"Dunno." Billy shrugged. "Most of the crew don't really know, and the ones what do are keeping their mouths shut tight."
That was actually good to hear. The more the situation could be kept under wraps, the better for everyone. Jason would certainly appreciate his family secret staying secret.
Danny hung around for a while after that, continuing to make idle conversation, but he'd already gotten what he really needed.
*~*~*
The first thing Jason noticed when he woke was that his arms were uncomfortable. He tried to move them, but something held his wrists together. He pulled experimentally, and after a moment he realized why he couldn't move—he was handcuffed. The realization jolted him into full wakefulness, eyes shooting open, his heart pounding with fear. He seemed to be in a poorly lit old-style stone cellar with support beams and pipes at random intervals. He also seemed to be cuffed to a random pipe towards the back. The cellar was empty except for four figures standing near the staircase. With a sudden rush of relief, concern, and anger, he recognized one of them as Liam.
"Ah, awake, are we?" said one of the remaining three, his tone mocking. "My name is Llewellyn Rhyddock. Welcome to my humble home." The man, Llewellyn, had an overall air of smug superiority about him; Jason immediately pegged him as the ringleader. He was dressed in what looked to Jason's admittedly untrained eye like a particularly high-end suit. Everything about him was perfectly styled, from the close-cropped blonde hair down to his shiny, ridiculous-looking leather shoes. Annoyingly enough, even his facial features looked elegant, something about them exuding high class. His gray eyes, however, were hard as stone.
"What the fuck is this?" Jason demanded. All the men were visibly sporting firearms, but Jason felt more frustrated and helpless than actually scared. It helped that he had a pretty strong sense that no one was planning on using said firearms in the immediate future. "Are you okay, Liam?" he asked, focusing on his brother. Liam nodded, but his frightened expression belied the action.
"Oh, we haven't harmed your brother in the slightest," Llewellyn said, smiling condescendingly. "He's far too valuable for that. You, on the other hand …" He trailed off, and a moment later, Jason was suddenly kicked hard in the side. He couldn't disguise a wince of pain, and Liam looked horrified.
"Please, stop! I'll do whatever the hell you want—let him go!" Liam begged, grabbing on to Llewellyn's perfectly tailored jacket sleeve.
Llewellyn shook him off like an annoying insect, wiping his sleeve as though he'd been touched by something filthy. "Oh, my dear boy, of course we can't let him go," he said, his tone soothing but expression contemptuous. "I believe I already explained the general concept. Stay in line, and he won't be harmed."
"What the hell is wrong with you, you sick fuck?" Jason shouted, yanking his wrists forward against the pipe, angry at his own pathetic state. The man behind him hit him in the head with something hard; the sharp, disorienting pain was enough to still him.
"Stop it!" Liam exclaimed.
"He is not to be touched without my order," Llewellyn commanded sharply, dropping the pretense of pleasantry.
"Please, don't. Don't hurt him anymore," Liam said, his voice more than a little unsteady. "I'll … I'll do whatever you want."
"Excellent, my boy. I knew you'd come around to our side of the matter." Llewellyn grinned, but there was no mirth in the expression. The man made Jason think of alligators somehow.
"I—I'll need to be alone," Liam said, looking steadfastly down at the ground. "In a private room. I need to—to be able to concentrate. And, um, I'll need something. Like, some physical version of whatever it is you want me to predict."
Jason just kept his expression neutral—he knew that Liam didn't need any special tools or set up to predict the future. Probably Liam was trying to keep these men ignorant of how his abilities actually worked, which was a smart move.
"Fine. Make it happen." Llewellyn went up the stairs, obviously expecting his lackeys to do all of the actual work.
The man that had been behind Jason followed suit, muttering, "Don't see why he always has to act like such a fucking drama queen."
Liam waited until both had left the basement before he moved. Once the door closed behind the second man, he turned to the remaining two and asked in a plaintive voice, "Can—can I have a minute to talk to my brother?"
The men looked at each other for a moment, but finally one of them shrugged. "Whatever, kid. But only one minute."
Liam rushed over and dropped to his knees next to Jason. He looked miserable. "I'm sorry," he said in a hushed tone.
"For what?" Jason scowled; he kept his own voice lowered as well. "None of this is your fault. It's their damn fault."
"It's my fault that you're here too," Liam replied unhappily. "I knew they were going to bring you here if I didn't cooperate. But I had one of those weird feelings where it felt like it should happen, them taking you here, and I even think I get why it felt like that now. I still didn't want them to hurt you, though, and I'm sorry, and—"
"Whoa, Liam, calm down," Jason interrupted. "I'm not mad at you. I get how that stuff works, remember? And hell, it's just a few bruises. I'll be fine." He frowned then, something occurring to him. "You didn't let them get you in the first place for some stupid, convoluted, future-seeing reason, did you?"
"No." Liam looked annoyed. "They had this whole elaborate plan, like … what's that thing, the big, complicated thing where each part is set off by another part? Rube Goldberg machine?"
"Fuck if I know," Jason replied. He attempted to shrug and was annoyed by the reminder that he couldn't move his arms up by more than an inch.
"Well. It was the future-seeing equivalent of one of those things. There was too much going on; they made their whole stupid plan too complicated. I didn't figure out what was going on until right before it happened, and I would have called you, but …" Liam trailed off, suddenly seeming reluctant to finish his sentence.
"Why the hell didn't you?" Jason asked, both hurt and angry that Liam hadn't. "I could have helped you!"
"You would have gotten hurt," Liam said defensively. "You wouldn't have been able to help, and you'd have been hurt. So no, I didn't call."
"Fine," Jason replied, giving up. "But what I can't figure is how the hell they found out you're a precog."
"Well, I told this girl at school, maybe a week ago." Liam admitted. "There was going to be a really bad accident, and I had to tell her so she'd believe me about the accident. I told her not to tell anyone, but she must not have listened."
"What the hell, Liam?" Jason hissed furiously, barely remembering not to raise his voice.
"What, I should have let her die?" Liam returned, glaring at him. "That's fucking stupid."
Jason sighed, a sharp exhalation of breath, and forced himself to relax. "I'm sorry. No, of course you shouldn't have. I just wish you'd … never mind. It's done."
"Don't worry, Jace, we'll be fine," Liam said, looking quite sure of himself despite the current situation.
"Isn't that supposed to be the big brother line?" Jason asked, smiling despite himself.
Liam signed something to him—Jason had taught Liam sign language the same as their father had taught him, primarily as a way to communicate about premonitions without alerting anyone nearby. "Your PI friend is coming, and it will be awesome."
"What?" Jason said out loud, startled.
"Have to go, sorry," Liam said quickly, standing just as one of the men by the stairs barked at them to hurry up. They escorted Liam up the stairs, and Jason was alone.
He tried again to pull loose from the handcuffs but gave it up as a futile waste of energy. Liam had said that Eric would be coming, and Jason trusted him, but sitting around and waiting was intensely frustrating. And boring. He found himself actually counting bricks before he finally fell asleep.
*~*~*
Eric was surprised when his doorbell rang. Not sure what to expect, he went to answer the door. The person glaring at h
im on the other side was familiar. His name was Ciaran, if Eric recalled correctly. Ciaran, who was half-Tuatha, and currently not wearing contacts. Meaning he could recognize glamour when he saw it.
"Come in," Eric said resignedly.
As soon as they were both indoors, Ciaran rounded on him. "One of my closest friends has apparently disappeared. And according to Bridget? His fourteen year old brother is missing too. There is something seriously fucked up going on, and I know for a fact he went to you for help. And that would be fine, whatever, good, but I also know that you—" he jabbed an accusatory finger in Eric's direction—"are wearing a glamour. And given what's going on? I don't like it."
All Tuatha and some part-Tuatha humans had the ability to project something like a localized illusion on themselves, referred to as glamour. Many used it to enhance their looks. Eric used it for most of his aliases. Anyone with Tuatha eyes could recognize glamour, but it rarely caused him issues. It wasn't possible to completely see through glamour, and the specialized contacts most wore disrupted even the ability for recognition.
"At first I figured it was just something cosmetic, like most of us," Ciaran went on, "but Jason is gone now too, and I always thought there was something weird about you. So help me, if you had something to do with this—"
Eric cut him off. "Believe me; I had nothing to do with Jason's disappearance. I'm actually trying to find him. However, you are correct that I'm not just using glamour for cosmetics. If this will help—"
After a moment of concentration, Eric dropped the glamour he'd been using. Once he'd done so, Ciaran stared at him intently, clearly not quite recognizing him. Then it visibly clicked, and Ciaran's eyes widened dramatically. "You're—"
"Yes. I am."
"But why are you here?" Ciaran continued incredulously, as if he didn't quite believe what he was seeing.
Eric recalled the glamour—he was familiar enough with this one to recreate it from memory—and replied, "That would be a long story I can't tell you half of. But now do you believe that I am going to help Jason?"
"Yes. Uh, I'm gonna go now." Ciaran seemed to regain his wits, and then he added a bit more forcefully, "You fucking better find him."
As abruptly as he'd arrived, Ciaran made his exit. Eric leaned against a wall and exhaled. It looked as though his alias as Eric Donahue was thoroughly burned. Hopefully, soon he wouldn't need it anymore.
*~*~*
Something jolted Jason awake, and he took a moment to readjust to his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that his hands were free. The second thing he noticed was that Eric was crouched next to him, holding a pair of empty handcuffs.
"Wha—Eric?" he said fuzzily.
Eric quickly pantomimed that Jason should be quiet. "In the flesh," he whispered, only just barely loud enough for Jason to hear him. "Glad to see you're not too roughed up. Do you have any injuries I should be aware of?"
"Just bruised." Jason tried to match Eric's volume, flexing his sore wrists. "Nothing serious. Assholes used me to try to make Liam do what they wanted."
"I figured," Eric replied, helping Jason to his feet. "Where's your brother?"
"He convinced them to put him in a room by himself, but I'm not sure exactly where."
Eric glanced at him quickly, his expression appraising. "Any chance you might be able to get a fix on where he is?"
Jason shook his head, massaging his wrists to regain feeling. "I know when thing happen, not where things are. At best, I can maybe help us avoid confrontations in the hallways."
Eric nodded. "I think I might have an idea where he'd be. It might be better if you—"
Jason glared at him. "Don't even try to tell me to wait here."
"All right." Eric thankfully didn't try to argue the point. "Try to stay quiet, stick to the walls, follow me, and do what I do. And let me know if you sense any problems."
As they exited the basement, Jason was surprised to find that the house was bigger than he'd expected. He spared a thought to wonder why he hadn't been guarded, but then again, they probably didn't consider him to be much of a threat. Eric guided them surprisingly quickly and accurately through the house, as if he already knew the layout. As they moved around, they checked several rooms, some of which were locked. Luckily, Eric seemed to be highly skilled at lock picking, but it was still nerve-wracking to have to wait in one place for several minutes while he picked the locks. After the third room they tried, Jason started wondering why they hadn't run into anyone yet.
They went up one more flight of stairs and checked several more rooms before they finally came to a small, sparsely furnished one with Liam curled up on a bed, apparently asleep.
Jason felt a surge of relief until he tried to wake Liam up and nothing happened. Liam had always been a light sleeper.
"Something's wrong," he whispered.
Eric frowned, moving closer and doing a cursory check. "He might be drugged," he offered after a long, distressing moment.
"What? Why the hell would they do that?"
"Hard to say," Eric shrugged, and in the dim light Jason thought he looked as confused as Jason felt. "Can you carry him?"
Jason nodded, and Eric helped him awkwardly position Liam on his back. Thankfully, Liam seemed to be somewhat reactive, clinging loosely to Jason's shoulders.
They made their way much more slowly through the dark halls, still unimpeded. Jason hoped that everyone in the house was just asleep. They made it down and through most of the second floor without a hitch. Halfway down a hallway, Liam shifted restlessly, which hopefully meant he was waking up.
Right as they were about to start down the second floor staircase, Jason started getting a vague premonition. It felt significant, but he couldn't really pinpoint why.
"Eric, I don't think we should—"
"This is the fastest way to get back to the first floor," Eric cut him off, tone low and even, crouched just in front of the doorway. "Do you have anything specific?"
Jason closed his eyes, tension tightening his brow, but he couldn't get a clearer sense of what felt wrong. Liam moved again but still didn't wake, so Jason ignored him. Finally, he reopened his eyes and shook his head. "No."
They made their way cautiously down the stairway, which lead to a closed door. Eric opened it slowly, revealing a large room ostentatious in wall and floor design but sparse in furniture, possibly a dining room. To pass through required crossing the entire length of the room. Unfortunately, the exits were being blocked by nearly half a dozen armed men.
A surge of adrenaline hit him so hard that Jason thought for a brief, panicked moment he might be having a heart attack.
"Unfortunately, your little adventure has come to an end," Llewellyn said, standing at the forefront and center, his dramatic flair apparently undiminished. He motioned to one of his gun-carrying lackeys, and Jason felt an icy tendril of fear creep along his spine. "Kill the intruder; secure the boy. Try not to kill the brother, but I'm not feeling picky."
In a panic, Jason's eyes flew around the room, trying to find something they could use to defend themselves. He looked at Eric and was startled to find that Eric seemed to actually be smiling. Confused, Jason turned back to Llewellyn and his lackeys, who were ... doing nothing.
Llewellyn frowned, turning to face his men. "What's wrong with you? I gave clear orders. Deal with this at once!" Two of them looked just as confused as Jason felt, hesitating awkwardly. The other three men were smiling almost savagely. Jason recognized two of them as the ones from the basement that had let Liam have a minute to talk to him.
"I don't think that will be happening," Eric said mildly.
"Beg pardon?" Llewellyn was obviously trying and failing to maintain his composure.
"Well," Eric said. "This might help."
Immediately after he'd spoken the words, Eric's features seemed to distort for a moment, blurring in a way that was hard to look at directly, before finally settling into the form of a stranger. Even the hair color was off. There were
some minor similarities, but the man standing next to him was no longer recognizable as Eric Donahue. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Jason wasn't sure what until he saw the monochrome Tuatha eyes. There were only so many people with Tuatha blood, even in a larger city like Boston, and only one of them made the news frequently enough to be recognizable on sight.
"My name is Shane O'Neil. You may have heard of me."
While Jason was still reeling from that revelation, one of the men suddenly turned and shot another in the kneecap. The man screamed and went down, dropping his gun in the process. Everything was silent for one short moment. Then chaos began. Eric—or no, Shane—handed Jason a gun that seemed to come from nowhere and quickly joined the fray himself. Jason took the gun, wondering how Shane had known that he could use one, but didn't hang around to see what happened. Instead he held tighter to Liam and made for the nearest exit back the way they'd come, making sure to close the door behind him.
"I'm awake," Liam said suddenly, making Jason jump and almost drop him. "You can put me down."
Jason let him down, then turned and tersely asked, "Anything I should be aware of?"
"Police are outside. Might want to hide the gun and go out hands up once we hit the entrance," Liam calmly reported. A beat later, he added, "In case you didn't pick it up yourself, your boyfriend'll be fine."
Jason swatted him on the side of his head. "Not my boyfriend."
Liam just grinned. "Yet. Should we make our hasty exit?"
Jason rolled his eyes, already steering them down the hallway. He held his gun at the ready until they found an exit, just in case.
*~*~*
Jason quickly made sure the SWAT team outside knew he and Liam weren't involved, a task simplified by the fact the police seemed to already know the situation.
The rest went down pretty much like television had led Jason to expect that sort of situation to work. There was a flurry of voices and men making hand gestures as the team burst into the doorway. After that came several long minutes of silence. Someone checked Jason and Liam over for injuries, and a police officer started asking them a few questions, taking notes on a small pad of paper. At some point, several paramedics rushed into the house.
Private Dicks Page 15
