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Night	By : kattanon Category: S through Z > The Shield Views: 1080 -:- 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
- 16
- 17
- 18
Disclaimer: - I don�t own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.
Night � Chapter 17.
Dutch had actually managed to get a few hours sleep, his exhaustion finally overcoming the agony in his body. Before sleep had taken him, given him the illusion of peace, he remembered he�d been praying. He wasn�t sure anymore if he really believed in God, at least not in a just and benevolent God, no his God must be the Old Testament God he decided, the vengeful, cruel God that wasn�t popular in these politically correct days. He had to wonder though what he�d done to deserve to be punished like this, maybe the pe whe who believed in re-incarnation were right, and he was being punished for something he�d done in a past life. He was here because of some huge case of cosmic karma; he must have been Genghis Kahn or Jack the Ripper or something then because he was certainly getting shit heaped on him in spades. Despite his lack of faith that God was listening to him anymore he still prayed, the words filling his head. Before tonight he�d prayed for Claudette to find him, he prayed to God to let her find a clue to his whereabouts, for her to whisk him away to hospital, clean sheets, warmth, safety and some really good drugs. Now his prayer had changed, and maybe it would be more to the taste of the wrathful deity that seemed to be in charge of his fate, he prayed for an end to his ordeal, but not rescue, now he prayed for death. It might seem a little melodramatic but he couldn�t help it, he�d had enough. Here he was tied face down to the big iron bed his hands a throbbing agony competing with the pain in his lower back, blood and semen smeared across his buttocks and thighs, smelling of stale sweat, stale semen and stale urine. Christ as if he hadn�t humiliated himself enough he had to go and wet himself. He wanted to cry, howl out his misery but he wasn�t sure he had any tears left inside of him. He felt as though someone had ripped him open and scooped his insides out with a spoon, he felt empty inside. He wasn�t really there anymore, Dutch Wagenbach was gone and a stranger had taken his place.
His thoughts turned to the tapes that Simon had told him about, he wondered who�d watched them. Probably Claudette, Aceveda, the FBI, maybe Jim Ryde the agent who�d helped him profile Sally�s killer. He�d liked Agent Ryde, had felt a flare of pride when he�d complemented him on spotting the fact that a serial killer was on the loose. He�d wanted to gain this man�s respect. What respect would there be if he�d seen those tapes? Maybe the whole precinct had seen them; Dutch visualized the scene, everyone sitting down with sodas and popcorn watching the next installment in the destruction of Detective Dutch Wagenbach. Would they laugh at him he wondered, maybe a couple of them would think he was getting what he deserved, that he needed to be taken down a peg or two. He knew some of his colleague�s thought he was a snob that he thought he was better than they were. They didn�t understand that he just didn�t have people skills. He never seemed to fit in, always a step behind everyone else. Then there was small talk, which was a complete anathema to him; he just couldn�t do small talk. When he tried he always ended up tripping up over his tongue, talking about banalities like the weather, sounding like an idiot, so he just kept quiet and then people thought he was being standoffish, a snob. So he tried to make up for his lack of social skills by throwing himself into his work. He knew that results would earn him respect, perhaps friendship, he didn�t like feeling like the odd man out all the time. It was scary how accurate Sean had been in his analysis of him in the interrogation room, but hey maybe everyone could see it, maybe he was pathetically transparent, a needy whiner craving respect he�d never get. How could he ever be respected now, now that he�d become that monster�s bitch, because he had to face it that was what he was? Jesus he�d cum while that bastard had been fucking him. He deserved everything that happened to him, he was weak and pathetic; a coward, because all he wanted to do now was to die, because he didn�t have the courage to face anyone he�d known in his old life.
He heard the sound he�d grown to loathe and fear, the door of the room opening, the key turning in the lock, the hinge which needed a little oil to stop it squeaking, and then he was back. Dutch buried his face in the mattress, wishing himself away from here. He heard Simon�s footstep nearing the bed, then he spoke,
"Aw baby you�re a mess, I think I need to clean you up don�t you hmm. You�ll feel better after a wash and a shave, maybe I�ll wash your hair, would you like that." As he spoke he was busy untying Dutch�s hands from the bed, he never paused, never waited for a response which suited Dutch so he just kept still and quiet. "If you�re a good boy and don�t give me any trouble I�ll give you some water and maybe some medicine so you don�t get sick. If you�re especially good maybe I�ll let you have some soup, would you like that, �cause you know you�ve lost a couple of pounds while we�ve been together. Now just sit around and I�ll take you over to where I�ll clean you up, you smell a bit you know."
Dutch did as Simon told him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the stone floor in front of him, his shoulders slumped in defeat, he simply didn�t care anymore. There was a pause and he could feel Simon�s eyes on him, studying him, then he felt Simon�s hand on his arm as he pulled him up, Dutch tensed for a moment at the hateful touch, but then relaxed, he was filthy and polluted now what did one more touch matter, what would one more fuck matter. He passively let Simon steer him over to the middle of the room and didn�t protest when he tied his wrists wiope ope and pulled them up over his head, back in the place where he�d first awoken what seemed a lifetime ago. Simon didn�t speak as he moved in and out of the room, bringing in a couple of bowls of water, towels, soap, shampoo and other odds and ends. Dutch had to admit it would be good not to have to smell himself anymore, Simon had been right he did stink. As he stood perfectly still he let Simon wash him; he didn�t move only closing his eyes when Simon told him to when he washed his hair. The smell of sex and terror and pain being replaced by the smell of lemons and oranges and mint.
"Open wide." Simon instructed and Dutch dutifully opened his mouth and let Simon brush his teeth.
However, he did pause before opening it when Simon showed him a couple of tablets that he wanted him to take, but the promise of water to wash them down with had been too much of a temptation so he�d opened up and swallowed them down with a bottle of water.
"They�re only antibiotics." Simon assured him, although Dutch didn�t really care if they�d been cyanide at this point.
He remained passive even when Simon leant forward and kissed him on the lips, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth exploring every nook and cranny, practically forcing it�s way down his throat. He remained passive when Simon untied him and took him over to the bed and laid him down on his back. He remained passive when Simon tied his hands above his head again. He remained passive when the monster began to dirty him again, because he wasn�t there anymore, he�d finally found his safe place, the place in his head where he could hide when the monsters came for him.
- 16
- 17
- 18
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