . . .
"There's no one in here, either!" Barry reported as he ran through the other meditation room and into the hall. "At least, not that I can see."
Five, six. . . .
"They're outside!" Sean exclaimed. "They must be in one of the cabins, like we thought before!"
Seven, eight. . . .
Barry ran for the front of the building. The double-doors were closed, shaking and groaning against the force of the wind. He thrust them open, sending a spray of rain in at him and Sean.
Nine, ten. . . .
"Come on!" he yelled, not even stopping to get his shoes before running out into the torrents.
Eleven, twelve.
Sean only froze for a moment before chasing after Barry. The ceremony was supposed to start right now.
Please, guys, just hold out a little longer, he begged in his mind, not bothering to pull the doors shut after him. We're coming!
****
Scott's hands were clammy as the final chime died away. Caelius looked to the clock across the room, then smiled and stepped back.
"It is time," he said. "Guards?"
Outside, there was silence. Caelius frowned. "Guards!" he called louder.
The robed men appeared, dragging Cheryl between them. She trembled, fire and betrayal flashing in her eyes. As they brought her to the base of the platform, she glared up at Caelius.
He ignored her expression. "Well, my child, have you decided?" he asked.
"I sure have," she spat. "My answer's still the same. Master Caelius, you betrayed me and my trust. I didn't come here to kill people, and I'm not going to stand here and watch you make this poor guy kill his best friend!" She struggled against the guards, who held on tight. "I won't!"
Caelius just sighed. "Then you will perish right after this one," he said, looking to Elliott. "I am sorry; you showed such promise."
"I'm sorry too," she said. "I'm sorry that the last thing I'm going to see is murder! I'm sorry for these guys. They haven't done anything wrong! And I'm sorry for my poor dad."
Caelius just waved his hand. The guards dragged her to the side of the platform, giving her a clear view of what would happen on it. She stared up at Scott and Elliott, shaking in anger and horror.
The other sentries came to the platform now, dragging their own prisoners. These had been kept at the back of the room, out of concern that they would somehow band together and escape if they were taken outside. Despite the results of their earlier outburst, all but one were willing to stand by what was right. Caelius smiled at the one.
"You are forgiven, if you will help dispose of your less-faithful brothers and sisters," he declared.
"Yes, Master Caelius," was the reply.
Scott swallowed the bile in his throat. If they could just stall for time . . . !
He looked to Elliott, who looked back steadily. Elliott was not afraid for himself. He did not want to die, but he knew Scott would never harm him. He feared for Scott's safety.
Scott glanced back at the repulsive stake. Maybe . . . could they stall for time by Scott pretending to impale Elliott and Elliott pretending to die? The ruse would only work for a few seconds. Once anyone looked, they would see Scott had deliberately missed. But even just a few seconds . . . if they could catch the creeps off-guard for a few seconds. . . .
He raised his gaze to Elliott once more. The older man gave a silent nod. He did not know the details, but he knew Scott was planning something. And his gesture said Go ahead.
Scott took a deep breath, his hand shaking as he raised the stake. Somewhere behind them, other hooded cultists started a drumroll. Caelius smiled, certain that Scott was about to do as he wanted.
Elliott clenched his fists, his heart increasing in speed. Scott's plan, whatever it was . . . would it work?
The stake slammed into the slab, missing Elliott by a centimeter. Scott had positioned himself so that in the dim light, no one could see the truth. And then Elliott understood. He screamed, pressing himself against the cold stone as much as he could. Then he went limp and silent.
Cheryl screamed too.
Scott fell across Elliott's upper body, his shoulders shaking with sobs. It was not entirely an act; the very thought of actually doing what he had just pretended to was haunting him. Especially knowing what he had done in the past, under the control of the ring. . . . He was angry. He was infuriated that something so painful for both of them had to be brought up again.
And poor El, having to stay trapped on this thing! Scott did not have any way to cut him loose.
Caelius was coming up behind him now. . . . Just a little more . . .
A hand rested on his shoulder. "The pain will pass," the deluded man said. "You are free now."
Scott whirled, his eyes aflame. "I'll be free when we're out of here!" he cried, brandishing the stake with the thick end extended.
Caelius cried out in surprise and shock as the thing hit him in the shoulder, forcing him back. Scott lunged, striking him again.
Several guards leaped to his defense, attacking with their weapons. Scott dodged and kicked, on an adrenaline rush by now. And he had to stay right here, near El. Someone else could come up and stake him, if they were not careful. The truth was clear now-Scott had not killed him.
Realizing this, Cheryl cheered.
The door burst open, admitting two more sentries. They pushed and shoved people out of their way as they struggled to get to the platform. "Scott! Elliott!" a familiar voice screamed.
Elliott stiffened, turning to stare at the newcomers. "Sean," he realized. "Barry!" He gave a weak smile. "You took your time!"
"Yeah, no kidding!" Sean called back, punching an opposing guard. "We weren't even sure if we'd find you alive, especially when we heard that scream!"
A pang of regret stabbed into Elliott's heart. He and Scott had not known whether Sean and Barry were close by. And he had not actually considered that they might hear his cry. "I'm sorry!" he called in remorse. "We were stalling for time. . . ."
"We're just glad it was only that!" Sean said, judo-flipping another sentry. "But seriously, El, you've been taking screaming lessons from me and Scott!"
Elliott managed a weak chuckle.
The people who had opposed the wickedness were breaking free, joining their rescuers in the melee. Elliott glanced to them, recognizing Cheryl among their number. She was pulling a staff away from one of the guards, hitting him with it.
And now Prosperus and his followers were getting into the act. "Go!" he called, raising his arm in the beckoning gesture. "This is an excellent opportunity for us! Fight now, for power! Bring all that you can to our side!"
Caelius stared over Scott's shoulder, shock going through his eyes at the sight of Prosperus directing some of the cultists to fight against him. "Prosperus!" he cried. "What are you doing?!"
Prosperus just smirked. "I've put up with your ridiculous blathering long enough," he said. "From now on, the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood are under my control!"
Caelius slumped back, for a moment too stunned to do a thing.
Scott frowned. ". . . It's ironic," he said. "You wanted me to kill my best friend because you thought he betrayed me. But you're the one getting betrayed for real."
And then Caelius came to life. With a war cry he lunged at Scott, grabbing hold of the stake. Scott yelped, struggling to keep hold of the weapon as he kicked back at the cruel man.
Elliott strained against the ropes. "Scott!" he screamed. Scott was going to get hurt! And he was stranded here, unable to do a thing to help!
The glint of a blade caught his eye and he gasped. Was someone else attacking him now?!
No . . . one of the hooded figures had reached him and was cutting through the ropes. He watched, confused as the person worked without saying a word.
"Barry?" he asked. Though it could not be Barry; the robe hung loosely on this man, revealing his lanky frame.
The ropes holding his right wrist fell free. He brought his arm to him, wincing at the pain of the rope-burn. His arm was tingling, too, as the circulation began to fully return. Then his left wrist was free.
"Who are you?" Elliott tried again. Gingerly he rubbed at his raw flesh.
He caught sight of a gray eye. "No one you'd know," was the reply. "Don't try to get up right away. Rest for a few minutes."
"I can't rest!" Elliott exclaimed, turning to stare at the fight between Scott and Caelius. And where were Sean and Barry?! Somehow he had lost track of them in the sea of green robes.
In spite of the pain, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position as his ankles were cut free. Scott could not hope to win against Caelius and five of his guards, all at once! Elliott swung his legs over the side of the slab, touching his feet to the floor.
"My friends are in trouble!" he cried, looking up at the mysterious man. "If you're on our side, you have to help me save them!"
The man responded by lunging at the nearest guard and tackling him to the ground, leaving Elliott with an opening to attack Caelius.
Elliott swallowed, watching as they grappled. But then he pushed himself off the slab altogether. In response, his back flamed and he winced at the pain. The stone had been smooth, but had it done some kind of damage anyway? He looked back to the slab. There was red where he had been laying. Some of the wounds in his back must have been disturbed too many times when he had moved around. The open cuts were still stinging as they were fully exposed to the night air. But he could not worry about that right now.
Scott gave a startled, pained exclamation as two of the sentries dragged him to the floor and held his arms in place. Then Caelius was upon him, his eyes crazed as he raised the stake.
"There will be a ceremony!" the deranged man screamed. "You will be the sacrifice! You and your friend!"
"No!" another voice burst out.
Before Scott could even process what was happening, Elliott had leaped onto Caelius's back. His shaking, bruised, and rope-burned arms wrapped around the cult leader's shoulders as he fought to pull him away from Scott. The blond gasped in shock.
"El!" he cried, desperately kicking Caelius in the stomach.
Their combined efforts sent the older man crashing backwards. Elliott hissed in pain as he slammed onto the platform, Caelius on top of him. But then he pushed the man away, grabbing hold of the stake.
Caelius cursed at him. "Foul creature," he hissed. "You will never win against me!"
Elliott gritted his teeth, shuddering as he fought to pull the stake to him. "We'll see," he retorted. "I know you're not going to win."
Caelius turned, wrapping his arms around Elliott. The brunet gave a weak cry of pain as they rolled across the platform, behind several guards. If he was not careful, they were going to roll right off the side.
Scott, meanwhile, was growing more and more panicked. He had lost track of Elliott when the guards had stepped in the way. Now he was flailing in desperation against his captors, kicking his legs as he struggled to pull free.
"El!" he screamed. "Let me go! I have to get to him!"
But the sentries held tighter to his arms, preparing to both pounce on him at once.
"Scott! Need a hand?"
Scott turned to look in surprise and relief as Sean suddenly appeared, tackling one of the guards pinning Scott's arms to the floor. Then Barry was there, attacking the second one.
Scott sat up in relief. "Not a moment too soon!" he declared, immediately looking back for Elliott.
His eyes widened. Where was he?! He still could not see Elliott or Caelius-only Caelius's and Prosperus's followers as they grappled with each other. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.
"El?!" he screamed. "Elliott, where are you?!"
A terrified scream sent a chill down his spine. Caelius. . . . And what did that mean for Elliott?!
Scott ran forward, pushing his way through the fighting guards. Then he stopped short, nearly tumbling over the edge of the platform. Caelius had already fallen. He was laying at the bottom, flat on his back. He was still breathing---the rise and fall of his chest was clear-but he was unconscious. And El . . . where was El?! Was he down there somewhere too?!
Turn around.
Scott frowned in confusion, but whirled. A lifeless body lay crumpled on the platform, near the base of the stone slab.
"Elliott!"
The fighting continued around him, but his acknowledgment of the battles faded to nothing. He dropped to his knees, shaking as he gently pulled the limp form into his arms. Elliott did not stir, instead slumping into Scott's panicked and heartbroken embrace. Scott held him close, horror rising in his soul.
"Elliott . . . oh El . . . what happened to you?" he choked out, reaching up to support Elliott's head and neck. "I . . . I'd be dead if it wasn't for you, but . . ."
He trailed off. He could feel a cruel bump underneath the dark curls. And a warm liquid was running down his other arm, the one still around Elliott's back. . . .
He stiffened, pulling his hand away just enough to see the crimson trails between his fingers. Elliott was not just bruised and bumped; he was bleeding.
Still trembling, Scott tore off part of his toga, pressing the dark cloth against Elliott's bare back. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry. . . . I couldn't stop any of this from happening to you. You're still suffering because of me blindly running out and getting hit by that car. That's what started all of this! . . ."
Elliott stirred, restored to consciousness by Scott's anguished words. His eyes fluttered, opening halfway. His head was against Scott's shoulder; the younger man was still struggling to clean and bind the open wounds in his back.
"No," he whispered, his hands shaking as he hugged Scott. "That isn't what started this. Caelius's delusions started this." He looked up at his best friend, who was staring back in amazement and joy to see him awake.
"We ended it." Elliott slumped further against Scott, still embracing him. "And I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."
Scott swallowed a lump in his throat. "El . . ." He held the older man close.
Around them, Sean, Barry, and their new allies were bringing the rest of the cults to justice. Outside, the storm had finally lessened. ACME helicopters were circling overhead.
The nightmare was over.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,974
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: It's midnight....
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Three
The door was just creaking open by the time Scott had gotten enough feeling in his arms and legs to force himself into a kneeling position. He looked up, his eyes flashing as he gripped the edge of the bed. Prosperus was entering, flanked by six men wearing dark green robes with the hoods pulled up to conceal their identities. Two of them were holding some kind of cloth.
"Ah, I see the paralysis is wearing off at last," Prosperus mused.
"It should've happened sooner," Scott snapped.
"I am sorry about that, dear friend, but you understand it was necessary?" Prosperus came closer, even as Scott regarded him in revulsion. "We can't allow you to get away. For your own best good, we can't allow it. While you had all that time to lay there and think, didn't you come to your senses at all?"
Scott clutched the mattress as he got unsteadily to his feet. "I had plenty of time to think about how my opinion hasn't changed one bit," he said, his eyes narrowed in warning. "I'm not going to participate in your sick ceremony."
"Now, you don't mean that." Prosperus came closer, grasping Scott's trenchcoat and moving to slide it off his shoulders. Scott jerked away, fire flashing in his eyes.
Prosperus just sighed. "You only resist because you don't realize that this will truly release you," he said. "You aren't even aware of how this devil is exercising his control over you."
"What about how Caelius exercises control over you and the other cult members?" Scott said.
"Cult?" Prosperus's eyebrows raised. But instead of getting angry, he chuckled.
"Caelius is an old, senile fool," he said now, lowering his voice to ensure that no one in the dining room could hear. "He believes he has these visions and gets these naive fools to believe it too."
Now Scott stared at him. The creep's attitude had done a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. "You mean . . . you don't believe it?" he said, incredulous.
"It's . . . profitable to play along with him," Prosperus said. "But you're an intelligent man, unlike the majority of Caelius's followers. See these men here? They're secretly following me, not Caelius. And when the time is right, we will revolt and take control of this organization." He leaned in closer. "If you really wish to save your friends, you will join us. I know Elliott is truly innocent. I can ensure that you will not have to kill him in the ceremony."
Scott stiffened. "You put on a good show of being loyal to Caelius," he said. "All day long you've been making me disgusted by acting like him. I don't know that I can trust you any more than I could trust him."
"What choice do you have?" Prosperus said. "I am the one who has the power to save all of you. The only condition is that you will join my reformed movement instead of Caelius's pathetic Brotherhood."
Scott clenched a fist. "I'm not going to join any cult," he said.
"Sean and Barry have already agreed to follow me," Prosperus said. "They pled with me to make sure you realize the gravity of the situation if you refuse."
Now the color drained from Scott's face. Sean and Barry had joined? Maybe they had decided that they had to infiltrate after all. And maybe they really did want Scott to join too. What should he do? How would he know?
He looked from Prosperus to the six men who had entered with him. The two holding the cloth were watching him, expectant.
His heart continued to race. ". . . So tell me," he said, looking back to Prosperus. "What do you even think you can gain by taking over Caelius's cult? It's not like he has the retreaters pay dues. How will you get the power you want?"
"My friend, with enough numbers, nothing is impossible," Prosperus smiled. "That is all that truly counts-the amount of your physical strength. I have been biding my time, watching the prospective members and choosing only the best and the most intelligent ones to invite to my organization. So many of them are weak. They give in, worrying about self-preservation or even becoming convinced that Caelius is right and they should kill the ones who have wronged them. But you, you are different. You are stubborn, you are strong. And I can see that you will do anything to save your friends. You will make the right choice, won't you?"
Scott looked away. The right choice. . . . What was the right choice? If he pretended to agree now, could he get out of it later? And had Sean and Barry really joined? Or was this creep trying to manipulate him?
"I'll make the right choice, if I know what it is to make it," he said, turning back. "I can't trust you just like that. And I don't want to get out of one mess only to plop in another."
Prosperus just smiled. "Very well. I will finish getting you dressed for the ceremony. You have until the nth hour to decide. Just use this signal if we are at the ritual and you cannot communicate with me directly." He raised his hand above his head in a beckoning gesture. "I and all of my followers will know what it means."
Scott frowned. "I thought you'd say I'd be killed if I refused," he said.
Prosperus shrugged. "I can be patient," he said. "You are free to join Caelius if you want. Of course, that means you forfeit your friend's life. So really, it's Elliott who dies if you refuse."
A weak moan of horror caught in Scott's throat.
"But we must dress you even if you do join me," Prosperus said, "so let's get on with it, shall we?"
At last Scott swallowed. If he went quietly, maybe he could think of a way out of this disaster. He gave a slow nod, sliding out of his trenchcoat.
"Good man." Prosperus gestured to the two holding the cloth. They came over, extending it for Scott to see. It was dark green, the same color as the robes, but it looked different.
"You must relinquish your vest, shirt, and pants too, I'm afraid," Prosperus said, eying Scott. "You will wear this ceremonial toga."
Scott's hands froze over the buttons on his vest. "Toga?" he frowned. "Ironic-it was supposed to be a garment of peace."
"And Caelius believes killing Elliott will bring you peace," Prosperus said. "Such a twisted mind."
Well, Scott could not help but agree with that. But Prosperus spoke so smoothly that it was hard to even think of trusting him. He only wanted power-he had admitted that.
No one in this place is trustworthy, Scott decided to himself as he took off his shirt. Our only chance is if we stick together. God helps those who help themselves. . . . Well, we're doing all we can.
He stepped out of his pants and draped them over the bed. At Prosperus's look, he sighed and pulled off his undershirt too, his blond curls bouncing with the motion.
The two holding the toga stepped forward, helping adjust the many feet of billowing cloth around Scott's slender form. He fumbled with the section going over his left shoulder, gathering it and the other folds together. His hands were clammy and shaking, the only outward indication that he was not calm.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Prosperus smirked. "It's after eleven," he said. "Everyone helps with the cleanup and the washing of the dishes, so meals can take some time." He looked Scott over, then nodded. "Perfect. Now, let's be off. Everyone is supposed to be in the place of ceremony by eleven-forty-five."
Suddenly Scott felt dizzy. They were taking him to the place where he was supposed to . . .to kill Elliott. . . . It had not seemed real when he had first been told, and it still did not seem possible that it could be anything other than a horrible dream. But he could not wake up from it. He had tried.
"Oh, one more thing," Prosperus said. "Take off your socks and put on these sandals."
Two more of the men set the shoes on the floor. Scott took a deep breath. Then he pulled off the socks and stepped into the sandals, feeling the straps going over his ankles as he pushed his feet into them. Outside, the wind howled as the rain pounded on the roof.
Help! he pleaded in desperation as he was prodded into the hall by the hooded men. He plodded forward, every step a mile.
There was no sign of Elliott as they passed the half-open door to the room where he had been. Scott ran his tongue over his lips. "Is . . . is he still in there?" he asked.
Prosperus shook his head. "He has already been taken to the cabin," he said. "By the time we arrive, he will be tied down on the altar."
Scott had not thought he could get any more pale. But now he felt faint. "Altar?!" he gasped.
Prosperus only gave a nod.
Scott drew a deep breath. He had to keep himself under control. He kept walking forward, his head high, his shoulders back. He would not look defeated. He could not be defeated. Elliott's life depended on him!
". . . Where are Sean and Barry?" he asked. "You said they joined you."
He could sense Prosperus was uncomfortable with the question. But then he said, "They will be there, too, just waiting for my signal . . . if you join us."
Scott's eyes narrowed. Prosperus was lying. Sean and Barry had not joined him. But . . . where were they?!
The last two of the hooded men went ahead to the front doors, throwing them open as the wind gleefully assisted. A particularly strong gust banged both doors against the walls. Prosperus pushed Scott ahead of him, following behind with the other four men.
Scott stumbled, stepping onto the wooden patio. The cold rain pounded on his body, drenching him and chilling his exposed arms and the right side of his chest. He threw his arms up in an attempt to shield himself, squinting through the downpour. The largest cabin, to his right, was lit by flickering firelight. That was where they were going.
He swallowed hard, shaking as he took another step forward, then another. How must Elliott be feeling right now? He would be so terrified, not so much for his own life as he would be for Scott's fate. He would know Scott would never recover if he was forced to deliver the killing blow.
"Quickly, get inside!" Prosperus ordered. He was not as nonchalant about being submerged by the rain as he had acted earlier.
Scott fought his way through the gusts and to the door, grasping the handle. Still trembling, he pushed it open and stepped into the interior. As Prosperus continued to prod him down the aisle, Scott stared at their surroundings.
Cult members and innocent retreaters alike were standing to each side of the pathway in the middle of the one-room building. Directly in the center were stone steps leading onto a platform and a stone slab. The silhouette of a man was sprawled supine on the slab, and Scott's next breath caught in his throat.
"El . . ." he whispered.
There was a hushed silence as Scott reached the end of the aisle and placed his foot on the first step. There were only six, but there might as well have been six hundred. As he arrived at the top, the firelight from a torch suspended to the side illuminated Elliott's worried face. He studied Scott, as if trying to determine how hurt he was.
And Scott could not restrain himself from running to his beloved friend's side. "El!" he cried, his voice strangled.
Elliott's wrists and ankles were tightly bound to the slab. He was adorned in a dark red kilt, revealing the cruel bruises over his body. He was clearly in pain, as well as embarrassed to be seen by strangers in his state. But even so, as Scott ran over, Elliott just struggled to give him an encouraging smile.
"I'm okay," he said quietly. "What about you, Scott? Did they hurt you?"
Scott shook his head, trembling as he reached for the ropes restraining Elliott's left hand. "No," he whispered. "I'm fine. But you . . . you're not fine or okay, El. What did they do to you?! What did they do?!"
More than anything, he longed to loosen the bonds holding Elliott to this unthinkable fate. But before he could try, Caelius stepped forward and shoved something into his hands.
"Here you are, my child," he declared with a pleased and confident smile. "Drive it into his heart when the clock strikes midnight and you will be free."
Scott just stared at the wooden stake that had been thrust into his grasp. Suddenly he was sure he was going to be sick.
"No!" screamed a horrified female voice.
Scott started, looking up and into the crowd. It was the same girl he had heard at the dinner table. Now she was breaking through the ranks to get to the platform. Two guards rushed forward to restrain her. She fought against them, her eyes wide and disillusioned.
"Master Caelius!" she wailed. "What are you doing?! I . . . I didn't know you were planning to . . . to actually kill him!"
"I won't, my child," was the reply. "The one he deceived shall do the honors, as I explained at dinner."
The blonde girl shook her head. "My dad was right about you!" she cried. "He said you were a fraud and that you were dangerous!" She gripped the shoulder of the guard holding her on her left. "I trusted you! I believed you when you said you knew the way to peace and salvation!"
"And I do," Caelius said. "Guards, please escort Cheryl outside until she is calm enough to rejoin us."
They moved to carry her down the aisle. But she still struggled.
"I'll never join you!" she screamed. "I know this isn't right! I'm going home where I belong!"
Caelius gave a sad sigh. "The others who tried to escape never got far," he said, "and they did not even know everything. Now that I have entrusted you with our secrets, my child, you must either accept or be silenced."
Even in the dim light, Scott could see her going pale. "You'll have me killed too?!" she burst out.
"Not if you come to your senses," Caelius replied. "But you only have until the ceremony begins to decide."
The guards forcibly lifted her flailing body and exited into the pouring rain. Scott stared after them, his eyes wide. He had suspected she was Cheryl when she had first spoken at dinner. And he had recognized her from the picture as soon as she had run forward several moments ago.
He looked to Elliott, who had also been staring at the spectacle. Caelius would not stop at anything. Cheryl was only fifteen!
Prosperus stepped closer to Scott. "Fifteen minutes," he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Scott swallowed hard. Fifteen minutes until he was supposed to kill Elliott.
Only fifteen minutes to figure out how to get themselves and Cheryl out of this horrible mess.
He laid his hand over Elliott's. The brunet looked to him, determination in his eyes.
They would think of something.
Another, unfamiliar voice rang throughout the dimly-lit room. "Why is everyone allowing this to happen?! Is this girl the only one who has any conscience?!"
A murmur went up. Caelius's eyes narrowed.
"Who said that?" he demanded. "Who is trespassing on this sacred ritual?"
Sacred! Scott's lip curled in sheer revulsion. What could be more devilish?
The one who had spoken now was silent. But his words had the desired effect-now cult members and retreaters alike were talking at once, quite a few of them upset.
"I don't like this, either!" cried one. "I signed up for a peaceful, friendly escape from my troubles-not to be a witness to cold-blooded murder!"
"How can you do this?!" yelled another.
And they were countered by Caelius's faithful followers.
"Master Caelius knows what he is doing!"
"It may seem cruel, but it will release this man of the burden he holds due to the other one's betrayal!"
Caelius himself stood by, the fire lighting on a pleased smirk he was wearing. His followers were louder and more numerous. He had picked out the retreaters who would be most likely to be on his side, and with only a few exceptions, they were loyal.
"Guards, seize everyone who disagrees with this," he ordered. "And let's not forget our 'friends' in the other cabins. Many will perish tonight."
Scott gasped. "No," he choked out.
Elliott gripped Scott's hand. Now, suddenly, there were so many they had to protect.
And they were not even sure how to protect themselves.
****
Sean straightened up, glaring at the wall in exasperation as they finished their examination. "It has to be here somewhere!" he cried. He and Barry had been looking over every square inch of the back wall without success. How much time had passed by now? An hour? Two?
He looked to his watch. "Barry!" he gasped.
The older man narrowed his eyes. "What is it?" he asked. He was frustrated and discouraged, too. There did not seem to be any way out of here at all. And yet, the guards were gone, seeming to confirm Sean's theory about a secret entrance.
Sean shook his head. "Those creeps," he said. "Those sneaky, unctuous creeps! They stopped my watch! It still says eight!"
Barry stiffened, looking to his own timepiece. Yes, it said the same thing.
"Who knows how much time's passed by now?!" Sean said. He kicked at the wall with renewed determination. "What if the ceremony's almost ready to happen?!" Or worse . . . what if it was in progress right now? What if it was even over?
No, he could not think that! If it was over, then . . . Scott and Elliott would both be dead. And he refused to consider that they had perished while he and Barry had been trapped, powerless to do a thing to help them.
But Barry laid his hands on Sean's shoulders. "Sean, calm down," he ordered. "We'll never get out of here if we lose our minds."
"Well, staying calm hasn't done anything for us so far," Sean retorted. He pulled away from Barry, staring at the wall. Despair was starting to creep in again. He slumped forward, his hands balled into fists as he rested his forearms above his head on the wall.
"They need us, Barry," Sean said then. His voice was completely different, no longer filled with fire. Now he was despondent.
Barry shook his head. "I know," he said. "But we've checked for a panel. We've even looked for a lever that's somewhere away from the wall. I don't know what else to do, aside from trying to break the wall in." And, he thought wryly, they might have to resort to that.
Slowly Sean looked up. "There's not much place to even check for a lever," he remarked. "The only thing here is that stupid podium." He walked over to it, opening the doors in the back to look over the controls. "Nothing," he said. "Just the stuff that turns the microphone on and off, like we found before." He flicked the switch to On, then tapped the microphone. Feedback rang through the room as both he and Barry winced.
When the sound stopped, Sean leaned forward. "Attention, ladies and gentlemen," he intoned. "There is a crazy cultist on the loose. Apprehend him at first sight."
He stared blankly at the microphone. It was up too high, even for him. He should adjust it. . . .
He froze. "Barry!" he called. "I've got it!" He grabbed hold of the microphone, wildly turning it every way he could. "This has to be the lever! It's the only thing that could be one!"
Barry looked over, amazed. Was it possible? He had not even considered that it could be used for that purpose. And so far, nothing was happening when Sean moved it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
In desperation Sean turned it completely to the right, facing the wall. A creaking, grinding sound met his ears. He whirled, staring as the wall slid to the side, revealing an identical room just beyond it.
Barry was staring too. But then he recovered, running forward to the space. "Come on!" he called. "There has to still be time to save them!"
Sean dashed after his friend, his heart gathering speed. Somewhere in the house, a clock had begun to chime. One, two. . . . Would it go all the way to the dreaded number?
Three, four. . . .
"There's no one in here, either!" Barry reported as he ran through the other meditation room and into the hall. "At least, not that I can see."
Five, six. . . .
"They're outside!" Sean exclaimed. "They must be in one of the cabins, like we thought before!"
Seven, eight. . . .
Barry ran for the front of the building. The double-doors were closed, shaking and groaning against the force of the wind. He thrust them open, sending a spray of rain in at him and Sean.
Nine, ten. . . .
"Come on!" he yelled, not even stopping to get his shoes before running out into the torrents.
Eleven, twelve.
Sean only froze for a moment before chasing after Barry. The ceremony was supposed to start right now.
Please, guys, just hold out a little longer, he begged in his mind, not bothering to pull the doors shut after him. We're coming!
****
Scott's hands were clammy as the final chime died away. Caelius looked to the clock across the room, then smiled and stepped back.
"It is time," he said. "Guards?"
Outside, there was silence. Caelius frowned. "Guards!" he called louder.
The robed men appeared, dragging Cheryl between them. She trembled, fire and betrayal flashing in her eyes. As they brought her to the base of the platform, she glared up at Caelius.
He ignored her expression. "Well, my child, have you decided?" he asked.
"I sure have," she spat. "My answer's still the same. Master Caelius, you betrayed me and my trust. I didn't come here to kill people, and I'm not going to stand here and watch you make this poor guy kill his best friend!" She struggled against the guards, who held on tight. "I won't!"
Caelius just sighed. "Then you will perish right after this one," he said, looking to Elliott. "I am sorry; you showed such promise."
"I'm sorry too," she said. "I'm sorry that the last thing I'm going to see is murder! I'm sorry for these guys. They haven't done anything wrong! And I'm sorry for my poor dad."
Caelius just waved his hand. The guards dragged her to the side of the platform, giving her a clear view of what would happen on it. She stared up at Scott and Elliott, shaking in anger and horror.
The other sentries came to the platform now, dragging their own prisoners. These had been kept at the back of the room, out of concern that they would somehow band together and escape if they were taken outside. Despite the results of their earlier outburst, all but one were willing to stand by what was right. Caelius smiled at the one.
"You are forgiven, if you will help dispose of your less-faithful brothers and sisters," he declared.
"Yes, Master Caelius," was the reply.
Scott swallowed the bile in his throat. If they could just stall for time . . . !
He looked to Elliott, who looked back steadily. Elliott was not afraid for himself. He did not want to die, but he knew Scott would never harm him. He feared for Scott's safety.
Scott glanced back at the repulsive stake. Maybe . . . could they stall for time by Scott pretending to impale Elliott and Elliott pretending to die? The ruse would only work for a few seconds. Once anyone looked, they would see Scott had deliberately missed. But even just a few seconds . . . if they could catch the creeps off-guard for a few seconds. . . .
He raised his gaze to Elliott once more. The older man gave a silent nod. He did not know the details, but he knew Scott was planning something. And his gesture said Go ahead.
Scott took a deep breath, his hand shaking as he raised the stake. Somewhere behind them, other hooded cultists started a drumroll. Caelius smiled, certain that Scott was about to do as he wanted.
Elliott clenched his fists, his heart increasing in speed. Scott's plan, whatever it was . . . would it work?
The stake slammed into the slab, missing Elliott by a centimeter. Scott had positioned himself so that in the dim light, no one could see the truth. And then Elliott understood. He screamed, pressing himself against the cold stone as much as he could. Then he went limp and silent.
Cheryl screamed too.
Scott fell across Elliott's upper body, his shoulders shaking with sobs. It was not entirely an act; the very thought of actually doing what he had just pretended to was haunting him. Especially knowing what he had done in the past, under the control of the ring. . . . He was angry. He was infuriated that something so painful for both of them had to be brought up again.
And poor El, having to stay trapped on this thing! Scott did not have any way to cut him loose.
Caelius was coming up behind him now. . . . Just a little more . . .
A hand rested on his shoulder. "The pain will pass," the deluded man said. "You are free now."
Scott whirled, his eyes aflame. "I'll be free when we're out of here!" he cried, brandishing the stake with the thick end extended.
Caelius cried out in surprise and shock as the thing hit him in the shoulder, forcing him back. Scott lunged, striking him again.
Several guards leaped to his defense, attacking with their weapons. Scott dodged and kicked, on an adrenaline rush by now. And he had to stay right here, near El. Someone else could come up and stake him, if they were not careful. The truth was clear now-Scott had not killed him.
Realizing this, Cheryl cheered.
The door burst open, admitting two more sentries. They pushed and shoved people out of their way as they struggled to get to the platform. "Scott! Elliott!" a familiar voice screamed.
Elliott stiffened, turning to stare at the newcomers. "Sean," he realized. "Barry!" He gave a weak smile. "You took your time!"
"Yeah, no kidding!" Sean called back, punching an opposing guard. "We weren't even sure if we'd find you alive, especially when we heard that scream!"
A pang of regret stabbed into Elliott's heart. He and Scott had not known whether Sean and Barry were close by. And he had not actually considered that they might hear his cry. "I'm sorry!" he called in remorse. "We were stalling for time. . . ."
"We're just glad it was only that!" Sean said, judo-flipping another sentry. "But seriously, El, you've been taking screaming lessons from me and Scott!"
Elliott managed a weak chuckle.
The people who had opposed the wickedness were breaking free, joining their rescuers in the melee. Elliott glanced to them, recognizing Cheryl among their number. She was pulling a staff away from one of the guards, hitting him with it.
And now Prosperus and his followers were getting into the act. "Go!" he called, raising his arm in the beckoning gesture. "This is an excellent opportunity for us! Fight now, for power! Bring all that you can to our side!"
Caelius stared over Scott's shoulder, shock going through his eyes at the sight of Prosperus directing some of the cultists to fight against him. "Prosperus!" he cried. "What are you doing?!"
Prosperus just smirked. "I've put up with your ridiculous blathering long enough," he said. "From now on, the Brotherhood and the Sisterhood are under my control!"
Caelius slumped back, for a moment too stunned to do a thing.
Scott frowned. ". . . It's ironic," he said. "You wanted me to kill my best friend because you thought he betrayed me. But you're the one getting betrayed for real."
And then Caelius came to life. With a war cry he lunged at Scott, grabbing hold of the stake. Scott yelped, struggling to keep hold of the weapon as he kicked back at the cruel man.
Elliott strained against the ropes. "Scott!" he screamed. Scott was going to get hurt! And he was stranded here, unable to do a thing to help!
The glint of a blade caught his eye and he gasped. Was someone else attacking him now?!
No . . . one of the hooded figures had reached him and was cutting through the ropes. He watched, confused as the person worked without saying a word.
"Barry?" he asked. Though it could not be Barry; the robe hung loosely on this man, revealing his lanky frame.
The ropes holding his right wrist fell free. He brought his arm to him, wincing at the pain of the rope-burn. His arm was tingling, too, as the circulation began to fully return. Then his left wrist was free.
"Who are you?" Elliott tried again. Gingerly he rubbed at his raw flesh.
He caught sight of a gray eye. "No one you'd know," was the reply. "Don't try to get up right away. Rest for a few minutes."
"I can't rest!" Elliott exclaimed, turning to stare at the fight between Scott and Caelius. And where were Sean and Barry?! Somehow he had lost track of them in the sea of green robes.
In spite of the pain, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position as his ankles were cut free. Scott could not hope to win against Caelius and five of his guards, all at once! Elliott swung his legs over the side of the slab, touching his feet to the floor.
"My friends are in trouble!" he cried, looking up at the mysterious man. "If you're on our side, you have to help me save them!"
The man responded by lunging at the nearest guard and tackling him to the ground, leaving Elliott with an opening to attack Caelius.
Elliott swallowed, watching as they grappled. But then he pushed himself off the slab altogether. In response, his back flamed and he winced at the pain. The stone had been smooth, but had it done some kind of damage anyway? He looked back to the slab. There was red where he had been laying. Some of the wounds in his back must have been disturbed too many times when he had moved around. The open cuts were still stinging as they were fully exposed to the night air. But he could not worry about that right now.
Scott gave a startled, pained exclamation as two of the sentries dragged him to the floor and held his arms in place. Then Caelius was upon him, his eyes crazed as he raised the stake.
"There will be a ceremony!" the deranged man screamed. "You will be the sacrifice! You and your friend!"
"No!" another voice burst out.
Before Scott could even process what was happening, Elliott had leaped onto Caelius's back. His shaking, bruised, and rope-burned arms wrapped around the cult leader's shoulders as he fought to pull him away from Scott. The blond gasped in shock.
"El!" he cried, desperately kicking Caelius in the stomach.
Their combined efforts sent the older man crashing backwards. Elliott hissed in pain as he slammed onto the platform, Caelius on top of him. But then he pushed the man away, grabbing hold of the stake.
Caelius cursed at him. "Foul creature," he hissed. "You will never win against me!"
Elliott gritted his teeth, shuddering as he fought to pull the stake to him. "We'll see," he retorted. "I know you're not going to win."
Caelius turned, wrapping his arms around Elliott. The brunet gave a weak cry of pain as they rolled across the platform, behind several guards. If he was not careful, they were going to roll right off the side.
Scott, meanwhile, was growing more and more panicked. He had lost track of Elliott when the guards had stepped in the way. Now he was flailing in desperation against his captors, kicking his legs as he struggled to pull free.
"El!" he screamed. "Let me go! I have to get to him!"
But the sentries held tighter to his arms, preparing to both pounce on him at once.
"Scott! Need a hand?"
Scott turned to look in surprise and relief as Sean suddenly appeared, tackling one of the guards pinning Scott's arms to the floor. Then Barry was there, attacking the second one.
Scott sat up in relief. "Not a moment too soon!" he declared, immediately looking back for Elliott.
His eyes widened. Where was he?! He still could not see Elliott or Caelius-only Caelius's and Prosperus's followers as they grappled with each other. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.
"El?!" he screamed. "Elliott, where are you?!"
A terrified scream sent a chill down his spine. Caelius. . . . And what did that mean for Elliott?!
Scott ran forward, pushing his way through the fighting guards. Then he stopped short, nearly tumbling over the edge of the platform. Caelius had already fallen. He was laying at the bottom, flat on his back. He was still breathing---the rise and fall of his chest was clear-but he was unconscious. And El . . . where was El?! Was he down there somewhere too?!
Turn around.
Scott frowned in confusion, but whirled. A lifeless body lay crumpled on the platform, near the base of the stone slab.
"Elliott!"
The fighting continued around him, but his acknowledgment of the battles faded to nothing. He dropped to his knees, shaking as he gently pulled the limp form into his arms. Elliott did not stir, instead slumping into Scott's panicked and heartbroken embrace. Scott held him close, horror rising in his soul.
"Elliott . . . oh El . . . what happened to you?" he choked out, reaching up to support Elliott's head and neck. "I . . . I'd be dead if it wasn't for you, but . . ."
He trailed off. He could feel a cruel bump underneath the dark curls. And a warm liquid was running down his other arm, the one still around Elliott's back. . . .
He stiffened, pulling his hand away just enough to see the crimson trails between his fingers. Elliott was not just bruised and bumped; he was bleeding.
Still trembling, Scott tore off part of his toga, pressing the dark cloth against Elliott's bare back. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry. . . . I couldn't stop any of this from happening to you. You're still suffering because of me blindly running out and getting hit by that car. That's what started all of this! . . ."
Elliott stirred, restored to consciousness by Scott's anguished words. His eyes fluttered, opening halfway. His head was against Scott's shoulder; the younger man was still struggling to clean and bind the open wounds in his back.
"No," he whispered, his hands shaking as he hugged Scott. "That isn't what started this. Caelius's delusions started this." He looked up at his best friend, who was staring back in amazement and joy to see him awake.
"We ended it." Elliott slumped further against Scott, still embracing him. "And I'd be dead if it wasn't for you."
Scott swallowed a lump in his throat. "El . . ." He held the older man close.
Around them, Sean, Barry, and their new allies were bringing the rest of the cults to justice. Outside, the storm had finally lessened. ACME helicopters were circling overhead.
The nightmare was over.