Post by Ryan Moretti Ω on Sept 4, 2009 22:17:40 GMT -5
Ryan felt so lost.
It had been weeks, months, since his last so-called "prophetic vision". He'd spent the time ambling around aimlessly, jumping from town to town, looking for some kind of clue. He inherently knew he was supposed to be doing something, but he just couldn't figure out what the hell that was. Had he missed something? Was he overlooking something he had seen before?
These kind of thoughts plagued him constantly nowadays, especially when he conceded to some of darker vices, such as he did tonight.
The slow burn of the whiskey still seemed to be spreading across his chest, Ryan noticed as he strode out of the bar listlessly, his feet falling into a familiar rhythm as they struck against the pavement of the barren street. That's all he had been doing lately, walking. Just constantly roaming, his direction never quite determined.
Despite the warmth of the alcohol though, he could feel the chill of the wind against his skin, blowing through the fabric of his shirt. It held an ominous feeling; Ryan could almost sense of the foreboding aura that seemed to hang a around him, but at the moment, his mind was too burdened to noticed.
What was he missing? The last vision he'd had, or rather, the last clue, had come weeks and weeks ago. Why hadn't anything new come up? The last clue that had proved true had led him to his meeting with Raziel, during which the angel had revealed that Ryan was a prophet, that he was in direct connection with God. Ever since then though, the bond seemed to have grown cold, and lifeless.
Pausing momentarily, Ryan slipped into the edge of the alley beside him, leaning against the weathered brick wall as he dug into the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He pulled out a thick, weathered notebook; his sketchbook. It held a myriad of drawings, and random sketches, some of which apparently had been predictions. One of these sketches had been the one to lead him to Raziel, after all.
The last sketch he'd made had been almost directly after his meeting with the angel. Ryan actually hadn't thought of it before much. Whenever he'd tried to draw something after that, even some eclectic doodle to help calm his nerves, he'd find himself lacking the inspiration to put anything to paper. Did his last sketch have anything to do with the lack of visions?
Digging through the cluttered pages, many of which were filled with various post-it notes and scribbles, Ryan finally came to the final sketch. It was a fairly simple piece, something he'd drawn out of remembrance of his time in the military:
Was it supposed to be a clue or something? Maybe he was supposed to go back to the military or something, though judging by the somewhat sticky situation, that might not be such a good idea. He wasn't one for torture after all.
Though...what if the person in the picture, really was a real person? What if...what if Ryan was supposed to find this guy? It was a strange thought, somewhat out there, but it almost felt right, like he was on the proper track.
Suddenly it hit him.
That familiar nauseating sensation, the feeling as if his mind was spinning, being pulled and stretched out into something greater...something omniscient. It was the usual symptoms that accompanied a full on, frontal vision.Blackness blurred in and out of the warriors sight as he fought for conciousness. Pain filled his skull and he felt as if his body had been used for target practice. Every subtle move sent bolts of agony through his veins and when he was finally able to open an eye, he realized he was laying on the filthy floor of some kind of cell. Forcing himself to suppress the groan that wanted to escape, he kept his eyes half slitted and noted what he could.
The cell he was in held only himself and another body in the far corner. A moth eaten blanket was tossed haphazardly over his body and the small window in the upper corner of the quarters seemed to indicate they were underground. The muttering he could hear outside the barred door was Arabic and he felt his heart stop. Reality came rushing back to him as the previous events filled his mind.
He'd been sent in to free two high level security analyst's for the US intelligence office. His team had lost 4 of their number in a raid earlier in the week and one of them hadn't made it out of the compound alive. His job had been to infiltrate the dwelling and pull out the ones he could. He's succeeded in getting the two analyst's out but he'd been unable to locate the soldier the first trip. Determined to free his friend too, he'd gone back in only to come under heavy fire when he'd finally managed to locate the man and start hauling him out.
They'd gotten as far as the outer barricade when they'd been spotted and his luck had run out. Stashing his companion where one of the other seals would be able to retrieve him, he hid and weaved in and out of spots until he'd been almost half way around the courtyard before they had managed to pen him down. He'd taken out several of the son of a bitchs before they'd managed to put a bullet in his side and in his upper thigh. Another shot had creased his skull and that was his last rational thought until waking up in this dump.
Keeping himself still, he ran through his injuries and noted a dirty bandage on his side and on his leg. New bruises lined his arms, face and ribs so he reckoned they'd taken great joy in beating him after he passed out but someone obviously wanted him alive long enough to question about his activities.
Deciding his best bet was to pretend unconciousness, the soldier laid on the floor and turned his thoughts to his wife and babies. He'd made a promise to them that he'd make it home so he was just going to have to cowboy up and find a way to make it happen. As he thought on his beautiful wife's face, a tear trickled down his face but he forced himself to make plans. He wasn't about to let her down.. Not when he hadn't even gotten to see his little ones yet.
With that thought in mind, he let himself drift off into oblivion.
Awareness rushed back into Ryan's limbs, but the sensation was only temporary. He had been granted a momentary reprieve from the vision, during which his seizing form had collapsed onto the hard gravel of the alley. Pain was spreading through nerves, but it quickly faded as the nausea returned, brought on by the return of the vision...Awareness weaved in and out and time no longer seemed to be measurable for the sandy haired warrior locked within the horror of his own nightmare. At first, he had tried to keep track with the change of the guards and the position of the sunlight to his small little window. However, after the interrogation had started, giant holes in his alertness began to eat away at his efforts.
The torture took its toll on his body and mind. The drugs they pumped into his system in the hopes of breaking him allowed him very little lucidity and when they weren't coursing through his system, the pain from the savage beatings and withdrawal symptoms made it impossible to think clearly.
On one good moment, he had noted that all the fingers on one hand were broken and he was pretty sure at least one knee cap was busted. He'd also felt blood pouring down from a slice across his face and remembered spitting at his tormentor while grinning like a loon. Logic told him that the time of his death was fast approaching but he could not longer bring himself to care much. The only true thing that kept him holding on was the thought of his wife and the babies she carried. If not for her... He would have given them enough to make them kill him.
Sighing, the battered warrior opened his one good eye and found himself haphazardly tossed on the dirty blanket in his cell. Complete darkness had over taken the room but he still was careful to remain completely still. The part of him that would never give up noted details and then retreated to watch for an opportunity to escape.
This time he was expectant, he knew. Though the vision had released him, he knew the this wasn't the end. And just as he predicted, his mind was yanked out of his skull again, this time into a different place.Seated in the back of the VIP section, he was able to watch people come and go. Keeping to the shadows, he preferred to observe like the skilled predator he was by nature. Different scents and vibes came to him and he noted the cat the moment he stepped into the section.
With his senses on alert, he kept one on eye on him while watching as another group arrived including one of the new dancers Sibeal had hired. Since she was in the company of what was no doubt Alexis's husband and another blond, he stayed where he was at and then listened to the conversations buzzing around him. A waitress approached and he ordered another drink before spying none other than the beautiful blond partner of his old friend, Erik, approaching. On her heels was a woman who looked like she wanted to rip a hole into someone.
Glad he wasn't the person who'd offended her, the wolf watched with interest as the others at the table abandoned a heavily pregnant blond to her mercy. It really was all vastly entertaining until the blond, Jo, started telling her story. The name Curse rang a bell and he leaned forward just a bit to catch the rest.
"HOLY HELL" he thought to himself. "Curse Jordan in New Orleans? Son of a bitch...."
He knew Curse well. He'd worked with him a time or two on missions. Although he had been an Army Ranger, their units operated on the same standards. Obviously the wife was worried about her husband and he suddenly had a bad feeling. Maybe he could do some checking in with his friends and see what was up. Getting to his feet, he moved towards the table and when he reached it, he glanced from the older woman to the younger.
"Mrs. Jordan? My name is Derek DeVoux. I'm a friend of your husbands from his days in the navy. Please excuse me but I happened to over hear you say he's been called away and your concerned. I was wondering if I could lend my assistance to you in anyway?"
And then, as sudden as it had begun, it was over, leaving him weak and powerless. His hands and feet felt numb, and his mind was still reeling, as though it were disconnected from his body somehow. It was the worst feeling in the world, as though something greater had held him momentarily, and then turned its back on him, sending him back to this hell on earth.
Forcing himself to sit up, Ryan used to the wall beside him as a support, leaning his weak frame against its solid support. He was glad it was so late right now; the streets were empty, so thankfully no one had seen his strange reaction. He knew, from the way he felt when it was happening, that most people would think he was having a seizure or something. If only they really knew.
"Shit...." Ryan muttered to himself, leaning his head against the wall as he shut he eyes and sighed. He'd been waiting for vision, and well, he'd gotten one. And now he knew two things.
One. Apparently, someone named Curse Jordan was being kept prisoner somewhere. Also apparently, he was probably meant to go rescue that guy from wherever the hell he was being kept.
Two. Another guy, Derek had connections to Curse, and was probably a way from Ryan to find out where the hell he was supposed to go. Hell, maybe it was his job to help this Derek guy rescue Curse.
Two answers, and a million other questions left hanging. But whatever the case, Ryan had a a direction now, a sign from God leading him...somewhere, at the very least. He might not know where the hell it was leading him, but it was somewhere, anywhere. God acted in mysterious ways...and apparently now it was up to Ryan to help in those ways.
Step one? Find Derek DeVoux.
CREDIT FOR THE CURSE JORDAN AND DEREK DEVOUX POSTS GO TO LEXI!!! Just another proof of her awesomeness!