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Adam	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 1482 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Shield, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Disclaimer: - I don�t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Adam Third Interlude

Slowly waking up Dutch opened his eyes and then quickly closed them again when he was faced with the dark. He was grateful that he�d at least gotten over the stage where every time he awoke he opened his eyes and expected to see something. The phase he�d gone through early on in his captivity when he�d lie in that warm twilight world between sleep and wakefulness and he�d imagine the stranded woman, the cell and the darkness were all just a dream. After a while he�d eventually come to accept this as his reality now. He�d finally figured out that there really wasn�t going to be some heroic rescue where he�d get to stumble, blinking and grinning into the light and be welcomed back by his rescuers into the land of the living. He knew deep down inside that his past life was over. He was never going to return to it again, never go to work, never go home, and never see the people he cared about. That thought had used to make him cry once. Sobbing out all his anguish and despair with his face buried in his musty mattress, feeling sorry for himself and at the same time feeling ashamed of his weakness. In fact he�d cried so much during that time that he didn�t think that now he had any tears left inside him. The past weeks or months, he wasn�t sure how much time had past actually, but however long it was out there it seemed like an eternity locked in this room. Anyway the time that had past, be it weeks or months, had seen him experiencing so many swings of emotion that he felt as if he had been left with nothing inside of him anymore. Like he�d been hollowed out and the darkness that surrounded him now filled him too.
He�d still had hope during the first few days of his incarceration. He�d explored every inch of the brick room he had awoken to find himself imprisoned in. Running his hands over every rough brick, his fingers always searching for some weakness in the mortar, some crevice that they could dig themselves into, some weakness they could exploit. Sometimes he�d scrabbled at the walls so hard trying to burrow his way through them that his fingers would be left sore and bleeding where he�d lost his mind momentarily. In his desperation and fear he�d totally freaked out, losing it until the pain from what he was doing would break through and he�d be left breathless cradling his sore hands, his fear tasting bitter in his mouth.
He�d felt his way over every inch of the metal door too. Searching for hinges the screws of which could be somehow undone. All he�d found though was a metal grill at the bottom of the door, the function of which had flummoxed him at first. Until he�d first heard the sharp click as it was drawn up and the slide of metal on stone as something was slid through it from the outside. No light had shone through the open grill indicating the outside was being kept as dark as his cell, but he didn�t process this fact at first. Instead he�d rushed to the door shouting to be released, demanding answers, wanting contact with his captors, desperate enough to just want some human contact with somebody even if it was them. His shouts and the pounding of his fists on the door had been ignored though, and in a fit of temper and frustration he�d kicked out at the unrelenting metal forgetting in his anger, until his foot connected with the door, that he didn�t have his shoes anymore. He was sure he�d broken his big toe then, a loud cracking sound emanating from it upon its violent contact with the door which had made his stomach roil as the sound had seemed very loud to his ears. A sharp pain in his foot, combined with his frustration at his failure to set up any dialogue with his captors on this first point of contact he�d had with them, had left him sitting on the floor clutching his foot and swearing so hard it would�ve made sailors blush. His toe still throbbed occasionally, but enough time seemed to have past since then that the worst of the injury had healed itself. He wondered sometimes when it would throb if he were turning into his granddad who�d apparently badly broken his arm when he�d been young and had sworn it ached when rain was coming. Dutch could remember when he was a kid being amazed by his granddad�s unfailing ability to forecast the weather. Dutch�s father had scoffed at the old man and said he�d seen the long range forecast, but Dutch had never known the old man to lie to him and had believed totally in his uncanny meteorological abilities. Who knew maybe it ran in the family and when his toe throbbed maybe it was raining on the outside. He wondered briefly if he�d ever see rain again, but dismissed the thought as useless.
Turning his mind back to the day he�d injured his toe he remembered that it had been only when the pain had subsided somewhat that he�d remembered the sound of metal sliding across stone. He�d reached out blindly and searching with his hands had found the metal tray that had been slid in from the outside. It had contained a couple of roast beef sandwiches and an apple, all of which he�d wolfed down in his hunger before wondering if maybe the food had been drugged. But he�d merely been overly paranoid, which considering his situation he�d been willing to forgive himself for, and the food had been fine merely giving him a mild case of indigestion which he guessed was his punishment for stuffing it all in his mouth so fast.
With a full stomach he�d even felt a little optimistic at the time that some progress had been made. At least if they were feeding him, he�d reasoned desperate to find some kind of silver lining in his seemingly hopeless situation, it didn�t look like his abductors intended on burying him alive here and leaving him to starve slowly to death. If they wanted him alive and in reasonably good health well then apparently an opportunity to communicate and open up a dialogue with them could well still arise. Only it hadn�t quite worked out that way, Dutch thought bitterly to himself.
The tray had been chained to the outside of the cell. The thin, but strong, chain running through a small groove at the base of the grill in the bottom of the door which had been slammed shut again after the tray had been pushed into the cell with his food on it. When he'd lain down on the floor and tried to peer through that small groove into the world beyond his cell hoping to see just a chink of warm light he�d been disappointed to be met with just more inky blackness. Dutch supposed his earlier theory that the outer environment was being kept dark as well was correct. Whoever had kidnapped him seemed to want him kept in the dark both figuratively and literally.
At some point after he�d eaten whatever was on the tray it would be quickly pulled back to the other side of the door. His food was always cold consisting of things like sandwiches, cold pie, or fruit, and never came with plates or cutlery.
At first he�d tried to mark the passing of time with each meal. Reasoning that he would be fed at fairly regular intervals at least twice a day. But he�d soon given that idea up as he realised that there seemed to be no set routine to when he was fed. Sometimes so much time would pass between meals that his stomach would be tying itself up in knots and he could swear he could feel his digestive juices beginning to eat there way through his stomach lining. At first when there were these long gaps between his getting food he�d been afraid that he really was going to be left to starve. That they�d fed him just to toy with him, to give him false hope, as a joke just to be cruel. Or, another scenario would play itself out in his head, what if something had happened to his captors? An accident, or even if they'd been arrested for something unconnected to him, would he be left here to rot away alone until eventually all that was left would be a pathetic pile of rags wrapped around some bones. But these fears had proven unfounded, as eventually another meal would appear through the grill. Then there were the times when it seemed that they couldn�t shove food at him fast enough. No sooner would one meal be eaten then another would arrive, and then another. He�d either have to gorge himself or save some of it on his mattress for later eating it before it went stale. He soon realised that there was method to this madness on the behalf of his captors. The irregular meal times prevented him from doing the one thing he�d been hoping to use them for, to mark the passage of time. His kidnappers obviously intended to keep him off balance, and it worked. His inability to know how long he�d been held captive alone in the dark still bothered him. He�d even tried guessing how much time had past by gauging how much his beard had grown, but he even had to give that up as useless since he really wasn�t the wilderness survival type and didn�t really have any idea how fast a beard grew. All it did for him was itch and make him feel even more unlike himself.
Dutch flopped over onto his back trying to push the thoughts of his early days in captivity out of his mind. If he thought back to those days too much it inevitably led to him thinking back to his life before, and he couldn�t stand the ache inside his heart that those memories stirred up.
Pulling himself upright Dutch pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and shivered. Then he heard it. The whispers, the voices coming to him out of the darkness. It wasn�t the first time he�d heard these disembodied voices reaching out for him from the furthest corner of the room. At first he�d tried sticking his fingers in his ears to blot them out, but that never worked they just got louder until the sounds from their voices reverberated around inside his skull making his head ache. At first the words would be indistinct, just a collection of noise that blended into itself in a continuous murmur, but then individual words would become distinguishable and then whole sentences. They whispered horrible, ugly things to him. Words full of contempt and hate taunting him, telling him he was doomed to remain here alone forever, that no one cared he was missing, no one was looking for him, he�d been forgotten, he�d been abandoned. Voices he recognised from his life before would join in the taunting, telling him they didn�t want him back, telling him that he was useless and they were better off without him. He heard Claudette laughing at the silent tears that slid down his cheeks, tears he hadn�t even thought himself capable of shedding anymore.
Sometimes when the silence got too loud for him to bear he sang just to fill the silence up. He�d sing everything and anything just to hear a noise even if it was his slightly off key, slightly out of tune rendition of a Duran Duran song. Now he tried the same thing. Hardly noticing what he was doing he shuffled himself backwards until he�d wedged himself into a corner of the room so that whatever was out there in the dark couldn�t sneak up on him. He stared out into the black and with a trembling voice began to sing "Girls on Film" as loudly as he could. Not sure if he was trying to be defiant or just trying to hold onto some semblance of sanity.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Adam