section7mfu | "The Oubliette"~for the PicFic Tuesday Challenge March 4th (Part 1...because the post was too large)

The purring of the car engine and crunch of the gravel beneath the tires were the only perceptible sounds as Napoleon Solo drove his rental car past the wrought iron gate.

His destination was a southern style mansion surrounded by stately oak trees in their yearly molt. Once the car door was opened, the rustling of the leaves along the swirled around him.

“I’m getting a feeling deja vú,” Solo whispered to himself.

A familiar voice spoke to him.“That is because it looks just like that place in Virginia...was it? A funeral chapel, and you were put into a coffin.”

“Gee thanks for the happy memories,” Napoleon frowned.

“You are welcome.”

The trouble was, the coverstion was imaginary, it was all in his head as his friend and partner, Illya Kuryakin had gone missing.

It was nearly two months now, the Russian had disappeared on a routine courier mission in Alabama, and now there was finally a break; a chance he was still among the living. That’s what Napoleon hoped.

Solo skirted alongside the dark sedan with his weapon drawn; stepping away from it and up the short flight of stairs leading to the arched white door in the front of the house.

There were no signs of life, no light shining through the shuttered windows and as Napoleon turned the door handle; he was surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he was greeted by a number of caskets lining the wall...it was a display room.

“See, I told you,”Illya whispered in Solo’s head.

“If you’re going to say something, then tell me where you are tovarisch.”

This time there was only silence...

The room reeked of sickly sweet flowers that lined the walls, set in vases on pedistals. Flickering of funerary candles with read sconces offer an eerie light nearby; one that made the American just a little nervous.

He crept past the caskets, shaking off the creepy feeling the setting gave him until he came to a door, this one however was locked and Solo knelt with his loc pick, going at it.

He felt as if his partner were leaning on him, and became somewhat irritated, yet wondered why it all felt so real. Was it Illya’s ghost haunting him or just the memories of the Russian very much stuck in his head?

“Will you get off me, you are cramping my elbow room,” Napoleon whispered out of habit. Was he losing his mind?

There was a sharp pain to the back of his neck, sending the American unconscious to the ugly green shag carpet covering the floor.

Napoleon Solo awoke, finding his hands tied, and cocooned by the satin linings of a coffin. “Oh crap, not again?” He moaned.

“Hello Mr. Solo. Glad you have finally rejoined us. I do apologize for my associates enthusiasm. They could have just as easily asked for your gun along with your surrender.”

A man standing in the shadows spoke; the only thing visible was the lit end of his cigarette and the curls of smoke as they drifted into the light.

Napoleon, however, recognized that voice instantly and was shocked to hear it.

“Gairovald Mephisto-Labé...I thought you were locked up?”

“Ah the rumors of my incarceration were highly exaggerated. Scotland Yard underestimated my abilites and I was able to escape quite easily. Now I think you do owe me Mr. Solo...you deprived me of my exquisite art treasures as well as the pleasure of disposing of your friend Mr. Kuryakin.*

“They were never yours Labé and, speaking of Mr. Kuryakin... may I ask where he is?” Solo wiggled in the coffin, testing his position while trying to peek over the edge.

“Soon enough Mr. Solo, soon enough.”

Labé stepped forward, abruptly closing the lid to the coffin…

Napoleon took deep calming breaths. It didn’t matter that he was using up his oxygen supply, if he was being buried alive...well what was the point of prolonging it. He guessed that’s what was happening. Though his hands were tied, he could feel his watch was missing, as no doubt were his explosive putty and fuses.

He had no sense of time as to how long he’d laid there, but could finally feel himself being moved as he was jostled inside his prison. It was being lifted and angled downward. Was he being lowered into his grave?

There was a thud, and he came to a jolting stop. Napoleon waited for the sound of dirt being thrown on top of the coffin. It was over, the Solo luck had finally run out.

“Tovarisch,” he said aloud. “Where are you when I really need you.” He whispered his friend’s name one last time. “Illya…”

Illya didn’t answer.

It seemed like a lifetime they’d had each others back, first working as a well honed team. A partenrship that grew into friendship and finally brotherhood. Labé had said ‘soon enough’ when Solo had asked about the Russian, and since this impending burial could mean only one thing...he was joining Illya in death.

As he waited, there was only silence, and finally a click. The lid to the coffin slowly opened, and Solo took a deep refreshing breath of air into his lungs.

Napoleon blinked, adjusting his eyes to the light as he was lifted out of the coffin by several pairs of strong arms. Surveying his surroundings; he saw a stainless steel table, and all the accutrements needed for the embalming process. For a second he swallowed hard, thinking that was the next thing going to happen, being ‘pickled’ alive…

Instead he was carried past the table to a dark corner of the room, from the looks of it, the place was obviously some sort of basement. The old red brick walls were damp and stained with white rivulets from efflorescence, salt residue from too much water seepage.

Napoleon was set on his feet, facing into the corner like a child being disciplined, but looking down he realized he was standing next to a large grate in the floor, perhaps three feet wide in diameter.

“Well here we meet again Mr. Solo,” Labé said, stepping up behind him.

The UNCLE agent tried to turn but was held in place by the goons.

“Good bye Mr. Solo, I cannot say parting is such sweet sorrow, but revenge in this case is definitely as sweet as honey.”

The grate was moved and Napoleon felt a kick in the middle of his back, sending him forward and head first through the opening.

It wasn’t a straight drop, instead there was an angled floor, letting him slide downwards until he came to a stop at the bottom of where ever it was..

Napoleon wriggled free of his bonds too easily, and surmised they’d been left that way on purpose. Looking upwards at the light shining down the shaft; he squinted as his eyes adjusted. The American could just about make out the non-descript face of Mephisto-Labé as he peered back at him.

“You won’t be able to get out you know, as you’re in an oubliette, with only one way in, but no way out…there’s plenty of water down there so you won’t die of thirst. Food, now that’s another thing. I’m sure if you get hungry enough you’ll develp a taste for rat. I know your partner has. Amazingly he’s still alive after all this time, at least I think he still is.”

“Illya’s down here?”

Labé only laughed as the heavy metal grate was lowered with a loud clang.

Oubliette...Napoleon stood for a moment, focusing his thoughts, and recalling exactly what that was. “ A forgotten place. It was a form of a dungeon that was only accessible from a hatch in a high ceiling.

The word came from the French word oublier, "to forget", as it was used for those prisoners their captors wished to wipe from their memories...as if they never had existed.