Sukuu, Chapter 03

Chapter 3

Heero climbed into the van and stared out the window without uttering a word, his face grim. The four of them sat in heavy silence. Quatre’s face was pale, and Trowa looked as if he might be sick. Wufei swallowed, feeling a little ill himself.

"Well?" he finally asked, breaking the stifling silence. Heero turned to look at him. He had the strangest light in his eyes.

"He is not spending another day in that place," Heero replied, in a voice as cold as steel. Wufei nodded. He certainly wouldn’t be getting any argument from any of them. Heero returned the audio transmitter to Quatre. "We’re going back to HQ. I need to speak with Chief Une," he said. Trowa nodded mutely.

Heero and Wufei climbed out of the van and returned to their car. Neither spoke during the drive back, each lost in their own thoughts. Heero stared out the window expressionlessly. He was glad Wufei was driving. He didn’t think he would have been able to focus enough to drive. He had other things on his mind.

He hadn’t wanted to leave him.

After Duo’s stunning revelation that he had been locked in that room for six years, six years, Heero had attempted to question him further about how he had ended up there. But Duo had been un-talkative, seeming to be stunned himself with the knowledge of the length of his captivity. He had sat silently on the bed, stick-thin arms wrapped around stick-thin legs, staring at the wall. Heero had spent what was left of his thirty minutes staring at the boy, an unfamiliar feeling tightening his chest. When his time had been up, and Trant had knocked on the door, leaving that room without Duo had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He’d wanted to take the boy and flee from that horrible place. But that would have been foolish. People could have been hurt. A plan was needed.

Heero realized he was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails were biting into his skin. He quite deliberately forced them to relax. Wufei glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, concern etched on his features. He could see that this case was really getting to him. Wufei could hardly blame him. It was horrific beyond imagining. And he, Trowa and Quatre had only listened to the audio, Heero had actually been there. He’d seen. Wufei barely suppressed a shudder.

When they arrived back at Preventer HQ, they headed straight for Chief Une’s office. They found her, Captain Noin, and a couple of other Specials pouring over some documents. The Chief looked up when Heero knocked on the open door.

"We go in tonight," Heero said firmly. The Chief looked at him for a moment, her gaze measuring, and then gave a solemn nod.

* * * * * * * * * *

Duo looked up wearily as the door to his cell once again swung open. The last customers of the day had left a few moments before, and he expected to see Trant and the doctor, come to do his nightly check-up. But Trant entered the room alone, an open bottle of wine in his hand. Duo felt fear coil in his stomach as Trant eyed him, taking a long drink from the bottle. He suddenly remembered Trant’s words from the morning.

"You haven’t forgotten, have you?" Trant leered, strolling towards the bed. Duo curled up tighter, shivering with fear. He knew all too well what was in store for him.

"I told you this morning that it had been far too long since I’d given you a proper fucking. I intend to remedy that," Trant purred as he caressed Duo’s cheek. Duo shuddered. He wanted to scream, to run, to get away from here. But he couldn’t get away. There was no place he could go. He was trapped. He closed his eyes. Trant slapped his face, causing him to look up at him.

"What, are you not looking forward to it?" Trant sneered before taking another drink from the bottle. He set it down on the floor and turned to Duo again. "We’re going to have fun tonight, you and I," he smirked, gripping Duo’s mouth in a forceful kiss. Duo choked and tried to push Trant away, but he was far too weak and exhausted. Trant plundered his mouth, and Duo tasted sour wine on his tongue. His stomach twisted in disgust. Finally, Trant pulled away. He sneered and moved towards the toy cabinet. Duo buried his face in the thin pillow and tried not to cry. He was overcome with a profound sense of loneliness.

Trant returned, pushing him over onto his back. He tightly bound Duo’s wrists together with cord, then tied the cord to the railing of the bed, raising Duo’s arms up over his head. Then he produced a roll of duct tape. Duo’s eyes widened, and he started to thrash his head from side to side. But Trant easily grabbed his face and sealed his mouth with a strip of tape.

Duo fought down blind panic. He hated screaming, hated crying out in pain to the satisfaction of his torturers. He always fought to remain silent, though he seldom succeeded. But having his voice stolen from him was so much worse. To be incapable of crying out, of releasing some small measure of his pain, was just… horrible.

Trant grinned maliciously. "You don’t like that, do you Duo?" He caressed Duo’s cheek. Duo closed his eyes and tried to turn his face away, but Trant shook him roughly until he once again opened his eyes. "You can’t get away from me, Duo. You’re mine, and we have all night," Trant leered. Duo couldn’t suppress a whimper. He was so tired, in so much pain. He couldn’t cope with Trant right now. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and slip away into oblivion. But Trant wouldn’t let him.

Trant once again went to the toy cabinet, and returned with one of the riding crops, a smirk on his face. Duo tried to take deep, even breaths, fighting back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. There was nothing Trant could do that hadn’t already been done to him a hundred, a thousand times. The thought was not comforting.

The crop whistled through the air and landed across Duo’s ribs. He grimaced in pain, his back arching. Trant rained down more blows on his chest, the sharp, stinging pain singing along his nerves. Duo couldn’t suppress whimpers of pain against his gag. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Trant flipped him over onto his stomach and continued to rain blows down on his back, raising angry red welts on the already-scarred skin.

By the time Trant finally stopped Duo felt as if his back and chest were on fire. Tremors of pain shook his frame. He knew this was only the beginning. He watched Trant warily as he picked up the wine bottle and drank from it. There was a sheen of sweat on the man’s brow, and his eyes shone with excitement. Duo’s stomach twisted. When Trant set the nearly-empty bottle down again and began to disrobe, Duo buried his face in the pillow.

The mattress dipped as Trant climbed up onto it, straddling Duo’s hips. Instinctively, Duo found himself pulling at his bound wrists, even though he knew escape was impossible. He fought back panic, tried to escape to a small, quiet place in his mind where nothing could touch him. But reality crushed that slim hope. He bucked and screamed against his gag as Trant ran a hand over the welts on his back.

"Tsk, tsk, so touchy. Though you are so sexy when you squirm," Trant sneered before running his hand over Duo’s back again. Duo managed to remain silent, but couldn’t stop himself from trying to jerk away from the touch. Trant laughed. He leaned forward, and Duo saw spots as the man leaned on his back for support. Trant whispered in his ear. "It’s too bad I didn’t think to bring any salt. It would be fun seeing how much I could make you squirm by rubbing some into these welts, hmm?"

Duo froze, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Just the mention of salt made the blood run cold in his veins. Trant had never used it on him, but he had, the man who had brought him here. He was so transfixed by his terror that he did not even notice Trant once again shifting position, not until he was shocked back to reality as Trant suddenly entered him.

Duo jerked against his bonds, a startled cry smothered against his gag. Trant, typically, had used no means of lubrication or preparation. Even though he was still somewhat stretched from the day’s previous activities, it still felt like he was being ripped into. Trant laughed at his obvious distress.

"Are you not enjoying this?" he sneered as he drew back and thrust forward again, eliciting another pained whimper from Duo. He leaned forward, pushing brutally into Duo’s body, as he once again leaned down to speak directly into Duo’s ear. "People should enjoy doing the only thing they’re good for." Another brutal thrust, another pained whimper from Duo, accompanied by a half-suppressed sob. "You have no other purpose in life, except this." Another thrust. Duo fought the tears that spilled from his eyes. "You are a whore, and this is what you do." Another brutal thrust punctuated the cruel words. "You get fucked, and you really should learn to enjoy it. This is all you will ever do. This is all you are good for, all you will ever be good for." Another thrust. Duo could no longer stop himself from sobbing pathetically, could not stop the tears that now ran freely. Trant’s words always managed to cut him to the bone. He had hoped that time would soften their impact, that he would grow used to them. But no such luck. Every time they were spoken the words ripped into him just as deeply as the first, as he felt their truth in his soul.

A few more quick thrusts and Trant finished, having never been one with much stamina. He rolled off of the quietly weeping boy and climbed to his feet, panting from his exertion. He turned to look back down at Duo, who’s entire frame was wracked with silent sobs as he buried his face in the pillow. He smirked in satisfaction.

Duo fought to regain some semblance of control. He hated the way his body betrayed him, trembling in pain and fear. He hated the pathetic, choked noises he was making against the tape keeping his mouth shut. Worst of all, he hated the pain that burned in his chest, less tangible that the physical pain that wracked his body. This was a pain born of shame and disgust and self-loathing, always present, but stoked into life by Trant and his taunting. And he knew that Trant was anything but finished with him.

A rustling of cloth brought his attention back to the man. Trant has retrieved his shirt from the floor and was searching through its pockets. He produced a cigar and lighter and let the shirt drop back to the floor. Duo’s gaze froze on the glowing tip of the cigar as Trant lit it. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. Oh, God, no…, he thought. Trant smirked at him cruelly as he puffed on the cigar. He crouched down at the side of the bed.

"Are you scared, Duo?" he leered, rolling the cigar between his fingers. Duo could not tear his eyes away from the glowing red embers, breath frozen in his chest. Trant raised his eyebrow at him in amusement. He moved the cigar forward. Duo jerked away, pulling uselessly at his bound wrists. His lower body almost slid off the opposite side of the bed in his panic. Trant cursed, rising to his feet and grabbing hold of Duo, pulling him back over to the center of the bed and once again straddling his hips to keep him in place. He pressed the burning tip of the cigar against the small of Duo’s back.

Duo wailed against the gag, his entire body going rigid at the excruciating pain. Dimly, he could hear Trant’s laughter. When the cigar was removed from his skin, he was left snorting frantic breaths through his nose, fresh tears spilling down his face. Trant leaned back, puffing on the cigar, causing the embers that had nearly been ground out to burn with new life. He touched the tip to another spot on Duo’s back, causing him to wail and thrash about with renewed vigour.

"This is fun, but I think I want to see your face," Trant mused. He shifted his weight enough to flip Duo over onto his back. Duo grimaced, clenching his eyes shut against tears as pressure was put on the two fresh burns on his skin. Trant shifted again, lifting Duo’s legs and hips, and without warning he once again thrust inside of him. Duo arched against the pain, abused skin being stretched and torn yet again. Trant pulled back and thrust again, building a steady rhythm, and each time he moved forward, he pressed the glowing tip of the cigar against a different spot on Duo’s chest.

Duo screamed and screamed. The noise reverberated in his head, deafening. He knew that the only sounds that he was actually emitting were the pathetic, animalistic wailings permitted by the tape over his mouth. He hated it, hated how desperate he sounded. But he couldn’t help it. The pain over-rode everything. His chest was on fire. Agony shot up his spine. It felt as if each thrust threatened to tear the skin off his back as the rough bed sheet rubbed against the burns and whip-marks. The acrid stench of singed flesh filled his nostrils. Over everything he was dimly aware of Trant’s grunts and chuckles of satisfaction.

It was too much. His senses were overloading. Suddenly the pain was a fading, distant thing, and the world was overcome with blackness.

Duo was snapped back to reality by a sharp blow to his face. He blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself. First, there was the pain that ached in every cell of his body. The awful, burning agony of his chest and back. The sharp, stabbing pain in his ass. A million and one other aches and pains from the day’s activities. Trant was standing over him, still shirtless but having put his pants back on.

"I think you’ve had enough of a rest, sleeping beauty. The night’s not nearly over," he leered. He sat down on the side of the bed and reached over. Duo couldn’t help but flinch, but all he did was rip the tape from his mouth. Duo gasped in several deep breaths, grateful to be able to breathe freely again. Trant leaned over him, caressing his cheek. It was all Duo could do not to shudder. "Oh yes, still lots of fun left tonight. I have a surprise for you. Guess what I went and got during your little nap? I think you’ll really like it," Trant said, his voice dripping with malice. He gripped Duo’s face with bruising force and turned his head to the side, showing him what rested on the small table by the bed.

A box of salt.

Duo’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in fear. No. Trant couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t allow it. It was a game only he was allowed to play. But Trant continued to speak, every word causing the muscles in Duo’s body to clench tighter.

"Oh yes, I think it will be great fun. We’ll see what kind of effect a little salt has on those burns and welts," Trant chuckled. Duo stared dully at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest. "I want to hear you scream yourself hoarse for me. That shit may think he owns you, but I’m the one who looks after you, who takes care of you. Tonight you’re going to scream for me, going to writhe in pain for me, and if I’m not satisfied, maybe I’ll get the straight-razor, and see how much you like salt rubbed into some nice, fresh cuts." Trant continued to caress his cheek, his eyes gleaming. Duo swallowed, his blood frozen in his veins. Trant was serious. He was just drunk enough to ignore his orders and do it. Duo was so overcome with terror that he felt curiously numb.

Trant leaned down and kissed him, thrusting his tongue deep into his mouth. Duo stared forward with unseeing eyes. He felt so cold and empty and just plain tired. He hurt so much. Everything hurt so damned much. He just wanted it to end. He wanted this pain and misery and fear to be over. Suddenly, he sunk his teeth into the tongue invading his mouth, tasted the tangy copper of blood that was not his own.

Trant pulled back with a startled cry of fury, his hand going to his mouth. He stared down at Duo in complete and utter disbelief. Duo continued to stare silently at the ceiling, though his heart was beating wildly in his chest. He was unable to comprehend himself what had compelled him to do it. Such a showing of defiance was unimaginable. Trant snarled in rage, his fist lashing out to connect with Duo’s jaw.

"You bastard! You fucking little bastard! How dare you! How dare you!" He pummeled Duo with his fists, his eyes ablaze with anger. Duo couldn’t help but cry out at the new pain, instinctively trying to curl up to protect himself from the onslaught. A small voice in the back of his head cried victory. Trant was furious, more furious than he’d ever been. Surely he was going to kill him. Then it would all be over, all the pain, all the suffering. Over. He just prayed that it would be as quick as possible.

Trant pulled back, his eyes glinting with a rage that knew no reason. He stumbled over to the toy cabinet and returned wielding a billy club. He renewed the assault, screaming incoherently in his anger.

Duo was a ball of pain. Every blow from the club reverberated through his spine, through his skull. He hoped that this was it. He hoped so damn much that this was it. That this pain would finally kill him. He felt ribs crunch under a stream of blows. The agony tore screams from his throat. Darkness was tearing at his consciousness, and he welcomed it eagerly. But the rain of blows suddenly came to an abrupt stop, and another angry voice had joined Trant’s. The doctor.

Dully, he raised his eyes. The doctor was here. He’d forcibly pulled the cursing Trant away from the bed. Duo sobbed. He couldn’t help it. He was supposed to die. He couldn’t bear this anymore. He just couldn’t. The pain was too much.

"Are you fucking crazy? Are you trying to kill him?" the doctor was demanding as he restrained Trant.

"The little shit bit me! He needs to be taught a fucking lesson!" Trant bellowed.

"And who do you think will be teaching you a lesson, if you kill his prized possession?" the doctor sneered in response. Trant seemed to calm down a bit. "Good. You’re seeing reason. I don’t give a fuck what he did, it’ll be my hide, too, if you kill him. I’m supposed to be the one keeping him in reasonably good health. Now get the fuck out of here and cool off somewhere. I’ve got to clean him up and see how much damage you’ve caused." The doctor released Trant, shoving him in the direction of the doorway. Trant remained standing there for a moment, panting heavily, eyes still glinting with anger as he gazed back at Duo’s shivering form. But reason won out in the end. He let the bloodied club slip from his fingers.

"Don’t think this is over, you little shit. You’ll pay for this yet. You can count on that," he seethed, before snatching up his shirt and stalking out of the room. The doctor turned his attention back to Duo with unsympathetic eyes.

Duo was barely aware as the doctor untied his wrists and adjusted his leg chain. He was dragged to his feet and promptly had his legs collapse out from under him. The doctor cursed and half-dragged, half-carried him to the shower area, dumping him unceremoniously on the cold cement. Lying on his back, Duo stared up numbly as the doctor turned on the flow of lukewarm water and began to scrub at the blood and cum that coated him with the scrubbing brush, grumbling all the while. Duo hissed in pain when the man touched his burns and none-too-gently prodded bruised and broken ribs.

"I suppose you can handle your hair yourself. I have to fetch salve for those burns. I’ll not lose my position here because you die from infection," the doctor snapped. "Here, you’ll be needing this." He thrust a bottle at Duo and stalked out of the room.

Duo was barely able to rouse himself to a sitting position, pounding head and sharply aching ribs protesting the movement greatly. He stared numbly at the bottle. Jasmine-scented conditioner. They only had him use it when he was going to be paying a visit to his favourite pet. Jasmine was his favourite scent.

So he would be here in the morning. The visits were always in the morning, before anyone else had been at him. Duo was too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to react with anything more than cold dread. He could not for the life of him summon the energy to willingly wash that hated scent into his hair.

The doctor cursed some more when he returned to find Duo still unmoving beneath the stream of water. He brusquely washed Duo’s hair himself. Duo’s stomach twisted as the scent of jasmine filled his senses. When the doctor was finished, he went about performing Trant’s usual duties of cleaning up the bed and room, vocally complaining at being reduced to such. Then he hauled Duo back over to the bed and did his usual examination, stitching internal tears, rubbing salve into his burns, and finally binding his ribs. Duo’s vision swam, the pain of the tight bandage wrapped over the cigar burns being excruciating.

With that Duo was finally left alone. Tears spilled from his eyes, though he had no energy to sob. He hated himself. He cursed his weakness. He cursed the room, which had been his prison for six years. He cursed the man who had brought him here. He cursed each and every man that had ever come to this room to beat, torture and rape him. Mostly, he cursed Trant for not killing him.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Some hours later, in the dim light of approaching dawn, there was a flurry of silent, covert activity outside the building at 7881 Pine St.. Across the street, Chief Une of the Special Preventer Crime Unit was seated in the back of the Unit’s communications van, which was serving as HQ for the mission. She touched the com unit at her ear.

"Are all units in position?" she asked. She listened as each unit gave their affirmative. She and Captain Noin exchanged a grim-faced look.

"Move in," she ordered.