I was lying on the bed, shackled, and helpless and Krycheck walked into the room. He came by to sit next to my bed and told me that Charles believed when this director, Charles' beloved, had told him that I had a demonitis. Inflammation in the brain, caused by fear demons. They would have a treatment, but it would be tough. Yes, of course, Charles would see me, but it would be better if he didn't talk to me. Because I would be incoherent and messed up. They'd have to use a lot of drugs and therapy, but I'd be fine. Eventually.
They warned Charles that therapy and infection would make me worse and they have an excellent recovery facility where I could then be transferred to when the infection cleared up. Charles believed. So he believed everything: he didn't call Samuel, he didn't call Colin; he didn't even call Damon. He did not say anything to Adam.
Krycheck told me how this woman had been in contact with Charles over the years and she had come up with this way to get me. To make Charles bring me in, by fabricating this inflammation as Charles knew me being very vulnerable to fear demons and long hard world saving gig, rage fully on, without backup, well easy prey for fear demons. I refused to believe him. Charles would never bring me to the medical facility to be treated. No, he would not trap me.
Now, that six-month shed session was starting to seem pretty easy compared to this. This helplessness, and when those drugs dropped, reminded me of the early days, and how I was created. All the memories were surfacing, and now there was no one to help. There was no telepath helping me, no one to keep me safe, there was only me, and I was too weak, too powerless to even act.
Reality and nightmares started to mix in my mind, making everything even harder for me to try to understand or even act. Nothing seemed to help. I just could not get anything done properly.
And that wasn't the worst of it. The worst of it was being drugged, almost unconscious, chronically poisoned with metals, and having to watch Charles and this leader have sex. Over and over again. Charles wasn't even remorseful. Not one bit. I listened to them talk.
I heard the woman say, "Good thing you called weeks ago. The symptoms of demonitis are so insidious, and I'm glad you love your wife that you noticed the symptoms, but don't worry. It was good of you to get her here for treatment, even though she probably feels like she's being forced into it now, but she'll understand when she recovers. "
Krycheck had told me the truth. So Charles, my savior, had delivered me to this woman. So he doesn't think I'm strong. Somewhere, it registered with me that Charles sees me as a victim, a broken victim, a victim of Damon's treatments. A victim of circumstance. Weak. Always has and probably always will.
It opened my eyes. It was time for me to stop being the victim and do something about this. Something inside me woke up, the first time for real, and it felt almost as alien as Mimosa had felt in time. No one talked in my mind, so it was not that.
It was that something had been born inside me. I felt this new power in my mind. It gave me another dose of strength, of determination to remember that I am the one who will help me. I bided my time. I knew when the moment was.
This new power studied me and my mind. It flowed in there and then it found for me my rage wells, granting me access to them. I was able to take my rage out slowly and it helped somewhat, though; the medicine remained stubbornly weakening me. It took time for my weakened state to get the grip that held on my rage and start to pull it slowly. Let it help, hour by hour, taking away the pain, and then helplessness, because I was doing something.
Eventually, I escaped. It was night, and I had twisted my shackles, torn out my wrist, and gotten free. My rage was now fully blown out. I was a soulless killing machine. In corridors, there were just piles of dying or dead humans when I walked out of there. As I reached the front door, I ran naked into the woods after killing as many as I could. My rage came out all the time but slowly, dripping almost in the same way as the drugs. I don't know how long I ran into the woods, naked as hell. There was nothing more than the forest, my escape, my freedom.
I came into the gypsy camp, and they didn't ask questions but gave me food or clothes. They were scared of me, but I started to reel my rage back in. I got myself together enough to call four fleas: Burrows, Resnick, Smith, and Boulder. Four of my most trusted people. They come by soon. These had been with me in those two world-saving gigs more or less, and they had filled up the hole that Jake and Rob had left in my life.
They knew how to handle me when my rage was out. There were not many who could do that, not anymore as people dropped off from fleas or died, and not many had experienced my rage. As I had gotten so much better at keeping it under wraps. But in a world-saving gig, after I had unleashed my rage, those men saw me, the whole of me, and they could handle me. Not to do so much to me, but keep me safe and not let me shoot after Sark if there was one lurking around.
They died shortly after they rescued me. One blow-up went as wrong as could be, and they killed each other rather than be captured by Sark. They had found the facility I was looking for and decided to destroy it, but something went wrong, and they chose a quick, painless end rather than months of torture and testing. I've had to make that choice myself with some fleas.
They would shut up. They came and took me to one of the fleas' bases, where they gave first aid where they could. There was no one here, other than us, and they knew I needed time to be safe and rest. Now I was safe. I let my rage subside a bit, ate, and slept. They delivered food to me. In my office, I ate and slept on my couch, not much reacting to anything. Slept off the fucking drugs. We had no chelation on this base, but I had our medbays in wings so I could work on those there.
They had given me a few drugs Colin had left there, in case there was any time that I would be weak and he would not be there, so that cocktail was strap-strengthening stuff, and there was instruction on how to administer it.
After a couple of weeks, I went back to the house. We were in Minnesota. I had a plan. I was furious with Charles. He was a true idiot, but I would not tell to him. I needed to get on, not stuck him being all crumpled up by guilt. I was now strong, and I was not in the mood for love.
The entire pack was there, but I went to live in the wing and didn't invite Adam or Charles. Charles was surprised, but I told him the infection was all taken care of. I didn't tell him anything. I didn't tell Adam. I planned that I always secretly took chelation therapy on metals, so Charles had no idea. I carefully concealed my condition from Damon because I knew that if he was in doctor mode, he would notice very easily.
I had just spoken with Charles; he understood I was pissed off and not pushed himself on me or wing. I had not yet gotten any metals bound, and I was on my way to the wing door when Damon came, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into one room. He looked at me, smelling passionfruit, looking at me very worried.
He said to me, "I have no freaking idea what that supposed infection should have been, but you just lied to Charles's face. Why. You are not fine, you are full of metals. Huge amount of horror four and you are thin as a rail. Now, young lady, you need help."
I said to him, "I will be fine. I have chelators in medbay, in the wing, and Charles was an idiot. I am not very happy with him. You don't have to worry about that, but I was imprisoned for 12 weeks in the medical facility, so I am not fine."
Damon was worried about Mimi. He had touched her first in many years and she was pale, stank of metals, and weak and her rage blasted fully open. Damon could sense how thin she was and how much she needed his help. But then he felt as the volcano noticed Mimi too, and started to get excited. Victim, pre-treated, perfect for a shed. Flashes of those moments of him killing her shot in his mind, and he pushed with all his might the volcano down. He could not help her. He was too weak.
Damon grabbed me higher suddenly and said in a low voice, urgently, "Now baby, listen to me and good. You go fast in your wing and put yourself in shape. Not to come out until you are fine. You block my access to that wing. Volcano sees you as the perfect victim and I try. I am really trying to push him back, but for me to care for you, I am too weak and it would end you being tortured. I wish I could be stronger because baby, you need me, yet I can't help. Now go. And don't come near me until you are fine."
He pushed me back and something in his voice, desperation or something, made me obey and I turned around, walked briskly to the wing door, opened it, and closed it behind me. I put codes on, so Damon would not get in, not even with Charles's code, meaning it needed biometric identification and it would only allow one person access. Biometrics were checked on twice. Part of the security was done by Adam, just after that shed session.
I started then to put myself in shape. Living in the wing and not coming out of there. Mimosa and Mirella were living most of the time on the public side and I was not aware of when it was last time that Mimosa had her heat, so it was soon that time again.
The irony of the whole damn thing was that I had been so freaking ready to let Damon care for me. When he had yanked me into that room, demanded answers, and seeing my weak poisoned state, I had felt genuine relief that someone would take care of me, that I would not have to do this alone. But it is just not for me to make my wishes come true. Not at all. So I ended up alone, taking chelation, blood tests, trying to rest, not sleep because now nightmares were too much, getting my body back in shape.
The facility manager, Charles' mistress, had no choice but to assure Charles that I was fine unless she wanted Charles to get a clue as to what she had done. Two months after my escape, I had arranged for my friend Murdock to visit this woman. She was as rotten as it could be and I had gotten a lot of information about her foul deeds. Her facility was Sark's competitor alright, but only that they wanted those victims too, and to test their drugs and get knowledge from torturing innocents.
And then Charles went to this woman's funeral and was really sad and grieving. I decided at that point that this experience would only stay with me. I don't share. I didn't actually know why, but I buried all the memories deep in my head and tried to move on with my life.