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His head was killing him as he woke slowly. The kind of headache where you were not sure if your head was going to explode or not, but then again you're positive it would feel better if it did. The kind where thinking hurt. He was completely disoriented and not sure how long it took for him to think coherently. What the hell had happened?
Everything else hurt too. His ribs protested each breath. His back was aching. Cautiously, he tried to move his arms and discovered that his hands were secured behind his back and he was lying on his side on cool, damp concrete. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find he was in complete inky blackness. Where was he?
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sounds around him. There was a muffled click and he heard a gas-burner kick in. Probably a hot water heater. No other sounds reached him. He turned his head and felt a sudden wave of nausea pass over him. He swallowed hard trying to control the bile that rose in his throat. He stopped moving and concentrated on just relaxing for a moment, breathing evenly. How long had he been here, wherever here was?
He tried to sort out what he did remember. What was the last thing he had been doing?
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"I'm running a few errands. Anything you want me to pick up?" Rico looked up from his book.
"...hmmmm...." He saw a twinkle in his partner's eyes. "Don't suppose they have any leggy, buxom blondes available at the grocery store?"
"Don't know." He grinned. "If they don't, would you settle for a red-head or a brunette?" Rico was definitely feeling better and should be cleared to go back on light-duty by the beginning of next week. Sonny was eagerly anticipating getting back to work with his partner. They were looking forward to new challenges in dealing with the criminal element as the world raced ahead into the twenty-first century.
"Come here." Rico tugged him down to the deck chair and Sonny gave him a quick kiss. "...hmmm... Don't have much experience with red-heads." He was chuckling. "But I'd definitely settle for a certain Vice detective with blond hair and changeable green eyes." They kissed again. Warm, sweet and lingering, Sonny licked his lips as they parted. "Don't be too long. Okay?"
"You could always come along," Sonny offered. Rico was not confined to the house but he did still tire easily and he knew he should take a nap or he would be out like a light before eight.
"Thanks," he shook his head, "but I think I'll just stay here and enjoy the sun and read my book." Sonny nodded and pulled Rico's hand to his lips and kissed his fingers.
"I'll bring us something sinful for dessert then." He had already started their dinner; a chicken was slow roasting in the oven.
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He frowned. He could clearly remember backing the Ferrari out of the driveway but nothing else. Now, he was in a basement somewhere in the dark with his head pounding; probably suffering from a concussion with the nausea that still hovered in the background.
Then he heard heavy footsteps overhead and rattle of a door. Seconds later he was blinded as a light was turned on. He groaned as he closed his eyes and felt his stomach heave. The next few moments were a confusing mix of retching, his head pounding worse than before, and the sounds of footsteps as someone moved close. He knew he should be concerned but at the moment it was all he could do to not choke on the vomit.
"Jesus Christ!" The hard voice penetrated the fog of pain and he tried to force his eyes open. "What the fuck is wrong with you, now?!" The owner of the voice moved close and he felt something nudge his shoulder. He could not stop the motion as he was rolled onto his back.
For a moment he thought he was going to pass out as pain lanced through his head and his stomach gave another series of dry heaves. His arms were now pinned beneath him and he could feel the metal of a cuffs biting into the tender flesh of his wrists. He could not make his eyes focus. He did not know if it was the pain or the concussion but everything was fuzzy and concentrating only made him feel more nauseous.
"Christ! You can just stay in this shit until I'm good'n ready to do somethin' 'bout it!" The hard toe of a boot connected solidly with his side and he flinched making his stomach dry heave yet again. "You always were a wuss. Such a goddamned pain in the ass. Couldn't even take a little roughin' up, James!" The booted foot hit his ribs again and the air whistled out and the pain overwhelmed him and consciousness fled in series of brilliant flashes of light that seared his brain.
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Consciousness crept slowly back. For a long time all he was aware of was his own misery. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. He was cold and shivering. There was an awful stench all around him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found he was in total darkness.
Nothing made sense. Where the hell was he? What the hell had happened? He tried to move and found his arms were like deadweights pinned behind him. Somehow despite the lancing pains in his head, the protesting of his ribs, he managed to move to his side. No position was comfortable with his hands cuffed behind him. Finally, panting and exhausted he closed his eyes and drifted only to be brought back to consciousness as his arms and hands began to tingle.
He tried to wriggle his fingers and was not even certain he managed that until a cramp settled into his shoulder. The muscles spasmed and cramped and the tingle of angry ants ran up and down his arms and hands. He needed to figure what was happening. But his last clear memories were of being in the Ferrari.
Wait. He had woken before, hadn't he? There had been footsteps and too-bright light and a voice, an angry voice. There was a familiarity to the voice. It had been male and angry and harsh and a bit slurred, but it was familiar. Carefully, he tried to think back. What had the man said?
Exhausted and in pain he fell into a fitful doze.
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"...up!" He winced at the voice that boomed from above him. "I said, wake up!" The lights were on, he could tell that through his eyelids. Carefully, he squinted his eyes open. There was a blurry face in front of him. He blinked trying to focus and his head continued to pound. The image would not focus and he could feel his stomach rolling.
"Good!" He winced as a toe nudged his side. "I want you awake. I want you to take your punishment like a goddamned man!"
"..Wha....ahh!..." His mouth as so dry he could barely speak but then his tormentor gave him a quick kick to the ribs.
"'Bout goddamned time you woke." He tried to get a handle on the pain lancing through his head and the grinding in his chest. The man loomed closer to him but was still very blurry. Why the hell couldn't he focus enough to see the man in front of him? "Whew! You stink worse than a skunk!..." The man moved away and Sonny closed his eyes in relief. "Oh, no!" His face was slapped hard and stars burst in his vision. "You damn well stay awake, James!..." He could smell whiskey on the man's breath.
He did not quite lose consciousness, but he was powerless to move or resist as he was yanked to his feet. The cuffs bit into his wrists as he was dragged along. His clothes were roughly torn from him and he was shivering as he was tossed into a cold tiled-lined shower stall. Water pounded on him, cold at first and then hot, almost too hot to bear.
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Suddenly he was eleven years old and in the shower. It was a Saturday night and he was home alone because his parents were visiting his uncle. Who was he kidding? They were with Uncle Jack at a local bar, playing pool and drinking. Jake was probably with his latest girlfriend down at the lake. Sonny had just lathered up his hair when the water went icy cold and then very hot, scalding hot. Yelling, he jumped from the tub and almost slipped on the cold floor. Shampoo was stinging his eyes as he groped for a towel and suddenly his ass was slapped with the terrycloth.
"Hey!" He jumped back and wiped at his eyes. A seventeen-year-old Jake was standing there with a malicious grin on his face. "Why'd you do that?" He barely managed to dodge another swipe of the towel, this time aimed for his groin.
"Mama's boy!"
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The water had gone cold and he did not have the strength to move out of the stall. His teeth started chattering as shivers ran through him. A seeming eternity later, the water was gone and he was yanked to his feet again.
"You can stay in here." He collapsed on the floor not too far from the stall; he could feel the cold porcelain of the toilet pressing against his bare hip. "Easier to clean up yer mess that way." He did not fully understand what was happening as one wrist was released from the cuffs. Metal rattled on metal as the free cuff was attached to the drainpipe from the sink. A rough wool blanket, smelling of mothballs was dropped next to him. Moments later, the lights were off and the door was slammed shut.
He weakly tugged the blanket over his naked, shivering body and curled on his side with his wrist resting on the pipe. None of this made sense. What had he done to deserve this?
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end sneak peek of ASiL6