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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Lyrics by Duran Duran and Evanescence.
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Chapter 2: Of Secrets and Hidden Dangers
"Clouds on your shoulder...Aren't they grazed by the afterglow? How quiet they gather when the storm's about to blow..."
"Making the headlines for the seventh consecutive week is another brutal slaying. The body of a man in his late 50's was discovered late Sunday evening on the corner of 14th and University Street. Police have released few details regarding the grisly murder that they believe to be connected to the other recent Manhattan homicides. Investigators have ruled out a mafia or drug-related hit. While the victims have no obvious connections to each other, police are confident that this is the work of a single killer. However, they have few leads to follow..."
Jarod turned from the televisions displayed in the department store window and headed uptown. While walking, he took a paper he had tucked under his arm and unfolded it. The front page reiterated the TV news report- Seventh slaying in Seven weeks. Jarod frowned. He had been following the police investigations of the murders for the past several weeks- ever since he had arrived in New York. From the start, he knew that these deaths were not carried out by the run-of-the-mill serial killer- they were far too clean and precise.
Jarod shivered. He wasn't sure if it was from the crisp autumn air or the eerie feeling that the murders had cast over the City. Quickening his pace, Jarod headed to his current residence, a studio apartment on the Upper Eastside. The wind seemed to pick up the faster he moved, pulling dark clouds with it.
Once "home", Jarod dug up a pair of scissors and proceeded to cut out the article on the murder. He clipped the cutting to the inside of a small notebook with a red cover. His brow furrowed in concentration as one by one, he read through the articles on all seven of the killings.
At the end of the last article, Jarod sighed. The victims ranged from a doctor to a landlord with no obvious connection other than they were all over the age of fifty. He frowned at the smiling face of the now deceased Judge Lloyd Dewitt, the latest fatality. With one hand over his mouth, Jarod deliberated over the mystery before him. Then a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. There was only one way to solve it, he knew, and that was to go on inside.
He closed the notebook and leaned back on the couch. The cell phone on top of the television caught his eye. The smile broadened... how long had been since he last checked in with his "friends" at the Centre?
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"So your father wouldn't tell you anything about the Seventh Member?" Broots glance nervously between Sydney and Miss Parker. Miss Parker had called a meeting with them in Sydney's office.
Miss Parker gave him a withering glare. "That's what I just said isn't it?" She took out a lighter and lit up the cigarette that dangled between her crimson lips.
With a flip of her hair, she directed her next query to Sydney. "Have you ever heard about some Seventh Member? Or something similar?"
The psychologist considered her question. "No," he answered slowly. "I can't say that I have." He paused a beat. "Did your father happen to say who issued the order?"
Miss Parker exhaled a ring of smoke. "The Triumvirate."
"That explains why Lyle was assigned to the case," he murmurred to himself.
"Humph," Miss Parker snorted. "Something's going on, Sydney. Something big. And I want to know what it is."
Whirling on Broots, who involuntarily jumped as she had that effect on him, Parker took the cigarette from her mouth and blew the smoke at him. "I want you to find this Seventh Member and any information relating to it," she jabbed a manicured finger at him. "And I want it before my brother gets it."
"Wh-what about Jarod?" The look Miss Parker shot him made Broots instantly regret saying anything other than "Yes, ma'am".
"I'll worry about Wonder Boy later," she snapped. Without a backward glance, Parker tossed the cigarette butt on the floor, squashing it with the toe of her shoe on her way out.
Broots bit his bottom lip and looked at Sydney. "I thought she quit smoking," he murmured to no one in particular.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So this is where it happened?"
"Yeah," Officer Adam Larson of the NYPD nodded. It was early in the morning, two days after the seventh body had been discovered. Police tape marked off the crime scene as a swarm of officers secured the area. "One of the goriest murders I've ever seen."
The flash of a camera light went off several times. Officer Larson moved over to the street light to get out of the forensic photographer's way.
"Weren't any photos taken the day of the murder?"
Larson shrugged. "I think so. I was called in on the case yesterday. Anyway, Detective Grayson asked that we cover the area one more time, just in case something was missed."
The photographer nodded and continued snapping away. Several minutes later, he straightened up and faced the policeman.
"I think that about does it."
Larson nodded again. "Good. Get those down to the crime lab ASAP."
The photographer nodded. "I'm on it."
"Hey!" Larson called as the photographer started to leave. "I don't think I caught your name."
The photographer stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and smiled.
"Jarod," his eyes twinkled. "Jarod Wayne."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In his office, Mr. Lyle sat at his desk studying the new red file he'd been given. There were seven pages of jargon that revealed very little about the Seventh Member Project. There was no information thateven remotely hinted at a reason as to why this venture was so crucial to the Centre.
Perhaps what bother Lyle most was that he had no inkling as to what the Seventh Member Project could possibly be related to...And he did not like not knowing something about everything. At all.
Lyle stared at the biographical sheet on Amelia. Next to the first name was the acronym MIA. He understood it to mean Missing In Action, indicated by the status bracket- the Centre had lost yet another pet project. A quick scan of the rest of the document resulted in the same information that his father had given him. Absent-mindedly, he flipped to the last page and noticed a paragraph of tiny print at the bottom of the sheet. Lyle had to squint to read it. What it said surprised him.
Fatal errors occurred in project members one through five in the initial preparation stages. The Sixth Member survived, but was ultimately considered a failure due to personality instability. The Seventh Member was the only success.
Lyle raised his eyebrows at the implication of what that could mean. His curiosity was piqued more now than ever before.
What was this all about? There must be something in his memory concerning the Seventh Member. While he mulled this over, he fiddled with the outer perimeter of the folder, rubbing the edge between his forefinger and only thumb.
Suddenly, Lyle jerked his thumb away from the file. It was bleeding from a cut sustained by the folder. He stuck the smarting appendage into his mouth and directed a murderous glare at the file. His glare turned quickly into a curious gaze. The folder was separated at the place he had been messing with.
Lyle opened the drawer in the center of his desk and pulled out a letter opener. Carefully, he slid the utensil into the opening and gingerly pried the layers apart until the opening was large enough for him to fit his finger in without inflicting any additional injury to his person. The red folder cover fell away easily enough to reveal the true color- black.
The under-director let out a low whistle. There was more to this mystery than he realized. The true outer edge was trimmed in red, the same shade as the interior. Lyle had heard whispers about a combination red/black file before- a file which contained the most damning secrets of the Triumvirate and Centre, but there was never any solid evidence of their existence...until now and he held it in his hands.
A low laugh rumbled in his throat. With a wicked smirk, Lyle replaced the red cover over the folder. He wondered if his father even knew about the black file. It delighted him that he was possibly the only one, aside from the file's originators, who knew about it. And even the creators didn't know he knew.
There must be another file, Lyle mused, one for the Sixth Member...
It was in that moment that Lyle decided to keep this little revelation to himself. He would most certainly give the pretense that he was following the Triumvirate's orders, but he wouldn't guarantee a prompt return of merchandise- especially if the Seventh Member could somehow benefit him.
Lyle closed the file and began to whistle to himself.
Oh, how Daddy Parker chose the wrong offspring to trust with this!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A thin beam of light emanated from the door to Lyle's office that was slightly ajar. Miss Parker was surprised that he was still in the Centre and not off pursuing his new mission. It infuriated her to no end that he was the one at the helm of the venture that no one seemed to know anything about.
As much as she hated going anywhere near Lyle's office, she couldn't resist the chance to see if she could get any additional information about the Seventh Member Project. Not that she expected her brother to share, but she might be able to get a glimpse of the file if she could distract him enough.
Lyle was still sitting at his desk when Miss Parker threw the door open. He looked up at her with an I-know-something-you-don't know expression. She would have liked nothing more than to slap that look off his arrogant features but she restrained herself.
"What are you still doing here?" Miss Parker demanded. She saw that the file was in Lyle's hand.
"Working," he said shortly, raising an eyebrow. "Better question is- what are you doing in my office? Shouldn't you be looking for Jarod?" He opened the folder and feigned interest in its contents. "Or is the task too much for you, Sis?"
Miss Parker bit back a growl and the growing urge to strangle him. "I have a lead I'm getting ready to follow-up," she lied. "I saw your light on and decided to see if anything was wrong."
Lyle gave a derisive snort. "How considerate of you," he scoffed. "Well, let me put your mind at ease, Sis. I'm fine. Sorry to disappoint you."
He stood, walked around to the front of his desk, and leaned against it, the folder still open. He held the file precariously in his good hand, allowing one of the flaps to dangle and flash Miss Parker glimpses of the internal contents. He knew full well why she was there- and he was taunting her.
"So... you wanna see what's inside?"
Miss Parker wasn't that gullible. She regarded with him with unmasked contempt. "No," she said flatly.
"Liar," Lyle scolded her, snapping the folder shut. "You're just dying to see what's inside."
He stood up and sauntered over to her with the file tucked securely under his arm. Standing within inches of her face, he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "It's just eating you up that Dad gave this to me, isn't it? Who's Daddy's favorite now?"
Miss Parker didn't answer. She was staring over his shoulder at his desk. Laying on the upper corner was a picture of a young Asian girl, reminding her of the monster that her sibling was. She retreated a few steps from him and drew herself up to her full height.
"This isn't over, Lyle," she warned. "Not by a long shot!"
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I've been looking in the mirror for so long that I've come to believe my soul's on the other side...
He stared at his image in the tiny mirror. The disturbed eyes that stared back frightened him. What was that creature on the other side studying him so intensely? He reeled backwards... That thing wasn't human!
"Look!" the voices jeered. "Look at what you are!"
They laughed at him. "Monster, monster, monster!"
Oh the little pieces falling, shatter... Shards of me to sharp to put back together... Too small to matter, but big enough to cut me into so many little pieces..."
He could bare it no longer. Wrenching the mirror from the wall, he spat on the Thing looking at him and threw the image against concrete floor. The mirror splintered into hundreds of tiny pieces. He gawked at the shards. "Broken mirror: seven years of bad luck to come" chimed over and over in his ears.
Tearing his gaze from the mess, he backed into the door.
The voices continued to cackle maniacly.
Footsteps resounded in the corridor outside of his cell. His heart rate spiked and waves of panic crashed over him.
They were coming! No, no, no! Not again. He had to hide from them- but where? Behind the cot in the corner? No! They could still see him. The toilet was exposed and so offered no sanctuary. Neither did the tub in the center of the room. There must be somewhere to run...
Too late! They were at the door. He bolted away from the door as though it was on fire. He heard them undo the lock. He heard the doorknob turn. It seemed to turn for an eternity...
The door opened. Two massive men dressed in black with the same close cropped hairstyles entered the room. He cowered. A third man, the one he feared most, stepped out from behind the first two. The quiet squeak, squeak of the wheels of the oxygen tank echoed in the room. The metal door slammed shut behind him.
The two men stepped aside. One noticed the broken glass on the floor. He motioned to his leader, the one with the oxygen tank. The pale man glanced at it, then turned his slithering gaze on to him.
"Misbehaving again, are we?" Raines wheezed. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. He gestured to his men.
He tried to run from them, but they were waiting for him. It took only one to hold him. The other went over to the ceramic bathtub and turned on the cold water.
The voices snickered gleefully. They knew what was about to happen.
Raines took a small black pouch from the side of his oxygen tank's cart. From the pouch, he unwrapped a glass syringe. It was filled with an inky fluid.
So I bleed, I bleed, and I breathe, I breathe now...
He gasped for air. The man grabbed him by the throat with one hand while restraining his wrists with the other.
"Struggling will only make it worse," Raines said coolly. "You know that."
The man threw him violently against the dinghy cot, pressing his face into the dirty blanket. He felt a searing pain as the syringe pressed into the base of his skull. He screamed into the bed. Suddenly, he was released.
Bleed, I bleed, And I breathe, I breathe, I breathe-
The room swam before his eyes. He could feel blood trickle down from the wound in the back of his head. He tried to lift his hand to it, but he couldn't find his neck. The bone in his hand seemed to turned to lead and his hand smashed heavily into his thigh.
"Take him to the tub," Raines hissed.
He tried to protest, to cry out. But he lost the words somehow in the constant flux of his environment. Two pairs of vice-like hands gripped him on both sides and lifted him into the tub. The water was frigid, but his body did not respond to the shock of extreme temperature. His consciousness was slipping from him, but not the terror. However, the voices were silenced by the water enveloping his head. They could not swim. It was then that he lost all sense of reality as he was completely entombed in the aquatic sepulcher.
I breathe no more.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2: Of Secrets and Hidden Dangers
"Clouds on your shoulder...Aren't they grazed by the afterglow? How quiet they gather when the storm's about to blow..."
"Making the headlines for the seventh consecutive week is another brutal slaying. The body of a man in his late 50's was discovered late Sunday evening on the corner of 14th and University Street. Police have released few details regarding the grisly murder that they believe to be connected to the other recent Manhattan homicides. Investigators have ruled out a mafia or drug-related hit. While the victims have no obvious connections to each other, police are confident that this is the work of a single killer. However, they have few leads to follow..."
Jarod turned from the televisions displayed in the department store window and headed uptown. While walking, he took a paper he had tucked under his arm and unfolded it. The front page reiterated the TV news report- Seventh slaying in Seven weeks. Jarod frowned. He had been following the police investigations of the murders for the past several weeks- ever since he had arrived in New York. From the start, he knew that these deaths were not carried out by the run-of-the-mill serial killer- they were far too clean and precise.
Jarod shivered. He wasn't sure if it was from the crisp autumn air or the eerie feeling that the murders had cast over the City. Quickening his pace, Jarod headed to his current residence, a studio apartment on the Upper Eastside. The wind seemed to pick up the faster he moved, pulling dark clouds with it.
Once "home", Jarod dug up a pair of scissors and proceeded to cut out the article on the murder. He clipped the cutting to the inside of a small notebook with a red cover. His brow furrowed in concentration as one by one, he read through the articles on all seven of the killings.
At the end of the last article, Jarod sighed. The victims ranged from a doctor to a landlord with no obvious connection other than they were all over the age of fifty. He frowned at the smiling face of the now deceased Judge Lloyd Dewitt, the latest fatality. With one hand over his mouth, Jarod deliberated over the mystery before him. Then a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. There was only one way to solve it, he knew, and that was to go on inside.
He closed the notebook and leaned back on the couch. The cell phone on top of the television caught his eye. The smile broadened... how long had been since he last checked in with his "friends" at the Centre?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So your father wouldn't tell you anything about the Seventh Member?" Broots glance nervously between Sydney and Miss Parker. Miss Parker had called a meeting with them in Sydney's office.
Miss Parker gave him a withering glare. "That's what I just said isn't it?" She took out a lighter and lit up the cigarette that dangled between her crimson lips.
With a flip of her hair, she directed her next query to Sydney. "Have you ever heard about some Seventh Member? Or something similar?"
The psychologist considered her question. "No," he answered slowly. "I can't say that I have." He paused a beat. "Did your father happen to say who issued the order?"
Miss Parker exhaled a ring of smoke. "The Triumvirate."
"That explains why Lyle was assigned to the case," he murmurred to himself.
"Humph," Miss Parker snorted. "Something's going on, Sydney. Something big. And I want to know what it is."
Whirling on Broots, who involuntarily jumped as she had that effect on him, Parker took the cigarette from her mouth and blew the smoke at him. "I want you to find this Seventh Member and any information relating to it," she jabbed a manicured finger at him. "And I want it before my brother gets it."
"Wh-what about Jarod?" The look Miss Parker shot him made Broots instantly regret saying anything other than "Yes, ma'am".
"I'll worry about Wonder Boy later," she snapped. Without a backward glance, Parker tossed the cigarette butt on the floor, squashing it with the toe of her shoe on her way out.
Broots bit his bottom lip and looked at Sydney. "I thought she quit smoking," he murmured to no one in particular.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"So this is where it happened?"
"Yeah," Officer Adam Larson of the NYPD nodded. It was early in the morning, two days after the seventh body had been discovered. Police tape marked off the crime scene as a swarm of officers secured the area. "One of the goriest murders I've ever seen."
The flash of a camera light went off several times. Officer Larson moved over to the street light to get out of the forensic photographer's way.
"Weren't any photos taken the day of the murder?"
Larson shrugged. "I think so. I was called in on the case yesterday. Anyway, Detective Grayson asked that we cover the area one more time, just in case something was missed."
The photographer nodded and continued snapping away. Several minutes later, he straightened up and faced the policeman.
"I think that about does it."
Larson nodded again. "Good. Get those down to the crime lab ASAP."
The photographer nodded. "I'm on it."
"Hey!" Larson called as the photographer started to leave. "I don't think I caught your name."
The photographer stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and smiled.
"Jarod," his eyes twinkled. "Jarod Wayne."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In his office, Mr. Lyle sat at his desk studying the new red file he'd been given. There were seven pages of jargon that revealed very little about the Seventh Member Project. There was no information thateven remotely hinted at a reason as to why this venture was so crucial to the Centre.
Perhaps what bother Lyle most was that he had no inkling as to what the Seventh Member Project could possibly be related to...And he did not like not knowing something about everything. At all.
Lyle stared at the biographical sheet on Amelia. Next to the first name was the acronym MIA. He understood it to mean Missing In Action, indicated by the status bracket- the Centre had lost yet another pet project. A quick scan of the rest of the document resulted in the same information that his father had given him. Absent-mindedly, he flipped to the last page and noticed a paragraph of tiny print at the bottom of the sheet. Lyle had to squint to read it. What it said surprised him.
Fatal errors occurred in project members one through five in the initial preparation stages. The Sixth Member survived, but was ultimately considered a failure due to personality instability. The Seventh Member was the only success.
Lyle raised his eyebrows at the implication of what that could mean. His curiosity was piqued more now than ever before.
What was this all about? There must be something in his memory concerning the Seventh Member. While he mulled this over, he fiddled with the outer perimeter of the folder, rubbing the edge between his forefinger and only thumb.
Suddenly, Lyle jerked his thumb away from the file. It was bleeding from a cut sustained by the folder. He stuck the smarting appendage into his mouth and directed a murderous glare at the file. His glare turned quickly into a curious gaze. The folder was separated at the place he had been messing with.
Lyle opened the drawer in the center of his desk and pulled out a letter opener. Carefully, he slid the utensil into the opening and gingerly pried the layers apart until the opening was large enough for him to fit his finger in without inflicting any additional injury to his person. The red folder cover fell away easily enough to reveal the true color- black.
The under-director let out a low whistle. There was more to this mystery than he realized. The true outer edge was trimmed in red, the same shade as the interior. Lyle had heard whispers about a combination red/black file before- a file which contained the most damning secrets of the Triumvirate and Centre, but there was never any solid evidence of their existence...until now and he held it in his hands.
A low laugh rumbled in his throat. With a wicked smirk, Lyle replaced the red cover over the folder. He wondered if his father even knew about the black file. It delighted him that he was possibly the only one, aside from the file's originators, who knew about it. And even the creators didn't know he knew.
There must be another file, Lyle mused, one for the Sixth Member...
It was in that moment that Lyle decided to keep this little revelation to himself. He would most certainly give the pretense that he was following the Triumvirate's orders, but he wouldn't guarantee a prompt return of merchandise- especially if the Seventh Member could somehow benefit him.
Lyle closed the file and began to whistle to himself.
Oh, how Daddy Parker chose the wrong offspring to trust with this!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A thin beam of light emanated from the door to Lyle's office that was slightly ajar. Miss Parker was surprised that he was still in the Centre and not off pursuing his new mission. It infuriated her to no end that he was the one at the helm of the venture that no one seemed to know anything about.
As much as she hated going anywhere near Lyle's office, she couldn't resist the chance to see if she could get any additional information about the Seventh Member Project. Not that she expected her brother to share, but she might be able to get a glimpse of the file if she could distract him enough.
Lyle was still sitting at his desk when Miss Parker threw the door open. He looked up at her with an I-know-something-you-don't know expression. She would have liked nothing more than to slap that look off his arrogant features but she restrained herself.
"What are you still doing here?" Miss Parker demanded. She saw that the file was in Lyle's hand.
"Working," he said shortly, raising an eyebrow. "Better question is- what are you doing in my office? Shouldn't you be looking for Jarod?" He opened the folder and feigned interest in its contents. "Or is the task too much for you, Sis?"
Miss Parker bit back a growl and the growing urge to strangle him. "I have a lead I'm getting ready to follow-up," she lied. "I saw your light on and decided to see if anything was wrong."
Lyle gave a derisive snort. "How considerate of you," he scoffed. "Well, let me put your mind at ease, Sis. I'm fine. Sorry to disappoint you."
He stood, walked around to the front of his desk, and leaned against it, the folder still open. He held the file precariously in his good hand, allowing one of the flaps to dangle and flash Miss Parker glimpses of the internal contents. He knew full well why she was there- and he was taunting her.
"So... you wanna see what's inside?"
Miss Parker wasn't that gullible. She regarded with him with unmasked contempt. "No," she said flatly.
"Liar," Lyle scolded her, snapping the folder shut. "You're just dying to see what's inside."
He stood up and sauntered over to her with the file tucked securely under his arm. Standing within inches of her face, he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "It's just eating you up that Dad gave this to me, isn't it? Who's Daddy's favorite now?"
Miss Parker didn't answer. She was staring over his shoulder at his desk. Laying on the upper corner was a picture of a young Asian girl, reminding her of the monster that her sibling was. She retreated a few steps from him and drew herself up to her full height.
"This isn't over, Lyle," she warned. "Not by a long shot!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've been looking in the mirror for so long that I've come to believe my soul's on the other side...
He stared at his image in the tiny mirror. The disturbed eyes that stared back frightened him. What was that creature on the other side studying him so intensely? He reeled backwards... That thing wasn't human!
"Look!" the voices jeered. "Look at what you are!"
They laughed at him. "Monster, monster, monster!"
Oh the little pieces falling, shatter... Shards of me to sharp to put back together... Too small to matter, but big enough to cut me into so many little pieces..."
He could bare it no longer. Wrenching the mirror from the wall, he spat on the Thing looking at him and threw the image against concrete floor. The mirror splintered into hundreds of tiny pieces. He gawked at the shards. "Broken mirror: seven years of bad luck to come" chimed over and over in his ears.
Tearing his gaze from the mess, he backed into the door.
The voices continued to cackle maniacly.
Footsteps resounded in the corridor outside of his cell. His heart rate spiked and waves of panic crashed over him.
They were coming! No, no, no! Not again. He had to hide from them- but where? Behind the cot in the corner? No! They could still see him. The toilet was exposed and so offered no sanctuary. Neither did the tub in the center of the room. There must be somewhere to run...
Too late! They were at the door. He bolted away from the door as though it was on fire. He heard them undo the lock. He heard the doorknob turn. It seemed to turn for an eternity...
The door opened. Two massive men dressed in black with the same close cropped hairstyles entered the room. He cowered. A third man, the one he feared most, stepped out from behind the first two. The quiet squeak, squeak of the wheels of the oxygen tank echoed in the room. The metal door slammed shut behind him.
The two men stepped aside. One noticed the broken glass on the floor. He motioned to his leader, the one with the oxygen tank. The pale man glanced at it, then turned his slithering gaze on to him.
"Misbehaving again, are we?" Raines wheezed. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. He gestured to his men.
He tried to run from them, but they were waiting for him. It took only one to hold him. The other went over to the ceramic bathtub and turned on the cold water.
The voices snickered gleefully. They knew what was about to happen.
Raines took a small black pouch from the side of his oxygen tank's cart. From the pouch, he unwrapped a glass syringe. It was filled with an inky fluid.
So I bleed, I bleed, and I breathe, I breathe now...
He gasped for air. The man grabbed him by the throat with one hand while restraining his wrists with the other.
"Struggling will only make it worse," Raines said coolly. "You know that."
The man threw him violently against the dinghy cot, pressing his face into the dirty blanket. He felt a searing pain as the syringe pressed into the base of his skull. He screamed into the bed. Suddenly, he was released.
Bleed, I bleed, And I breathe, I breathe, I breathe-
The room swam before his eyes. He could feel blood trickle down from the wound in the back of his head. He tried to lift his hand to it, but he couldn't find his neck. The bone in his hand seemed to turned to lead and his hand smashed heavily into his thigh.
"Take him to the tub," Raines hissed.
He tried to protest, to cry out. But he lost the words somehow in the constant flux of his environment. Two pairs of vice-like hands gripped him on both sides and lifted him into the tub. The water was frigid, but his body did not respond to the shock of extreme temperature. His consciousness was slipping from him, but not the terror. However, the voices were silenced by the water enveloping his head. They could not swim. It was then that he lost all sense of reality as he was completely entombed in the aquatic sepulcher.
I breathe no more.
