Many Ways To Die - 1. Chris is a difficult patient and it's time for Ian to find out why

‘I think there is something you should see.’

He raised an eyebrow but followed as she led him through the corridors to the main office. She strode straight through into her private sanctum beyond. Sitting at her desk she gave him a cool, thoughtful look then took out her keyring and unlocked the top drawer of her desk. She rifled through it for a moment and brought out a CD.

“This is one of the most highly confidential pieces of information we hold here. No one else has seen it but I think that you need to. You are a good nurse and one day you will be an excellent one, if you learn to rise above your personal prejudices. You have done excellent work since you have been here in all but one case and I think you know to whom I am referring.

"I fully appreciate that you have your own issues to overcome and that Chris feeds into those issues. However, Chris is by no means all he seems. He is a special case and we have had to work very hard to bring him to where he is today. He is showing good signs of making a full recovery and I cannot let you undo all the work we have done just because you don't like him."

He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand instantly silencing him.

"Oh, I know that you have fought your demons Mr Franklin, Ian. I appreciate that you are trying your best to deal with your prejudices and that is the reason you are still part of my team. But make no mistake, if you don't find a way to work with Chris then we will not be able to work with you."

“I don’t understand. What is it about this kid that’s so special? As far as I can see he is just a typical privileged rich kid who has issues with his Daddy’s lack of interest and his Mummy’s drinking problem and is exhibiting text book attention seeking behaviour, albeit to an extreme degree. What he needs is routine and discipline and a hard line approach.”

“Chris is not a typical anything, Ian. The behaviour he is exhibiting has nothing to do with attention seeking or his background. Yes, his father is rich and powerful; yes he has had a privileged life and yes, his mother does have an alcohol dependency problem and is in rehab at the moment, but this is by no means a textbook case. Chris is not fighting for attention, he is fighting to block out trauma; trauma so extreme that I have taken the decision that unless you see it for yourself you can never fully understand it.”

“Yes, I’ve seen from the notes that the diagnosis is PTSD but to be truthful I can’t accept that. Most patients with PTSD are perfectly normal, although often depressed, right up to the point they experience a trigger, feeding directly back to the incident which caused the PTSD, when they THEN exhibit aroused or violent behaviour. With Chris, he seems to be in that state the whole time. He is constantly active, doesn’t seem to sleep much, and flips instantly from friendly to threatening or from highly excited to absent in an instant with no apparent trigger.”

“Ah, and you think that because there is no apparent trigger he is putting it on for attention?”

“Either that or it is not PTSD.”

“The reason that there is no apparent trigger is because, for Chris, everything is a trigger. The experience he had was so traumatic that there is very little that does not provoke memories of it.”

“I don't understand. What could be so bad? Why doesn’t it say anything in his notes?”

“You will see. This is a tape of a series of internet transmissions sent to Chris’s father over a three day period two years ago. Essentially Chris was kidnapped, snatched from school by a highly organised gang, and held for ransom…they wanted sixty million.”

He whistled. “Ambitious.”

“That is one word to use...”

Ian was surprised at her grim expression. So the kid had been kidnapped, held for a couple of days. He had worked with kidnap victims before and they were nothing like this. He thought blackly of the last ‘episode’ which had led him into the bad books of the head of the Department, the eminent Professor Dawn Hunter.

Chris Harkness was an enigma, no doubt about it, for whatever reason. From an extremely rich and powerful family he was currently a ‘guest’ at this exclusive and very expensive clinic. His case was being overseen by the top specialists and he was undoubtedly being given special treatment. Being from a working class family and having had to struggle at every step to reach his current status of clinical nurse specialist at this facility Ian was having difficulty coming to terms with the way in which all of the privileged patients were treated and he utterly balked at the walking on eggshells approach being taken with Chris, which he had assumed was the direct result of his social position and the powerful family from which he had come.

Chris was nineteen years old, extremely good looking in a ‘pretty’ kind of way and could be charming and pleasant … on a good day. He was not spoiled in any obvious sense and could be unerringly kind and thoughtful. Unfortunately he had a number of traits which had led to conflict with Ian from the start. He was confident and certain of himself, not your average screwed up kid, he was not afraid to speak his mind and was intelligent enough to provide effective challenges to anything he was unhappy about which, with Ian seemed to be everything. He was sassy and funny and, in short, everything that Ian was not.

Chris was also extremely high energy and high maintenance. He did not walk, he swept; he did not sit, he flung himself; he needed to be constantly doing something. Every day he worked out in the gym, worked in the garden, in the kitchen, wherever there was anything to do. He climbed the walls, sat for hours on the roof and often went missing to be found wandering on the beach outside the clinic. And, whilst the patients were by no means confined here, the thought of Christ at loose in the outside world was frightening because the reason that he was here in the first place was because of his ‘episodes’. It was impossible to predict when they would occur or what would trigger them but out of nowhere he would suddenly become uncontrollably angry and would hit out in any way he could at anyone or anything who was near him.

The first time it had happened he was at school. He had essentially destroyed the classroom and put two of the teachers in hospital. The second time he was at home and had broken his brother’s nose by smashing his face into a pillar and then proceeded to smash, slash or generally destroy every ornament and piece of art in the room.

Ian smiled grimly to himself that it was only after the destruction of so many priceless artefacts had his father sought help for him. Unfortunately that ‘help’ had been committal to a very exclusive but rather old fashioned hospital where he had spent the next eight months essentially drugged out of his brain. Luckily his father had come across news articles about the radical new therapies being used at this facility and he had transferred here.

Ian had been here for three weeks so far, Chris for three months and already there was a bitter rivalry developing as both struggled to find their feet and establish some kind of authority.

It had come to a head that morning when Chris had flipped over breakfast and had laid out two members of support staff before he could be restrained. Ian had ordered that he be sedated because he had simply had enough on his plate with other patients and because he considered that he needed time out and because….well because he was sick and tired of Chris challenging HIM all the time and because he could.

Unfortunately when they had tried to sedate him, as soon as Chris saw the needle he had freaked out completely and, in the end it had taken six of them to hold him down, none of whom had walked away unscathed. Ian gingerly touched the bruise on his cheek and gritted his teeth grimly. Because he had fought so hard they had made a bit of a mess of his arm getting the needle in and he had been almost glad of that…the little shit deserved it.

However, when the summons had come less than an hour later to go straight to Chris’ room he had experienced a flutter of nervousness that they might have hurt him a little too much. He was surprised to find Dawn Hunter, one of the two eminent Specialists who ran the clinic, at his bedside.

“Would you like to explain yourself Mr Franklin?”

He had tried but, to be honest his decision and his motives had sounded hollow even to himself and it would not do to admit to the big boss that you simply did not like the patient and thought it was about time he was taught a lesson.

And so here he was, in the inner sanctum sitting on the edge of his seat behind the biggest desk he had ever seen and wondering if he were about to be sacked.

Behind the desk was a huge flat screened television set. It now lit up.

“Watch the screen Mr Franklin. I think it might give you some insight into Chris Harkness. Apart from you I am the only one at this facility who has seen this footage. Before you see it I want your absolute promise that you will not breathe a word to anyone….especially Chris…about what you are about to see.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“No, you don’t understand but I am showing you this because I would like you to. I think you could be good for Chris. It might not seem like it but he has responded to you more than to anyone else so far. It might also not be obvious to you but he has come a long way in the last three months and I am very hopeful that he will make a good recovery. However, I need all my senior staff on board and if, after seeing the footage you still feel that you cannot give Chris your full support I am going to have to remove you from his case, which would be a great shame.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Chris was taken as he got out of his car in the school car park at 8.30 am in the morning. At 9.30 that same day his father received a telephone call at his office telling him that his son had been taken and inviting him to check it out for himself and to log on to a certain website at 10am. At precisely 10am a web cam switched on. You will see what he saw very shortly.

“Further transmissions were made at 5pm and 10am every day for a total of three days. On the third day during the last transmission an elite task force of….various organisations some of whom had been privately engaged by Chris' father, broke into the place where he was being held and freed him. If they had been minutes later he would have been dead and his parents would have watched him die by video link. Ambitious indeed Mr Franklin.”

There was nothing that could be said to that so he sat back as the television screen began to fizz.

The picture when it clicked on, was surprisingly clear. Very good quality equipment being used then. The room was completely bare apart from one chair. White walls no windows, nothing to distinguish it or identify its location. There was someone sitting in the chair and that someone was clearly Chris. He was a little younger, his hair a little shorter but his eyes were the same, staring into the camera. There was fear there but it was held very much in check and the gaze was the same steady challenging gaze that Ian had seen so many times and always set his teeth on edge.

Chris was wearing a school uniform; white shirt open at the throat, dark trousers and a black blazer with a badge emblazoned in gold on the breast pocket. He looked like a typical public schoolboy, except that his black hair was too long and hung like a curtain over one side of his face. He flicked it casually and unconsciously out of the way in a gesture Ian was familiar with and which irritated him as being affected.

A voice to the right of the screen began to speak

“Good morning Mr Harkness, how nice to finally speak to you. We have waited such a long time for the privilege. As you will see we have extended a warm welcome to your son here. He is to be our guest for the next three days. Or, for his sake, maybe not.

“We have been watching you; watching him, we know all about him, don’t we Chris? We have decided to help him feel at home here by indulging an interest that he has. You will, of course be aware from his attire and artwork, that Chris aspires to that subculture affectionately known as Goth and that he has a fascination with death. Therefore we thought that we might help him to become more intimately acquainted with it in a careful selection of some of its many forms.

“Oh don’t panic, not just yet. We are not going to actually kill him…not until the last transmission, so you have almost 36 hours in which to come up with capital to save him. No, we are just going to….play with him a little, for the entertainment of all. Every day at 10 and 5 we will transmit our little games to you in order that you can satisfy yourself that your son is still alive and so that we can demonstrate that we are very serious when we say that he is not going to be unless you co operate with us.”

The voice then proceeded to give directions on what they wanted and how they wanted it to be delivered. Ian was not interested in the dialogue, he was watching Chris. As the man had spoken his eyes had grown wider and wider, the fear becoming more evident. And yet he had controlled it. He had not made a single move nor taken his eyes from the camera. It was almost as though he was trying to will a message to his father through the lens. Occasionally he shook his head, very slightly. Was this in horror at the situation, a negation of the fear that filled him….or was it a message? Don’t do it Dad. ?

Shortly afterwards the screen went black

“Enjoying it so far Mr Franklin?”

“Hardly. Are you seriously telling me that twice a day every day they broadcast images of them torturing him to his father?”

“Not torture exactly. And I believe that his mother and brothers also insisted on watching the rest of the transmissions.”

She stopped as the screen lit up again. It was the same room Chris was still sitting in the same chair. No, not still. He was no longer wearing his blazer and he looked slightly flushed as though he had just sat down. This time there were three other figures in the room, dressed all in black standing behind the chair. They wore hoods over their heads and were unrecognisable.

“Welcome back.” The same voice, sibilant, slightly accented, entirely emotionless. “The first way to die….physical assault.”

Moving very swiftly two of the figures came forward and dragged Chris to his feet while the other kicked away the chair and proceeded to give Chris what in Ian’s experience was known as ‘a thorough kicking in”. Initially Chris fought back, and Ian had to admit with a grudging respect that for a kid he was pretty good and had obviously done some martial arts training because when the third figure came in for the first blow he took him down with a textbook perfect kick to the throat, using the two men who held him to push off against.

Unfortunately his attackers were also experts, there were more of them, and they already had him at a disadvantage. One of the two men who held him adjusted his hold, letting go of his arm and throwing his own arm around his neck. Within moments Chris’ legs buckled as the grip across his windpipe cut off the oxygen to his brain and he remained semi conscious, held up rather than restrained by his captors, whist the third man took his revenge.

After what seemed like very long time but was merely a matter of minutes the men stepped back and allowed Chris to fall to the floor where he remained motionless. The voice spoke again.

“Don’t worry Mr Harkness, my associates are experts and have been training for this. We have avoided marring his pretty face and there will be no lasting harm. We are saving that for later. Tune it at precisely 10am tomorrow for our next lesson, unless of course we receive the money as requested into the designated bank account before that time.”

Again the screen went dark.

“Are you beginning to get an idea of what we are working with now Mr Franklin?”

“I believe so.”

“Oh, there is a long way to go yet.”

The next transmission began in exactly the same way. Chris seemed a little less together, his eyes kept darting to one side, but he was upright and there were no obvious signs of injury.

“The next way to die. Hanging.”

Again the two black figures, moving swiftly dragged Chris to his feet but this time did not kick away the chair. A third figure appeared from screen left carrying a rope which had been tied into a noose. Chris struggled furiously as they dropped the rope over his head. A sharp blow to the head brought him to his knees before he was hauled again to his feet. He was clearly dazed keeping on his feet with difficulty but he was quiescent as they tied his hands behind his back and forced him to stand up on the chair.

Ian found that his heart was pounding and he was perspiring heavily. Chris was clearly shaking. He had his eyes squeezed shut and he was standing rigid. But he did not make a sound, did not cry out or beg and, despite himself Ian began to feel a begrudging respect.

The rope was thrown up over a beam above the camera focus and tightened to the extent that Chris had to stand on tiptoes .

“If we were to kick away the chair there is a very good chance that his neck would be broken and at this stage we would not wish permanent damage. After all there is little point learning a lesson if you do not live to ponder it.”

One of the men grasped Chris around the legs and the chair was removed. He must have wanted to struggle so badly but he held himself rigidly still. Even when the man let go and he was left hanging in mid air the only movements were the natural and unconscious struggled of his body to force air through a channel that was no longer open.

They left him for just long enough to lose consciousness and then the same man took hold of him and lowered him to the ground as the rope was loosened. The camera zoomed in on his face as he coughed and struggled for air, his hands to his throat where the red marks stood out so lividly on his pale skin. And then the screen went dark again.

“Is it any wonder his mother took to drink?”

“No, no wonder at all. Do I have to watch the rest? I think I have the message.”

“Mr Franklin, this is only the beginning. As Chris suffered the horror first hand I think that the least we can do is to offer him the respect and courtesy of seeing it through to the end.”

“If you must.”

“Yes, I really think we must.”

The next transmission began in the same way as all the rest. Chris looked very tired, his head lowered, and the open neck of his, now not so white shirt, showed livid red marks on his throat. This time his hands were secured behind his back suggesting that he was not an entirely docile captive. A large dark bruise on his cheek supported this idea. He was not going quietly then.

"The next way to die...the gunshot."

Chris' head snapped up, his eyes wide. One of the dark men stepped forward and held a handgun up to the camera, and the voice continued. "This is the Colt Single Action Army Issue Revolver. It is the most popular handgun ever made. It has six chambers. Five of them are empty and one has a live round. We are going to play a little game called Russian Roulette and this might be where my carefully detailed plan goes horribly wrong. It would be a great shame to cut short our lesson but, I think the game is worth the risk."

The silent dark man put the barrel of the gun against the side of Chris' head. He cocked the trigger and fired. There was a click.

Until now Chris had not uttered a sound, clearly he had been ordered not to. But now he sat up straighter and stared into the lens of camera. Speaking very quickly; knowing he would be stopped he said

"Mom, if you are watching; stop, please, Please don’t do this to yourself..." He was silenced by a blow to the side of the head with the gun and his head slumped forward.

Prof Hunter broke in.

"His older brother killed himself, about three years before the film was made. He shot himself in the head and his mother was the one who identified the body. She had a breakdown. I think that it is interesting to note that even in the midst of everything he is going through Chris still has a thought for his mother and what would happen to her if she sees him go the same way as his brother,"

"Nice kid." He realised that his voice was filled with rather more sarcasm than he had intended. He was treated to a hard stare.

"Still not convinced?"

He shrugged.

On screen the black dressed man put the gun to the back of Chris' bowed head and there was another click. With an effort he raised his head. There was blood running down from his temple and his eyes were clearly unfocussed but he still stared at the camera with a look that screamed defiance.

This time the gun was pressed against his temple, where he had been hit. He winced at the pain but not at the threat. Another click.

"Are you enjoying yourself Christopher?" This was the first time that the voice had spoken to Chris directly and he looked up at the place where the speaker stood off camera. "This is, after all where your obsession with death began isn't it? When your brother killed himself you wanted to follow him, didn't you, but you didn't quite have the guts, instead you developed an obsession. You have flirted with death ever since and now you are getting a full on petting session, how does it feel?" Chris glared at him but said nothing. He let out a cry when the man in black yanked back his head by the hair and forced the gun into his mouth, This time he paused for what seemed like a very long time. Chris had his eyes squeezed shut and was visibly and violently shaking. Click

The gun was removed and Chris again raised his head staring at the camera, willing his mother not to be there, trying to convey some message to those who were. His eyes were huge, very dark, standing out starkly in his pale face, which was bruised and bloody.

The gun was again pressed to his temple, so hard that he jerked his head away with a cry of pain. The man waited until he straightened and did the same thing again. This time Chris had steeled himself and did not jerk away. He closed his eyes and the tension hummed from him. Click,

He slumped, the tension leaving him weak and shaking. The man raised the gun and aimed it above the camera He cocked and fired. The sound of the shot ricocheted around the room. Chris jerked up his head and for the first time looked really scared. The screen went blank again.

This time they did not speak, sitting in silence until the screen brightened again. It seemed as though Chris had not moved from the last time. He still looked badly shaken and very pale but the blood had been washed away and his eyes were more alert.

"The next way to die....Bleeding. This one, I believe is rather popular in your particular sub culture is it not Chris? Again I am giving you a gift beyond price. I hope you appreciate it."

Two of the men grabbed him and dragged him forwards onto his knees. The camera focussed downwards, there was a table underneath the camera. One of the men grabbed Chris’ arm and tore off the shirt sleeve, then slammed it down palm upwards on the table. The two of them held it pinned down. A third man knelt behind him dragging his head back by the hair and holding him immobilised by an arm across the chest from behind, although this time he struggled and sobbed, trying desperately to pull his arm away

A hand appeared from off camera, clearly belonging to the silent speaker, he was holding a scalpel.

"Most people who attempt suicide by slashing their wrists do it this way." he drew the scalpel lightly across Chris' wrist and blood spurted onto the table. Chris cried out and struggled even more furiously to pull his arm away. "This very rarely works as it is difficult to get deep enough to actually sever an artery and even if you do the blood is likely to congeal and block the artery before you bleed to death. You will notice the way that the blood is flowing, in a steady stream, if the artery had been pierced it would be spurting every time his heart beat."

There was something utterly chilling the way the voice spoke, dispassionate, matter of fact, providing simple explanation.

"It is far more effective to do it this way." this time he drew the scalpel downwards from just inside the elbow to the wrist. The flow of blood speeded up and Chris gave another cry, still struggling. "I would stop struggling if I were you Chris. I have been careful not to open any major veins or arteries but if you struggle too much you could still bleed to death and I wouldn't want to deprive you of the rest of your surprises."

Chris had not stopped struggling and was still fighting and still bleeding heavily when the camera cut out.

Again, there was nothing to say and so they remained silent until the screen lit up again. This time things were different. Chris was still sitting in the chair, although this time he was securely bound, his legs were shackled to the legs of the chair and his arms where tied behind him. His shirt was gone and there were electrodes taped to his bare chest.

"The fifth way to die...electrocution."

This time Chris was very clearly shocked and frightened. He struggled with his constraints and was clearly also struggling with himself.

"If I were you Chris I would try to relax. There is nothing you can do to stop this happening and it will only make it more painful if you struggle"

"What are you going to do to me?"

""As you can see I have a little box in my hand. When I flick the switch on the box it will pass an electric current through your heart and it will stop. Hopefully, when I shock you again it will re start. Hopefully."

"No, please. Don't do this. Haven’t you done enough to me? Please."

"Now, now Christopher. we have already had this talk." The voice was ice cold. "You have no control, NO control. There is nothing you can say or do that will change anything. All you will achieve is to irritate me and then I will have to hurt you."

"But you are hurting me anyway."

"Trust me, I can always hurt you more."

Without warning Chris suddenly jerked in his chair, his head flung back, straining against his restraints. and just as suddenly he slumped, his head falling forwards. A man appeared in camera shot, dressed in black, hooded, inscrutable. He pulled Chris's head back by the hair. His eyes were open, fixed, staring. The man pressed his fingers to the base of his throat, then straightened and looked into the camera.

"How does it feel Mr Harkness? To watch your son die. What are you feeling right now? He is dead you know, most certainly dead and if I can’t bring him back he will remain so. I am afraid that I cant spend too much time savouring this moment as, you see as Chris' heart is no longer sending blood around his body his brain is getting no oxygen and is busy producing all sorts of other chemicals which are very soon going to cause him irreparable brain damage. Not that it matters really, of course. He is going to die today in any event but, still... I promised that I would keep him alive to the end and so I shall.

"So, onwards." He picked something up from the table beneath the camera. It was a syringe...a very large syringe. "The thing is that even if the shock starts up the heart again there is a good chance that it will not be able to maintain its beat and so we have to give it a helping hand. Epinephrine 0.5mg every three minutes directly into the left ventricle. The heart is a very delicate organ and this is going to be very tricky, it all depends on Chris now. If he comes back fighting there is a very good chance that the needle will tear the heart muscle and there will be nothing I can do. That is, of course if I don’t damage the muscle myself inserting the needle or puncture a lung."

As he was speaking he pushed the needle into Chris' chest, clearly having some expertise in the procedure.

"This used to be a common emergency procedure in cardiac arrest but it has been discontinued now, too dangerous."

He stood back from the chair and nodded Chris jerked again, took a huge shuddering breath and began to cough and sob at the same time. The man put his hand on Chris' shoulders, standing behind the chair.

"I would advise you to stop struggling Chris. In fact you should sit absolutely perfectly still. You will notice that you have a very long needle in your chest, it is going straight into your heart. If you move too much then it will tear and you will die."

Chris froze. His eyes went downwards to his chest and then flew wide. He looked up again straight at the camera utter horror showing plainly on his face.

"How does it feel to have died and come back? It fascinates me, the thought that you have stared into the face of the beast and returned. So do tell us what it was like."

Chris shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the camera as if somehow it connected him to something which was safe and comforting.

The man leaned forwards and depressed the plunger on the syringe very slowly. Chris went rigid, sucking in his breath with a sharp hiss.

"Yes, I know. Hurts doesn’t it? Hurts like hell. But look on the bright side. The pain shows you are still alive. Don’t worry, the maximum dose is 3mg in 0.5mg doses. You have already had two and so that only leaves 4 more at 3 minute intervals, it will all be over in quarter of an hour and then you can rest and prepare for your finale tonight."

Chris moaned, his head thrown back. He was breathing hard, sick and in pain.

"Well, Mr Harkness, you have six hours. Get those fingers moving on the keyboard or prepare yourself for your son's final breath."

And the screen hissed.

"Are you feeling a little warmer towards Chris at this point Mr Franklin?

"I can barely believe it."

The next time the screen lit up the scene had changed. The camera was focused into the face of a man. He had a black hood over his head with a slit cut into it for the eyes. They eyes were staring into the camera, a deep dark blue.

"Mr Harkness, I am disappointed in you, I really am. You shouldn’t have tried to trace the connection. Did you really thing I was that stupid? And where is the money? No attempt at all even to try and pacify me with a token.

"Ah well, you still have time. You can still do it. I have someone watching the account constantly and the minute the money appears this is all over. If not....then welcome to the last ten minutes of your son's life.

Final way to die...poison........execution to be exact...execution by lethal injection."

He stepped aside and revealed the room in which he was standing. It was a chamber tiled in white about fourteen feet square with no furniture other than a table at the centre. It was cross shaped. In the wall directly in front of the camera was a window with curtains closed on the other side of it.

"This is an execution chamber. Where? You do not need to know. I am particularly interested in this way to die, I have done considerable research. Of course I am not going to be able to use either the correct procedures or drugs, not if I am going to be fair to you and maintain your son's chance of recovery right to the very end. He, of course has no need to know that.

In execution by lethal injection there are three drugs administered. The first thiopental causes very rapid unconsciousness… literally seconds. The second, Pancurionium Bromide paralyses the subject utterly, preventing breathing and would cause death within half an hour or so on its own. The third Potassium Chloride would stop the heart as soon as it reached it.

Unfortunately thiopental works much too quickly and lasts too short a time, pancuronium bromide also works too quickly as does potassium chloride and both of then cause irreversible damage, and so I have improvised. However, I can assure you that after the first injection your son will lose consciousness, but not so quickly that he will not be fully aware of what is happening to him and will believe that he is dying. After the second he will experience pain, not lethal but enough to be obvious to you watching, and after the third he will be dead within less than a minute. Chris, of course, knows none of this, it is our little secret. He will only know what I tell him."

When he finished speaking there was a pause and a door opened behind the camera. Two men dragged Chris into the room. This time he was fighting. He was also swearing with shocking fluency.

The two men had to be joined by two more before they were able, with some considerable difficulty to get Chris up onto the table and strap him down with his arms stretched out to the sides on the arms of the cross. He continued to struggle against the restraints, highly agitated, his eyes wide.

"Your father let you down Chris. He didn't even try to save you. How does that make you feel?

"Fuck you. FUCK you. What do you want me to say? That I hate him? I hate YOU."

The Voice laughed. "Thank you Chris. It is good to know that I will be sending you on your way with hate in your heart."

The men had disappeared and another appeared at the side of the table.

The voice continued.

"Usually at this stage an intravenous line is inserted into each arm, one to use and one in reserve in case the vein collapses etc. They are then both connected to the lethal injection machine in another room. In this case that is not possible for two reasons. Firstly the machine is inoperable and secondly you only actually have one arm that is....available. The other is a bit of a mess I am afraid." For that first time Ian noticed that Chris' left arm was neatly bandaged. "I think just one peripheral line with a ported cannula should do it, That will give me the immense pleasure of administering the drugs myself."

So both the speaker and the other man involved had some kind of medical training. They knew the terminology and the IV line was inserted and secured extremely quickly and efficiently.

Chris had gone very still, his hands clenched into fists. His eyes were fixed on the tube in his arm.

"Well, Mr Harkness, nothing in the account as yet, is there? I will be generous and give you another thirty seconds and then I am afraid I am going to have to get down to business. There are not that many execution chambers out here which are abandoned and accessible and I am not a stupid man. There are probably a number of heavily armed visitors on their way even as we speak and I want to be long gone before they get here. Chris, of course, shall remain."

"This is the point where the condemned man is given the chance to speak any last words. I think it would be churlish of me to deny you this. Whilst you are speaking I will inject the first drug which will render you unconscious within seconds, your father will then have five minutes to post the money, if not I will then inject the second drug which will probably kill you, if not I will inject the third drug which will Definitely kill you. I therefore suggest that whatever you have to say you make it short and sweet. I would imagine your family and friends are gathered around the computer even now to catch this last exciting episode in the story of your life."

As he was speaking the camera refocused and zoomed in on Chris's face. He was absolutely terrified. His eyes were wide and his jaw clenched so at first he could not speak. Tears were running down his face and he was holding on to control only with great difficulty.

Finally he managed to whisper.

"Please...please..."

"Don’t waste your last breath pleading with me Chris. You should consider those who are watching you, surely you can find something to say to them."

Chris continued to gaze intently into the camera, tears still flowing. With teeth clenched to stop them chattering he became more fluent although his voice still shook to am almost uncontrollable extent.

"Please, please don’t watch. Mom, if you are there please leave...please....now. Turn off the computer. Don't let him do this to you. Please...I...I." he faltered and sucked in a deep shuddering breath.

"Ok Chris, thirty seconds are up. Don't worry, this isn't going to hurt." A hand appeared from out of shot, holding up a syringe so that Chris could see it and so could those who watched. Slowly he depressed he plunger so that a bead of liquid appeared at the tip of he needle and slowly slid down the side and over the glass. Chris shook his head from side to side, eyes enormous and tears running down his face. The hand disappeared.

"NO! ...no...I....." his breath was coming in sobs now, and for a time he could not speak, struggling to bring himself under control. He was staring at the man who was standing out of view. "Why? Why are you doing this to me? I haven't done anything...to you. I'm not...I haven't done...anything. " His eyes flicked back to the screen, the pupils were enormous making them look very dark, "Dad...Dad...I...I let...you down. I...I know....I'm not...not what you...I cant be......Paul. I.,...I tried...I....I.. wanted to but...but I...I didn't...didn't...."He was speaking quickly, between sobs, but his breathing was beginning to slow and his eyes to lose focus. He faltered then, suddenly realising what was happening, his eyes which had half closed snapped wide again. "NO...no, please...please." He was struggling hard now, as both the drug and panic gripped him in equal measure. He began to shake as he struggled harder and harder, drowning but clinging desperately to the last moments of consciousness. "I...I haven't… haven't done… anything. I.....I don't want....don't want to.. to die" The last word was little more than a sigh

The Voice appeared on screen again, he stroked the hair out of Chris' face almost tenderly and his voice was very soft when he spoke. Blinking against the blurring of his vision Chris fixed his eyes on the face which hung over him, a dark blur, covered by the black hood. His lips moved, trembling, but made no sound.

"There is no point fighting it, none at all. It is done. You will sleep. Say goodnight Chris."

Chris was still fighting, fighting desperately against the dark tide that was rising within him, fighting to remain conscious and he was losing, He did not speak again but it was clear from his eyes that fear was overwhelming him as fast as the drug.

And then, with a sigh his eyes closed and his head slipped to one side.

"Five minutes Mr Harkness."

The observers watched in fascinated horror as the minutes ticked by. Even the fact that Chris had clearly survived did not detract from the knowledge that, at that point, the moment that consciousness left him Chris had believed wholeheartedly that he was about to die.....and so did those who were watching.

"Time's up Mr Harkness. Now that Chris is no longer with us as it were I can let you in on a secret. This was never about the money. I knew you would not pay it, I never intended you to. The important thing is that Chris believed that he had a chance and he slipped into death knowing that his father could have saved him and chose not to. Even at the very end he knew which of your sons was really important to you and which were not. How very, VERY sweet."

The camera had not, in all this time moved from Chris' face. He had looked so incredibly young and peaceful as his sleep deepened. It was very clear when the second drug had been introduced because he suddenly jerked and a look of intense pain crossed his face.

"This part of the show is just for you, John."

At that point there were sounds in the background, distant at first but growing nearer. The camera remained on Chris as his face twisted and he bucked against the restraints.

And then action exploded just out of camera shot. There was the sound of the door being kicked open, shouts, gunshots and the camera went dark just as Chris began to scream.

For a moment they sat in shocked silence. Then Prof Hunter turned her chair back to face him. Her face was pale.

"Now do you understand?" dumbly he nodded. "There is no amount of privilege which can make up for that."

He shook his head "No. I presume then that they caught the ones responsible."

She gave him a strange look then nodded. "Most of them, yes. The one who was speaking throughout was Victor Macey, he was a doctor at a large private hospital in London. It would seem that he was involved with one of John Harkness' businesses which went wrong. He had a nervous breakdown and had to give up practice. This whole thing had nothing to do with money at all....it was all about revenge. There was no possibility that Chris would have escaped any of this no matter what his father had done."

"What happened to him...to Victor Macey?"

"He was charged with attempted murder, even though at the time he was caught he had not administered any drugs which would actually have killed Chris. He had another syringe ready which most certainly would have. I believe that he was never convicted because he killed himself in police custody before the case ever came to trial."

"I believe that I have an apology to make."

"No, don’t mention this to Chris. It would cause him too much pain. Go on as normal but moderate your behaviour yes?"

"Of course." He nodded and rose. For a time after he left the room Prof Hunter stared thoughtfully at the door and then she picked up the telephone.

Ian went straight to Chris' room and sat on the chair at the side of the bed. He was still deeply sedated and for a time Ian watched him sleep.

For some reason his arm which had been torn during the administration of the sedative had not been dressed and it was still bleeding. It was his left arm. Ian lifted it from the bed and examined it more closely. He traced the old scars with his finger. Funny he had not noticed them before. No wonder Chris always wore leather wristbands and heavy silver bracelets.

He smiled and left.

He returned very shortly afterwards with a tray and with gentle hands dressed the wound. Chris slept on.

Ian busied himself around the room for a short time and then sat down again, waiting. It was the least he could do.

After a time Chris stirred and his eyes flickered. Restlessly he moved his head from side to side and murmured in his sleep. Ian reached out and touched his face. He really was very beautiful. His hair was much longer now, very dark against his pale skin. He had never noticed before just how beautiful he was.

Chris' eyes flew open and he struggled to focus. "You? NO No." he shook his head from side to side trying to clear his vision,

"Sssh..It’s alright, it's only me, Ian. Sssh. You are safe now, safe with me."

Chris calmed and turned his head back towards Ian, blinking. The image was blurred against the strong white light behind him. It was familiar, yes, but safe?"

"I..Ian?" His voice was uncertain. He shook his head again trying to clear it of the lingering effects of the drug.

"You are here, at the clinic. Do you remember?"

He closed his eyes and seemed to drift again. He murmured "Remember?"

"Yes, you have had a bad time but I will help you now."

"Help....me..?" He was still struggling to wake. Something was wrong, something was very wrong but he could not work out what it was. He should be feeling safe, Ian was familiar, the room was his but...but... He tried to sit up and it hit him like a hammer. He couldn’t get up. He was strapped to the bed.

All of the beds at the clinic were fitted with straps, they were standard issue but rarely used. Chris had never been strapped down before, so why now? Again he struggled with his memory, what had he done that was so bad he needed to be strapped down? What had he done?"

"What...what happened? What.....did I ..do?"

Ian reached out again and stroked his face brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"Nothing, you did nothing, nothing at all."

Chris twisted away from his touch. The sense that something was wrong was growing in him. The voice was familiar, the face was familiar, the situation was familiar but familiar in all the wrong ways. Memories from the past flooded him and threatened to sweep him away again on the black tide of helplessness and fury that so often consumed him but he fought it, he fought desperately to clear his head, clear his vision. Something was desperately wrong.

Suddenly he snapped fully awake a sick certainty twisting in him.

"It was you. That time...you...you."

Ian smiled gently.

"You don’t know what you are talking about. You are out of your mind, remember. Besides how could it have been me? The person who did that to you is dead, remember? He hung himself rather than go to prison. Your father ruined him."

"I...I don’t understand"

Chris' eyes were wide and clear now, they held his in a strong and steady gaze, deep with the challenge that had always so infuriated him.

"Victor Macey was my brother. I was away when it happened, both when your father ruined him and when he died. I was a nursing orderly in the army serving overseas both times. I couldn't help him. And so I decided that if I couldn't help him I could at least revenge him. I found out where you were and I worked so hard to get in here. You have no idea how hard I have worked, how many of my morals and ideals I have compromised to get here."

"Why?"

"So that I can give you a present."

"A....a present?"

"From my brother." He turned and picked something up from the table. He held it up. It was a syringe. "I intend to finish what he started."

Chris' eyes went wide but there was no real fear in them this time.

"I...um...think you might have missed one detail from this plan of yours."

Ian was confused. This was not the reaction he had expected. He had expected...hoped that Chris would have freaked out again and fought against him. It would have made it easier, and more fulfilling too....to watch the fight go out of him. He had not expected him to be so calm, cold even. There was no fear in his eyes only a smile.

"What did I forget?"

"You forgot me." and then it all happened very fast. The strap which held Chris to the bed snapped and he moved like lightening. Ian found himself flat on his back on the floor with Chris straddling him, something silver flashed in his hand.

"Do you think I didn’t know you? Why do you think I baited you? Did you really think that I wouldn’t recognise your face? You are so alike I would have recognised you ANYWHERE. Your brother destroyed me. He destroyed my family. My mother watched those transmissions, it killed her inside. He might as well have killed me. Ever since you came I have been carrying this." He held up the scalpel blade. "inside my wrist band. When you were talking I cut the strap. This time....THIS time I am not helpless."

There was a terrible fierce light burning in his eyes and Ian thought for a moment that he was going to use the blade on him but he flung it away from him in a gesture that spoke clearly that it was too much of a temptation in his hand. He threw back his head and took a deep shuddering breath and Ian took the opportunity to strike. Lifting himself up from the floor he struck with both hands locked together in the centre of Chris' chest. Caught off guard and off balance he fell backwards and Ian leaped to his feet.

With amazing gymnastic ability Chris twisted as he fell also coming to his feet in one fluid motion. The two men stood facing each other. In one hatred burned away all sense and reason, in the other rage subsided and was replaced by deadly calm.

"You should have died. It should have been you, not him."

"Part of me did die. Why do you think I am here? Why do you think that I can never be still, never find peace? Your brother might have stopped short of destroying my body but he tore out my soul and now I would like to have it back."

Ian's heart was beating loudly. He glared at his opponent and rage burned him. Everything about Chris spoke of privilege power, from his silk shirt and uniquely designed boots, to the insouciance of his stance and expression. He suddenly remembered that Chris worked out at the gym every day. His physical strength was rarely obvious, except when he was in one of his rages as he was not muscle bound but rather of an athletic build. However, he was strong, he was also martial arts trained and therefore extremely dangerous. Ian, however was military trained and had seen active service in war zones, this was not going to be an easy encounter.

"I have just been watching the transmissions. I have never seen them before. I enjoyed every minute of it."

Something sparked deep in Chris' eyes. Ian could tell that he was struggling to control himself and not to lose himself to the tide of anger that was threatening to sweep away all reason and control.

"I have to admit that, despite myself I was impressed by your bravery. Just about the only thing that has impressed me about you to be honest. My brother only did what I have felt like doing to you every day I have been here. Spoiled little rich kid, having everyone running around after you, hanging on your every word.. so bloody perfect in every way. You deserved it. I actually enjoyed watching you suffer, had me on the edge of my seat to the last."

Chris was breathing heavily, still fighting to control himself, Ian could see the rage rising and continued to goad him.

"It was sweet of you to think of your mother when playing Russian roulette. I believe that she had to be sedated afterwards., in fact I believe that she fell apart after every one of them. I am surprised that your father let her watch."

Chris did not respond but it was clear from the look on his face and the way he was holding himself that he was a hair’s breadth from losing control.

Ian smiled "Tell me, what did it feel like? To be so totally helpless? When the drug started to take effect and you thought you were dying...how did it feel?"

Chris' eyes took on a far away look, widening in horror at the memory which was as always very present in his mind. Just as surely as the drug had overcome his will the dark tide of anger was rising, doing the same thing. Anger that he had been helpless, anger that he had not fought harder, anger that he had caused his family so much pain, anger that his father had not saved him, anger that twisted his gut and his mind and possessed him, anger, anger, anger.

At that moment of total distraction Ian pounced, and Chris, caught unawares fell beneath him. They both crashed into the bedside table which shattered. Stunned from the fall Chris was momentarily helpless against the weight on his chest and the hands around his throat. There was a pressure in his head, the beat of his heart was very pronounced pounding through every part of him and he squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly transported back two years.

As his body struggled for breath his mind struggled to find a foothold in a dark world of boiling black anger spiked with red hot bursts of pain. He was drowning in it, sinking beneath the crushing weight of fear and anger and pain. And then something clicked deep in the back of his mind, a cold hard spark that could have been survival instinct or a sense of balance and power. Whatever it was it grew, it cut through the darkness and it burst inside his head in a moment of perfect clarity.

Coming to his senses, clear headed and focused, it was not difficult for Chris to break the hold at his throat and, with surprising strength he twisted, throwing Ian to one side, and scrambled to his feet. Instead of pushing the attack he then backed off and opened the door.

At the last moment he turned back and grinned.

"I am not going to fight you. I don’t have to. Somehow everything makes sense. I thought that your brother had stolen something from me, that he had left me broken, but I am not broken, I am strong. Thank you. I feel much better now," Smiling he slipped from the room. In the corridor outside Prof Hunter was hurrying towards him with a number of police officers at her back.