In the Lion's Den

Painful Similarities

All insecurities aside, Simon was relieved to know that there would be someone to help him soon. Bess would take action, he was sure of that, and it would only be one or two more days until the reinforcement he had asked her to call in would find and rescue him. And maybe, just maybe she'd accept his apologies for not showing up on Saturday.

He did feel a pang of guilt because of the danger she was in on his behalf, but hoped that it would be minimal if she did as he had written. He just needed to hold out two more days and things would sort themselves out. He could manage the hunger. He would manage the insulting words of the old man, not let them get to him, not provoke him any further.

He sat on the small cot, wrapping himself in the old blanket that was his only covering. He hoped that the old man had forgotten his promise to come again. He was almost dozing off when a bright flashlight startled him.

He adjusted his eyes groggily and there they were: the old man, supported by his cane, and Mark Caldwell, lazily toying with a service revolver. Damn. Even if he was a really bad shot - which Simon doubted - he would hit at this distance.

That meant the old man planned on doing something that needed more than the iron bars to keep Simon under control. And that's what he would be, he reckoned. He was confident that force wise he could have dealt with Mark and the old man, even in his unsteady mental and physical state. But with a gun involved, putting up a fight would do more harm than good.

And that's why he did not fight nor hesitate when the old man told him in a snarling voice to approach the bars, turn his back on them, reach through and clasp his hands on his back. Internally he fumed with rage over the humiliating position. Of course, there was a rope tied around his hands, effectively immobilising him. Two days, he told himself. Just endure for two more days.

"Oh, you stupid boy", the old man said with disdain, "did you really believe I'd let Caldwell finish you off? Oh no, it will not be this easy, you see, I still do need you."

Damn again. Simon could have known that. Would have known it, if he were in a different state of mind. But the damage was done. And when he heard the rattling of the key and the screeching when part of the grid imprisoning him was pushed open, he knew that further damage was to come.

"So, let us see if we can find a different way to change your mind..." the old man was speaking again, his voice carrying a threatening undertone. Simon shivered. "Caldwell, your turn."

The young man entered Simon's field of vision, stepping into the low cellar room, revolver now clipped tightly to his belt. Simon's hands being bound on his back to the iron bars took away every possibility he could have had to retrieve it.

While Caldwell positioned himself directly in front of Simon, he said in a low voice: "What I don't understand is why you don't just comply with his wishes. If offered the chance, I would do it without hesitation."

Simon tried to keep his voice steady while saying, "Well then, go ahead. I am not claiming the prize for myself."

"You know very well he'd never give it to me."

The first blow hit Simon in the stomach. Pain shot through him. He would not give the old man the satisfaction of crying out. He answered through gritted teeth. "He sure gave you everything you could wish for when we were kids."

Caldwell retorted, "That was when we were children, Brandon."

Images of when they were children flashed before Simon's eyes while he took the next blow. The old man made a show of how much he liked the young Caldwell boys - giving them toys and sweets whenever they visited, asking about the things they liked and the games they played, and showing them the horses.

Meanwhile, Simon had to come along, as if the old man wanted to rub under his nose that he could be different, if he chose to.

"Damn, I envied you back then."

Caldwell laughed, "You'd envy me?"

"What are you laughing at, Caldwell?" the old man interjected. "Go, do your job."

Another blow. This time not as hard as Caldwell was still chuckling. But then, in the blink of an eye he got serious again, speaking low so that the old man wouldn't be hearing him.

"You, Brandon, were raised to be the heir of the house. And you were perfect at it. I am just a distant cousin who wouldn't inherit even if the line died out. Sinclair taking a liking to me certainly did not make things easier."

"How so?" Simon was not sure if he was really interested in hearing Caldwell's side of the story, but maybe he could learn something that would be useful later.

Another blow and the pain exploding in Simon's ribcage prevented him from further thinking about it.

Mark went on unmoved: "When I came here to be trained as a stable master, who do you think I was compared to all the time?"

After a short pause, he went on. "Ah, yes. It was Master Simon here, Master Simon there."

Another blow, this time into the side. They were coming sharply after each sentence. Each one more furious than the last.

"Master Simon would not have mistreated the horses like that."

Another blow.

"Master Simon would have known all the names of all the horses and which one to breed with which."

Another blow.

"Master Simon would have done those calculations without any error."

Another blow.

"It's enough, Caldwell." That was the sharp voice of the old man. The fists that had wrecked so much damage on Simon's exposed midsection seemed to freeze midtrack. Then Caldwell lowered them and stood in front of him, breathing heavily.

"Feeling better, Caldwell?" Simon muttered under his breath, each word stinging in his ribcage. "You know, we are more alike than you would like to acknowledge."

"No, we are not," Caldwell countered, slowly regaining his countenance. "I for once am free, while you are bound in this prison cell out of your own stupidity." But his strong assertions couldn't erase the flicker of doubt Simon saw in his eyes.

Simon raised an eyebrow: "But are you really?" He should have seen this blow coming, but the renewed pain took him by surprise. Two more days started to feel like an eternity.

"I said enough. Come out of there immediately, Caldwell", the old man bellowed.

Mark complied without a word, leaving Simon in his uncomfortable position bound to the iron bars.

"And now to you, boy. Are you going to sign the contract?"

Simon sighed internally. "You think you can change my mind with torture."

"My, my, such a strong word. No, in fact, I don't think you, stubborn fool, will ever change your mind."

"Then why all of this?"

"Because I enjoy it. Because you don't need to change your mind in order to eventually do as I wish. But if you did change your mind, there would be a comfortable bed waiting for you. And did you know, we even have a nurse in the house who could patch you up and care for you."

"Do you, now?"

"Yes... and it's quite a coincidence, is it not, that her surname is the same as your beloved Colonel's?"

Damn. Bess. He had thought her safe enough, as long as she did not try to take matters into her own hands. But the old man knowing about their connection would pose her into much more danger than Simon cared for.