Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Eighteen | Jasper

The wind was knocked out of Jasper as a hard kick landed on his gut. He coughed, heaving for breath, then clenched his teeth as another followed it--then another, and another. Over and over again, ceaseless, each more painful than the last. The past week had been a nightmare, ever since being branded things had gotten much worse for him. The Silence were angry and they were out for blood, his specifically. He could have sworn that The Mistress had paused her previous plans just to stand by and watch with a morbid satisfaction. At first Jasper had made it hard for them, struggling as much as possible. But he'd quickly decided that wasn't the right way to go about things. Every time he caused issues it would deplete whatever little energy he had left and only result in more pain.

Forcing himself to take in even and steady breaths, Jasper managed to blink back the culmination of blood and sweat dripping into his eyes. His head was lowered, body limp and exhausted. At first he'd believed he deserved it. But he'd never tortured anybody. Killed, yes. Drawn out their death with gradual beatings that got worse in severity? No. Arguably one could say killing somebody in the first place was just as bad, especially the way Jasper had done it. But he'd never inflicted this much suffering on somebody, not knowingly. I don't I ever could have. He thought. I defended innocent people. I hurt them, but I did my best eventually. Isn't that what counts? Why am I suffering so much? Just kill me, end it already. Jasper shook his head to correct himself. No, no. You have to stay alive. For him. Don't give up just yet. Not yet. You can rest when Killian is safe, but not before then. You promised to protect him. You don't break promises, you don't lie, not to the ones you love.

"Hey Jasper," Cohen purred, "You still here?" Jasper could feel a tapping on the side of his head, no doubt the oddball of a doctor was poking him for whatever reason. He didn't answer, he couldn't. No part of his body would move, no matter how much he willed it to.

"I'm here," Jasper rasped. "Unfortunately." He finally replied after spotting the surgical scalpel in Cohen's hand, wondering what else was coming. Was he going to be gutted like a fish? Well, that's wouldn't be the most graceful way to be finished off, but he'd have to cope with whatever hand he was dealt with. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn't. Jasper couldn't make that decision himself.

Jasper could practically feel Cohen's grin as the doctor continued, "Oh wonderful, wonderful. I'm sure Luke would want to see you. You know, I hear he might be breaking a bit, too."

Now it was Jasper's time to smile. "Really?" He chuckled wryly, "What makes you say that?" He didn't believe a single word out of this doctor's mouth, not for a second. Not after what had happened at the farmhouse, when Cohen had flown off the hinges and then whined to The Mistress about where the group was hiding out. Maybe if it wasn't for Cohen, he would still have Killian safe in his arms. Maybe Tom would be alive, maybe Chris would still be alive too. Jasper couldn't say he'd been a big fan of the homophobic dope, but Chris had been a person nonetheless, his bigotry didn't need to be cut off by a knife to the throat, there had still been time for him to change. But that had been taken away from him in a few split seconds, where Jasper could only sit and watch. 

"He's been looking a bit down lately, as it were." Cohen said, "And it seems he hasn't visited you in a few days too."

"Good." Jasper's throat burned every time he tried to speak. He didn't recognize his own voice, it carried an unnatural rasp that hadn't been there before. "Let's keep it that way, then."

"I'm sure he'd love to spend time with you in the back of the truck during our vacation."

"Come again?"

"Well, your execution date is set for about three days. We're taking a nice little vacation down to the main camp. You know where that is, don't you?"