Looking for Trubel

Chapter Eight

The fight was brutal. Vincent was trying not to hurt her, but she was doing some damage. She had punched him in the face a few times, broken a few of his ribs, choked him out while he struggled to get her off of him, ripped out handfuls of his hair. She had apparently learned some moves from Bonaparte's friends.

He didn't have a choice.

He woged into a Mauvais Dentes and threw her off of him. It terrified him when he saw her land stealthily on her feet after being launched across the room. He snarled at her like an angry wildcat. Trubel exhaled in a way that made it sound like she hissed at him.

That's when they caught her. When Josie disappeared, she had found some guards to bring with her in order to witness and, eventually, stop the fight. She brought the doctor, too, who held two syringes in her hand. The guards held down the Grimm who violently thrashed against them. The doctor came over and plunged the syringe into Trubel's neck. It took a second dose to calm her down.

The Grimm wasn't unconscious, just weakened physically and emotionally. They should have grabbed the third syringe. Blake wasn't at the scene, but his men were. They picked up the Grimm.

Theresa had tears streaming down her face. She looked at Vincent, who had woged back into human form, with a pained and betrayed expression.

"You son of a bitch," she said weakly. Her voice cracked.

He was speechless.

"I think she needs a minute," Josie said, standing in the corner and pointing at the cell.

The guards put her back in "the box."

Vincent was staring daggers at Josie. She just smiled at him in a way that said, "serves you right," and walked away. She did tell him to stay away from her.

The doctor walked up to Vincent who had blood dripping down his face. "I think you should come with me," she said. They headed towards the infirmary.

Everyone left, except for Trubel who was locked away in her box. She wanted to kill every single one of them.

Vincent sat on the edge of the hospital bed. The doctor gave him some painkillers and medications that would keep the swelling down. He had a concussion. The doctor also gave him an ice pack for his ribs.

Bonaparte walked in and asked what happened.

"Nothing, it isn't important," Vincent said. He was swearing vehemently that nothing happened at all.

"It doesn't look like nothing," Bonaparte said unhappily.

"It wasn't Theresa's fault," Vincent said.

"I don't care," Bonaparte answered, "She should know better than to act like this. And we were so close to getting what we wanted..."

"So, now what?" Vincent asked apprehensively.

"We experiment more," Bonaparte said and left the room.

Vincent sighed. It hurt his ribs.

"What the hell?!" Trubel yelled as she was pushed into a new room and had the door locked behind her. She looked around herself and noticed that the room seemed familiar.

It was an exact replica of a room that she was trapped in for four months after killing a Coyotl. It was a room straight from that very mental institution. She had had plenty of time to herself in those days. She knew that the floor had 400 white floor tiles, a small bed with a shiny metal frame, a barred window (it had six bars on it), and bathroom with its own door, fluorescent lights, white walls, and a white ceiling also with 400 tiles. She had had nightmares about this room, and now she was in it.