The light fizzled as a gloved hand flicked it on.

Then off.

Then on.

The light seemed to flutter, or maybe it was his eyes, or the blood. As the brightness burned away he focused. A bag, perhaps white, perhaps a dusty brown. It was ballooned up, like a lunch bag someone would draw a face on and put at the end of a stick.

He twisted his hand for several seconds before it registered that it could not be moved. Ropes burned against his wrist. He flicked his head, trying to get the bloodied hair from his eyes.

Just as the light flicked out again a shiny leather hand cannoned into his face.

This time it was already on as he opened his eyes, but it was still buzzing, as though it would go pop any moment. Something moaned and he jumped, his legs straining on the ropes and clashing back against the legs of the chair.

He had thought his throat was too dry to make any noise.

A dark face hung back in the shadows. It loomed over the bag like it was suspended in the air.

A deep voice intoned 'Good morning.' His head hung as he studied the voice. It seemed angry, but restrained. The bag tilted towards it. 'Do you feel like sharing with us today?'

He could feel a presence behind him and he tried to shift, forgetting again the ropes that bruised his arms and chest with each breath he took. He lifted his head just slightly, the blood-drenched hair falling into his eyes again.

'No.' His head slumped, the energy drained out of him.

'Look up.' The voice was commanding but he wanted to ignore it; he was so exhausted and his pain was so great that he could ignore it.

It wasn't until the bag rustled that he realized that under it was another person. A women. Her face was bruised but not badly. Her hair was tangled but did not look awful. Her makeup had run and her lipstick and mascara were smeared on her cheeks and chin but everything on her was erasable.

From the look on her face he knew that his marks were not.

'Guess where I found her.' He could did not recognize her face, couldn't even begin to remember her name. 'In your bed. The great man himself, caught in a moment of joy.' He could feel the sneer rising from the faces around the room. The light still only shone on the newly revealed face but he could sense it.

He waited.

'Though we didn't find you there. We had to hunt you down, like a rat, running from your home to find shelter in another's.'

He waited silently for the gloating to end. His head was starting to throb, and he couldn't swallow the little saliva in his throat. His nose hurt, his eyes burned. He would know when he didn't give an answer they wanted. The pain would increase then.

'Do you feel weak, great man? Do you feel abused?' The shadowed face turned away from him and sneered at his colleges, his men. 'Can you see him breaking?' Sniggers echoed around the room until they filled his ears, tore at his brain and he shivered in anger.

Finally the room fell as quiet as the fizzing light bulb would allow.

'You have something of ours.'

'We want it back.'

'Give it to us.'

The voices accosted him all at once, all from the same faceless angry voice.

He lifted his head just barely from his chest. The blood on his face was dried and one eye was half-closed because of it. His face burned as he hissed out his words.

'No.' A knife, already bloodied, appeared, and he could suddenly feel old pain return to his right arm. His right hand was sticky; the blood had not yet dried. The knife, serrated edge still shinning in the dusty light, sprang down towards the girl. Her eyes were frightened, scream at him for help. Her throat was probably as dry as his; only a grating scream came from her lips as the gloved hand grasped one side of her face. The other held the knife steadily by her white, dirty neck.

'Do you love her? Because I can break your heart by breaking hers.' The knife angled down and pricked against her chest. A bead of bright blood sat their a moment before sliding down to be soaked up by her shirt.

'Give it to me or I will kill her. It would be easy. Like squashing a fly.' He didn't doubt that, he knew what it was like to hold a knife above a beating heart, what it was like to bring it down in a flurry of emotion. It was easy.

'Do you want her to die? Do you want that on your conscience?' He looked at her scared green eyes and her long blond hair. He liked them blond. Her eyes pleaded with him and as he sat, bound to his chair, not speaking, not showing any emotion, she let out a word.

'Please.' She repeated it, her voice dry and desperate. 'Please. Don't let me die.'

'Give it to me and you can walk out of here, unhurt, with her. You'll never see me again. You'll never have any trouble again.'

He knew it wasn't true, both of them knew it wasn't true. There would always be trouble, and there were so few in the world willing to clean up the mess. No matter what they would meet again.

He looked at her again and knew he did not care for her. She was just another face in his life. Dead or alive she did not matter.

'Do you want her to die?'

He looked up and blinked in the light. The faceless shape moved, and so did the other shadows where they lined the walls. Together they leaned forward expectantly.

'Do I want her to die? To save myself?' He lifted his head up more and stared at the face.

'Yes.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Let me go. She can die.'

Part two