The Guilty Party
Part 5
A million thoughts rushed through Foggy’s head in a single instant, most of them dividing up into two distinct sides: he couldn’t betray Matt, but, oh, g-d, he had to breathe! He couldn’t get his hands free, couldn’t straighten up, but maybe he could get out another way. He threw his entire weight to the left, but whatever the rope was attached to did not give way at all, and he was left hanging off-balance until he got his feet under him again.
The second man made a sound of disapproval, then used his stick to hit Foggy in the left elbow with such force that Foggy was sure it broke under the blow. As he screamed, he pulled instinctively away, which caused even more pain. Then the first man hit him again, this with something that seemed to rip right through his pants, his boxers, and several layers of skin.
Foggy shrieked inarticulately at first, and when he could find words, he shouted, “What the fuck was that?”
“Rubber hose,” the man told him. “With a slit in it. You’re bleeding already.”
And hit him again, and again, and again. After five lashes, he stopped, waiting for Foggy to finish screaming and just hang there, suspended by the rope and gasping for air.
“Something to say?” the man prompted.
“Please,” Foggy begged. There were hot tears in his eyes, not only because of the pain, but because he knew he was going to give in, and probably sooner rather than later. When he hesitated too long, however, the man hit him a sixth time. “Please, what?”
Foggy knew that Matt couldn’t save him. Matt didn’t know he’d been kidnapped, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hear Foggy’s screams, let alone his heartbeat, from down here, wherever he was. More than likely, he wasn’t even out daredeviling yet; it hadn’t been all that late when Foggy had gone down to take the garbage out. He’d probably still be in his apartment, having something to eat, maybe reviewing case files for the next day. He’d never know Foggy was missing until he was long dead from lack of oxygen.
Maybe that was his way out? Was he brave enough to take more of the pain until it was finally and irrevocably over?
“I don’t know – anything about – Daredevil,” he gasped, not lifting his head. “And I’ve seen – your face – I can – identify you! So you – might -- as well – kill me – now!”
But instead of more lashes to his legs, it was the second man who hit him next, a blow to his right elbow even stronger than the one to his left. And when his screams died away to whimpers, the first man simply repeated, “Beg me to let you tell me everything you know about Daredevil.”
Foggy held his breath, willing himself to pass out and hopefully die, but when the man hit the backs of his knees again and again with the rubber hose, he found himself shrieking, struggling, and, of course, gasping again for air. Finally, the words tumbled out of his mouth and he heard himself pleading, “Please, please – stop – let me – tell you – please!”
The man stopped. “All right. I’m listening.”
“It’s – my partner – Matt Murdock.” Foggy would never forgive himself for saying the name out loud. “Please – let me up .”
“Your partner? Your boyfriend?”
“At law,” Foggy hastened to clarify before the next blow could come. “Nelson – and Murdock – attorneys – at law. Please! I’m telling – you the truth! Let me –up!”
“He’s blind,” said the second man suddenly. “Murdock’s that blind lawyer. I see him at the coffee shop all the time.”
He hit Foggy in the shoulder blade with his stick and demanded, “No more lies!”
Breathing had suddenly become much harder, and Foggy was crying now as well, from both the physical pain and the torment of having just betrayed his best friend.
“Beg me,” the first man said coldly, “to let you tell me the truth.”
“Oh, g-d – just – kill me,” Foggy sobbed.
“Oh, no, you’re going to stay alive until you tell us the truth,” the man told him. He brought the rubber hose down across Foggy’s thighs again and again, finding places that hadn’t already been sliced open, until Foggy really did pass out.
He woke up soaking wet and still more or less on his feet, but no longer bent double; the upper half of his body was supported by a table. Every breath aggravated his broken shoulder blade, but at least he could breathe. Eventually, he realized that breathing and pain meant he was still alive, and his wrists were still handcuffed to something on the other side of the table, which meant he was still in captivity, and … oh, g-d, he’d still betrayed Matt.
“You were telling us about how your blind lawyer partner is Daredevil,” the first man said. Instead of hitting Foggy, though, he ran the end of the rubber hose diagonally across Foggy’s buttocks, then down one thigh. Foggy shuddered as it slid over the open wounds, and even that slight movement set off more pain in his elbows and his scapula. He moaned.
“It’s true,” he whispered, but before he could say more, the man was hitting him again, this time across the middle of his back.
“Please!” he screeched between blows. “It’s true! Matt Murdock! He’s got – like – superpowers!”
“Take the table away,” the man said. “As he was before.”
“No!” Foggy cried, but he could barely even struggle for sheer agony. They lifted him off the support, shoved it away, then pulled his wrists down and cuffed them to his ankles again. For good measure, the second man also whacked him across the ear with his stick and spoke a short sentence. Foggy couldn’t make out the individual words through his cries and the ringing in his ear, but it was probably only something about keeping his head down.
The first man started to beat him again, this time on his left side, hitting both his ribs and his thighs. In between screams of pain, Foggy sobbed, “Matt Murdock – Matt Murdock – and if you’re –not going – to believe me – then just – kill me!”
It wasn’t like he wanted to live anymore anyway.
Eventually, the beating stopped, but not before Foggy had been reduced to gasping and mumbling, “Just kill me – kill me.”
“Foggy,” said a voice. It was different than those of the men around him, vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to hear it.
“Just kill me,” Foggy whispered again. The blindfold was removed from his head and there were hands on his arms and legs, unlocking the cuffs. Foggy cried out as they jostled his broken bones. “Please – no –“
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, Foggy.”
Foggy couldn’t straighten on his own, but hands were removing the velvet rope and lowering him gently to the floor. He could breathe again. There was agony, but he could breathe.
“Kill me,” he murmured again.
He didn’t want to breathe.
Go to Part 6
The second man made a sound of disapproval, then used his stick to hit Foggy in the left elbow with such force that Foggy was sure it broke under the blow. As he screamed, he pulled instinctively away, which caused even more pain. Then the first man hit him again, this with something that seemed to rip right through his pants, his boxers, and several layers of skin.
Foggy shrieked inarticulately at first, and when he could find words, he shouted, “What the fuck was that?”
“Rubber hose,” the man told him. “With a slit in it. You’re bleeding already.”
And hit him again, and again, and again. After five lashes, he stopped, waiting for Foggy to finish screaming and just hang there, suspended by the rope and gasping for air.
“Something to say?” the man prompted.
“Please,” Foggy begged. There were hot tears in his eyes, not only because of the pain, but because he knew he was going to give in, and probably sooner rather than later. When he hesitated too long, however, the man hit him a sixth time. “Please, what?”
Foggy knew that Matt couldn’t save him. Matt didn’t know he’d been kidnapped, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hear Foggy’s screams, let alone his heartbeat, from down here, wherever he was. More than likely, he wasn’t even out daredeviling yet; it hadn’t been all that late when Foggy had gone down to take the garbage out. He’d probably still be in his apartment, having something to eat, maybe reviewing case files for the next day. He’d never know Foggy was missing until he was long dead from lack of oxygen.
Maybe that was his way out? Was he brave enough to take more of the pain until it was finally and irrevocably over?
“I don’t know – anything about – Daredevil,” he gasped, not lifting his head. “And I’ve seen – your face – I can – identify you! So you – might -- as well – kill me – now!”
But instead of more lashes to his legs, it was the second man who hit him next, a blow to his right elbow even stronger than the one to his left. And when his screams died away to whimpers, the first man simply repeated, “Beg me to let you tell me everything you know about Daredevil.”
Foggy held his breath, willing himself to pass out and hopefully die, but when the man hit the backs of his knees again and again with the rubber hose, he found himself shrieking, struggling, and, of course, gasping again for air. Finally, the words tumbled out of his mouth and he heard himself pleading, “Please, please – stop – let me – tell you – please!”
The man stopped. “All right. I’m listening.”
“It’s – my partner – Matt Murdock.” Foggy would never forgive himself for saying the name out loud. “Please – let me up .”
“Your partner? Your boyfriend?”
“At law,” Foggy hastened to clarify before the next blow could come. “Nelson – and Murdock – attorneys – at law. Please! I’m telling – you the truth! Let me –up!”
“He’s blind,” said the second man suddenly. “Murdock’s that blind lawyer. I see him at the coffee shop all the time.”
He hit Foggy in the shoulder blade with his stick and demanded, “No more lies!”
Breathing had suddenly become much harder, and Foggy was crying now as well, from both the physical pain and the torment of having just betrayed his best friend.
“Beg me,” the first man said coldly, “to let you tell me the truth.”
“Oh, g-d – just – kill me,” Foggy sobbed.
“Oh, no, you’re going to stay alive until you tell us the truth,” the man told him. He brought the rubber hose down across Foggy’s thighs again and again, finding places that hadn’t already been sliced open, until Foggy really did pass out.
He woke up soaking wet and still more or less on his feet, but no longer bent double; the upper half of his body was supported by a table. Every breath aggravated his broken shoulder blade, but at least he could breathe. Eventually, he realized that breathing and pain meant he was still alive, and his wrists were still handcuffed to something on the other side of the table, which meant he was still in captivity, and … oh, g-d, he’d still betrayed Matt.
“You were telling us about how your blind lawyer partner is Daredevil,” the first man said. Instead of hitting Foggy, though, he ran the end of the rubber hose diagonally across Foggy’s buttocks, then down one thigh. Foggy shuddered as it slid over the open wounds, and even that slight movement set off more pain in his elbows and his scapula. He moaned.
“It’s true,” he whispered, but before he could say more, the man was hitting him again, this time across the middle of his back.
“Please!” he screeched between blows. “It’s true! Matt Murdock! He’s got – like – superpowers!”
“Take the table away,” the man said. “As he was before.”
“No!” Foggy cried, but he could barely even struggle for sheer agony. They lifted him off the support, shoved it away, then pulled his wrists down and cuffed them to his ankles again. For good measure, the second man also whacked him across the ear with his stick and spoke a short sentence. Foggy couldn’t make out the individual words through his cries and the ringing in his ear, but it was probably only something about keeping his head down.
The first man started to beat him again, this time on his left side, hitting both his ribs and his thighs. In between screams of pain, Foggy sobbed, “Matt Murdock – Matt Murdock – and if you’re –not going – to believe me – then just – kill me!”
It wasn’t like he wanted to live anymore anyway.
Eventually, the beating stopped, but not before Foggy had been reduced to gasping and mumbling, “Just kill me – kill me.”
“Foggy,” said a voice. It was different than those of the men around him, vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to hear it.
“Just kill me,” Foggy whispered again. The blindfold was removed from his head and there were hands on his arms and legs, unlocking the cuffs. Foggy cried out as they jostled his broken bones. “Please – no –“
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, Foggy.”
Foggy couldn’t straighten on his own, but hands were removing the velvet rope and lowering him gently to the floor. He could breathe again. There was agony, but he could breathe.
“Kill me,” he murmured again.
He didn’t want to breathe.
Go to Part 6