CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN ON SECOND HALF. RE-READ IF ALREADY READ!!
CHAPTER HAS BEEN REWRITTEN ON SECOND HALF. RE-READ IF ALREADY READ!!
This chapter is one i have been struggling to finish for a good 5 years. I have long since known how it needed to play out; but i just couldnt write it. So now, after having promised, and re promised, and re promised; here it is. I put together all the pieces i was able to and put this together. To be honest, i would have to say one of the hardest parts about writing this chapter was that i am trying to write something that i know i already wrote and already had down, but lost. So i have been trying to re write to true to a form i had down 5 years ago. With each year i have grown further and further from it. So here it is again. Wimsett, all of you… sorry for the long wait. For everyone else, you will DEFINATELY want to read / re read the earlier sections of this story for this chapter. It is important to understand whats happening.
CHEERS! CHAPTER 14
Demyan watched as more SUVs appeared and men filed out of them. Altogether there must have been nearly thirty or forty of what he could only guess to be hired guns. He had seen about a dozen men fallow the two who picked Alex’ body up by the sleeves and pant legs of his suit and carried him into the nearby military building. While the remaining were grouping up and heading towards the outskirts of the worn military complex.
The small patrol they had sent out to confirm his death had forced Demyan to keep moving.
The pain of his wounds were distant as he made his way along the trenched perimeter. The pain was second to his instincts as a soldier; back off, recompose, and strike out…
Far away from the light of the mercenary vehicles, Demyan began to make out the silhouette of a large tower in the moonlight. Great gouges had been taken out of it by warfare long past, but there it stood, defiant to time itself. A smile touched Demyans face as he felt that he and the old monument had something in common, and with that sharp pain echoed throughout his body as he stretched to find the first handholds and began his climb…
They draped Alexandyres body into a metal chair at the head of a large rustic table. He appeared lifeless. Both his jacket and undershirt had been torn off at the sleeves, all their buttons gone and exposing his bare chest. On his left arm, the sleeves had been completely torn off, while on his right they still hung on by a thread, the only real indication that he was still alive was that blood was still dripping from his saturated rag like clothing to the ground below. For a moment the group of five men in the room just looked at him, like some terrible, yet grand, art piece. After a few seconds the silence was broken by the deep voice of a cruel leader… “Adrenaline… Wake him up…” Ordered the tall figure who sat at the other end of the long table, opposite of Alexandyre…
“Sir?” Questioned the man to Alex’ left. “We were ordered to just transport him, that will be hard enough with how he is right now.”
A slight sneer grew on the leaders face. “I like to know what i’m dealing with first… After all, whatever he knows might be more valuable to us than to our patron.”
The man glared; “Wake him up, Toril.”
“Chyort voz’mi!” Demyan cursed as he heaved his body over the battlements of the war torn tower. Exhaustion and pain echoed throughout the Russians body while he half ran half stumbled down the winding staircase of the tower; rays of moonlight shining in through gaping holes throughout the ruin. Reaching the bottom of the tower his knees nearly gave way with a sharp pain shooting up his side. seeking out the wound he could feel the warmth of blood; a reminder of desperation to add to the emotions of anger and sorrow. Looking up from his wound there was blood in his teethe as the Russian smiled at the sight before him; he would summon up an ancient fury to rend his nearing enemies to pieces…
The voices of the mercenaries were becoming clearer as they approached. In the bottom of the tower Demyan looked at what he had to work with. Dust billowed up in his face as he opened up a rusty ammo box; the box itself full of AK rounds. Searching the ground he came across half a dozen broken inside a bullet ridden jeep. Stuffing the flares into the box, Demyan gritted his bloody teeth and trudged up the tower steps; this would have to do.
Having reached the top of the tower it was time; Demyan opened the top of the ammo box, struck a flayer and tossed it in, closed the lid and hurled it from the tower. There was a moment of deafening silence as the box sored serenely through the air, smoke billowing from in as it headed towards the troops below. For a moment, the box hit the ground and plumed smoke about it. Confusion rippled about the mercenaries with the appearance of a big cloud of smoke in their midst… Then, after a perfect second pandora’s box sang it’s song; hellishly cackling as bullets tore out of a thick cloud of smoke, wreaking havoc and confusion. Demyan once more barreled down the winding tower stairs, the sound of a viscous gun battle echoing beyond his heavy foot steps as he reached bottom. Having pried loose one of the doors of the jeep, he hefted what would be his shield and glared at the door of the tower with madness in his eyes. The tower door half toppled open, half came off its hinges as Demyan kicked it open.
Death was in the air as the mercenaries fired blindly at this new enemy shrouded in smoke and dove for cover, and then amongst them, a crazy Russian ran, bullets planking heavily against his shield like door, him sprinting in desperation towards the black SUV’s the Mercenaries had arrived in.
A gutteral howl of pain sputtered from Alex’ lips along with bubbles of blood and spit, as he moved into consciousness. At first his eyes shut tight against the pain, and then wide open with a look of dark curiosity. Kneeled in front of him was a man. Alexandyres subconcious mind offered up a name. ‘Toril,’
This mans name was Toril. Alex Followed the mans troubled gaze and his mouth went from a bloody grimace to a twisted smile. The man was looking at the brand Lucy had given him with the Tokarev; a blistered red star with a series of numbers between the points.
Toril spoke up… “Sir… This is bad…”
Cory and Andrea sat for a moment in silence. Lucy seemed to gaze in their direction across the table; not at them, but past them. Her beautiful green eyes taking on a look of glazed over emptiness; tears openly let to stream down the sides of her flushed cheeks. Then as, her eye lids began to flutter, Cory finally broke the silence, his brash upbeat voice, having a more knowing edge to it. “Welp missy; the Irish part of me knows that you’ve ad’ it. I’m not gonna pretend yer goin to remember anythin I say by mornin. So lets get ye to bed.”
Lucy managed a silent slow nod, accompanied by a short smile. Cory’ bear sized hand came out to support her limp frame as she slid sideways toward her bed. Her dress clung to the back of her overly saturated diaper. Cory shot a pleading glance over to Andrea who with a smile and a wink went to retrieve a towel.
“I’ll take it from here Captain.” Chirped Andrea in her sweet english accent.
“Might want te make it a ladies night; best she’s not alone, aye?” Offered Cory, as he lay Lucy down on the towel.
“Oh Captain, just what I was thinking. Yes sir, I was going to raid Lucy’ diaper closet and finish off her bottle and crawl into bed!” Beemed Andrea, a little red in the cheeks from the alcohol.
Cory’ chuckle could be heard from the hall, “Jus’ don’ go callin the bridge with potato jokes like last time. I’m Irish, but I ain’t starvin ye lil’ english lassy!”
Lucy in the mean time had gone about clumsily pulling up her skirt and fumbled with the tapes of her diaper.
“Oh come now miss, let me earn my keep.” Andrea piped, as she slapped away Lucy’ hand in a jokingly stern fashion.
Andrea quickly went about cleaning up Lucy. Helping her get her clothes off and into a fresh diaper, and finally standing back to admire her work. Lucy’ body was well outlined by the sheet that covered it. Her nipples poking through slightly and the front of her fresh diaper bulging slightly. ‘Gosh, Alexandyre is one lucky man.’ She thought to herself, before getting undressed and crawling into bed next to Lucy.
“Now you just keep your pretty hands to yourself and we wont have any problems there miss.” Joked Andrea with a smile, but when she turned to look at Lucy, she was already fast asleep…
“Sir we all know what that mark signifies…” Toril said hauntingly.
Alexandyre gave a painfully twisted smirk, as he realized what they were thinking. It was Mikails mark they saw. His eyes shut tight against the pain, he listened on, trying to hear them past the sound of his own heart and blood rushing in his ears.
“Boss, you never said anything about a soviet era mob boss.” Spoke the man opposite Toril, as he checked the inside of Alex’ jacket, only to find a matching mark.
“What are we going to do!?” Spoke Toril.
“Marcus, get blood transfusions going. This man can’t die by our hands.” Ordered the mercenary leader.
Alex caught the name between heartbeats. This other mans name was ‘Marcus.’ and they were afraid; he could hear the fear and urgency in their voices.
‘How ironic.’ Alexandyre thought. That it would come to pass, that the brand Lucy had used to cauterize his wound would become so important. A pang of sadness touched him then; if he died there, even with the mark, it would all come to nothing, for they were wrong. He was not a mob boss. He was a boy, just barely a man, moments from finding love and living happily ever after. He had fallen short, and that reality was quickly slipping away; becoming all but a dream.
“Toril.” The commander echoed once more.
Alex wished they would say the mans name; their leader, so that he could mark the man who had taken him away from Lucy.
“Insanity, give it to him…”
“Sir?” Questioned Toril, hesitantly.
“Him living is too much. He will remember…” The scratchy deep american accent continued. “You know the coctail, by tomorrow either he dies and dies lookin like a junkie, or he lives and goes mad… Or he could end up like your friend and live…In a way…”
Toril’ face grew dark, " Sir, I wont do it…And we both know i’m the only one who knows that cocktail."
“You are right… So if you won’t, then i will.” He turned to the other soldier, “give him everything.”
“Sir you will kill him…And if he dies, then we all do…”
“Then do it!” Growled the commander.
“Very well…” Answered Toril… The look on his face as he prepared a series of syringes was one of sorrow, not for himself… But for Alexandyre… “No man should ever have to live through this; but for your sake, like my old friend… Well if you have a strong mind, you might come out with something left…” He whispered to the bloodied figure in front of him.
Alex’ eyes opened momentarily… Through the pain that ripped throughout his body, he had heard what the man had said. With a glare piercing out of his half open eyes, He spat blood in the mans face…The man, only returned with a look of sorrow and a slow nod. After a moment, as though he were paying his respects, he set to work, picking up the first syringe and moving for Alex.
The first syringe went into Alex’ arm, and for everything he was worth, he kept his venomous glare. And then, with the passing of one second, the silence that existed beyond his own heartbeat was shattered… Alex’s glare turned into a look of concern, as the aire had been interrupted by a cacophony of gun shots from outside… The second syringe entered his right arm; it had been nearly 15 seconds of constant gunfire… The world was beginning to echo, like it were becoming further away…
It had been half a minute and the gunshots still rang out; Alex’ look of concern turned to something of a smile as he thought, ‘Demyan…’
Pandora’s ancient fury had finally died down and the smoke began to clear by the time Demyan got to an SUV that was not covered in bullet holes.
‘Though soon it would be…’ Demyan thought. ‘And maybe him as well.’
The distraction that pandora offered was valuable, but over. There was no way of knowing how long it would take for the backup he had called to arrive. Hell, thinking to himself, Demyan couldn’t even accurately say how long this gun battle had gone on and there was no way of knowing if Alexandyre was still alive.
‘All the same’ Demyan thought to himself, he would move forward all the same.
“Here I come komrade.” He spoke, pressing the gas and veering the vehicle towards the compound where they had taken Alex. The moment he started moving, shouting could be heard in the distance, and by the time he had gotten up to speed bullets pierced the barreling vehicle all over. The glass to Demyan’s left shattered, the sound of it only drowned out, by him shouting in Russian as the SUV slammed through the entrance of the compound.
Alexandyre felt distant. The world was falling away fast. Fear ran rampant in his mind as every emotion he could identify started to dip and dive. He was sure that he was yelling at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t hear himself. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, like waves of the ocean crashing over and over again. What Alex could not hear the other men in the room could…
The mercenary commanders radio had started blaring something about helicopters in the distance and getting out.
Marcus and Toril stared intently at their leader as the radio blared, then the building shook accompanied by a loud crash in the hall. The men outside the room opened fire full automatic.
Demyan ducked down as a line of men opened fire at his vehicle, flooring the gas pedal. The vehicles lights went out and smoke billowed from under the hood, but the inertia carried it down the cement hallway and screams were cut short by loud consecutive thuds… Demyans SUV slowly rolled to a halt, bullet ridden and steaming, twenty feet from the room the men were guarding; the room, his friend was in. Exhausted, tired, bleeding and determined; Demyan kicked open the door of the SUV and stepped heavily on the cement ground of grit and glass. He leaned heavily on the wall for support as he picked up one of the mercenaries SMGs and a broken piece of mirror. Checking the gun for ammo, he made his way forward; the sound of helicopters and gunshots spitting off all around the airstrip.
Alex’ senses were running rampant now; he could hear everything and feel everything so very clearly now. ‘This is too much.’ He thought to himself.
Just as he’d had the thought though, he could feel the heat of someone approaching him; drawing close.
Demyan had already used the mirror to see three men inside the room. One had a syringe in his hand; his face a strained picture of sorrow. Another seemed to be rapidly trying to stem the bloodflow with one hand, while trying to attach another blood transfusion with the other and then there was the man leaning close to Alex.
The man was very close now, inches away, his raspy inhale, raked Alex’s right ear.
It was the deep scratchy voice of the commander that spoke. “I don’t know why Mr. Philips wants you, or why you are such a threat to the corporation, but you to know you are alone now; your friends screams died a moment ago, and if you live, even the insane assylums wont want you!” Spat the American.
Alex tried to spit again, but all he could manage was a heavy exhale; blood bubbled down his chin and dripped onto his ragged chest.
A heavy footfall sounded as Demyan rounded the corner. Toril and the Commander froze for a moment before looking up, while Marcus only bared down further in focus, affixing another transfusion IV to Alex’ arm.
“Mr. Philips; you’re corporation…” The Russian accent growled, “Or deamons of hell! Comrade Alexandyre is mine!” Demya yelled as a muzzle flash lept from from his guns barrel and the top of the mercenary leader head splashed against the wall to Alex’ right.
The waiter took another step forward and leveled his SMG with the soldier holding the syringe. The man seemed about to talk, but Demyans finger pulled back on the trigger and his face pealed away and his body slumped over at the foot of Alexandyres form.
Demyan walked toward his comrade, letting the gun fall to his side held by its strap. Marcus had not looked up once yet and was starting on a third blood transfusion. The first bag was almost empty, the second a quarter of the way. The Russian ignored him for a moment and looked on his friend.
Alexandyre lay slumped in the large chaire, the blood bags sitting on his shoulders, leading into his arms. Syringes littering the ground next to him; and heavily bloodied bandages covered his torso amidst the torn rags that were once the nice suit Demyan had met him in.
" Oh my comrade…" He whispered as he knelt down to feel Alex’ pulse… Irratic. Slow then fast, faint, then far too powerful. Whatever they had given him, was taking harsh effect… Demyan turned to the man who finished taping the third IV in place. “Your name.” Demanded the Russian.
“Marcus.” Responded the man, his focus still not leaving the patient in front of him.
“Bring what you have. We go. You come with us.”
Marcus immediately shifted his focus and took up his medic bag in one arm and the blood transport cooler in the other.
Carefully Demyan placed the blood bags in Alexandyres lap, picking up Alex’ limp form under his neck and by the back of his legs, he cradled his friend and started off at a soft jog.
“We will go from here friend. There is a place that… if we can make it, we live. The king of Migs will get us there…” Demyan blinked back a tear, his voice strained as he made his way towards a back exit of the complex. “The last flight of the King.” He finished resolutely…
Lucy woke up… Tired… Head pounding… She felt exhausted. It took her a moment. There was a strong smell in the room and Lucy looked over and saw that the pretty little maid, Andrea was bundled up next to her, cuddling with a pillow. Lucy slowly rolled out of bed, surprised by her nakedness, save for a very wet diaper. Making her way towards her closet, the sight of her diaper in the mirror caught her attention. She couldn’t believe it. The smell was her, there was a tell tale bulge in the back of her diaper, along with a brown stain. realizing that she was standing in the middle of the room, naked save for a very wet and messy diaper with Andrea asleep in her bed her cheeks grew flushed with embarrassment and with that, she made a quick start for the diaper closet.
Andrea had woken up, though didn’t make a sound. Her eyes followed Lucy’s form as she got out of bed, the perk of her ample breast swaying out with gravity and her wet sagging diaper hanging around her beautiful curves; for a moment the maid found her self turned on. Then she felt a little sad for Lucy; the smell in the room and the bulge in her diaper spoke to a mess she was sure Lucy did not want her to see, so she just laid on the bed, fake sleeping, while Lucy quietly pulled a fresh diaper from the closet and made her way towards the bathroom.
After the door closed, Andrea swiftly got out of bed and set about getting dressed. She was about half way through getting her top on when the door to the bathroom flew open and a naked, messy, diapered Lucy came out, for a second realizing her own state, and then walking quickly over to where Alex’ backpack lay. She had remembered something. She had remembered the phones that Demyan had given both of them. Frantic and full of hope she pulled it out and called. The room was tense; Andrea finished putting on her top and looked on at Lucys worried, but hopeful expression. Her beautiful green eyes pleading for Alex to answer the phone… … … No answer. Lucy burst into tears as she headed straight back into the bathroom, taking the phone with her. Andrea felt a well of emotional pain touch her at the site. She could hear Lucy cry over the sound of the shower, and, after getting fully dressed, she softly left the room to get something for them to eat, giving Lucy her space…