Dawn broke over the hills. Chris smiled. It was a new day, the first of many in a new life. He looked behind and saw the unbroken expanse of water behind him. His empty rowboat drifted away on the waves. No one would know he had landed on the remote tropical island that he found himself standing on. They would assume he had perished in the storm the night before and his empty boat would confirm that.
Chris breathed deeply. "Ah, the scent of freedom." He sighed, his voice breaking the silence. He left the shore behind, striking inland, leaving his past behind.
Chris was big for his eighteen years. He was about five inches more than six feet and his shoulders were broad. His curly blond hair was stringy and matted. It hung limply about a face that was hard and angular and covered in frightful scars. He was not good looking but he had an interesting face. His eyes were sensitive and spoke of the pain he had endured, pain that no man should ever have to face.
Chris' walk was quick, light and carefree. He almost began whistling, but he broke off short when he saw a face in the bushes. He would have run but he felt immediately that the face was no threat. He stood completely still and stared. The face belonged to a girl about two years younger than he. Her dark brown hair was tangled and dirty and hung in long braids. There was a smudge of dirt on her small nose and her grin was rather lopsided.
Chris was captivated. This was the first girl he had seen in almost ten years. He was intensely aware of the scars on his face, but was encouraged when her smile did not waver at the sight of him.
"Hello," she said, her bright green eyes dancing. "What's your name? Mine is Darielle but you can call me Dari. Where did you come from? Why are you here? Do you have friends with you? Have you been here long?" The questions just kept coming and Chris could only stand there staring at her in confusion. "Well hurry up and follow me. I'll introduce you to my mother and my uncle and my little brother. You look starved. You'll stay for supper."
Chris found himself following Dari as she continued to chatter on. He soon came to a clearing. There was a tent and a woman tending an open fire, over which hung a large pot. A little boy, perhaps three or four, was playing with a few sticks a couple feet away.
"Mom, I found this boy up on the hill. His name is . . . what did you say your name was?"
"Chris," he was finally able to say.
Dari's mother looked worriedly up the trail. "Oh honey, you know your uncle doesn't like strangers. We can't know what will happen if he finds him here."
"Mom, look at him, he's hungry. Uncle Dane won't be that angry. Let him stay for supper at least. Come on Chris, this is my little brother Andrew. I'm sure he will like you." The woman opened her mouth to protest again when an angry voice boomed from the edge of the clearing.
"What's going on?" Chris turned and saw the face that had haunted his dreams for the last five years. The murderous intent was written there as clearly as it had been ten years ago when Chris first saw it. He didn't waste a moment in consideration but took off running down the trail into the woods.
He was soon breathing hard. His eyes were blinded by sweat and fearful tears. He didn't see the hole open up in front of him until it was too late. He fell and his consciousness vanished in one moment of agony.
He woke up in pain. Someone was shaking him, hard. He moaned and reached upward with his right hand but a spasm of blinding pain shot up it and he drew it back, barely stifling the scream that threatened to rip through his throat. He hadn't screamed then. He would not scream now. He could hear heavy breathing above him. A calloused hand slapped his face, bringing tears to Chris' eyes.
"Don't tell them what happened or I'll take up where I left off five years ago." Chris knew that voice all too well. He was in so much pain that he could not keep back the moan of fear. A sharp blow to his temple sent his head spinning and he sank back into the welcome darkness of oblivion.
Chris' eyes snapped open suddenly. The brightness of his surroundings made him close them again in a hurry. Awareness came rushing back and with it came memory. His heart rate sped up and he began gasping out of fear. He heard a rustling noise and a small hand on his forehead. He panicked, thrashing his arms and legs violently despite the excruciating pain from his right arm. He couldn't go back, and he wouldn't scream.
Chris heard a voice yelling and arms trying to restrain him. He only fought harder. A slight weight settled on him and pinned him to the bed. He was so tired, but he must keep fighting. The light was too bright; he couldn't open his eyes. Finally a shout pierced his mad terror.
"CHRIS!" It wasn't the voice of his enemy, but the voice of a girl. Darielle, he realized. His frantic movements slowed and finally stopped. His breathing became regular and he finally opened his eyes to see Darielle's worried face hovering above him. She was lying half across him in an effort to keep him on the bed. He realized that he was safe for the moment. Tears filled his eyes and he tried to turn his head away to hide it, but soon he just gave up and sobbed, putting his arms around her and holding her close, clutching the first comfort he'd had for ten years.
Darielle was scared and a little confused. This boy was frightened beyond anything she could imagine and it was because of her uncle. She had met her uncle four years ago. Before then, she hadn't even known he existed. He had just shown up out of the blue, but Darielle was by nature a trusting person and didn't want to wrong Dane by becoming suspicious of him. She knew her mother was afraid of him, but it was nothing compared to the way Chris had reacted.
"It's Ok Chris. You're safe now." Chris' eyes slowly closed and he fell asleep. Darielle slowly released herself from his arms and tiptoed softly from the room, her quiet movements incongruous with the unquietness of her heart. She didn't know what to think. Was her uncle Dane, whom she had never thought to mistrust, not what he seemed, or was Chris mentally ill? She remembered the way his arms had felt as he pulled her close in his fear and desperately hoped not.
Chris woke up again and did not make the mistake of panicking again. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. His mind was working busily, trying to figure out what was going on and the best plan of action. I thought I was free. The thought made tears threaten again but he knew that he was stronger than that. No matter what he did, even when I was eight, I never cried, never screamed. I am stronger than that.
He knew those thoughts were not doing him any good, so he put them out of his mind. What is my uncle Damon doing here on this deserted island and why is he masquerading as Darielle's Uncle Dane? More importantly, who is he after, Andrew . . . or Darielle? At that thought, Chris unwillingly felt his breathing quicken again and he could not stop the involuntary jerk of his muscles as a voice that he knew well spoke from the corner.
"You don't fool me. I know you're awake. I have watched you sleep long enough to know when you are faking it." Chris' eyes flew open and he tried to stare boldly as the man he only knew as Uncle Damon stared back at him with an unrelenting gaze. "Why are you here? I let you go. Are you that eager for me to continue my experiments? I have never had a subject that had five years to recuperate during sessions. It might be easier now to make you crack because of your fear."
Chris struggled to get up from the bed to get away, but was horrified to discover he had been strapped down.
"Darielle was so worried about you. She had a hard time holding you down before. She didn't want you to fall out of bed and re-injure that broken arm of yours." Damon laughed mirthlessly. "Incidentally, I never thought of the pain that a broken limb can cause, and now look at the opportunity that has presented itself."
Damon released Chris' arm with surprising gentleness, then suddenly bent it sideways. Chris came the closest he had ever been to screaming. He couldn't keep back the short moan. It felt as if his arm were on fire. Damon kept manipulating the break. Chris saw bright lights before his eyes and knew he was about to pass out. He welcomed the chance to escape from the pain.
Damon laid his arm back on top of his body before he lost consciousness. Chris' vision slowly cleared. Damon spoke to him again and what he said chilled Chris to the bone.
"Ah Chris, I will always have a certain fondness in my heart for you. You were my first, you know. Fear and pain are powerful tools. I first gained an inkling of that with you, but I am progressing. I learned how to work with mental anguish, threatening with the death of loved ones, that sort of thing. It does work, but I have a new idea.
"I have been staying with this family for four years. I think the mother may fear me a little, but she trusts me with her daughter, Darielle. Darielle loves me and she believes that I love her. It will be far worse for her when she discovers what I am and what I plan to do to her. The agony of betrayal is something which I have not yet explored."
Chris struggled against his bonds, but he was so weak. "Don't hurt her. Please, don't hurt her. I'll tell her who you are."
"They already think you are delusional. I will just prove to them that there is something wrong with you. And to prove my point . . . " Damon took a pocketknife out of his breast pocket and carved a gash on Chris' cheek, next to the other's he had put there years ago. "You got your arm free." He said, releasing Chris' left arm as he did so. "You saw the knife and you cut your own face. Thankfully, I was close enough to see what had happened and to take the knife from you before you did too much damage. I have heard nothing from you but paranoid ravings. You must be insane, and I have the old scars to show them as proof. I was forced to sedate you so you wouldn't hurt yourself further." Taking out a hypodermic needle, Damon plunged it into Chris' arm.
"I won't let you do this. I'll . . . save her." Chris waved his free arm toward Damon, trying to do something, anything, but Damon stood maddeningly at a distance and Chris' brain began to get fuzzy from the sedative.
"You can't save her; you are as much in my power as you ever were." The last thing Chris saw was Damon's gloating face as, once again, he drifted off into blackness.
Once again, Chris felt the darkness fade, leaving him with an aching head and restless thoughts. He tried to move and realized that his arm had been rebound. He felt the added stiffness of a bandage on his face. He knew there was no point in pretending and so opened his eyes to see Darielle's worried face hovering above his.
He searched her face for any sign of bruises, cuts or even a shadow of pain, but he saw nothing. He instantly relaxed in relief.
"You're safe," he sighed, caressing her face with his eyes. She flushed in embarrassment and pulled back slightly. Chris dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Why did you do it?" Her eyes flickered to the bandage on his face.
"I didn't." He was still woozy from the sedative. "Darielle, be careful. Your uncle Damon. . .Dane. . .isn't who he seems. Stay away from him. He'll hurt you." He pulled at his bonds again. Why was he so weak?
Darielle's face clouded over. "He said you would say something like that; that it was your delusion. I so hoped you would be all right, that it was just shock talking." Chris tried to protest, but she continued. "Look, I trust my uncle Dane implicitly. I don't know who your uncle Damon is, but he is far away; he has to be. Dane would never hurt me. In fact, he's taking me on a trip. I'll be leaving the island for the first time in almost three years." She smiled. "I would have left already but I made Dane promise to let me make sure you were all right."
Chris' eyes widened in horror. "Don't go. Please trust me. You're never the same after he hurts you." His breath came jerkily, soon he was gasping and unable to talk. Why couldn't he catch his breath? "Please," he whispered.
"Chris, I like you, and I want to believe that you are sane, but I know Dane. He will protect me, not hurt me." She turned away. Chris started choking and coughing on the bed, trying frantically to clear his airways to warn her. Darielle frowned and placed her hand on his forehead. "You're feverish. Dane will know how to deal with it." She rose and nearly ran from the room.
Dane entered almost immediately. "Oh dear, I had forgotten how you reacted to this particular sedative." He looked at Chris in a way that clearly suggested he had no lapse of memory. "Complete rest, no excitement, that is what you need. I won't need to sedate you. You will exhaust yourself in a manner of moments."
"You monster," Chris hoarsely whispered through his partially closed throat.
"She didn't listen to you, did she? You see, there is nothing you can do. She is mine."
Frustrated tears filled Chris' eyes. It was harder to bite back the scream than it had ever been before. Only the fact that he couldn't breathe saved him. He didn't think he had ever experienced such pain as the thought of Darielle in the hands of Damon. He couldn't hold back the tears.
"Tears?" Damon was surprised. "I was never able to break you. This brings you down? I believe you are half in love with Darielle already." He laughed. "Truly I still have much to learn." Dane looked pensive, smiled at Chris, then left the room.
Chris wrestled with his bonds again, but they were no closer to breaking and he only grew weaker as he exhausted himself. He struggled against unconsciousness, but he was not strong enough to fight it. Unwillingly, he slipped into feverish dreams.
He was a boy again, standing at his father's grave, looking into his mother's despairing face.
"I don't know what to do, little one." A single tear made a shiny track down her cheek to dangle off her chin and finally to fall, one with the raindrops that fell around them. Chris felt someone behind him as he stood at the grave. He turned around, it was Damon, but his face meant nothing to him then.
"I came as soon as I heard." Damon spoke comfortingly. "He was my favorite brother. I will do anything to help you."
A hollow cough shook his mother's thin frame. She put a handkerchief to her mouth, trying to conceal the blood. "I am not well. My parents will take me in for my last months, but I don't know what to do with Chris. My parents won't take him. He's only eight. I can't leave him to be an orphan on the streets."
"You have nothing to worry about. I will take care of the boy." He smiled with all the sincerity of a wolf and put his hand on Chris' shoulder.
The next months passed quickly. Chris was not happy, but he was content. He saw his mother often until the day almost four months later when he had to say goodbye, the same way he had said farewell to his father, at the side of a mound of earth.
He sat there, staring at her headstone. Maria Braun and the date was all it contained. Nothing about the husband whose death had broken her heart and called her to join him; nothing about the parents who had never really cared and especially, nothing about the sorrowing little boy of eight that she left behind.
He could have sat there for hours.
Damon came up behind him and hurt him for the first time, twisting his arm up behind him, holding him in a large overcoat to hide it and to muffle the boy's cries. It was then that Chris decided he would never give his uncle the satisfaction of tears. From that moment, his whole life blurred together into one seamless pattern of pain and determination. There had never been one bright spot in his entire life until Darielle.
Darielle, she was crying, screaming. Her pain echoed along every nerve of his body. Her feeling of betrayal more than matched his own.
"Mom!" He called her name over and over as Darielle's pain threatened to overwhelm him. "Why did you leave me? Why did you give me to him? Mom, why can't I save her?"
He woke up, breathing hard, but with his throat clear once more. Darielle's mom sat by his bed, despair written in every worry line. She took her hand off his shoulder. "Chris, he's taken her, my only daughter. I cannot follow; I must stay with Andrew. Please, I cannot lose her."
Chris sat up. She had released his bonds. "How long?"
"Not more than five minutes. He will be heading to the boat. You must hurry! Follow the path that leads east out of the clearing."
Chris stood, swaying on shaky legs. He only took a moment to gain his balance and then he was running, watching for holes much more carefully this time. Despite his weakness and the pain from his arm, he made good time and was soon walking quietly in the brush almost right behind Darielle and Damon.
They found the boat quickly, hidden in a small, secluded cove. It was not like the tiny rowboat that had carried Christ to the island in the beginning, but it was not large enough for Chris to sneak up without being seen. Chris was exhausted from his walk and knew he was in no shape to face Damon, but unless something changed, that would be Darielle's only hope. Chris was dizzy and nearly fainting, but he stumbled closer, keeping in the brush as much as possible. There was a very large box on the deck that was covered in a tarp and Chris figured it would be a good hiding place if he could only get there. The impossible happened.
"Darielle, I need your help carrying some boxes out of the cave on the other side of these trees." Damon called out to her. In a matter of seconds, the clearing was empty and the path to the boat was clear. Chris wasted no time rushing to the boat and climbing into the box. He knew that if he was spotted he would be dead, but he couldn't leave Darielle to the fate he could not avoid.
The box was nearly empty, and for a moment he was afraid they would be packing things into it, but he had to take the chance. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, for what seemed like hours until he heard Damon carefully fastening the tarp over the box without glancing inside. It was then that he realized that he shared the box with some of the filthy tricks of Damon's trade, bloodstained ropes, gleaming wooden boxes that, from experience, he knew carried all manner of glittering metal objects, some sharp, some blunt, some twisted, some straight, that all worked toward the same purpose, to cause pain. There were vises of all different sizes and other various objects that Chris had never even seen. He remembered with a rush and had to fight to keep himself from retching violently and being discovered. Once again, he felt the pricking of unfamiliar tears and resolved anew that Darielle would never know the pain he had experienced.
He was cold and hungry. His arm ached incessantly and he simply felt weak. He struggled to stay alert. He didn't want Damon to catch him off guard, but he could not keep his eyes open and he drifted into a dark, nightmarish sleep that he never could remember, only that he had been terrified. He was no better upon awakening. Damon stood by the box, looking down at him.
"Nightmares, Chris? You cry out in your sleep." Damon laughed. Chris looked up at him and refused to speak or show any emotion. Damon grabbed his right arm and yanked him up out of the box. Fresh pain lanced up his arm, but Chris' expression did not change. The sleep, even with the nightmares, had strengthened him and his fear had melted away, once again to be replaced by firm resolve. "Don't hurt her Damon. I swear I will kill you if you touch her." He spoke evenly, no emotion showed anywhere on his face. Only his paleness and the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead showed the strain it took to stand and look Damon in the face.
"You can't kill me if you are dead." Chris's face went a shade paler. Damon laughed. "I won't kill you yet. I'll let the pain do it for me. I always stopped before I exhausted your strength. I am kind of curious to see how much you have left in you. I don't have to worry about losing you. After you are spent, I ‘ll still have dear, sweet Darielle."
Chris looked frantically around for Darielle. She slept on a bench by the edge of the boat. She looked peaceful and Chris could detect no injuries. It was at the moment that he relaxed that Damon grabbed his broken arm and, yanking it behind him, tied it to the railing. Chris gagged, bile rising in his throat. He swallowed it back with great difficulty. Damon had taken that moment of inattention and fastened his other hand a few feet away and was busily fastening another rope around his feet. It was tied to the opposite railing and most of Chris's weight was hanging off his broken arm. He bit back a moan, bright lights flashing before his eyes. He felt his eyeballs rolling back into his head and gave into the inevitable. He hung limply from the ropes, his consciousness gone.
When he awoke, he had been released from the torturous position, but not from the ropes. Whatever strength he had gained in his early sleep was gone, but the determination was still there, especially because Darielle's sleeping face was the first thing he saw. She was facing him, lying unfettered on the deck, her face not two inches from his own. He could feel her warm breath on his mouth; it tasted sweet.
She opened her eyes then, disoriented but awake. She smiled, a slow gentle curve, the sleep casting a dreamy haze in her eyes. "Chris," she whispered and she leaned forward, erasing the two inches between them and kissed him. Chris closed his eyes and she was dragged quickly away.
"Chris," she cried, horrified from the circle of Damon's arms. "Why are you here, and tied up?" For the first time, she struggled against Damon's smothering embrace. "Let me go to him. He's hurt!" Damon shook his head slowly.
"I wanted to save you from him. I couldn't bear to let him hurt you." Chris whispered, his voice faltering from the pain. "Damon, you have me again, let her go. I'll do anything." Horror broke out across Darielle's face as she realized what was happening.
"You mean you were right all along?" She whispered, the fear in her eyes clearly visible.
"I wish I was wrong." Chris said simply and Damon began to laugh.
"This is what I was talking about Chris; the betrayal will crush her. Are you afraid Darielle? Do you see his scars? You will be the same." Damon smiled as he spoke in a conversational tone. "You can watch as I add more. It will give you a better idea of what you're in for."
Darielle pushed herself furiously out of Damon's eyes, then turned and faced him. "You monster!" She hissed furiously. Damon laughed and backhanded her across the face. She fell and landed next to Chris. He wished he could reach out to her, but his hands were tied. Her shoulders shook but she made no sound.
Chris lay on the deck silently, his heart aching for Darielle. After ten minutes, she turned and looked at him, smiling from swollen eyes and tear streaked cheeks. One cheek was swollen and red. "Thank you." she said.
"For what?" asked Chris.
"For caring enough to try."
"That is enough you two," Damon growled from the front of the boat. "We are almost there." He tied both of them together and laid them out on the deck, back to back, gagging them and dragging a tarp over them to hide them. "Don't bother kicking or trying to scream. Everyone knows me in these parts. They will turn a blind eye as they have for the last ten years."
Darielle and Chris lay in the dim blue light. She slipped her hand into his. By craning their necks at a painful angle, they could look into each others eyes. Chris tried very hard to communicate strength and reassurance through his gaze but feared it held only his despair. Darielle winked at him and Chris knew Damon would have a hard time breaking her. They turned away from each other then, lying still, holding each other's tied hands. Darielle's shoulderblades brushed the middle of his back with every breath and they were silent, relishing the closeness and enjoying what could well be their last moments of peace.
They heard rough voices bargaining but no matter how much they squirmed and kicked, no one came. The boat began moving again and hope drifted away once again. They were on their own.
It was silent for a long time. They could hear nothing but the soft hum of the engine. They heard doors opening and closing and then their boat pulled up to the dock with a loud bump. The tarp was ripped off and once again they looked into the face of Damon.
"Miss me?" He grinned. He grunted and lifted Chris of the deck of the boat, keeping a firm grip on his right arm. "It is a good thing I have this to keep you in line," he said, giving his arm a sharp yank to punctuate his statement. "You are getting to be too big for me to handle. That is why I let you go in the first place. I can't just do that now though. I couldn't always be looking over my shoulder waiting for you to come after me. It is better to just kill you now rather than risking your attempt to avenge Darielle's pain." Damon smiled and, still holding Chris' arm, led him and Darielle into an old warehouse on the dock.
It was cold and damp inside and the smell of mildew was everywhere. It was empty but for the dust of time that coated the floor and puffed up with every footfall, coating the inside of their mouths and noses, and a smaller building, like a garden shed, that sat in the middle of the room. Damon led them inside.
"Here it is, home sweet home." Taking a short piece of rope off the ground, he ran it through the bonds on Chris' wrists and tied him to a ring on the wall. The ring was just high enough off the ground that Chris had to stretch on his tiptoes to keep the pressure off his broken arm. It hurt excruciatingly, but Chris ignored it, as he had learned to do so long before. Darielle too was tied to the wall but she had more room for movement.
Damon went to the large box that had come with them on the boat. Chris had not seen him bring it in, but something jumped in the pit of his stomach at the memory of the items it contained. Damon laid out his tools with all the finesse of a master painter setting up his brushes and paints in preparation for his masterpiece. He then looked at Chris with a wolfish anticipation smoldering in his eyes. "I am ready, but not for you. I want to hear you scream Chris; I want to hear you beg but your own pain does not frighten you anymore. You will watch. I won't do much damage yet. I just want to hear you scream." Damon's teeth gleamed in the light as a feral expression crept over his face. "I think I will start with the brand."
Damon pulled it out of the fire, it was already glowing, and slowly touched it to Darielle's palm. She screamed then and Chris hurled himself against his bonds once, and then again, ignoring his own pain. Surprised, he felt the rope shift as some of its frayed strands parted. Darielle kept screaming, he could smell the stench of her hand burning. He threw himself at the rope with renewed vigor. He could feel it loosening until finally, all pain and weakness forgotten in the heat of the moment, he tore himself free.
He threw himself across the room at Damon with a primal yell. Damon turned, the brand before him, and waited, but Chris was unstoppable. He thrust it away with his left forearm, ignoring his own burning flesh, and gripped Damon around the throat. He began to squeeze and only then became conscious of Darielle's voice.
"Don't kill him. You don't have to kill him."
Chris looked at her, his hands still around Damon's throat. "He stole five years of my life through the pain and another five through the fear. He doesn't deserve to live."
"You do not have to be what Damon made you. You are Chris; you are sweet and kind and loyal, don't become Damon. You can be stronger than that. You have come through the fear and worked through the pain to confront your greatest enemy. You are free from him already. His death will stay with you and be on your conscience. Be free of him and let him go."
Chris looked at Darielle, her eyes full of peace and love for him; he looked at Damon, at his eyes full of fear and loathing, and he knew that he had won. He was truly free. He relaxed his grip on Damon's throat and, still ignoring the weakness that threatened to overcome him, chained him to the wall. He released Darielle from where she stood and bandaged her hand with a piece ripped from Damon's shirt. She ran then, to bring the police. They returned to lead Damon away. Chris finally succumbed to his pain and exhaustion and, slumped against the wall, his consciousness slipped away.
For the fourth time, Chris woke to see the face of Darielle close to his own. She smiled and for the first time in ten years, he found himself with a real smile on his own face. He was lying in a hospital bed with clean white sheets, his arm encased in plaster. He had no pain but something else was different. For the first time in ten years, he also had no fear.
He looked up into Darielle's face with a look of wonder. "I'm free."
She grinned delightedly and, leaning over him, kissed him gently. "Yes." She said simply, and turned to walk from the room. Chris watched her go with an unfamiliar feeling. He eventually decided it must be peace and, with a real smile gracing his scarred face he fell asleep, free from the nightmares of the past.
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