Joel’s Vow III
Rating and Warnings: No one under 17 for language, violence, hints of D & S relationship, and explicit m/m slash. If any of this offends you, PLEASE do not read.
Inspired by Badboy’s ‘Forsaken’ and ‘Forlorn’
July 4, 2001, Los Angeles, California
Lazing on the beach, Joel watched the multitude of families enjoying the holiday. Two young boys racing for a frisbee stumbled close to him, as the plastic toy fell into his lap.
“Sorry, mister.” The older one remembered his manners.
“Not a problem.” Joel smiled. “Here, catch.” With a flick of the wrist the frisbee was once again sailing in the air with its owners racing after it. “Kids.” He murmured to himself, as he stared thoughtfully after them. Something he would never have.
“Hey, buddy.” David Allen Griffin’s tall form walked up to him, carrying a surfboard. “You should put a hat on. Too much sun isn’t good for you.”
“I like the feel of it.” Joel raised his face up, enjoying the blazing heat.
“Yeah, well,” David had picked up a beach towel and was drying the salt water off of himself, “if you get a migraine from sitting too long in the sun, you better not whine about it.”
“I don’t whine.” Joel stated adamantly. “And for being a big, bad guy, you’re starting to sound an awful lot like my mother.”
“Oh, I’m a man of many faces.” David dropped down into the lounge chair next to Joel. “You haven’t begun to see all of them yet.”
“Really?” Joel mumbled back, as he pretended to be engrossed with the crowd of people milling about the beach. He knew David as a psychopathic serial murderer, who now held him captive by a simple promise; stay with him, and he would stop killing young, innocent women. “And are you planning to show me all your different faces sometime in the future?”
Don’t know.” David shrugged. “I guess it depends on how long it takes for me to get bored with you.”
Trying not show any emotion, Joel stiffened with surprise. It was the first time there had been any mention of boredom. In the past, David had only talked about his obsession with him.
“God help me.” Joel whispered to himself. In the beginning he had nightmares, wondering if he was going to wake up with a piano wire wrapped around his throat, but eight months had past, and David’s emotions toward him had been only lust and a rather protective concern, so his fears had abated. But now it looked like the honeymoon was over.
**
Perhaps it was David’s threat of becoming bored with him, but Joel found himself giving more of an effort, as he licked his way down other man’s cock. Reaching the base, he then moved on to the balls and perineum. A moan and a slight twitch of the hips gave him more incentive, as he drew the shaft into his mouth,. Suppressing his gag reflex, he let the head of the penis hit the back of his throat.
“Aw, fuck!” David swore, as his right hand clamped on to the base of his cock. It took every bit of self-control, but he gave Joel’s shoulder a push, signaling him to back off.
Surprised, Joel sat up on his haunches. He had expected that David would have wanted him to continue until the end.
“Climb up, buddy.” David nodded at his erect cock. “I want to see you fuck yourself.”
Joel couldn’t help the half embarrassed, half shocked laugh that escaped him. In a crouching position, he moved up and over the body beneath him. With one hand, he guided the head of the penis into himself. Once it was inside, he pressed down, feeling it breech his anal ring. Using his legs he began to slowly moved up and down, marveling at all the different ways David had found to humiliate him.
**
July 5, 2001
Yawning widely, Joel ran a hand through his hair, as he staggered his way to the bathroom. He wanted nothing more but to fall back in bed.
“Come on, Joel.” David called after him. “I’m ready to go and don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Just go ahead without me.” Joel yelled out hopefully, as he dunked his head under the bathroom faucet. If David left, maybe he could sneak another hour of sleep.
“Oh, no.” David came and stood in the bathroom doorway. He knew why Joel wanted him out of the way. “You promised that you would start taking better care of yourself after the holiday. Well, buddy, it’s after the holiday, and you need to make good on your word.”
“Ugh!” Joel could only groan, wondering what manner of insanity had overtaken him to make such a foolish promise.
“Better dietary habits and exercise.” David leaned closer to Joel, shouting the last word. He seemed to enjoy harassing the other man. “And there’s no better exercise than surfing.” He looked fondly over at his surfboard, standing by the front door.
“No surfing today.” Joel said, as he used a hand towel to dry his face and hair. “My body can’t handle trying to learn something new.”
“You told me you wanted to learn.” David crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Chickening out? You haven’t even given it a try.”
“I will give it a try but just not today.” Joel said defiantly, then realizing he was sounding childish, he quickly added. “Parts of my body are too sore to do anything strenuous.”
“Really?” David raised an eyebrow. “And what parts, exactly are too sore?”
“Guess.” Joel gave David a disgruntled look, as he walked gingerly out of the bathroom.
Flashing a broad grin, David reached down to grab a buttock. “Guess I was a little rough last night.” He whispered. “But I guess that’s a good enough excuse for you to skip today’s. . .activities.” Reaching in the bathroom, he grabbed a towel and then turned to head toward the front door. “Gonna go back to bed then, Joel?”
“No.” Wide awake, Joel decided that David was right; he needed to get himself back in shape. “I’m going to start my work-out regime in the right way. Start slow with a short jog around the neighborhood. From there, I’ll slowly work my way up to surfing.”
“Okay, buddy.?” David gave him a wink good-bye. “See you in a few.”
**
A half hour of jogging through the neighborhood and Joel figured he reached his goal of about three quarters of a mile. Now just another three quarters back home. Since his mob encounter in New Jersey, home was now a small efficiency apartment in Los Angeles. Not much to look at, but with the rents in LA, it was all they could afford. Or, at least, he assumed it was all they could afford.
He had no idea what David’s finances were, other then, the man always seemed to have enough money. Not more than enough, just enough. And he, compliments of Special Agent Michael Rizarrdo, now had access to his FBI’s disability pension again. Rizarrdo, out of gratitude, arranged for Joel’s pension to be direct deposited to an account in the Bank of America. Even in an area where there was no Bank of America branch, he could access his money by ATM.
Slowing to a fast walk, Joel found himself breathing hard. He had let himself go for far too long. Another couple of blocks, and he found himself looking longingly at the sidewalk benches, when out of the corner of his eye, a dark car pulled alongside of him. Benches forgotten, he quickened his pace, but to no avail, as two men slid out of the car smoothly, guns already drawn.
“Joel Campbell.” One of the men stated, rather than questioned, as he moved in front of Joel, blocking his path. “FBI.” Flashing an ID, he grabbed Joel by the shirt. “We’re taking you in on the charges of conspiracy and aiding and abetting a known fugitive.”
**
July 9, 2001
It wasn’t until Monday morning that the FBI decided to have a talk with Joel. Locked up for three days and four nights, he knew that it had been the first step in softening him up.
“Campbell.” A beefy, older man greeted him, as he entered the interrogation room. “Special Agent Richard Armstrong.” His introduction was curt, as he threw a case file on the table. “My, my, my. It wasn’t a little more than a year ago, when you were one of the shining stars of the FBI. A specialist in tracking down serial killers, and now, now,” he gave Joel a contemptuous look, “you’re a useless drug addicted murderer-loving-freak. How the mighty have fallen. So where is he?”
“I want a lawyer.” Joel stated flatly, careful not to show any emotion, since that was just what Armstrong was looking for.
“I’ll let you call your lawyer, as soon as you tell me where he is.”
“Where who is?” Joel asked, eyes widening in feigned ignorance. He had been FBI, so he knew how to play the game.
“David Allen Griffin, or whatever name he’s going by now.” Armstrong snarled, as he threw down some surveillance photos. Interestingly enough, the photos of himself and David had been taken just a few days ago on the beach. “The scumbag, who you hunted for, for, how many years?”
“Three and a half years here in LA.” Joel wasn’t concerned about giving this information, as it was surely common knowledge. “And another week in Chicago.”
“Good looking guy.” Armstrong pointed to a swimming suit clad Griffin. “Is that what made you turn your back on us, his good looks? Does he have a big cock that you like to ride?”
Despite his efforts to show no emotion, Joel couldn’t help but flinch a little, remembering that was exactly what he had been doing a few nights ago.
Throwing himself in a chair across from Joel, Armstrong gave him a scornful grin. He had seen the flinch. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a pathetic fairy that fell in love with a serial killer. A serial killer, who you had been hunting. Man!” He slammed his fist down on the table. “If that ain’t a made-for-TV movie. So. Where. Is He?”
“You’re violating my rights, you know. Refusing me legal council.” Joel said calmly. “And I have no idea where he is. I’ve been locked up here for the last three and a half days.”
“And you’re going to be locked up for a lot longer, unless you start talking.” Trying to intimidate, Armstrong moved so he was nose to nose with Joel.
“And I’m not going to talk, until my lawyer is here.”
“I’ll say when you can talk to a lawyer, and first I have to be in a better mood.” Standing up, Armstrong motioned for the guard to come and take Joel away.
**
“So after meeting the charming Richard Armstrong, I’m guessing,” Joel greeted the FBI agent, who stepped into his cell, “that you’re the good cop to his bad cop. But, Agent Rizarrdo,” he glared with hostility at the man, “you’re not going to get on my good side.”
Sitting on a stool across from Joel, Michael Rizarrdo looked both contrite and embarrassed.
“You’re the one who figured this whole thing, aren’t you? A gold star for you with a promotion, I’m sure. Is that why you’re here in LA? Did you get that big promotion to the Behavioral Science Unit because you’re kind of far from your territory, aren’t you?” Being in jail, Joel had had plenty of time to think things out.
“I had no idea this would happen.” Rizarrdo glanced meaningfully around the jail cell. “After speaking to Polly Beilman in Chicago, I naturally concluded that Griffin was holding you hostage. He was holding you hostage?” He asked. Rizarrdo had spoken to Armstrong and had heard what his colleague had to say about the situation.
“In a way.” Joel answered, as he made a quick decision to come clean with Rizarrdo. As things stood now, Griffin would surely think that he had conspired with his former employer to bring him in. One step out of custody and Griffin would have his neck. “As long as I stayed with him, he was not to kill any more innocent people.”
“He was obsessed with you.” Rizarrdo stated. “I saw the file and saw some of the correspondence and transcriptions of the conversations he had with you. It was obvious.”
Joel shrugged. “He’s nuts. Anyway, Agent Rizarrdo, I’m guessing he thinks I betrayed him, so he’ll be resuming his old habits.”
“And what about you? I know they haven‘t let you speak to your lawyer yet.” Rizarrdo took a deep breath. “Can I contact him, her for you? I would like to help. If nothing else, it would make my conscience feel better.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.” Joel stated. “And after thinking about things, the safest place for me might be locked up somewhere.”
“But still, you need a lawyer. You’re FBI or former FBI. The last thing you want is to be put somewhere with the hard corers. Better a medium security facility with white collar criminals. I would think a good lawyer could easily arrange that.”
“Well, I do know of a couple of first rate criminal lawyers in LA. Being a Fed here, I crossed paths with them. But I doubt if I could pay their retainer.”
“Give me their names.” Rizarrdo pulled a small note pad and a pen out of his suit coat. “I can at least speak to them for you.”
“Couldn’t hurt.” Joel shrugged with resignation, as he reminded himself to not have any expectations because that meant less despair.
**
July 10, 2001
Sitting handcuffed in the same interrogation room from the day before, Joel beat Armstrong to the punch by greeting him first. “I want to see a lawyer.”
“Yeah, so you’ve told me.” For the second day in a row, Armstrong threw a manila folder in front of Joel. “It’s your lucky day today, Campbell. I was just about ready to throw away the key to your cell, but your lover decided to make a play.”
“Did he contact you?” Joel could feel his heart start to beat faster.
“The son-of-a-bitch sure did.” Armstrong pointed at the file. “Check the pictures inside. That’s his handwriting isn’t it?”
Joel swallowed hard as he studied the photos of two young women with Griffin’s unmistakable script. The game had started again.
“We have no clue who the women are.” Armstrong continued. “And to make it worse, we’re not sure if he’s already kidnapped them, or if he’s just stalking them at this point, like he did he Chicago. But I guess I don’t have to tell you about that.”
Hands shaking, Joel read Griffin’s message. Special Agent Armstrong. Joel bite back a cynical, saddened laugh. Leave it to Griffin to already know the agent assigned to his case.‘Send me Joel Campbell, and I’ll allow these women to live.
“Well, Campbell?” Armstrong asked.
“Well, what? I’ve been locked up in a jail cell for the last five days. I know no more than you do.”
“Even if you don’t know exactly where he is, I bet you know where to look for him.” Armstrong’s voice had risen in anger. “Help us find him, and we’ll be lenient with you.”
“If you let me go, I can. . . .”
“Not until you find us Griffin and these women.” Armstrong interrupted with a snarl.
“If you let me go, and don’t follow me, Griffin will find me. Once he finds me, I will do what I can to either have the women freed or keep him from killing them.” Joel raised his voice to match Armstrong’s.
“If you think I’m going to let you just waltz out of here, after what you’ve done, you can. . . .”
“I haven’t done anything.” It was Joel’s turn to interrupt. “And the matter of importance is the two women. At least that’s my opinion, and what’s yours, Special Agent Armstrong?”
The argument would have continued, except at that moment, the door was flung open, and a man in an expensive suit walked in followed by a jail guard. “Okay, Armstrong, the gig is up.” He held up an official looking document. “I have an order here signed by Judge Knox that your authority over Campbell has been terminated. The judge has ordered a hearing for this afternoon, and I’ll be sure to inform the Court of the FBI’s failure to allow the accused legal counsel. This case will be thrown out in a heartbeat. Mr. Campbell.” The lawyer turned to Joel. “I’m Attorney. . . .”
“I know who you are. We met at the Ballert trial a few years ago.”
“I remember.” Attorney Gelwick smiled slightly. “You may come with me, Mr. Campbell. You’re not required to keep Mr. Armstrong and,” he paused, as Michael Rizarrdo entered the room, “any other of his colleagues company.”
“Wait a minute!” Armstrong moved toward Joel, as if to keep him from leaving. “There’s two women whose lives are in jeopardy, and he,” he glared Joel in the eyes, “knows. . . .”
“If there’s anything I can do for those women, I will.” Joel told this to Armstrong, as he brushed past him. “Because unlike you, they are my main concern.”
**
“Case dismissed.” The gavel sounded and Joel was once again a free man.
“Mr. Gelwick.” Joel offered the lawyer his hand. “I know back in the jail, you kept saying that I shouldn’t worry about the fee, but now that this is over, I want to assure you, I’m good for it. I can give you about five hundred up front, but the rest I’ll have to pay in installments.”
“Joel.” Gelwick’s tone was patient yet patronizing. “We’ve already discussed this; you don’t have to worry about my bill.” Taking Joel’s arm, he led him away from the court table.
Stepping into the aisle, Joel came face-to-face with Armstrong, who had been sitting the audience section of the courtroom. “This isn’t over Campbell.” His voice was low, but threatening. “I’ll be watching you.”
“Try it, Agent Armstrong, and I’ll slap a harassment charge on you.” Gelwick counter threatened, as he continued to keep a grip on Joel’s arm. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” He headed for the exit, Joel in tow. “I’ve got a car out back. If we hurry, we can beat both the media and the FBI.”
“I’m forever in your debt.” Joel said, as they exited the courtroom, and he saw first hand the horde of media waiting for them.
“This way.” Gelwick turned in the opposite direction from the mob and walked away at a fast pace.
Trotting next to Gelwick, Joel noted that the lawyer still had a hold of his arm. A sense of something not right tingled through his body ,but just as he began to pull away they exited the building, where a dark SUV stood.
“I think I’ll decline your offer of a ride.” Joel made his excuse, as he quickly assessed his situation. He was in danger.
“Nonsense.” Gelwick gave him a shove in back toward the SUV and before Joel could take any action, two men jumped out and grabbed him.
“Wait just a fucking min. . . .” Joel protested, struggling, but his protest was cut short, as a cloth soaked in chloroform was placed over his nose and mouth.
“In the back, quickly.” An authoritative voice ordered, as the front passenger’s side window slid down. A striking black man sat up front. The past ten years he used the name Malik Fikes. His face was well known, as he was the biggest drug lord in the LA area. “Send me your bill.” He called out to Gelwick, as the doors closed and the SUV smoothly pulled away from the curb.
**
July 11, 2001
Waking up in a strange bed, Joel could still taste the sweetness of the chloroform. Stomach rolling, head throbbing, he quickly leaned over the side of the bed and threw up.
“Fucking hell!” He swore, as after he emptied what little there was in his stomach, he continued to dry heave. “Note to self.” He mumbled after the spasms and heaves subsided. “Stay away from being chloroformed.”
Wiping his mouth with his shirt sleeve, he surveyed his surroundings, an unfamiliar bedroom, richly furnished. Rolling over, he felt a weight on his left leg; he was chained to the bed.
Trying to ignore the pounding in his head, he staggered to his feet, assessing his chances for escape. The metal chain fell from the bed and hit the Mexican tiled floor with a clang. Stumbling around the room, Joel noted that his shackle was of a good length, giving him the freedom to walk around the room. It was even long enough for him to enter the adjoining bathroom, a consideration he was thankful for, as his bladder was uncomfortably full.
After relieving himself, he washed his face, hands, and rinsed his mouth out. The sound of the bedroom opening and closing stopped him from further clean up. Exiting the bathroom slowly, he wasn’t surprised to see two men armed with 10mm Uzis, flanking a third man.
“Mr. Campbell.” The man, who wasn’t armed, addressed him. He was slim and on the short side, but one look in his eyes, and Joel’s blood ran cold. After years of chasing some of the world’s worst killers, he knew the look of evil, and this man’s whole being radiated it. “I hope your accommodations meet your satisfaction.”
“I could do without this.” Joel lifted his left foot, so the chain rattled.
“It’s just a precaution, but where are my manners. My name is James Randis.”
Randis didn’t offer his hand with the introduction, which Joel was extremely grateful for. He had no wish touch the man. “What do you want with me?”
“Nothing. I’m keeping you here for someone.” Randis gave Joel an thorough once over. “But after seeing you, I may find it difficult to give you up.”
Although Randis’ words were obscure, a chill still ran up Joel’s spine. He was beginning to wish that Special Agent Armstrong had followed through with his threat of locking him up and throwing away the key.
**
July 12, 2001
“Wakey, wakey, Joel.”
The voice and words were so familiar that Joel was sure he was dreaming.
“Come on, buddy. They told me you didn’t eat anything yesterday, so you need to get up and eat something.”
Opening his eyes, Joel squinted in pain from the sunlight. Raising a hand to his head, his migraine was thumping even harder than the night before.
“Your head’s bothering you.” A cold towel touched his face. “It’s because you don’t take care of yourself.”
“David.” Joel croaked out, as he reached up to stop the hands from tying the towel around his head and eyes. “I’m so fucking glad to see you, but,” he suddenly remembered the two kidnapped women, “what did you do with those women?”
“Let them go.” David grabbed a folded up newspaper off the nightstand. “Here, take a gander.” He handed the paper to Joel. “I didn’t want to break our deal, but off course, if you broke our deal, I may have to go back and kill them.”
It took Joel a couple of seconds to focus his eyes, so he could make out the printed words, but relief spread through him, as he read the headlines of the LA Times, Women Found Unharmed!’ He quickly scanned the article and then put it down with a sigh of relief.
“I didn’t betray you in any way. I told them nothing.” He spoke quietly. “But they know who you are now. They had. . .have surveillance photos of you.”
“Careless on my part, wasn’t it?” David said as he again placed the iced towel over Joel’s eyes. “I let my guard down; something I’ve never done, and something I’ll never do again.”
“And just who is this James Randis?” Raising a hand, Joel reached to pull the towel away again, but this time he was stopped.
“Don’t!” The command was sharp and forceful. “I’ll answer your questions after you’ve eaten and taken some migraine medicine. But for now,” strong hands pushed him back on the pillows, “just lay back and relax. Your ordeal is over; you‘re with me now.”
**
Epilogue
Waking up later that day, Joel felt almost human, something he hadn’t felt since the FBI had taken him in custody. The TV in the room had been turned on to CNN, and the reporters were going over the rescue of the two kidnapped women. Watching a moment, he knew that was David’s way of continuing to reassure him.
“Well, his eyes are open, and he’s moving.” A freshly showered David appeared in the bathroom doorway, drying his hair with a bath towel. “Ready to join the living again, Joel?”
“My headache’s better.” Joel automatically felt his head. “But I think I probably could use a shower.”
“Not probably.” David said, as he walked across the room naked. “You do.”
Looking down at himself, Joel realized he was in clothes that were two days old. He no doubt smelled as grubby as his appearance. “Alright, I’ll get in the shower, but not until you tell me who this Randis is, and where we are.”
“We’re at Randis’ ranch in Mexico.” Grabbing the TV remote, David flopped down on the bed. “Randis is a very rich, very powerful man, so if I were you, I’d keep a low profile around him because he has a thing for pretty men. And if he decides he wants something, he’ll use all his resources to get it.”
“Uh huh.” Joel wasn’t surprised, as he remembered how Randis had looked at him, and the small conversation they had. “So how do you know him?”
“I have friends in high places.” David grinned, as he flipped through the TV channels.
“You mean low places.” Joel said sourly. “Like Malik Fikes. I recognized him in LA. You had him kidnap me.”
“He owned me a favor.” David shrugged, his expression with its typical unconcern.
“And Randis? Did he owe you a favor too?” Joel stood up and began to unbutton his shirt.
“Nope.” David wouldn’t turn his head to look at Joel. “Now I owe him one.”
****
Finis