Running on Empty (31 page)

Another male voice, this one kind but insistent and coming from somewhere above him, said, “Okay, Declan. Let’s go to another day. Same location. Tell me what you see.”

As if he were watching the same program but on a different channel, Declan saw a deep pit covered by a giant grate. The same man was inside. Face dry and cracked, lips swollen, his body was rail-thin, emaciated. He barely looked like the same man, but somehow Declan knew he was—the one he’d seen beaten before. Declan could almost feel his thirst...his pain. A roar of thunder exploded, and a torrential rain beat down on the man. For a few minutes, he didn’t think the man even knew he was being rained on. Then, he looked up and blinked. His lips were so swollen it was hard to tell, but Declan thought he smiled. 

Rain gushed down over the man, and Declan could almost feel the poor guy’s relief. The man opened his mouth and allowed the rain to slide down his throat. He took great gulps of it and then used his hands to wash his face, then his body. What horrible thing had this man done to be treated so horrifically? Someone needed to stop this.

As Declan continued to watch, he saw something the man had yet to notice. Water was filling the pit. The depth was knee level now, but what would happen if the rains continued? Would the man drown? Maybe the bastards who’d beaten him would return before then and get him out. It was obvious they wanted some kind of information from him. Surely they wouldn’t let him die. 

Hours or days later, Declan didn’t know how long he had been hovering over the guy who was now even more miserable than when he’d been dying of thirst. The water had risen to his neck. No one had come to check on him. The man had yelled until he was hoarse, but no one came. Suddenly, the pit was filled to overflowing, and the man’s head was buried beneath the water. Declan felt his own heart thud in panic...or was that the man’s heart? It was almost like he was in the pit with him. He felt the cool water on his skin. It seeped into his bones. Cold permeated his entire being. Where was the man? Was he dead? 

Declan struggled to maintain his objectivity. This wasn’t real. The man wasn’t dying. Just a movie. 

A face appeared at the grate. The man was still alive. He was breathing through one of the grate’s openings. Trying to keep himself from sinking, his fingers held tight to the steel frame. 

Declan was relieved for the guy but wondered how long he could hold on. Then the man disappeared. Had he given up? Was he allowing himself to let go? Declan held his breath, fearing the worst. Then the face reappeared again as the man took in more breaths. 

Was it hours or days that Declan watched him, wondering each time he submerged if this would be the last time? A deep, violent hatred seethed inside Declan. How dare anyone do this to another human being? 

“Remember, you’re just an observer. This man didn’t die...he did not die. Regulate your breathing…take slow, even breaths. You’re all right, Declan. You’re safe.” That voice, kind but firm, pulled him away from his fury. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough for the day. Let’s—”

Declan jerked away from the voice. No, he wasn’t leaving. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t leave yet. He had come here to learn something. He hadn’t learned it yet. He would not leave until he had. 

Somehow, despite the voice’s insistence, he was back in the prison cell. The man had apparently survived, because he was seated in a chair, bound by rope and duct tape. He looked even worse than he had in the pit. Murky blue eyes dilated and glazed. Drool oozed from his mouth. His hair had grown well past his shoulders. Someone had put it in a ponytail and then tied it to the chair, effectively keeping him from being able to drop his head. 

A voice—familiar, feminine, husky, sexy—sounded through the room. He knew that voice. Sabrina...it was his lovely Sabrina. Her voice was filled with life and vitality. He saw the man try to shake his head. Heard him mumble, “No, no, no.” Why? What was... 

And then he finally paid attention to Sabrina’s words. Her confession, telling him she had sold him out, that she didn’t love him, had made millions by selling him to his captors. She told him he had nothing to live for. That he should reveal everything, and then they would let him die in peace. She said the same words, over and over and over. 

Declan didn’t know how much time had passed, but the man continued to sit there and listen as Sabrina’s voice revealed she was a traitor, a betrayer. 

Bile surged up his throat. Declan didn’t want to hear those words any more than the man in the chair. Why were they doing this? He forced himself to listen carefully and finally realized there was something off about the sound, the quality of the recording. The pitches were wrong, all over the place. Various words and sentences sounded as if they were said at different octaves, different intonations.

The answer came swiftly. Someone had recorded several conversations of Sabrina and then used only the words they wanted to create a certain type of message. But why would they do that? What did Sabrina have to do with them, or this man? And, surely, if the man knew Sabrina, he would know she would never sell anyone out. She wasn’t capable of that kind of treachery. 

But the man listened and then did something extraordinary. Tears poured down his face, and he screamed Sabrina’s name. He jerked on the rope, ignoring the pain as the rope cut into his arms and his hair was pulled from his head. He stopped, shouted, cursed. And still Sabrina’s voice continued, on and on. 

“Declan, come back. Now, dammit. Come back to me, now!”

He shook his head. That was Sabrina again. She sounded different than she did in the recording. Her voice was thick with emotion, as if she were on the verge of crying. He wanted to see what happened to the man, but he could never deny Sabrina anything. With a sad sigh for the poor bastard who continued to swear and jerk in his chair, Declan felt himself floating away again. 

He opened his eyes, blinked several times. Sabrina was kneeling before him. Her eyes were dry, but the hell in them spoke volumes. Her face was death pale, her breathing erratic. 

“Declan, you back with us?” 

Dr. Horatio’s voice jerked him back into full reality. It had been him. He had been that poor, abused bastard. He remembered what they’d done to him. And he wanted to kill them.

“They gave me an injection. I barely remember it...was so out of it. And then they played that sound bite over and over. Your voice, Sabrina. They took bits and pieces of your voice from different recordings and made you say the things they wanted. And for days, they made me sit and listen. When I fell asleep or lost consciousness, they’d whip me until I woke, splash water on my face, and then turn up the volume. They tortured me into believing a lie.”

It took every bit of willpower for Sabrina not to throw herself into Declan’s arms. And irrationally, she wanted to apologize. Even though she had done nothing, she still felt the need to say she was sorry. Someone had used her voice, her words. But what hurt more than anything was the knowledge that in the other two torture scenes he had described, Declan had never said anything, never made a sound. But when they’d convinced him she had betrayed him, he had cried, sobbed. 

“It’s my opinion,” Dr. Horatio said, “that with the use of psychotropic drugs, the recording of your wife’s voice, as well as the torture you’d already endured and your weakened condition, they were able to create the mind-set that Sabrina and no one else betrayed you.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Declan’s voice was now matter-of-fact, calm. 

Sabrina battled surging emotions. She felt as if she could erupt at any moment. “How can you sit there so calmly and act as if you’re not furious?”

“Watching it like it was a movie was a helluva lot easier than going through it.”

Dr. Horatio stood. “I believe I’ll step out for a while and let you two talk. Feel free to stay as long as you need. I’ll be in my private office if you need me.”

“Wait. What about his headaches? Will they go away?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with the type of drug he was given. My advice would be to talk with your personal physician.”

“Give us your opinion, then,” Sabrina said.

“Very well.” He turned to Declan. “Your headaches were caused by your denial of what you knew couldn’t be true—that your wife had betrayed you. Now that you know the truth…know what happened to you, I would think the headaches would go away on their own.” He gave them a kind smile and said again, “Feel free to stay as long as you need.”

Sabrina waited until the door closed behind the doctor and then said, “I’m so very sorry, Declan. I knew you went through hell. I just never realized how very much worse than hell it was.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize about. You were as much of a victim as I was. If I hadn’t been so strung out on whatever they gave me and so damned weak, I would have recognized the wrongness of that recording.”

“Did you see any faces you recognized? Hear any familiar voices or names mentioned?”

“No. They were strangers. My big question is, why did they want me to believe that lie? What purpose did it serve?”

“Maybe they thought you’d give up all hope and tell them what they wanted.”

“Perhaps.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“We’re going to find the prick who did this to us, and we’re going to send him to hell.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Declan lay on the bed in the guestroom, fighting his instincts. Instead of returning to the LCR apartment they’d been using, they had come back to Sabrina’s house. He hadn’t even considered arguing. Even though it was an hour’s drive and Sabrina had looked ready to drop, he had realized she needed the familiarity of home to help her deal. 

Why hadn’t he considered how hard this would be on her? Though he had initially dreaded the hypnosis, he’d found it much easier to endure than he had expected. Watching it like a movie had been bearable. But to Sabrina, it had been fresh and new…and she had suffered. Her expressive eyes had been dark green pools of despair. His heart ached for her.

The drive to her house had been silent and grim. The instant they’d walked inside the foyer, she’d thrown him a wan smile. “I’m beat. It’s a little early for bed, but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open any longer. There’s plenty of food in the fridge if you want to make yourself a sandwich.”

She hadn’t allowed him to respond. Just went upstairs and then he’d heard her bedroom door click closed. He knew exactly what was going on behind those closed doors. Not once had he ever seen Sabrina cry in public. One of the many cruel things her stepbrother had enjoyed was mocking her pain. If she cried, he’d made fun of her as he raped her. She said the hard things were easier if she remained stoic and detached. Only when she was alone did she allow the powerful emotions to overtake her, overwhelm her. 

And only with Declan had she ever allowed her vulnerable emotions to be revealed—a gift he had never taken for granted.

After all he’d done to her, didn’t he owe her the comfort of his arms? He surged up from the bed and opened the bedroom door. And there she was, standing before him, her hand raised to knock. She had never sought him out before. His conscience reminded him she had never needed to seek him out. He had always gone to her.

“Hold me?” she asked softly. 

Pulling her into his arms, he gave her the only comfort he could. Turning back into the bedroom was too damn tempting. Instead, he swept her up in his arms and headed down the hallway to the small sitting room she had refurbished. He settled into an oversized chair and held her close. 

She pressed her face into his chest, and Declan, just as he had so many times in the past, smoothed his hand down her hair and shoulders, kissed the top of her head gently, and waited for the dam to break. It didn’t happen.

“No tears tonight?” His voice was gruff, thick with his own emotions.

“Some things…” Her voice broke. She swallowed hard, tried again. “I think I’ve just discovered that some things hurt too much for tears.”

He continued to stroke her hair, hoping that either the tears would come or she would fall asleep in his arms. Either way, he wanted to continue to hold her, offering what comfort he could. How many nights, at the beginning of his imprisonment, had he lain awake and relived their last night together? He had replayed every tender kiss, every soft sigh. Envisioned her lovely, expressive face, the long, silky length of her body. Those memories had sustained him for months.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He drew a breath. He knew what she meant…knew that he owed her this. Didn’t mean it’d be easy. 

“It was so stupid of me. I got that text from you and knew it must’ve been important for you to be contacting me so soon. I was distracted, worried. The fact that it didn’t come from your private phone didn’t cross my mind. Wasn’t the first time you’d texted me from a burner.”

He huffed out a disgusted sound at his own ignorance and carelessness. “Still…I should’ve known something was off. The minute I got out of the car, I knew it was a setup. You know how it is. Air’s different. That odd, cold zip up your spine. I went for my weapon. Got Tasered. Went down. Tried to fight. Got a kick or two in before they shot me up with something. 

“I woke up, hogtied and as helpless as a babe. Whatever they’d given me knocked me on my ass. I barely knew my name. By the time we got to the prison, I was cognizant but still tied so tight I couldn’t twitch a finger, much less get loose.”

“And you didn’t recognize any voices? Accents, dialects? They didn’t talk about anything familiar?”

“No. Nothing. They rarely spoke. When they did, it was in English…occasionally Spanish and French. The only one with a distinctive accent was that giant jackass you took down. The others had none. They kept me blindfolded for a few days. Threw me into a cell and left me there.”

“When did the questions start?”

“Hard to say. Days slid into nights, and I was out for long periods. The minute I started coming out of it, I’d get another needle.”

“You think they were waiting on instructions? Or waiting for someone?”