First, I'd like to thank everyone for the great feedback I've been getting! You all keep me writing. Also, I'd like to thank anyone out there who is an ELF (you know who you are). You guys provide great inspiration.
Demons: Part Four
Disclaimer: Located in Part One Author's Note: Violence, violence, and more violence. If this isn't your cup of tea, than please don't read.
Unknown Location Monday, 1:18 PM
Sitting with his back against the counter, Sam clutched the phone awkwardly to his ear and let his boss' voice give him comfort. They knew now. They would come help him. He was going to be ok.
"Have… have you gotten a trace?" he asked, struggling for breath as another ripple of fire burned through his chest.
There was murmuring on the other end of the line that he couldn't make out. "There's some kind of interference, but just hold on. I'm sure we'll know where you are soon."
He tried to keep himself calm, but it was hard as he sat, his knees drawn up to his chest, in the dark kitchen, not knowing when Cruz would return, but knowing he had no chance of escaping in his condition.
"Don't mean to be pushy but… please hurry," he whispered tiredly, his head falling back against the wood behind him with a small 'thump.' He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth as he started to shiver. He shouldn't be sitting on cold tiles with his injuries, he knew. Shock would be setting in soon.
"Sam, I wouldn't be asking for any favors if I were you. When you get back you're in big trouble for playing hooky," Toby's voice spoke to him. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes, but couldn't manage a laugh.
Licking dry lips, Sam shivered again. "Like… you haven't been… enjoying the break," he returned slowly. He heard a chuckle on the other end that made his smile widen.
He knew what they were trying to do, taking his mind off his predicament and all. He was thankful for their efforts, but no matter how many jokes they cracked, he wouldn't be able to shake the memory of Cruz leering down at him before kicking him viciously in the stomach.
There was a small noise outside and he felt his body immediately freeze up. 'Oh God, oh God, oh God…' his mind screamed in panic. "Toby… he's… he's back. Toby, please…" he whimpered as the door opened.
Flattening his back against the counter, he prayed for a miracle. "Sam? Sam, are you still there? Sam talk to me?" Toby pleaded with him on the phone, but he couldn't answer. Even if he could've answered quietly enough to keep the man from hearing, he was paralyzed by fear, his throat closed up and his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip.
"Sam? Come on Sam…" It was the President again. Whatever else he said was lost to Sam as his tormentor entered the kitchen and stared hard at him, a dark smile twisting his features.
Mathew stalked forward to stand over him once more, his hulking form even more menacing in the murky darkness. He reached down and plucked the cell phone from Sam's slack grip and tossed it onto the table without turning it off. He crouched down and grinned sickeningly.
At first Sam wondered why he wasn't angry about his escapement from the basement, but then it occurred to him suddenly that he had played right into Cruz's trap. "You wanted me to call them," he stated, his words coming out clear and even.
Cruz nodded. "I wouldn't have gotten my point across if I had just killed you and dumped you somewhere. I want Josiah to know exactly why I'm doing this." He stood and moved back to the table, picking the phone up again.
"Hello Mr. President. You have no idea how much talking to you means to me."
The White House - The Oval Office The Same Time
Cruz's words were a sick parody of a loving fan's and they made several of the men in the room shudder with revulsion. Even the man's voice was a menacing, twisted sound that sent cold shivers down a few spines. More than a few of the agents, as well as the entire Senior Staff that had gathered found themselves praying for Sam whether they were religious or not.
"What the hell do you want?" Jed demanded angrily. Rage boiled through him at being made to feel so helpless and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from hitting something.
The man on the other end of the line laughed lowly and made a noise of contentment. "I have everything I need: my prey, and a captive audience. You played God when you let them kill my brother. Now I want you to know how it feels."
Where he sat on the couch in the middle of the room, Toby bowed his head and ran his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut against the impossible situation. 'This can't be happening. Not to us. Not to Sam.'
Josh couldn't take it anymore and sprung from his seat on the opposite couch. "Damn you Cruz! If you lay one more finger on him, I swear I'll rip you apart with my bare hands! Not even your mother will be able to identify you, you son of a bitch!" he screamed at the phone. A calming hand grasped his elbow to keep him from launching at the President's desk, and he whirled around to stare wildly at CJ. He wanted to tear his arm from her grip, but the sad, tired look in her eyes held him at bay as she guided him back to the couch.
They sat together, Josh's head resting on her shoulder as he panted with the anger raging through him. CJ stroked his back comfortingly, determined to keep calm for the others, and for Sam.
Prowling around the room, his pacing making most of the agents nervous, Leo growled expletives under his breath, the scowl on his face enough to fry eggs.
Clenching his teeth, Jed growled into the phone, "Your brother was a murderer. He broke the law. Sam Seaborn had nothing to do with that and he doesn't deserve this."
"I read an article that described you and your staff from a more personal view," Cruz told him. "It said Ziegler was the anti-social genius, Lyman was the passionate fighter, Cregg the composed negotiator, and McGarry the best friend a man could ask for. And you know what they wrote about Seaborn? They said he was the honest, good one of the bunch - innocent, if you will. Now, isn't it always the innocents that suffer the most in these kinds of wars?
"Like you said, he had nothing to do with my brother's death. And that's what's tearing you up inside, isn't it? You're the one that made the decision and now he's the one that's going to suffer." He paused. "And believe me… he *will* suffer. Remember this the next time you decide to take someone else's life. I mean, karma's a bitch isn't it?"
The President began to protest once again, but Cruz cut him off.
Scuffling was heard then and Sam started to speak in the background but the couldn't make out what he was saying. They could, however make out the desperation and fear in his voice.
Jed stared at the phone wild-eyed. "Cruz! Don’t!" he shouted, but received no answer. He spun his head around to stare incredulously at Butterfield, his gaze pleading with the other man to do something.
"Oh God," CJ mumbled, wrapping both arms around Josh and holding on tight. Josh, in turn, clung to her, trembling. They shared much-needed strength as they were forced to listen to Sam talking the Cruz in the background, though they couldn't make out the words. But the fright and desperation was evident. Then the words stopped and his cries started.
No one could block out the sound of Sam Seaborn's pleas for help and they could only imagine what the vindictive psychopath was doing to him.
But as suddenly as they had had begun, the desperate screaming cut off, leaving the staff and agents waiting, cold fear in the pits of their stomachs.
"Well." Cruz was back. "That was extremely satisfying, as was this conversation. I hope to chat with you again Mr. President."
And then there was silence before a dial tone resounded through the room.
END Part Four.