Bronson lay on the woolen blanket, unconscious as the three vampires looked down on him.
“I still can’t believe you brought him here,” Burrows huffed for the hundredth time, or so it seemed.
“The burning question is what to do with him now.” Thomas Woodford looked at Sarge.
“We can’t put him down in the cell, that vamp we captured is in there,” Sarge thought out loud. “You can’t take him because he could wake up and get away and tell God knows who. That only leaves one option that I can see. We’ll have to keep him here. That’s all there is to it.”
“What?” Burrows yelled.
“Then tomorrow, when you arise, you can erase his memory of tonight, set him free, and he will not be any the wiser,” Woody rationalized. “That should do quite nicely.”
“Nicely?” Burrows was pacing the room puffing like a steam engine. “Nicely? Do you know who he is?” Burrows stopped directly in front of Woody in a confrontational stance.
Woody’s face went hard as stone with the young Sergeant in his personal space.
“Burrows, back off.” Sarge’s voice was low, almost growling, warning the soldier that he was out of line. “I know who he is, probably better than you do, so back off.”
Both Woody and Burrows looked more closely at Sarge, clearly wondering what he meant by that. Sarge knew he was going to have to explain it now.
“He was put with a platoon I was in while doing ops in Iraq,” he clarified for the other two men. “It wasn’t like we got to be buddy-buddy or anything, we only met and saw each other around is all.”
The other two men’s jaws dropped open.
“Oh, this is just great,” Burrows whined as he went back to his pacing. “This is just fucking great. Not only do we have an internationally known reporter knocked out, that we technically kidnapped, but he knows you and can actually identify you.” He stopped in front of Sarge. “Is there anything else you might like to let us in on?” Burrows was almost challenging Sarge.
“Back it the hell up,” Sarge growled.
“The only thing we need to do is to make sure he is secure until tomorrow at which time his memory of this can be erased,” Woody interjected. His voice was strong and steady, but he spoke with authority, causing Sergeant Burrows to step back, standing up a little straighter.
“We don’t have much time left.” Sarge looked at his watch. “Sergeant, you go and get those shackles from lock-up and bring them back.” Sarge went to the door of his private quarters, opened it and called two men in. “I need a bunk brought in here,” he told the two Marines that were closest to the door.
“What do you have in mind, David?” Woody stepped close, his voice lowered so only they could hear.
“I have no other choice but to keep him here.” David rubbed his forehead. “I’ll make him as comfortable as possible, but secure him so that he can’t escape while we’re sleeping.”
“I think that is very wise of you, David,” Woody agreed, putting his hand on the muscled shoulder of the Marine.
“To make sure that he sees no one else, and is kept safe, I’ll keep him in here with me,” he enlightened Woody.
The noise of the two Marines bringing in the metal bed stopped their conversation. They stepped back, allowing the two men more room as they set up the bunk against the brick wall.
“Thanks guys,” Sarge directed to the men as they left the room.
Burrows came back with the shackles as the other two men left and handed them to Sarge.
“Let’s get him moved over,” Sarge said to Burrows as he approached Bronson Rudan.
The Marines picked him up, causing him to moan, and then setting him down gently on the twin sized metal framed military bed. Sarge leaned over, looking him over again. He turned Bronson’s head to the side to look at the wound there, noticing that the blood had dried, but there was a large knot where his head had hit the concrete.
“He’s gonna have one helluva headache when he wakes up.” Sarge stood up. “Burrows, go and see if we have a first-aid kit around would ya? And bring some water too.”
Burrows back stiffened. “I’m not some nursemaid…”
Sarge cut him off abruptly. “That’s an order, Burrows, not a fucking request,” he barked.
Sergeant Burrows nodded to the Lieutenant, did a military about-face and left the room.
“It would appear you have your hands full with that one,” Woody commented after witnessing the confrontation.
“Yeah, I should have nixed the idea of having him join the unit, followed my gut, but I thought at the time that it was just my personal feelings.” Sarge rubbed his forehead again. He always did this when he was stressed. “Now I’m sorry I didn’t follow my gut.”
“As unpleasant as it may sound,” Woody said, voice lowered, “there are ways to take care of such matters. If you would like, I can mention it to The Committee.”
“No, no…I can handle it,” Sarge replied, looking up at the man, the twinkling blue eyes catching him off guard.
Woody only shrugged. “If you change your mind…” He let the sentence die.
“Sir?” Both Woody and Sarge turned to see Corporal Aquilar standing at the open door, a first-aid kit in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “You needed these?”
“Thank you, Aquilar.” Sarge took the items from Aquilar who had a concerned look on his face.
When Sarge said nothing else, Aquilar left the room.
Lieutenant David Farragut was fuming over his direct order for Burrows to find the first-aid kit and water, then him handing it off to Aquilar, not doing it himself as commanded. From his point of view, that was directly disobeying his orders.
The low moan from the bunk against the wall made him quickly refocus on the matter at hand.
Woody laid a hand on Sarge’s forearm. “I should leave now. Just remember what I said, David,” he said softly, looking into David’s face.
“Thanks, Woody, I will.” David tried to smile, but it came off more as a grimace.
“I will come by tomorrow, as soon as I can, and I’ll help you handle this matter.” Woody waved his hand in Bronson’s general direction.
“Yeah, I might be able to use your backup on this.” Sarge sighed. “Don’t need this to become anymore of a mess than it already is.”
With no other words necessary, Thomas Woodford left, leaving Sarge looking at the man sprawled out on the bunk. It wouldn’t be long before he would regain consciousness. That would be when the real challenge would begin.
* * * * *
Bronson saw a bright white light that faded to purple as the sharp piercing pain stabbed the back of his head. He realized his eyes were closed only because the muscles in his face around his eyes became tired from his face being scrunched up. Before he could open them that pain hit again, causing his face to clinch up again. There was this annoying sound that came in waves. He wondered where it was coming from when it struck him that it was coming from him.
“Take it easy there, buddy,” a deep solid voice said close by. “I’ve got some aspirin here for you when you feel up to taking ’em. Take your time.”
Bronson felt his stomach roll, and even with his eyes closed, he felt the room spinning. He tried to speak, but his throat closed up, when whomever it was that was stabbing him in the back of the head with a knife, stabbed him again. The bright white lights went off like flashbulbs, fading to purple again.
The pain subsided a bit, allowing him to form a few words. “Was I hit?” Bronson croaked out.
“Naw man, you just took a crack on the head,” the vibrating baritone voice answered. There was a wry chuckle. “You’ll live. You’re gonna have one helluva headache though.”
“Aw fuck,” Bronson breathed as he tried to sit up, only to fall back when that knife sliced into his brain again.
He felt a strong arm slide under his neck, helping him to sit up a bit. “See if you can get a few of these aspirins down. They’ll help you feel better.”
Bronson felt himself being lifted up a few inches. He was able to open one eye slightly. The only thing he saw was a blurry dark room and a big hairy hand in front of his face with a few pills in the palm. Unclenching his jaw muscles he opened his mouth a bit, enough for the pills to be dumped in. Then a cool glass of water was held to his lips. He took a few sips of the cool water to wash the pills down, and the water soothed his tight throat.
“Thanks,” he muttered as his head was lowered, just in time for that stabbing pain to hit again.
“You lay still and let those take effect.” The voice had moved away and the bed he was lying on moved a bit as the voice faded. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.”
Bronson tried to nod his head, which was a big mistake, making him moan again.
“Lay still. I’ll be back.”
Bronson opened his eye to see who this kind man was, but the pain perforated his brain again. Taking the advice of the guy, he lay still.
He had no sense of time. The next thing he knew, there was movement around him, and the pain wasn’t as strong. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t there, but it was manageable now.
Bronson risked opening his one eye again, testing it to see if the room would spin out of control. His vision was still a little blurry, though nothing like it had been earlier. The room was dim, and he could see the shadow of the person moving about. Wanting to see who his benefactor was, he rotated his head carefully, trying to avoid that sharp pain. The light behind the figure obscured his features, but he could tell that whoever he was, he was big. The form moved sideways, allowing Bronson to view his profile. Okay, he was big and hairy, the body hair sticking out from the man’s body.
Wait. Hairy? Bronson dared to open both eyes, blinking several times clearing away the blurriness. As his vision cleared he was able to observe the muscular figure as he moved about. The first thing he noticed was that he was naked.
With towel in hand, Bronson watched as the man wicked away moisture, possibly from a shower. As he watched him, he knew that having a naked man drying himself off wasn’t normal. Where am I? He tried to think clearly. What’s the last thing I remember? The sharp stab of pain, to the back of his head, made him gasp then quickly close his eyes.
“You okay there buddy?” The voice was close again. Bronson could smell the soap the man must have recently used, clarifying for him why the man was naked. If his head wasn’t about to roll off his shoulders, he might even have been pleased to wake up to a hunky naked man, but with his stomach rolling around, and his head pounding, he really didn’t give a shit.
“Where am I? Have I been medivacced?” He realized his voice sounded garbled.
“No, nothing like that man,” the deep strong voice soothed him. “Try and relax. Get some rest.”
Like a flash of lighting it all came rushing back. He remembered the alley, his needing to take a piss. The eyes of the man as he slid down the wall, his throat ripped out. “Oh shit!” He sat straight up as he remembered that…thing, that creature dangling from the one hand of that big man. The same man, he assumed, that was in the room with him now.
The room started spinning, his stomach churned, and he started retching, trying to vomit, but there was nothing there to vomit. Stars streaked across his vision when he fell back onto the bed, groaning in pain.
“Man, I told you to lie still and rest.”
Bronson felt a big cool hand rest on his forehead, helping the room to stop spinning. When the sledgehammer stopped pounding the inside of his skull, he opened his eyes to see the handsome man whose hand rested on his head. Any other time he would be excited to have this hunky man’s hand on him, but right now he just wanted some answers.
“What the fuck is going on, and who are you?” Bronson knew better than to try to sit up again, making him feel helpless.
“Christ, man, can’t you just fucking lay still?” The handsome man frowned.
“What was…were…those things?” No sooner had he spoken than his stomach started rolling around again.
“Here.” The man slid his arm under Bronson’s neck again, raising him up to be able to sip some of the cool water.
“Thanks,” Bronson murmured, his stomach settling down a bit. The pain eased as he was laid back down. “Care to fill me in on what’s going on and where the fuck I am?”
“Guess it won’t hurt to fill you in a little,” the man said. “I’m Lieutenant Farragut of the US Marines, and you happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid.”
“But…this is Washington D.C.,” Bronson pointed out. “We’re not in some third-world country. What the hell are you guys doing attacking people in alleys?”
“Yeah, well… All I can tell you is that there are some terrorists here in the city that need to be dealt with.”
“Terrorists?” Bronson squeaked, his throat trying to close up again. “Those were terrorists? They looked more like aliens! You’re gonna have to do better than that, man. And while we’re at it, don’t I know you?”
The man wore a blank expression. “I don’t know. Don’t think so. Anyway, you slipped on some ice and bounced your head off some concrete. You’ll be okay other than having one helluva headache, and maybe a slight concussion. Best thing for you to do is just try to relax and get some rest. You’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”
“That’s all right, I’d rather get home if you don’t mind.” Bronson moved his legs, making sure not to rattle his head, but it was something else that rattled. “What the fuck?” He lifted his right leg, and around his ankle was a metal shackle with chain hanging from it.
“It’s not what it seems,” his captor tried to explain.
“What the hell do you mean, ‘it’s not what it seems’? Looks like I’m fucking chained up is what it seems.” Bronson yelled into the man’s face. “Let me the fuck outta here. This is kidnapping, you ass wipe. You can’t hold me against my will!”
“Just settle down there, Rudan.” The man pushed the reporter’s shoulders back onto the bed.
Bronson froze. “You know who I am. We have met, haven’t we?”
His captor froze also. The two men looked at each other intently as Bronson tried to put it all together.
“Okay, yeah we’ve met, but that doesn’t really matter right now,” the man said gruffly, his face furrowed, eyebrows knitted together. “Right now you need to stay calm until I can get you outta here.”
“I suggest you get me outta here right now,” Bronson hissed. “You’re already in trouble for holding me here, and a member of the press at that.”
“Man, don’t go making this any more difficult than it has to be.” The man’s voice turned hard. “You’re gonna have to just deal with it until tomorrow, so just fucking chill out.”
He stood up, the towel he’d had across his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed in his hand now. Bronson could see more clearly now, and could definitely see the Marine’s meaty fuzzy butt as he walked across the room, making his mouth go dry.
“Are you going to at least tell me what those things in the alley are?” Bronson pushed for more information, his reporter instincts kicking in.
“No.” The answer was flat, offering nothing more.
“Come on man, those weren’t your ordinary terrorists.” Bronson kept pushing. “Those things didn’t even look human. And what about that guy with his neck ripped out?”
“You can give it up, Rudan,” his captor said as he hung his damp towel on the back of the door. “Might as well forget it. Let it go.” He turned around, giving Bronson the full-frontal view of his thick meat swinging between his legs.
Bronson was distracted momentarily, but not enough to give up trying to find out what was going on.
“You gonna let me out of these chains?” He lifted his leg, the chain clanking against the metal of the bed.
“Yeah. Tomorrow,” was the short answer.
The big Marine turned the covers down on his bed, about to get in.
“Damn man, aren’t you freezing?” Bronson had started to shiver slightly in the cold. During the entire conversation, he noticed that he could see his breath, but the guy seemed oblivious to the cold.
“Shit,” was the only response he got.
The big man opened the door, leaving the room for a few moments.
When he returned he said, “Give it a few minutes, it’ll warm up in here.” With that he crawled into his bed.
Now Bronson was really curious. More curious than in pain, which he still had plenty of. “Why aren’t you cold?”
“Man, you need to shut up,” the Marine said, getting comfortable on his back. “If I have to get up again I’m gonna gag your ass. Got it?”
Bronson had the feeling he wasn’t being bluffed. He kept watching the big man, wondering what the hell was going on, and wondering still if he was going to really be able to just leave tomorrow. Something was really off about this whole situation.
The sudden movement startled Bronson. It was so fast he almost missed it. He would have, had the guy clicked the light off next to him, letting him know for sure that he had actually seen it. The room suddenly went pitch black.
“I gotta piss,” Bronson announced.
“God-fucking-damnit! You’re a total pain in the ass, you know that?” the Marine growled as he turned the light back on.
He picked up the key from the table next to his bed and came over to unlock the shackles that restrained Bronson to the bed, still naked the reporter noticed. He wasn’t all that shocked. He’d learned from riding around the Middle East with a bunch of jar heads that they had no modesty, and walking around butt-assed naked was not uncommon.
“Come on.” He helped Rudan up.
When Bronson first got to his feet the room started spinning out of control again. Had it not been for the strong Marine, he would have fallen flat on his face.
“It’s okay, I got ya,” the Lieutenant said gently, a complete one-eighty from his attitude a moment ago.
“Thanks,” Bronson murmured, aware of being held up by the furry naked man.
Helping him keep his balance, the Marine guided Bronson through the barracks where he saw men stretched out in their racks, most of them already sleeping soundly. In the typical military-style head, he was able to relieve his full bladder, the Lieutenant helping him keep his balance the entire time. Bronson knew that without the help, he’d have never been able to make it on his own.
Once they were back in the private room, the Marine pulled back the covers on the bunk that Bronson had been in.
“You…uh wanna get more comfortable?” the big man asked Bronson.
“Uh, yeah.” Bronson lost his balance when he tried to shuck off his leather jacket, the Marine catching him before he fell over.
“Easy there, let me help.”
Bronson was a little surprised at how gentle the big man was especially after how he had barked at him for needing to go to head.
Once Bronson was stripped down to just his boxers and undershirt, he was helped into bed, and the sheet and blanket pulled over him. The big man then reached to re-chain the reporter.
“You don’t have to do that,” Bronson said as he tried to pull the leg away.
“I don’t have to do anything, but I’m going to,” he grumbled as he locked the shackle to the furry ankle. “’Night.” The naked Marine settled into bed after turning out the light.
Bronson answered in same, finally feeling warm. It wasn’t long before he didn’t feel much of anything, as he fell fast asleep.