FIC: In the Arms of the Wicked, 27/36 (Ian/OMC, PG-13)
Title: "The Truth within the Truth"
Series: In the Arms of the Wicked, Part 27/36
Characters: Ian/OMC.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Ian demands Dr. Farrow to confess the real truth.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (characters, situations, etcetera) except my OCs.
Beta: The fantastic twins_m0m and the great lillyg.
Previous chapters: Click here.
Previous chapter
Next chapter
27: The Truth within the Truth
The feeling of cold wood against damaged skin was a relief. Ian didn’t mind being thrown into a dark room where only a corner was reached by the moonlight. He’d have fresh air. He’d have a bit of silence. He’d have some space to think as fast as he could.
“There you go, animal,” a rough voice said. Then the door was closed and locked.
Alone, Ian concentrated on getting rid of the pain that still burned his insides. It took him quite a while to recover his ability to breathe normally and get enough piece of mind to take the next step.
Five minutes later, his muscles still trembled a bit, but at least he could start analyzing the situation. He squeezed his eyes, trying to control his constant sweating, and he moved to the lighted part of the room. There, he focused on remembering what people had said in the crowded room, right before the whip did its work on him. Scenes were flashing through his mind as well as fragments of voices providing him tiny pieces of information.
The tall, blonde man with the ruby ring had said very interesting things to Farrow…
“How dare you raise your voice against us when we opened our arms for you, when we offered you knowledge and wisdom?”
Farrow had been close to that man. He’d been…
The door opened again and a man in brown threw someone else inside. Then he disappeared.
Ian didn’t need any light to know who the other prisoner was. However, he didn’t get angry; suddenly, he smiled and took a deep breath. “Ah, it doesn’t matter who gets to kill you - the cult or me -, you’re dead anyway. And somehow, I get the feeling you won’t have the opportunity to choose.”
A body shifted on the floor. Farrow grunted, “I don’t give a damn.”
“Yes, you do. If not, why would you bother hiding so many things? You were part of this cult. Now I don’t know why in hell you’d join those nut jobs, but then again, I don’t get that stupid love for danger you have.”
“I didn’t mean this to happen. I was supposed to keep it under control.”
“Well, very well done! You missed Sergio’s plan, you even missed Lillian’s, and they’re supposed to be your best friends!”
“You didn’t see those either, did you?” Farrow’s tone was full of sarcasm.
The worst part was that it was true. Ian hadn’t seen it coming, and he’d supposed to. He was trained, he could figure people out. But he had to admit that he’d let some walls come down, he’d let some people in. If Sergio García and Lillian Fisher had their own intentions, Farrow had to have one, too. “I’m not playing, I already told you,” Ian interrupted him. “So you better start talking or I…”
The figure moved towards Ian and Farrow’s face came into the light. “Fine. You wanna hit me? Then you’ll get the chance when this is over. Now can we move on? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly having fun here, don’t you think?”
At least he seemed to be telling the truth now. He had bruises on his neck, like someone had tried to choke him, and he had a black eye.
Farrow leaned on the wall beside Ian and grabbed his shoulder. “That idiot did his work. He almost dislocated my arm.”
Ian glanced at him. “Good. Saved me time.”
“Thank you,” the other man responded between gritted teeth.
For a moment, neither of them talked. They just breathed heavily, waiting for the obligated subject to surface.
“You were a member,” Ian finally muttered. “You were a member and yet you didn’t tell me.”
“Yes.”
“After all this, you turn out to be a crazy fanatic like all those other people out there…”
“Reverse psychology again?”
“Not this time. I don’t have that much faith in you anymore.”
Shaking his head, Farrow fixed his eyes on the floor. “They’re not fanatics. They pretend to be, but they’re not,” Farrow said, turning to Ian. “Look, they entered this group for the same reason I did - knowledge, exclusivity, the opportunity of having an experience that could somehow make us understand ancient civilizations. I’m pretty sure all members have good reputations they need to keep as researchers, archeologists, wealthy business men…”
“That’s what the masks are for,” Ian muttered.
“Anonymity is very important. They’re curious and yes, they are insane enough to enter a fake secret society that tries to keep Egyptians’ beliefs alive.” Looking exhausted, Farrow licked his lips. “They’re peculiar, but they’re not idiots. They know that this is all marketing. The Leader, on the other hand, thinks he has them eating from the palm of his hand.”
“The asshole with the ruby ring. Quite a show-off with those fancy manners.”
That got a smile from Farrow. “Exactly. He thinks he controls everything, but he doesn’t. The worst part is, he’s not even a fanatic himself.”
“I’m listening.” And you better tell me everything this time.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re in a situation where I can allow myself to distort the facts anymore,” the archeologist answered as if he could read Ian’s mind. He took a deep breath and started his little tale. “Three years ago, I got a letter from someone - no name, no references, just an address - inviting me attend a meeting of minds who were in pursuit of the truth. I was a complete idiot back then, and I went. That’s how it all started. I met people who had been invited, just like me, and I made good connections.”
“What about the antiques? How did they get them?”
“They had contacts within organizations, like the Cairo Museum, and they liked to brag about it in the meetings. They never gave any names, but they were all in the same situation I was. That’s why we were asked to join, apparently. They had really nice statues, I gotta say. They were really into Horus, and Seth.”
“The lettuce freaks.” With that, Ian got himself a bad look.
“Those are myths, okay? That’s not important anyway. I had the brilliant idea of asking the Leader to return the antiques, and of course, he didn’t want to cooperate. So he threatened me to reveal my identity and blame me for the robberies,” Farrow explained. “It was a good move, I gotta say. I had connections there.”
How funny. Ironically, the sniper turned to Farrow and whispered, “Poor you.”
“Would you stop that? I’m trying to tell you what happened. I get it that you think I’m a liar and…”
“… and a clown…”
“Liar, clown, whatever you want. But you and I know that I can’t do this if you keep interrupting me.”
Ian just took a deep breath and looked away.
“I said that I’d do it. It was the time when the antiques started to appear around cities, buried in people’s backyards. I couldn’t stand to see how the Leader talked about ancient knowledge and yet spent most of his time trying to sell the antiques on the black market.”
Ian’s eyes were fixed on Farrow’s. “You did it. You buried those pieces of art.” He couldn’t believe it; the answer had been in front of him all along.
“The burying method is my M.O. That’s why I knew how to work on these investigations so well.”
The sniper shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy. “You compromised the evidence. Expanded polystyrene damaged the pieces.”
“But if the wrapping was too good, then it’d be obvious it was me. It’s what I do. Besides, I only buried the first set, because I’d told Sergio about my participation in a society and my stealing the antiques from them. He obviously told the Leader and that’s when everything went to hell.”
There was something Ian had to admit - Farrow was a brave bastard. “And they took it out on Louis.”
Frowning, Farrow took a breath. “Yeah. We’d given the bodyguards the day off, and Sergio knew it. The Leader and some skunks broke into my house one evening and shot Louis. That’s why he died. I know that I said that I hadn’t killed him, and I obviously didn’t with my own hands… but he was murdered because of me.”
In respect of the death, Ian remained silent. He could still see the decomposed body they'd found in Farrow’s land. “Did they say anything to you?”
“Yeah. They said that I’d better take my investigations in the wrong direction and mislead the governments and organizations I worked for. But I didn’t comply, see?” Farrow said, almost proud of himself. “I asked the Cairo Museum if they could put me in contact with someone I could ask for protection within the U.S. That’s how I met Noah Cameron. I was going to go into Protective Custody but he had another idea.”
The memory of Cameron made Ian shiver. He didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Such person didn’t have the right to talk about his mother to a total stranger like Farrow. “He offered you do the inside job and as you love to get shot at, you agreed. You agreed and you paid the FBI,” he concluded.
“We’ve already talked about this. I paid because, by that time, I felt guilty about Louis’s death. I still…” Lowering his head, Farrow didn’t finish the sentence. “The cult was keeping track of me, so I ended up doing meaningless research and telling everybody that I wasn’t making any progress. In the meantime, I created some scandals at the tabloids so my credibility declined. I felt like crap for that, with everything I’d achieved, but luckily, Lillian and Richard kept being my friends. They believed in me, no matter how much of an idiot I looked like on TV or in the magazines…”
“Sergio stood by your side, too.” Ian meant that as a joke, but Farrow didn’t answer. “Did everyone know you had buried the antiques?”
“Apparently, yes. They forced me to go to a couple of meetings, where I got bashed by the members. Now that I think about it, around that time I told Sergio that I was working with the FBI. The cult didn’t call me after that.”
Everything came together in Ian’s mind. “Of course. They didn’t call you because Sergio and the others were planning a bigger vengeance than the last one… They set your jet on fire, they put a bomb in the SUV.”
“I bet that was Sergio. I still can’t believe he’d risked himself like that to finish me.”
“He seems to be pretty loyal to the cult. He must have told the others that Richard had survived, and they took the liberty to torture him and leave his body at your L.A. house. Same thing with Louis’ corpse.” Little by little, the story started to make sense. The last piece was a woman. “But Lillian knew and she tried to warn you. She must have that that if she used your M.O. and a message related to the Horus-eye, maybe you’d get it in time.”
“Maybe… but I obviously didn’t,” Farrow said, smiling.
Ian looked around. “Yes… You didn’t tell the truth and here we are now, enjoying the freak show.”
“Front line seats.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t find it very entertaining.”
“I know. I want my money back.”
Grinning, Ian thought about the sweet moment in which he’d get to go after Farrow and take away all that irony of his.
“It’s all about the money. That’s all the Leader cares about, selling the antiques, while the others are a mass of blind jerks who are here for some imaginary knowledge,” the archeologists stated. “So that’s the truth, at least from my side. What now? Do we work together to get out of here?”
“No. I take care of everything and save your ass for you to wiggle it around the tabloids one more day. And that doesn’t have any sexual intent.”
“I know… Don’t worry about it.”
They spent a moment in silence. There had to be a way for them to get free and alert the FBI about the cult’s secret meeting.
The archeologist suddenly shifted in his place. “Do you think Agent Eppes and the others will find us?”
“I think they will. It’ll take them some time, though, because they must know something happened to us but they don’t know where the hell we are,” Ian explained. “In the meantime, we gotta think of a way to get out of here,” he proposed as his eyes wandered around the darkness of the room.
Until a while later, the door opened again.
Series: In the Arms of the Wicked, Part 27/36
Characters: Ian/OMC.
Rating: PG-13.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Ian demands Dr. Farrow to confess the real truth.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything (characters, situations, etcetera) except my OCs.
Beta: The fantastic twins_m0m and the great lillyg.
Previous chapters: Click here.
Previous chapter
Next chapter
27: The Truth within the Truth
The feeling of cold wood against damaged skin was a relief. Ian didn’t mind being thrown into a dark room where only a corner was reached by the moonlight. He’d have fresh air. He’d have a bit of silence. He’d have some space to think as fast as he could.
“There you go, animal,” a rough voice said. Then the door was closed and locked.
Alone, Ian concentrated on getting rid of the pain that still burned his insides. It took him quite a while to recover his ability to breathe normally and get enough piece of mind to take the next step.
Five minutes later, his muscles still trembled a bit, but at least he could start analyzing the situation. He squeezed his eyes, trying to control his constant sweating, and he moved to the lighted part of the room. There, he focused on remembering what people had said in the crowded room, right before the whip did its work on him. Scenes were flashing through his mind as well as fragments of voices providing him tiny pieces of information.
The tall, blonde man with the ruby ring had said very interesting things to Farrow…
“How dare you raise your voice against us when we opened our arms for you, when we offered you knowledge and wisdom?”
Farrow had been close to that man. He’d been…
The door opened again and a man in brown threw someone else inside. Then he disappeared.
Ian didn’t need any light to know who the other prisoner was. However, he didn’t get angry; suddenly, he smiled and took a deep breath. “Ah, it doesn’t matter who gets to kill you - the cult or me -, you’re dead anyway. And somehow, I get the feeling you won’t have the opportunity to choose.”
A body shifted on the floor. Farrow grunted, “I don’t give a damn.”
“Yes, you do. If not, why would you bother hiding so many things? You were part of this cult. Now I don’t know why in hell you’d join those nut jobs, but then again, I don’t get that stupid love for danger you have.”
“I didn’t mean this to happen. I was supposed to keep it under control.”
“Well, very well done! You missed Sergio’s plan, you even missed Lillian’s, and they’re supposed to be your best friends!”
“You didn’t see those either, did you?” Farrow’s tone was full of sarcasm.
The worst part was that it was true. Ian hadn’t seen it coming, and he’d supposed to. He was trained, he could figure people out. But he had to admit that he’d let some walls come down, he’d let some people in. If Sergio García and Lillian Fisher had their own intentions, Farrow had to have one, too. “I’m not playing, I already told you,” Ian interrupted him. “So you better start talking or I…”
The figure moved towards Ian and Farrow’s face came into the light. “Fine. You wanna hit me? Then you’ll get the chance when this is over. Now can we move on? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly having fun here, don’t you think?”
At least he seemed to be telling the truth now. He had bruises on his neck, like someone had tried to choke him, and he had a black eye.
Farrow leaned on the wall beside Ian and grabbed his shoulder. “That idiot did his work. He almost dislocated my arm.”
Ian glanced at him. “Good. Saved me time.”
“Thank you,” the other man responded between gritted teeth.
For a moment, neither of them talked. They just breathed heavily, waiting for the obligated subject to surface.
“You were a member,” Ian finally muttered. “You were a member and yet you didn’t tell me.”
“Yes.”
“After all this, you turn out to be a crazy fanatic like all those other people out there…”
“Reverse psychology again?”
“Not this time. I don’t have that much faith in you anymore.”
Shaking his head, Farrow fixed his eyes on the floor. “They’re not fanatics. They pretend to be, but they’re not,” Farrow said, turning to Ian. “Look, they entered this group for the same reason I did - knowledge, exclusivity, the opportunity of having an experience that could somehow make us understand ancient civilizations. I’m pretty sure all members have good reputations they need to keep as researchers, archeologists, wealthy business men…”
“That’s what the masks are for,” Ian muttered.
“Anonymity is very important. They’re curious and yes, they are insane enough to enter a fake secret society that tries to keep Egyptians’ beliefs alive.” Looking exhausted, Farrow licked his lips. “They’re peculiar, but they’re not idiots. They know that this is all marketing. The Leader, on the other hand, thinks he has them eating from the palm of his hand.”
“The asshole with the ruby ring. Quite a show-off with those fancy manners.”
That got a smile from Farrow. “Exactly. He thinks he controls everything, but he doesn’t. The worst part is, he’s not even a fanatic himself.”
“I’m listening.” And you better tell me everything this time.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re in a situation where I can allow myself to distort the facts anymore,” the archeologist answered as if he could read Ian’s mind. He took a deep breath and started his little tale. “Three years ago, I got a letter from someone - no name, no references, just an address - inviting me attend a meeting of minds who were in pursuit of the truth. I was a complete idiot back then, and I went. That’s how it all started. I met people who had been invited, just like me, and I made good connections.”
“What about the antiques? How did they get them?”
“They had contacts within organizations, like the Cairo Museum, and they liked to brag about it in the meetings. They never gave any names, but they were all in the same situation I was. That’s why we were asked to join, apparently. They had really nice statues, I gotta say. They were really into Horus, and Seth.”
“The lettuce freaks.” With that, Ian got himself a bad look.
“Those are myths, okay? That’s not important anyway. I had the brilliant idea of asking the Leader to return the antiques, and of course, he didn’t want to cooperate. So he threatened me to reveal my identity and blame me for the robberies,” Farrow explained. “It was a good move, I gotta say. I had connections there.”
How funny. Ironically, the sniper turned to Farrow and whispered, “Poor you.”
“Would you stop that? I’m trying to tell you what happened. I get it that you think I’m a liar and…”
“… and a clown…”
“Liar, clown, whatever you want. But you and I know that I can’t do this if you keep interrupting me.”
Ian just took a deep breath and looked away.
“I said that I’d do it. It was the time when the antiques started to appear around cities, buried in people’s backyards. I couldn’t stand to see how the Leader talked about ancient knowledge and yet spent most of his time trying to sell the antiques on the black market.”
Ian’s eyes were fixed on Farrow’s. “You did it. You buried those pieces of art.” He couldn’t believe it; the answer had been in front of him all along.
“The burying method is my M.O. That’s why I knew how to work on these investigations so well.”
The sniper shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy. “You compromised the evidence. Expanded polystyrene damaged the pieces.”
“But if the wrapping was too good, then it’d be obvious it was me. It’s what I do. Besides, I only buried the first set, because I’d told Sergio about my participation in a society and my stealing the antiques from them. He obviously told the Leader and that’s when everything went to hell.”
There was something Ian had to admit - Farrow was a brave bastard. “And they took it out on Louis.”
Frowning, Farrow took a breath. “Yeah. We’d given the bodyguards the day off, and Sergio knew it. The Leader and some skunks broke into my house one evening and shot Louis. That’s why he died. I know that I said that I hadn’t killed him, and I obviously didn’t with my own hands… but he was murdered because of me.”
In respect of the death, Ian remained silent. He could still see the decomposed body they'd found in Farrow’s land. “Did they say anything to you?”
“Yeah. They said that I’d better take my investigations in the wrong direction and mislead the governments and organizations I worked for. But I didn’t comply, see?” Farrow said, almost proud of himself. “I asked the Cairo Museum if they could put me in contact with someone I could ask for protection within the U.S. That’s how I met Noah Cameron. I was going to go into Protective Custody but he had another idea.”
The memory of Cameron made Ian shiver. He didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Such person didn’t have the right to talk about his mother to a total stranger like Farrow. “He offered you do the inside job and as you love to get shot at, you agreed. You agreed and you paid the FBI,” he concluded.
“We’ve already talked about this. I paid because, by that time, I felt guilty about Louis’s death. I still…” Lowering his head, Farrow didn’t finish the sentence. “The cult was keeping track of me, so I ended up doing meaningless research and telling everybody that I wasn’t making any progress. In the meantime, I created some scandals at the tabloids so my credibility declined. I felt like crap for that, with everything I’d achieved, but luckily, Lillian and Richard kept being my friends. They believed in me, no matter how much of an idiot I looked like on TV or in the magazines…”
“Sergio stood by your side, too.” Ian meant that as a joke, but Farrow didn’t answer. “Did everyone know you had buried the antiques?”
“Apparently, yes. They forced me to go to a couple of meetings, where I got bashed by the members. Now that I think about it, around that time I told Sergio that I was working with the FBI. The cult didn’t call me after that.”
Everything came together in Ian’s mind. “Of course. They didn’t call you because Sergio and the others were planning a bigger vengeance than the last one… They set your jet on fire, they put a bomb in the SUV.”
“I bet that was Sergio. I still can’t believe he’d risked himself like that to finish me.”
“He seems to be pretty loyal to the cult. He must have told the others that Richard had survived, and they took the liberty to torture him and leave his body at your L.A. house. Same thing with Louis’ corpse.” Little by little, the story started to make sense. The last piece was a woman. “But Lillian knew and she tried to warn you. She must have that that if she used your M.O. and a message related to the Horus-eye, maybe you’d get it in time.”
“Maybe… but I obviously didn’t,” Farrow said, smiling.
Ian looked around. “Yes… You didn’t tell the truth and here we are now, enjoying the freak show.”
“Front line seats.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t find it very entertaining.”
“I know. I want my money back.”
Grinning, Ian thought about the sweet moment in which he’d get to go after Farrow and take away all that irony of his.
“It’s all about the money. That’s all the Leader cares about, selling the antiques, while the others are a mass of blind jerks who are here for some imaginary knowledge,” the archeologists stated. “So that’s the truth, at least from my side. What now? Do we work together to get out of here?”
“No. I take care of everything and save your ass for you to wiggle it around the tabloids one more day. And that doesn’t have any sexual intent.”
“I know… Don’t worry about it.”
They spent a moment in silence. There had to be a way for them to get free and alert the FBI about the cult’s secret meeting.
The archeologist suddenly shifted in his place. “Do you think Agent Eppes and the others will find us?”
“I think they will. It’ll take them some time, though, because they must know something happened to us but they don’t know where the hell we are,” Ian explained. “In the meantime, we gotta think of a way to get out of here,” he proposed as his eyes wandered around the darkness of the room.
Until a while later, the door opened again.