SAFE (Men of the ESRB Book 1)

by Shiloh, Hollis

  I stayed silent. Yeah, I'd have been a suspect, and they'd have neglected other, more profitable routes of investigation.

  He sighed, the sound loudly buzzing over the connection. I winced, trying to shift the phone away from my ear a little.

  "The thing that gets me," he went on, "is I knew you knew something. Today in my office, I watched your face as they ran through the theories. You've got a fuck-awful poker face, Hunt. You seemed to know something. I should've thrown you in for interrogation then and there. Damn it, Hunter. You're shit at this whole double life thing. And yeah, you're still suspended, but if you think of anything else you 'forgot' to tell me, you drive right in and make a statement."

  He hung up.

  I just stood there, breathing through my open mouth, tears in my eyes and clogging my sinuses so I couldn't breathe any other way. I just stood there and tried to survive.

  Everything was coming down now, the whole world pulled around my ears with one or two little tugs of thread. The good life I'd thought I'd had, with my job, my purpose in life, and my boyfriend.

  All gone now, buddy. All gone.

  #

  I was getting ready to drive in to work and turn in my badge. I'd kept hoping the captain would change his mind, that someone would deliver me a message of reprieve. But no miracles happened overnight. I was just pulling on my jacket, sliding on my sunglasses, and patting my pocket for my keys when my phone rang.

  I picked it up, heart thumping with stupid, reactionary hope. I should've learned by now not to get my hopes up.

  "Officer Hunter?" said a cold voice.

  "Yes?" My first rush of disappointment that it wasn't the captain almost obscured my confusion about who was calling me. I didn't recognize the voice.

  "Listen," rasped the stranger, and there was a click.

  I started to say something, but cut myself off quickly when I heard Sky's voice, trembling and more scared than I'd ever heard him — almost as if he was chanting in a catatonic, fearful state. I had a sudden image of him in my mind, hugging his knees, rocking, either bleeding or in tears.

  "Don't," he said in a trembling little voice. And then under his breath, as if he couldn't help himself, "Hunt. I want Hunt. I can't — I can't—" A little cry, half cut off, and a smacking sound.

  "Try again," growled a voice I didn't know, but hated with a passion already.

  "I can't. I can't, not — I need Hunt. I can't. Hunt." And then he began to cry, hopeless and like he was trying to hold it back but couldn't.

  There was a click and the gruff voice, the first one, returned. "Heard enough?"

  "If you hurt him—"

  "We've tried that, and it's not helping. We might as well kill him if he can't do the job. He says he needs you to work. So you get down here, pronto, and we might just let the both of you live. If you can make him do the job."

  "Get down — down where?"

  He named a street in the warehouse district, a seedy area where the cops didn't like to go at night.

  "Walk up and down the street. We'll pick you up."

  "I — I'll be there. It'll take me half an hour—"

  "You have twenty minutes," he growled, flexing his idiotic brainless power. "Oh, and if you have company, we'll gut you both."

  He hung up.

  Big, powerful baddie got off on making me scared. Well, it had worked: I was terrified.

  In another area of myself, I was elated. Sky was alive. It wasn't Gruver who had him, but somebody who wanted him to "do a job." That implied using his special abilities, and needing me meant he was too scared and intimidated to actually function on any level. He'd cried out for me in his panic, and they'd probably gotten out of him just exactly what he meant. A police officer named Hunt who helped him on the job.

  They'd decided to coerce me down there to help him function, like we were a team. It was a start. It was better than him being killed by Gruver and already dismembered and buried somewhere.

  But twenty minutes was nothing, and I still had to call the captain.

  I didn't know what I'd do, but he needed to know he was on the wrong track — again.

  I dialed quickly as I got into my car. I'd have to talk and drive at the same time. Didn't have much choice.

  "Captain," I began.

  "Something else you remembered?" he asked sarcastically.

  I told him as quickly as I could about the call, tripping over my own words in my haste. I drove fast, a bit erratically. "I'm on my way now. Maybe you can figure out something. But I'm not leaving him and I'm not waiting. Sir."

  Quill was silent for a moment — a dangerous moment. "First it's Gruver, now it's men with deep voices," he said.

  My heart sank. He didn't even believe me. Suddenly I'm out and now I'm not even a competent officer. Well, maybe it was the lying thing, rather than the gay thing. I wished he wouldn't waste these precious moments being annoyed with me.

  "Just … who could want him, and know enough to get him out of the building, and … and why? Somebody local, right? I mean, it's a local address." I was yammering.

  "We'll pull security footage when you're taken," said the captain at last, reluctantly. "See if we can get a make on the license plate or something. Don't do anything dumb. Leave your phone in your pocket, turned on, and—"

  "No," I interrupted. "I'm not getting him killed so you can find out who did it. I won't."

  "Hunter," snapped the captain. "You're not helping. Assuming this phone call is even real, then we need a way to trace—"

  I hung up. My hands were shaking with both fear and anger, now. Assuming, my ass. He just wanted a fall guy, and it was looking to be me.

  Nice. Just because I wasn't the biggest hotshot around, just because I was hiding my sexuality and a relationship — like everybody else was totally open with the captain — I wasn't gonna take the fall for Sky being snatched.

  Somehow, they want to twist this around on me.

  I was truly on my own now.

  I tossed the phone to the passenger seat, the spot where Sky was supposed to be sitting, always by my side. I drove faster, with all my concentration.

  He was counting on me. I was his only shot.

  #

  I was lucky; it did take about twenty minutes. I parked quickly, and almost left my phone. Then I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket, figuring they might get spooked and call me again to meet them somewhere else.

  I started walking fast, sweating and trembling at the same time. I was a real mess. I'd left my gun at home, of course.

  I tried to think as I walked, and keep an eye out for them at the same time. I wondered if this was just an excuse to gun me down. But why be so elaborate?

  I tried to think. Were Sky and I safer with them not knowing we were in a relationship? They didn't seem to know that. Then again, they knew I'd come running to help him, so what difference did it make, in the end?

  I was risking it all, but there was nothing left without him. I'd learned that well enough since he disappeared from the precinct and my life. What did I have without him? Even if I got my job back, my life would feel empty and hollow without Sky. He had become the most important person in my world, with his vulnerability and his trust in me, his sweet smiles and warm kisses.

  My heart broke as I thought of the last time we'd woken up next to each other, the easy, languid, almost smug contentment of his face as he laced one long arm up to rest around me for comfort and cuddling.

  At least Gruver hadn't snatched him. Whatever these criminals wanted — and I assumed they weren't honest, God-fearing folks — it was safe to assume they weren't going to be as bad as Sky's deadly stalker ex.

  Then again, they'd beaten him around and frightened him to the point that he was a gibbering mess, begging for me. I knew he wouldn't have done that on purpose. He was really hurting, even if it wasn't Gruver who'd snatched him.

  Shit. I walked faster, steps hard, anger roiling inside me along with the fear.

  A car screeched
up alongside the curb, and a door jerked open. "Get in," snarled a man with a gun, motioning me towards the back seat.

  I raised my hands a few inches to show I meant no harm, then clambered awkwardly in, my breath quick in my tight throat. Despite my being a cop, or perhaps because of it, it was pretty scary being held at gunpoint. I knew what the weapon could do. It wasn't a casual toy, a way of getting one's own way. It was death, and messy death at that. The guy was waving it around like a toy.

  He kept a close eye on me in the back seat, but didn't seem really worried. The driver whipped around corners and drove us away quickly, and I kept having to bite my tongue to keep from suggesting better gun safety or better driving safety — or best of all, both at once.

  Once again I realized I wasn't as tough as I wanted to be. I was trembling, couldn't stop. I wanted to sit on my hands so nobody saw, but that would just draw closer attention to it.

  #

  They didn't try to cover my face or hide where they were going, which worried me about our chances of survival. They were kind of casual about the gun, too, like they weren't really scared I'd try to get away after all.

  Did they know I was gay, and it made them underestimate me? Or did they just know they had me over a barrel because they were holding Sky? That was certainly the truth, and I'd come running fast enough when they called me, which ought to prove it.

  I was almost relieved when, after we had driven around for a bit, they tossed a bandana back to me. "Tie that over your eyes, bitch," said one of the men to me. He was chewing something. Probably tobacco, not gum. I didn't think a gangster would chew gum. Then again, maybe it was nicotine gum and he was trying to quit tobacco.

  There was something seriously wrong with my brain right now, if that's what I was dwelling on. The gun now faced me without my being able to see it. My shaky breathing sounded louder somehow, wearing the bandana. I was freaking out here, and thinking about Nicorette. Maybe I was giddy from sleep deprivation.

  I wondered if the captain would even care that I was gone now, too.

  I comforted myself with the knowledge that the investigator from the Extra Sensory Regulatory Bureau would be here soon, and he would give a shit, if only because it had to do with Skyler being missing.

  Yay for someone giving a shit.

  I tied the bandana extra tight and tried not to let my hands tremble.

  "Okay, pig, we're here," said gum guy, cracking his Nicorette or whatever. Maybe he chewed the off-brand. Anyway, it didn't smell like baby powder, so probably not pink chewing gum.

  "In there. Don't trip." He gave a nasty laugh as they steered me roughly down some steps. I did, of course, trip a little till I found their rhythm. The space echoed and smelled like a tight basement. A door shutting overhead made me think so. So … outside access, in a basement? We were out of the city, maybe? I thought of my phone, remembered they'd never searched me. Why not? Didn't I even deserve a search?

  Ah, there we were. Somebody was finally patting me down and I wished they'd forgotten it after all. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. I'd been patted down at the academy — we all had to practice on each other, so we'd know what it felt like to be cuffed, searched, and put into a police car. It was important to know how much force you were using. I couldn't imagine that the feeling of your space being invaded ever got comfortable or familiar. Or maybe wearing a blindfold made it worse.

  I heard a familiar whimper. It was the sound Sky always made when he woke up from a bad dream, before he was quite awake enough to know it had been a dream. I always rolled nearer, taking him into my arms, comforting him and trying to help him feel safe again. It seemed to work, just holding him, stroking his sweaty hair back, kissing him and murmuring kind things to him about protecting him, telling him that he was safe now — easy words that anyone could have managed, but only I was there to give them. Always, it seemed to help.

  But now we were in some gangster's basement, and Sky was whimpering, a lost sound, and he wasn't asleep. And I couldn't tell him he was safe, because he wasn't.

  I reached up and yanked the bandana off and surged towards him before they were quite done searching me. "Whoa there, cowboy," said an amused voice. The guy from the phone, or a different guy? I didn't give a crap. I just had to get to Sky.

  Angry hands prevented me and a fist thumped me.

  "It's all right, let him go," said the amused guy. The light was dim in the basement, and the air smelled like damp mildew.

  Skyler was in a crumpled sort of knee-hugging posture on an old quilt spread on the floor. It surprised me that it was a quilt, something that should've been a grandmother's heirloom, now worn to the point where a dog should sleep on it in a corner, well-worn comfort for old, aging canine joints.

  Then I saw the bloodstains, brown splotches. A gutted sound escaped me. Sky was rocking a little, and something about him seemed very far away.

  I was on my knees taking him into my arms in a second. He didn't turn in to me, but he started to calm down. He wasn't making a sound now, but he didn't respond, other than growing still, as if he was listening.

  "Huh," said one of the baddies. I thought it was gum man. "Little faggy likes you, does he? And maybe it's mutual, huh?" He kicked out at me casually. He was wearing expensive sneakers.

  One of the guys spit on the floor.

  "All right," said Casual Guy, who seemed to be the boss. The single bulb light on the ceiling was behind him now, so I wasn't seeing faces. But they made no real effort to obscure themselves. "Get out," he told his crew.

  There was a small scuffle, as if he'd raised a hand to smack one of the guys. Sky flinched as if it had been aimed at him. He started to hum a little. It was crazy, scary; it was like he wasn't quite here.

  He reached for one arm, started to scratch. And now I saw where the blood had come from. He'd been scratching at his arms, long scratch marks down the insides, where his tattoo sleeves covered old suicide attempts.

  It scared the shit out of me, seeing him like this.

  He didn't appear to be injured or assaulted, but he was still hurt, damaged deeply inside either by threats and fear or by the angry emotions around him. It had been too much, and he'd retreated. Wherever he'd gone while he was in the mental hospital, he was back there now.

  I didn't know if I could reach him, get him out, or even keep him alive.

  Holy shit, I was terrified.

  "Now … Hunter, wasn't it? Hunt? You his good friend, huh?" asked the boss, in a smirking tone. He leaned close, and I saw he was big, strong looking, and he didn't seem like he should be a criminal to me, just a regular guy working a regular job, maybe even a cop at another precinct or something. What did he want with me and Sky, anyway? Were they gangsters or something?

  "So you know the score. Your little buddy here needs to tell me when folks are telling me the truth or lying. Only he's faulty in the head. He keeps calling for you — for Hunt. We finally got that out of him. Took a while."

  I'll just bet it did.

  I wanted to hurt this guy. A lot.

  "So you make him work right for the cops, huh? Maybe fuck him or something till he can tell what's going on?" He looked at me with intelligent eyes. I figured he was trying to get a reaction from me, so I refused to give it.

  He was still way too casual about letting me see his face, and it scared me. He spat on the floor again. "So you just go ahead and get him to work right, and we'll do what we gotta do. He's gonna be my very own truth-telling machine. You get him working right — don't screw around with me — and we'll all get along just fine, like one happy fuckin' family. Something tells me you aren't so hot with the cops right now anyway, so you should be glad of a new job."

  Okay, was it on the police band or something? Everybody knew I was in trouble? Or did he have inside sources? He was awfully fucking confident…

  "I'll leave you two alone now," he said, heading towards some creaky wooden steps and climbing them slowly. They groaned under the weight of an adult
human. "There's food there, if you can get him to eat," he added.

  That alone told me how bad Sky was doing.

  The second he closed and locked the door, I turned Sky in my arms. "Hey, Sky." I gave him a little shake. "What's the matter with you, huh? Come on. Come back here and help me figure a way out of this mess."

  The only thing was, life didn't work that way. He just looked at me blankly, like I could've been anything, alive or dead, real or fake, human or a splotchy canvas splatter painting on a wall.

  #

  Our kidnappers had tried rough stuff. They now tried what patience could do, giving me time with Sky.

  And it took time. I got him to eat. I got him to stop rocking and scratching his arms, to lie in my arms and rest, to drink water, move to the little bathroom and take care of his own toilet duties. But I couldn't get him to come back. He was obedient, obliging, and no longer keening or trying to hurt himself. He was even calm. But he wasn't talking, and he didn't seem aware of anything.

  The boss came back to check on us a couple of times. Perhaps having figured out that intense emotion hurt Sky, he kept his voice low and behaved casually. He actually seemed slightly impressed with how Sky was doing.

  I was really struggling to keep from exploding with fear and rage, to keep myself calm for Sky. They'd broken him, completely broken him. It was so hard to see him like this.

  But the guy just nodded, and said he'd have more food sent down. "There's a bed in the corner, if you need to … use it." He gave me a grin that was clearly meant to taunt, but almost whimsically.

  I started to my feet without a word, and he just stepped back, raised his hands, and grinned.

  "Don't forget who's got the gun. Bet nobody even cares you're missing."