Reddington had found nothing in Mimi's phone records and was sorry when he called Adam after a month.
"Mimi's phone history is not helping, and it seems that the app that Salvatore was using was deleted or deactivated, so I can't find Mimi's phone."
Adam said, "Okay, Magnum is looking into it; he's tracking Salvatore and is going to question him. Let's see where it goes from there."
Reddington replied. "Alright, I'm listening; let me know if you need anything. I'm ready to assist with anything."
Adam grunted and hung up the phone. Magnum had tracked down Salvatore when he had been partying and visiting women on and off, but doing something else Magnum hadn't seen. Salvatore had always disappeared for days, even weeks, and then reappeared somewhere.
Soon, he'd be ready, and he'd kidnap Salvatore and interrogate him. He ambushed Salvatore as he came out of another bar, shot a strong tranquilizer dart with a rifle from a good distance away, then go pick up his unconscious victim and lift him tied up in the back of his car and drive off toward one of the abandoned warehouses where he would interrogate, use violence and get the fucking truth.
For some reason, Magnum wanted to defend Mimi. Protect her, even though he knew she was more than capable of defending herself. He wanted to teach her, maybe even work with her. But something about the whole thing stunk and badly. Salvatore's behavior had been more than suspicious, and Magnum had witnessed several female escapades. He didn't think Salvatore was much of a man, more like a playboy and a bloodsucker. Mimi deserved so much better.
All he did was send a message to Adam. Then he parked his car in the warehouse yard, dragged the still unconscious Salvatore into the warehouse, and tied him to a chair, a metal chair with proper metal cuffs; he stripped Salvatore naked to the upper torso and waited for him to wake up.
Slowly, Salvatore began to stir. He raised his head, looking around in great confusion and puzzlement. He didn't have time to say a word when Magnum electrocuted him. Pain ripped through his body, and he had no idea what had happened. Magnum kept asking again and again what he had done to Mimi. But when he had no idea what this was all about.
Magnum was ruthless and tenacious. This bastard would talk.
He struck again. "Where did you sell Mimi? You sold her, you had a fuckload of money, and the fucking reward disappeared. What a fucking address and for what fucking reason!"
Damon said: "I don't know, I don't fucking remember! I'm in some kind of blackout now for many months."
Damon was in a panic. The last thing he remembered was that he had called Adam and said he would be home in a week. He was supposed to go to Canada to meet Alaric's brother, a local vampire hunter who had information about a couple of wild vampires who had been eating people to death in New Hampshire.
He remembered the jealousy that had flooded into his mind when Adam had told him how he'd fucked Mimi all night and some of the following day; he remembered Laura, and he couldn't figure out why he'd just velveted Mimi and gone off to fuck others. What the fuck is wrong with him?
And now this. Then he remembered nothing. He had no recollection of when Magnum relentlessly told him what he'd been doing for three months and more.
The time Damon had woken up, he was tied to a metal chair, his torso bare, and Magnum was furious. Damon was distraught. From what he could gather from Magnum's words, he had allegedly sold Mimi to a naughty medical facility and then visited them about a month or a month and a half ago.
The phone call to Adam had happened three months earlier. Damon had always had these blackouts for as long as he could remember. The duration varied from a few hours to six months, but the last blackout of this length had been in 1943.
He was pretty sure that these blackouts were his psyche's way of fighting back when he'd done something really naughty or nasty. It had always happened that way.
Eventually, he convinced Magnum that he didn't really know anything at the moment. Sometimes, he had recovered from his blackouts, but not always. And that was never a good thing. It often drove him into a cycle of self-reproach and self-loathing as he remembered the pleasure and all the shit he'd done.
And the harder he tried to remember, the more certain he was that the memories wouldn't return. And he wasn't at all sure he wanted to remember at all. He felt he had betrayed Mimi entirely and utterly. He was a monster. He was a money-hungry bastard whose jealousy drove him to atrocities.
Damon didn't know what to do or where to look.
He told Magnum, "I try to remember, but I guarantee nothing; usually, it takes me a while to remember anything, but I keep trying."
Magnum said, "Let's see what Adam did on his part now that we know you did this."
Damon himself couldn't believe how the hell he, the protector, could sell Mimi to a pharmaceutical facility, and he had a memory that made him rush out and vomit violently. He remembered how he had printed out permission to do anything to Mimi and had signed it when he was Mimi's doctor. He leaned against the wall and threw up again.
The guilt was almost too much, and he again considered going to the coffin to sleep and would not do these tricks to Mimi again. But then he remembered how his soul had almost sung when he had felt Mimi's genuine pleasure and this humanity coming back to her.
But to have sold Mimi out because she had fucked Adam seemed somehow such a low act, even for him he wasn't sure if Mimi wanted to be with him. Did he deserved her even? Together with Magnum, they tried to look for clues, but when his car's GPS was wiped, he had apparently switched phones, and he had Mimi's phone and wallet with him.
There was no cash in the wallet, and the phone was off. Mimi's phone had been uninstalled with the app he had used to track her down. They persisted in their search for clues.
Adam reported the matter to Reddington, who then used his contacts to get CCTV footage for Adam, and he started going through it. Information was scarce, but there was something to go on; some things made the memory flash in Damon's mind, and the disgust itself grew; he vowed to fix things and do what it took to get Mimi right.
Evil was satisfied. He had been in power for so long and completely. He had been enjoying every moment, preparing for the future, making plans, and putting things and supplies in place for what was to come. He allowed good to remember a snippet here, a snippet there. He knew the Good was never fully present. Good was a shell of sorts; Good's inner being was in a cage that evil had made, and it would stay there and keep Good subservient to manipulation. Then, when he got strong enough, he could destroy the core of Good, but not yet. It was just too strong. He enjoyed Good's self-loathing and desperation, and he let himself go into hiding now; he let God take over again for a while. Now, He could rest, gather his strength, and enjoy this feeling of power. To remember all those wonderful memories of how he beat the invincible and what shape it would be in.
I woke up in bed in chains again. In a drip and with my head in a mess, the panic was worse, and it wiped the memories and sanity from my head. I began to be overcome by instinct and despair. Drug after drug was mercilessly put into my IV tubes, draining my consciousness, and the next time I woke up, I felt deeper and deeper in my panic and primal state of mind.
Something in my head had erupted, and my rage slowly began to creep out of the well. It burned away the helplessness and the feeling of powerlessness, but it couldn't do anything for the panic. I felt at once very insecure, very intense, and then very murderous. My killer side bursted out, fully out, combining with my rage and my vampire side as well, I was now most dangerous that I had ever been.
Nothing would be too much now, and no one would deny me anything. I was out of my mind. The drugs were doing their job and keeping me paralyzed, but slowly, my rage fought back. It was keeping me awake now and then. My killer side wanted blood. It wanted to witness life going out from eyes of the victims.
Sark studied the subject's samples and the subject's reaction to the drugs. They had a comprehensive list of drugs they wanted to try but when the subjects went crazy on them. They seemed to work on the subject. They were keeping the subject unconscious and only occasionally conscious and well sedated and confused, harmless.
Sark was still collecting enzymes. It was crucial, and he enjoyed it immensely as they were the strongest he had found, and with them, their gains from the multiple drugs would be so much greater. And as the profits grew, he also found more donors willing to support his important work and the interests of people.
Everything Sark learned about this freak raised more questions, and often, the freak was opened and dissected even a couple of times a day. But then the drugs seemed to lose their effectiveness, and Sark ordered larger doses and extra large doses of blue sleep. It seemed to work and keep the target pretty much harmless.
I started disentangling myself. I didn't want to lie in bed anymore, to wake up weaker and weaker, sometimes even in bandages, in stitches. My rage had come to the surface to the point where the pain no longer bothered me. I felt it, but I didn't care. It was nothing. Just the sheer sensation and sensations were made bearable.
I began to twist and turn my wrist in the shackles. I had lost weight, and the shackles were a little looser, though the spikes were still biting into my flesh, but I kept going, let my wrist roughly shred open, and continued pulling. As long as my strength would allow, and I had a cold.
I felt wildly insecure, and I was ready to react as violently as I could. I felt the need to mutilate people to death. Anyone who came near me disgusted me, and instead of seeing them as scientists, as people, I saw them as victims, wonderful mutilated victims.
I don't know how long I had been working, but I got one of my hands free. I pulled my torn, bloody hand off and laid it down next to me so that no one would pay attention to it. I panted and felt the sensation. My killer wanted already mutilate, destroy, kill, make them suffer.
Freedom, but not quite yet. I was still attached to my other arm. I tried to unchain the other arm. I used my now free left hand to twist the shackles loose. And then I felt my strength fade. I let my left hand stay by my side as if it were in chains, but I didn't know when someone would notice.
Often, I would notice when the victim came and put more drugs in the drip; sometimes, my liver would hurt, and I knew the enzymes had been collected. Still, the time to act would come soon. Each drip bag took me deeper and deeper into a drug-fueled panic, and my rage was messing with this, so I started to get pretty close to a soulless killing machine, and now I didn't know a friend from a foe. My vampire side gave its own twist. I had bloodlust and hard.
Now, all was fair game. The meds were working less and less of the time as my rage boosted my body to break them down as fast as possible. Every time I woke up, my hand still free, I kept unshackling my right hand, over and over again. Until finally, it was loose.
Only then did I realize I could remove the IV. On the rack were again almost empty bags, one with bright blue medicine and another bag with many medicine labels stuck to it.
I sat up and let my rage boil over. I was dizzy and my eyes tried to blacken; the horizon was pretty much thrown as I stood up, but my rage let me act so I didn't care too much as I started to move, feeling a real raw murderous lust, now I would maim and show everyone what I was all about.
My strength held out, and my rage boosted me as I tried to stumble forward and get away. The corridor was empty.