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Jun. 28th, 2006 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gabriel_tamIn the blurred haze of worry and work, exhaustion and stress-- not to mention the effort of marking the local time zones in any number of cities on several planets-- it would be easy to lose track of how many days have passed. He hasn't, though. Gabriel knows exactly how long it's been since they were taken. He's been counting the hours off against an inner clock, comparing the time that's passed to his own previous experience.
If there's a procedure to such things, to their methods of interrogation-- if there's a pattern, then there's still time left, he thinks. Not much, but perhaps it will be enough.
The arraignment hearing is scheduled for tomorrow, on the Valerius Justiciary Station. They can't attend; it's closed to interested parties as well as to the general public. In the interests of a fair and equitable hearing the media will be present and reporting over the 'waves, thanks to briefs and motions spearheaded by the actions of Verrou Faire Denoument, and so they will at least be able to watch. The largest Cortex screen here in their Londinium apartment has already been moved into place in the center of the living room, well in advance of the broadwave.
But all of that is for tomorrow, and there's nothing left to do tonight, save try to sleep. It takes a while, but eventually his exhaustion wins the battle against his restless thoughts; Gabriel's eyes close, and his breathing deepens as he falls into true sleep.
And dreams.
Shadows, everywhere there are shadows, tilting and yawing and slanting crazily across his blurred vision with stripes of light between like blinding claws. Gabriel blinks desperately, trying to lean to the side so he can see past the slouching monstrous form in front of him.
He can't move. The (rotting spider-silk) wall at his back is sticky and holds him like glue. He can feel it under and around his hands as his fingertips sink in, as if pressed into the overripe flesh of some nauseatingly gelid fruit.
Standing in front of him, Cathcart smiles cruelly, showing too many teeth (like knives) as he lowers his blue-gloved hand, a hand that holds a familiar thin metal stick with a glowing blue wand at each end. His words are a wolf's vicious snarl, ripping the air through the bleeding rictus of his insane grin.
"We want information. You haven't given it to us. So we'll take it."
Cathcart steps aside, revealing the room behind him. His partner Charrington stands at the head of a tilted medi-stretcher, a scalpel held delicately in his fingers.
River's on the table, fragile in a thin white hospital gown. She's bound and chained, and her hair whips around her in a tangle as she struggles, sobbing wildly,
"No, no, no -- needles in her eyes, fingers in her brain, no more -- bà bà please come, please!"
Gabriel sucks in a breath to answer and is blocked by latex-clad fingers pressed hard against his lips. From beside him, Cathcart growls, "You gave up, remember?" He fights, a muffled noise escaping, and the wolf slams his head back against the wall with a hiss. "Shhhh."
(all is silent in the halls of the dead)
On the other side of the room, Charrington makes the first slice, and a fuming yellow-orange light pours out like blood from River's brain as she screams.
"Just like peeling an orange," he exults. "Cut and tear."
"Mèimei?" It's Simon's voice, and Gabriel rolls his eyes desperately sideways, trying to see his son-- Simon had saved her before when he himself had failed--
"Mèimei, I'm coming! Hold on, River, it's Simon, I'm coming... where are you? I'll find you, it's just-- I can't--"
Simon's staggering along beside the crazily tilted wall, using it to guide him, and its sterile pale blue is scarred now with the dark stains left where he puts his hands. It's easy to find the source -- a matching crimson pours from his eyes, blind now and bleeding.
"--I can't see you, mèimei, where are you?"
Beside Gabriel, Cathcart whispers,
"They're ours now. You've lost them, Tam. You're too late."
If there's a procedure to such things, to their methods of interrogation-- if there's a pattern, then there's still time left, he thinks. Not much, but perhaps it will be enough.
The arraignment hearing is scheduled for tomorrow, on the Valerius Justiciary Station. They can't attend; it's closed to interested parties as well as to the general public. In the interests of a fair and equitable hearing the media will be present and reporting over the 'waves, thanks to briefs and motions spearheaded by the actions of Verrou Faire Denoument, and so they will at least be able to watch. The largest Cortex screen here in their Londinium apartment has already been moved into place in the center of the living room, well in advance of the broadwave.
But all of that is for tomorrow, and there's nothing left to do tonight, save try to sleep. It takes a while, but eventually his exhaustion wins the battle against his restless thoughts; Gabriel's eyes close, and his breathing deepens as he falls into true sleep.
And dreams.
Shadows, everywhere there are shadows, tilting and yawing and slanting crazily across his blurred vision with stripes of light between like blinding claws. Gabriel blinks desperately, trying to lean to the side so he can see past the slouching monstrous form in front of him.
He can't move. The (rotting spider-silk) wall at his back is sticky and holds him like glue. He can feel it under and around his hands as his fingertips sink in, as if pressed into the overripe flesh of some nauseatingly gelid fruit.
Standing in front of him, Cathcart smiles cruelly, showing too many teeth (like knives) as he lowers his blue-gloved hand, a hand that holds a familiar thin metal stick with a glowing blue wand at each end. His words are a wolf's vicious snarl, ripping the air through the bleeding rictus of his insane grin.
"We want information. You haven't given it to us. So we'll take it."
Cathcart steps aside, revealing the room behind him. His partner Charrington stands at the head of a tilted medi-stretcher, a scalpel held delicately in his fingers.
River's on the table, fragile in a thin white hospital gown. She's bound and chained, and her hair whips around her in a tangle as she struggles, sobbing wildly,
"No, no, no -- needles in her eyes, fingers in her brain, no more -- bà bà please come, please!"
Gabriel sucks in a breath to answer and is blocked by latex-clad fingers pressed hard against his lips. From beside him, Cathcart growls, "You gave up, remember?" He fights, a muffled noise escaping, and the wolf slams his head back against the wall with a hiss. "Shhhh."
(all is silent in the halls of the dead)
On the other side of the room, Charrington makes the first slice, and a fuming yellow-orange light pours out like blood from River's brain as she screams.
"Just like peeling an orange," he exults. "Cut and tear."
"Mèimei?" It's Simon's voice, and Gabriel rolls his eyes desperately sideways, trying to see his son-- Simon had saved her before when he himself had failed--
"Mèimei, I'm coming! Hold on, River, it's Simon, I'm coming... where are you? I'll find you, it's just-- I can't--"
Simon's staggering along beside the crazily tilted wall, using it to guide him, and its sterile pale blue is scarred now with the dark stains left where he puts his hands. It's easy to find the source -- a matching crimson pours from his eyes, blind now and bleeding.
"--I can't see you, mèimei, where are you?"
Beside Gabriel, Cathcart whispers,
"They're ours now. You've lost them, Tam. You're too late."
