A/N: Whaddup? Honestly, guys, I think I'm addicted to this show. I love it. And the music. I'm addicted to all of it. While we're on this subject, can I call Carlos? Because he seems to be underloved and holy Lord what I wouldn't give to just give him a hug and a pat or two on the helmet.
Disclaimer: I OWN BTR! I OWN ALL OF IT! NEVER MIND THAT IT'S BACKWARDS DAY—JUST FOR THE MOMENT I OWN THEM ALLLLLLL!
It was a peaceful morning as Mr. Bitters sat quietly at his desk, typing modestly on his computer at the front desk of the Palm Woods. The birds chirped and the sun smiled down on the pool, the water reflecting the beams onto the tiled floor of the lobby. A warm summer breeze flittered through the air, as was custom in Los Angeles. The guests weren't quite up yet, and Mr. Bitters liked it that way.
He sighed, content, enjoying the peace and quiet.
Until a scream pierced the air, making him jump a foot in the air and nearly sending him into cardiac arrest. The slide of the elevator doors was masked by the whooping and hollering of four irritating teenage boys—the band members of Big Time Rush—as they raced through the lobby and, without missing a beat, jumped right into the pool, clothes and everything.
Bitters' scowl was automatic and appeared every time those four got in close proximity to him—and quite frankly, occupying the same apartment complex was close enough by his standards. He hunched over further, as if burying himself into his work would block out the laughter. No such luck.
For their part, Kendall, Logan, James, and Carlos never noticed the stress they put on Mr. Bitters, their manager. They were too busy shoving each other around in the pool.
"Finally!" Kendall exclaimed, throwing himself backwards in the water. "Gustavo gives us a whole day off!"
"I'm never getting out," Carlos said dreamily, sinking below the surface so he could submerge his head and emphasize his point.
"Technically you'd die if you stayed down there all day long," Logan informed him, even though he couldn't hear him.
"And you'd get wrinkles!" That was from James—he was floating on the plastic mattress like a supermodel.
"What are you doing?"
They turned to see Katie, Kendall's little sister, standing at the edge of the pool with her arms crossed. "You know that Mom said we need to help repainting the wall you guys destroyed when you drove that tractor through the apartment," she said accusingly. "You said you'd do it first thing in the morning!"
Carlos popped up just in time to hear that last line. "Aww, Katie," he whined, "can't we have five more minutes? We just got in here!"
The eleven-year-old rolled her eyes. "Five minutes," she said, huffing a sigh like, The things I do for you guys. "I'm not cleaning up your mess this time," she warned, turning to walk back into the lobby. "There are some things even geniuses like me can't do. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to disappear before Mom enlists in my help, too."
She left without another word.
"Dude," Carlos said to Kendall. "Your sister's creepy."
Kendal sighed. "You're telling me."
"Well," Logan said, peering up at the clock. "We've got five minutes. I guess we should make the most of it, huh?"
"I don't know about you," James said, leaping off of his floating mattress and onto the beach chair in one bound. "But I am not going back in there dripping wet." He stretched back in the chair and tucked his hands behind his head.
The other three exchanged glances. James hadn't even touched the water. Matching smiles spread on their faces as an evil plan formed. A second and a half later, James let out an unmanly shriek as his best friends picked him up and dumped him unceremoniously in the pool.
"You guys are so dead!" James yelled, glaring daggers as he attempted to fix the hair plastered to his face back into its perfect swoop. He raced for the steps. The boys stopped snickering.
"Run now," Kendall advised.
His buddies were way ahead of him.
…
"You ready for this?"
"No." Don gave his partner a look and fidgeted with the gun in his hand. It was uncomfortable. It was scary. It felt like all he had to do was point the thing in the wrong direction and he'd kill somebody. He hated it with a passion.
Ethan whirled on him so fast his platinum blonde locks almost hit him in the face. "You need to be," he said. His English accent popped. Don didn't know where it was from but it made him sound extra scary.
"Do you want the money or not?" he continued.
Don looked down at the gun and noted how foreign it looked in his slender, practiced hands. He was a music director, not a killer. This thing didn't belong anywhere near him.
Ethan sighed. "Don, I know you're scared, but it's—"
"It's the only way," Don finished, sighing. "I know. That doesn't mean I have to like it."
His partner nodded, acknowledging his reluctance. Don was thankful to have a friend like him. Ethan was exactly the person he needed in this situation.
"Alright," the blonde said, turning back to peer over the hedge at the Palm Woods Park. "We'll wait until noon, and then it'll just be the pool area, got it?"
"Got it," Don muttered. He still felt like this was an infinitely bad idea. But Ethan was right. It was the only way.
…
"STOP!"
The boys froze as a petite red-haired woman stepped out into the lobby. She took in the scene and frowned disapprovingly at Kendall, who had one of Carlos' arms; Logan, who had one of Carlos' legs; and James, who had both arms hooked under Carlos' armpits.
The Latino boy looked terrified, especially without his helmet, as the four looked up at her and immediately dropped him on the floor.
"'M okay," he groaned, popping up a second later.
"Hi, Mom," Kendall said brightly. "What an awesome day it is to go outside, huh? I don't know about you, but I just love all that L.A. sunshine and the crisp blue sky and—"
Ms. Knight held up a hand. "Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head. "You—all four of you—are coming back inside to paint the wall you told me you were going to paint. Understood?"
Identical groans came from the four. "Yes, ma'am." They shuffled off to the elevator and Ms. Knight cocked her hip with a satisfied sigh.
She started to turn and found a bawling Camille. The girl had mascara running down her face and she was blubbering like a baby—way overdoing it according to Ms. Knight.
"He was my best friend!" she sobbed.
Ms. Knight didn't even miss a beat and opened her arms wide so that Camille could launch herself into her embrace. In seconds the front of her blouse was soaked through.
"I'm gonna miss him so much," Camille hiccupped as Ms. Knight awkwardly patted down her hair.
"Audition?" she asked.
Camille stepped back from her and flashed a dazzling smile. "As always. I usually spontaneously attack Logan but this scene kind of demands emotional support and he's not really good with that. Anyways, now that I have that down I can practice my kissing scene!" She rubbed her hands together. "Where's Logan?"
"Unavailable," Ms. Knight told her, smiling at the disappointed look that appeared on her face. "He and the boys are fixing the wall in our room after yesterday. He'll probably be open later on though."
"Great!" Camille said brightly. She spun off in the other direction and disappeared before Ms. Knight could blink. She shook her head, smiling to herself. They'd been here for over a year but sometimes, Hollywood still managed to surprise her.
…
"Okay, heads says you do it—"
"And tails says you do it," Logan finished impatiently. "Hurry up and flip it!"
James gave him a look. "Do not rush me, Logan. There's a specific art to coin flipping that you just don't—"
"Oh, give it to me," Kendall interrupted, snatching the quarter from James' hand before the teen even knew what happened.
"Hey!"
Kendall ignored him and flipped the coin high into the air, catching it and flipping it onto his wrist. He looked at it. "Tails."
James swore and stomped his foot while Logan jumped up and began to triumphantly jump up and down on the couch. "Ha! What now, punks! That's what I'm talking… about…" He trailed off as he spotted the glare James was sending him.
Kendall smirked. "You lost, James. Paint the spot."
"And don't mess up," Carlos added from his position in the kitchen. "You know how Kendall's mom gets when you get paint on her pictures."
"Fine, fine," James grumbled, taking the paint roller from Kendall's hand. "But I just want you to know how incredibly unfair it is that I'm forced to do this." He sniffed, sounding a little insulted.
The 'spot' in question was the edge around their first album, which was framed up on the wall and, due to Carlos, also glued to the wall, too. While that would probably be a problem for everyone else, the boys of Big Time Rush didn't seem to mind. When it was time to get a house of their own, then they'd pay to have it removed as gently as possible, to make sure Bitters couldn't possibly blame them for chipping the wall plaster.
Unfortunately, the album was on the wall that had been nearly destroyed due to The Great Tractor Incident involving the boys two days ago. The album itself was fine, of course, but painting around it to get to the spots on the wall that needed to be painted… that was a challenge.
A challenge that so happened to fall on James' shoulders. He took a deep breath and carefully dipped the paint roller into the white paint. With cautious and wary movements he meticulously lifted the roller to the wall.
"Paint the wall already," the three boys chorused behind him, making him jump and nearly hit the ceiling.
"Can't be rushed!" he repeated, glaring.
They rolled their eyes as one—they did a lot of things at the same time—and waited as he took another deep breath, and then swirled the paint around the framed album square, perfectly.
Kendall rolled his eyes. "Seriously, dude? All that hype for nothing?"
"Hey, I got it done, didn't I?"
An awkward pause settled between them, before the four screamed together, "Pool time!"
There was a mad dash for the elevator. As it dinged open they skidded through the lobby, headed towards the pool—when suddenly they were blocked by the heavy set prone frame of Mr. Bitters.
The manager's arms were crossed over his chest and gave them a glare that could melt them on the spot. "No. Splashing."
"Aw, come on, Bitters!" Carlos whined. "We have a whole day to relax!"
"Yeah, well, guests complaining about hooligans in my pool is not relaxing to me." The hotel manager straightened his jacket. "If I see any of you cannonballing, I will evict you so fast your heads will spin!" He made an "I'm watching you" gesture and then brushed past them to go into the lobby.
The four, of course, completely disregarded his warning and raced for the pool. Only Carlos stopped short, eyes widening in horror.
"My helmet!" he exclaimed, turning and darting back through the lobby.
"He left it by the paint," Kendall supplied to Logan and James, who looked confused.
James shrugged. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go tan now." He flashed a perfectly white grin and strutted towards his tanning chair. Logan and Kendall rolled their eyes and headed for the pool. It was starting to fill with people, people they knew. The two grinned at each other and started to undress, and that's about when they heard the screaming.
…
"Ready?" Ethan asked, checking the magazine in his gun.
"No," Don grumbled.
The clock struck noon. Don took a deep breath and crossed into the gate of the Palm Woods, entering by the poolside. He saw the kids splashing in the water, sun tanning on beach chairs, or strutting around the edge of the pool to and from the lobby. It was all so carefree. There were a few curious glances from some boys who were about to undress to go swim. Don almost felt bad about interrupting their play time.
Ethan raised his gun in the air and fired three shots. The effect was immediate—screaming, a mad dash for the exit, and then silence as they spotted Don, blocking the exit with his gun.
"Here's how it's going to go, folks," Ethan said, almost pleasantly. "You're going to sit down, you're going to shut up, and if we get what we want then maybe you'll get out of here with your lives still intact."
Nobody breathed a word. A twinge of regret flittered through Don's chest as he identified the looks of terror in the kids' faces. But at the same time, he finally felt like he was doing something worthwhile.
…
The man with the accent and the long platinum blonde locks seemed to be the one in charge. Before anyone could do anything he'd snatched their phones and threw them in the pool. He marched around the complex, pounding on doors and threatening to shoot them down if the occupants didn't come outside. He ordered everyone out of the pool and into the lobby, and that's where Kendall, Logan, and James ended up along with the nine other guests—and the three staff members—who were in the building.
While Mr. Britain went around scaring people, the other one—the American with the short brown hair and almost cautious blue eyes—stood stoically at the entrance to the Palm Woods with his gun out and aimed at anyone who moved even the slightest muscle. He seemed to be the quieter, more nervous one of the pair.
Of the fifteen guests now being held hostage, Kendall, Logan, and James were the closest to the American—not really a good thing, since every time Kendall looked over it was the like the gun was jutting into his face, a constant reminder to be on his top behavior. Kendall didn't do top behavior. He talked back and it was taking everything he had not to jump up and tell these guys off.
He was glad that his mother and Katie were out. They must've gone to the park or the store or something, but the man hadn't come back with them, so at least for the moment they were safe. Or as safe as they could be when he, along with Jo, Camille, and his band mates—not to mention the other ten people he knew—were being held hostage by gun-toting maniacs.
Kendal didn't know what to think. He wasn't exactly scared—there were only two of the men, after all, even if they did have guns.
But he could tell that these men—the Brit at least—were dangerous. When one of the Jennifers blatantly told the blonde to take a hike, he responded by calmly placing the barrel of his gun on her forehead and told her that if she didn't do as he said in the next three seconds, he would shoot her in the face. Even as she went to do as ordered he'd smashed the butt of the gun against her cheek, drawing blood from the cut and coloring her face a violent black and blue. She'd cried. Her friends scooted on the chair to make room for her and hugged her as she sat down. Nobody said a word.
Kendall sent a side glance at his friends. Logan, as expected, looked the most collected—although Kendall got the feeling from the look in his eyes that he was calculating their odds of survival or something equally as geeky. James looked the most freaked out of the three of them, sitting on his hands impatiently and bouncing his knees ever so quietly to the beat of one of their songs. He kept glancing nervously back at the elevator and Kendall knew why.
Carlos.
He'd gone up to their room to grab his helmet—the one time that was probably a good thing—and the Brit didn't bring him back with the rest of the guests. Where was he? Was he hurt? Hiding? Kendall didn't want to think either, but there was no other explanation. Kendall could only hope that if Carlos really was hiding, he'd find a way to call the police and get the hell out of dodge.
…
Carlos was hiding.
He didn't really know where he was—he'd tripped coming down the stairs and dropped his helmet down the laundry chute, and then had to dive in after it. It was dark and he was lying on something soft even if the smell was terrible. It didn't help that other articles of clothing had piled on top of him. Now he smelled like dirty old socks and ketchup stains. Did ketchup stains have a smell if they were just stains? He didn't know—he just smelled ketchup.
He was attempting to climb out of the laundry basin when the man knocked on the door. Carlos could barely hear the words he was shouting, let alone understand them, but if there was one thing he knew about angry adults it's that you should get out of the way as fast as possible. Without thinking twice he dove right back into the pile of clothes, covering himself as much as possible all the while holding his breath.
The man burst in, sounding ready to rip somebody's head off and drop-kick it into the pool. Carlos didn't say anything. The man said, "If anybody's in here, you'll come out right now."
Carlos didn't move. Satisfied, the man whirled on his heel and the door shut behind him. Carlos scrambled out of the bin and strapped his helmet on his head, looking worriedly at the door where the man had disappeared to. Good thing he didn't catch him. Otherwise Carlos would be in huge trouble.
Waiting until he was sure the man was gone for good, Carlos eased the door open and slipped into the hallway. Huh. The lobby was empty from he could see from the end of the hall. Where was everybody? It was oddly quiet. Mr. Bitters wasn't at the front desk like he usually was. If this were an old west movie, then a ball of dust would be rolling across the floor right now. Except, probably not, because he was still indoors—
Carlos' thought process ended abruptly as he pulled up short, staring at the sitting area on the other side of the lobby. A bunch of people were crowded there—his friends among them. They all looked scared. Why? Then his eyes traveled to the two men in standing in front of the small crowd of people. They both had guns.
Terror ripped through Carlos and he stood there in the hallway, frozen. Kendall looked up, eyes wandering until they locked on Carlos. The blonde did a double take, mouthing, Carlos?
Carlos gave him a cheeky wave, still unsure of what to do. Kendall jerked his head to the left and Carlos tilted his that way, too, not understanding. Kendall's eyes rolled as he realized Carlos didn't get what he was trying to say and nudged Logan, who was next to him. Redirecting the brunette's attention with a nod in Carlos' direction, Logan nearly jumped as he spotted Carlos in plain view of the gunmen.
Get out of here!
This time Carlos understood the words that Logan mouthed and emphatically shook his head. He wasn't leaving his friends! They looked like they were in danger! By now all three boys were signaling for Carlos to hide so the gunmen wouldn't find them, and Carlos stood there looking confused and determined at the same time.
It wasn't long before the Brit turned around again. He frowned at the three boys as they stared innocently back at him.
"What are you up to?" he asked suspiciously.
"Absolutely nothing," Kendall said with mock-seriousness.
The blondes held stares until the Brit's partner turned around and, much to their horror, spotted Carlos. His mouth popped open like a fish and he didn't seem to know what to say as nothing came out.
"Carlos, run!" the three of them screamed as the Brit turned to see what his partner was staring at.
Carlos didn't need any other encouragement. He started for the pool area but stopped short as a bullet slammed into the vase, three feet from him. With a terrified yelp he turned on his heel, slipping and nearly planting his face in the tile. Catching his footing he raced back down the hallway towards the stairs.
The last thing he heard was the blonde man with the accent, screaming at his partner to follow him.
…
"Find him!" Ethan roared at Don. The brunette squeaked a reply that Ethan couldn't make out and raced down the hall after the boy.
Ethan pushed a hand through his platinum blonde hair and glared at the three boys who'd warned the boy to run. The first was the blonde boy and he seemed to be more defiant than the other two as he held his gaze, anger brimming in his green eyes.
"Who was that brat?" Ethan seethed.
The boy gritted his teeth together and refused to answer. Fine. Ethan lifted his gun and smashed it against the boy's cheek.
"Kendall!" the two with him yelled at the same time, leaning forward only to stop as Ethan aimed his gun at them as well.
The boy in question was bent over, cupping his cheek, but as he straightened up Ethan could tell that the pistol-whipping only seemed to have strengthened his resolve. The defiance was showing outwardly on his face as he slowly crossed his arms over his chest.
Ethan, tired of the games, snatched a handful of his hair and pulled his head back so he could place the gun beneath his chin. "Fine, kid, don't talk. But once my partner catches Carlos—" This time, all three boys flinched, "—I'll be sure to shoot him, right in front of you."
He released the boy, who rubbed at his head, and stalked off.
…
"You okay?" Logan whispered, reaching his hand up to gingerly touch Kendall's cheek.
Kendall swatted him away, wincing. "I'm fine," he muttered, keeping his eyes locked on their blonde captor. "I hate this guy, though."
"It's your own fault for provoking him," James retorted. "Could you just not talk back for a minute or thirty?"
"I can't help it," Kendall protested. "It's like every time he opens his stupid mouth I want to punch him in the nose."
He closed his mouth as the Brit passed close to him, although the man never spared him a second glance.
"Besides," he whispered, "Carlos is our last chance to get out of this alive."
"I feel better already," James hissed sarcastically.
"Shut up," Kendall told him, touching his cheek one last time before sitting on his hands. "If anybody can screw their heads over, it's Carlos."
…
Carlos took the stairs three at a time, going so fast that he tripped more than once and had the bruises on his knees to prove it. Luckily for him, he'd gotten a huge head start. He could hear the bad guy behind him at least two flights down. Unluckily for him, the man was shooting—a lot.
Gunshots didn't bother him much. His dad was a cop, after all, and he used to take Carlos to the shooting range all the time, so he was used to the sound of it. Of course, it was way different when someone was actually shooting at you. Carlos was only too aware of the fragments of tile piercing into his skin as the wall exploded inches from his face.
He didn't even slow down. His helmet was snug against his head as he sprinted up the stairs. He had no idea where he was going. There were only a few more flights until he would be at the top and then he'd be in trouble.
Carlos hit the next floor but didn't turn into the next flight. Instead he raced down the hallway and found himself outside of their apartment room. He didn't have the key, unfortunately. Carlos slumped for a second, leaning against the door as the sound of footsteps pounded up the stairs behind him. The man went right past this floor and continued up. That, at least, bought Carlos some time.
Time to do what, though? Carlos didn't have his phone—it was inside and he lost the key when he went down the laundry chute. His gaze traveled up to spot the air vent above the door.
Carlos grinned.
…
She wasn't here. She wasn't here.
Don wanted to pull his own hair out. He pounded up the stairs but it was a while before he realized that the footsteps he'd been chasing had long since ceased. He barely noticed that fact, though. Don was too stunned as the knowledge fully hit him. His baby girl wasn't here.
He wanted to cry in frustration, but that wouldn't help. Ethan was just as upset as he was—he was practically her uncle, after all—and the two of them were discussing what to do before that kid had interrupted. Don had nearly jumped out of his skin as Ethan started shooting at him.
"Follow him!" he'd screamed angrily. "Don't let him call the police!"
Don had complied, mostly out of fear—fear of losing his daughter again, and fear of Ethan's rage.
But as he slowed to a stop, he came back to awareness. That kid was gone, and so was his daughter. Don brought his hands up to his head, gripping his hair. He could feel the cold pistol against his scalp. It made him shudder to think of how he'd left those kids—that blonde boy in particular—with Ethan. Ethan had a temper and he had a gun, and the boy seemed all too willing to push his buttons.
"I need to get back down there," he said shakily, a clear thought finally forming in his head. He turned around and stumbled back down the stairs before he realized that maybe coming back empty-handed would be a bad idea.
…
Logan looked up as Camille slid into the seat next to him. "How did you get here so fast?" he whispered, keeping an eye on the British man. His back was to them but he periodically looked over his shoulder at the hostages, glaring at Kendall whenever he caught his eye.
"Practice," Camille said, winking. "Now, how are we going to get out of here?"
"Come again?" Logan looked at her like she was crazy. "Did you not see the guy with the gun?"
"I'm not afraid of him," Camille said fiercely. Logan realized for the first time that Camille wasn't really scared of anything. "Anyways, I heard him talking about someone. Somebody named Charlotte." She looked at him, asking quietly if he'd heard of the name.
The American gunman returned—without Carlos, much to Logan's relief. "I couldn't find him," he said quietly to the Brit.
At first the Brit looked so mad Logan thought he was going to shoot the American right there and then, but he took a deep breath and grabbed his shoulder, leading him away slightly so the two could have a whispered conversation.
Once it was clear again, Logan shook his head. "I don't think I know a Charlotte. Do you?"
"No," Camille admitted. "Not since I first came here. But you know what this means, don't you? They don't care about money."
"Right." Logan had pretty much figured that out for himself. The British man had frisked them for their phones only, not for wallets.
"I was just thinking—"
"Oi!" The British man stomped over to them and grabbed Camille's arm. "I thought I told you not to talk!"
"Let go of her!" Logan jumped to his feet, not sure what he wanted to do but more than ready to do it.
Camille, for her part, looked more angry than afraid. She didn't move, glaring at the Brit as he turned his attention to Logan.
"Sit. Down. Boy." He cut each word into its own little sentence.
Logan ground his teeth together. "Not until you leave her alone."
The Brit let go of Camille and raised the butt of his gun, ready to hit Logan, when Kendall shouted, "No!"
He jumped up and stood next to Logan, fingers gripped into fists like he was going to punch him. Across the small sitting space, the American stared, horrified, as if he had no idea what to do.
"What is it with you three?" the Brit asked, annoyed. "You always antagonize a man with a gun?"
With one hand he pointed the gun at Kendall, and with the other he grabbed Logan's upper arm. Logan winced as his fingers pressed into his skin, feeling the bruises forming already. Kendall took a step towards them and the gun went from aiming at him to aiming at Logan's own head.
"Stop it!" Camille cried as the Brit started to drag him backwards, towards the pool area.
Kendall looked frozen and Logan could see James gripping the arms of the chair, half turned towards him with a look of horror on his face. Logan knew what was coming next.
"I think you need to cool off," the man growled in Logan's ear. Before Logan could respond, a crushing pain erupted from the back of his head, flashing bright spots in front of his eyes and leaving him reeling. The edges of his visions darkened and the last thing he heard was Camille screaming his name as he hit the water.
…
Katie wasn't scared of much, but the idea of her brother—all of her brothers—in the hands of gun-wielding creeps shot an arrow of fear through her heart, making it drop in her stomach and lodge there like a ball of packed, tight tension. She'd heard the screams from her window and immediately went into the air vent, a force of habit that she suddenly realized might have saved her life. Now that she was huddled in it, though, she was starting to feel claustrophobic on top of the other fear she had.
She didn't know exactly where she was. There hadn't been a sound since Camille's scream. Katie tried not to think about that—about how Logan could be hurt or even dead right now. She didn't believe that, of course. Believing it made it true. Katie was not about to get caught in this awkward position just because she had an emotional breakdown.
Grunting silently with effort, Katie army-crawled through the air vent. It was the perfect size for her. Katie had always been small for her age. She used to hate it but now, it was the only thing keeping her from freedom and captivity.
Wait, what was that sound? Katie froze and held her breath as the sounds of breathing echoed back to her ears. It was definitely coming from ahead—was there someone in here with here? Katie didn't have time to wonder, and it didn't matter anyways, because in the next second a dark figure came crawling at a frighteningly fast pace, almost knocking into her.
Katie wasn't a screamer, and it was a good thing she wasn't because that dark figure turned out to be Carlos. The older boy's eyes widened in shock, and then in happiness, as he spotted Katie.
"Katie!" he exclaimed. He looked so tiny with his bigger body pressing against the vent's metal walls.
"Carlos?" Katie was smart enough to whisper—who knew how far words carried in these vents? "What are you doing here?"
"Hiding!" Carlos dropped his voice, too. "There are two crazy guys with guns out in the lobby holding everybody hostage!"
Katie winced. For all of his innocence, Carlos was blunt when it came to the scary things.
He seemed to realized he'd said something wrong and flinched a little bit. "Sorry. Kendall, James, and Logan told me to run, so I did. The guy chased me." There was a slight waver in his voice. "He shot at me too. I got away though. I thought you were with Mrs. Knight at the grocery store?"
Katie shook her head. "I got out of it," she said, sounding slightly miserable. "Now I wish I'd gone with her."
Carlos looked ridiculous propped up on his elbows, thick eyebrows pushing together as he gazed at her worryingly. "What are we going to do?" he whispered.
Katie had no idea. Seeing her face, Carlos nodded, eyes suddenly hardening. "We're going to save them."
She blinked, not sure she'd heard him right. "Wait, what?"
…
"What the hell was that for?" Don demanded angrily as the blonde boy—Kendall?—pulled his unconscious friend out of the pool. Ethan looked satisfied, almost smug, like he was being such a nice guy by letting the kids save the boy. "You could've killed him!"
"You don't know this like I do," Ethan told him icily.
That sentence drilled right into Don's heart. He stuck a finger into Ethan's chest. "You do not get off by hurting kids. We're not here to kick around a bunch of teenagers who are my daughter's age. We are here to find her and help her!"
Ethan's piercing blue eyes gazed at Don so harshly that Don was almost afraid he'd said the wrong thing, and that his childhood friend was violent enough to actually make good on the threat's he'd told the kids. But after a second, he took a step back and muttered, "You're the boss."
Right. The boss. Despite this being his daughter they were rescuing, Don couldn't help but feel that him being the boss couldn't be farther from the truth.
…
James was going to murder them. First he would hit them over the head with his mirror, and then wrap his hands around both of their throats and squeeze the life out of them.
Okay, so, probably not. There was no way James was going to get seven years of bad luck by breaking his mirror just to know out some crazy guys with guns. But the moment Logan hit the water, rage had filled him to the brink and he wanted nothing more than to rip the heads off of both of them.
But he couldn't. All he could do was help Kendall fish Logan out of the water. Their fearless leader hadn't even hesitated to dive in after him, gun or no gun. James wished he had that sort of courage and he was ashamed to admit to himself that he'd been frozen to his seat, watching through the window breathlessly as Kendall resurfaced with Logan. It only took the sight of Logan's pale, slack face to spur him into disregarding everything the gunmen said about staying put and run to help his friends.
"Logan!" Camille dashed to his side as the two brought Logan in. "Oh, my God—is he okay?"
"Camille," James said, holding out a hand to her, "give him some space. Wait here, okay?"
She didn't like it, but Camille stood where she was and folded her arms over her chest anxiously.
"Logan?" Kendall called as they laid him across the couch in the lobby. He gently tapped his face and then looked up at James. "I don't think he's breathing."
James' heart stopped. Hands trembling, he pushed two fingers into Logan's neck—he'd seen their future doctor do this millions of times—and searched for his pulse. His eyes widened as he found it. "He's alive," he reported. "But his heartbeat's slow—Kendall, it's getting slower!"
Kendall clenched both hands together and brought them down hard on Logan's chest. James caught his breath as his friend's back arched in the air and came back down. Barely getting his fingers to cooperate, James again searched for Logan's heartbeat. It was steadier. Stronger.
A second later, Logan began to cough, water spilling from his lips and onto the floor. Kendall helped him roll onto his side, slapping his back repeatedly.
"Logan!" Camille knelt by him and hugged him hard, burying her face into his jacket and not caring if it was soaked through.
"I'm good," Logan gasped out finally. "I'm good." He shook his head and ran a hand through his dark hair. "What happened?"
"You got clocked over the head and dumped in the pool." Kendall's voice was tight as he clenched his fists.
Logan looked up and surveyed the two gunmen as they bickered back and forth. "Have they done anything since?"
"No." Camille backed away. "Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared me half to death."
"Sorry," he said, giving her a goofy smile in spite the situation. He looked up at Kendall and James and said, "So… what now?"
"Now," Kendall said, sighing, "we wait for Carlos to call the police. And we try not to aggravate the guys with guns between now and then."
…
"And just how long have you spent in vents before today?" Katie wanted to know as she watched Carlos expertly slide himself out of the vent, feet first.
Carlos shrugged. "School vents are way smaller. This is a piece of cake." He helped her out and they looked around their apartment. "Okay, the phone's over there. You know what you're going to do?"
Katie nodded dutifully. "Call the police, and then go out of the window to the front of the Palm Woods and run, while you make a distraction and attempt to get yourself killed."
"Exactly." The rest of the sentence caught up him. "Wait, no—Katie, I'll be fine."
"Statistics say otherwise," Katie grumbled. "Carlos, this is stupid! Why can't you just come with me?"
"Because they'll see you," Carlos said, exasperated. "I have to give them something to chase so they don't catch you. No more arguments, okay? Just do what I told you."
Katie started for the phone, but she stopped and turned around, wrapping her arms around Carlos tightly. "Please, please don't die," she said, closing her eyes briefly.
Carlos smiled and ran a hand through her hair. "Promise."
She let go and went to the phone, while Carlos stepped outside of the door. He wandered down the hallway until he got to the staircase.
"Two minutes," he said aloud. He would give her two minutes, starting now, before he would go downstairs and try to get one of them to chase him. Carlos felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. He'd done a lot of stupid things and that had never really scared him, but he couldn't help it—he'd never been up against guys with guns.
But this was not the time to chicken out. Carlos squared his jaw and pulled himself to his full 5-foot-six height, patting his helmet quietly. He had always wanted to be a hero—well, this was his chance to shine.
Two minutes were up—or maybe it just felt like two minutes. Carlos slipped onto the first step. His heart pounded crazily, thumping so hard it felt painful. He wasn't scared. He wasn't scared.
Carlos took the first step down.
…
Don was going to lose it. He had been forced to sit here, babysitting these kids and their parents, while Ethan marched up the stairs looking for the kid who'd run out earlier. No way for him to search for Charlotte. No way for him to be sure Ethan wouldn't shoot the kid on sight.
The room was eerily quiet. He surveyed how parents paired with kids. Boys who sat close with girls, so it was made obvious who was dating and who wasn't. Two boys and a girl surrounded the teen Ethan had dumped in the pool, so they must be close. Don turned away. He didn't want to think about how close he'd come to death.
"Katie."
Don looked back and saw the blonde boy—the one who wouldn't stop antagonizing Ethan—staring at him with steely green eyes.
"What?" slipped out of his mouth, even though he didn't mean for it to. He shouldn't be talking with the kid. Ethan had made that clear.
The kid—what was his name? Kendall?—cleared his throat and said softly, "Katie. That's my little sister's name. She's eleven."
The kid on the couch stirred, sitting up and looking at Kendall like he'd jumped off the deep end. "Kendall?"
"I just thought you should know," Kendall said to Don. "In case you were planning on shooting us." He gestured to his friends. "I've known Logan, James, and Carlos—the kid you were chasing earlier—for twelve years. We've been best friends ever since. Camille and Logan are dating. Carlos has never even had a girlfriend, let alone a first kiss."
He looked at Don like that should be significant. Don turned away.
"We're not going to shoot you," he said, glaring at the door. "We were just supposed to get in and get out with what we came for."
"And what did you come here for?" Camille stood up and stormed towards him, and Don's hand automatically came up, clutching the gun.
"Camille," Logan grunted, lurching off the couch. He wavered for a bit as if he had a concussion, but managed the few steps to his girlfriend so he could push her behind him.
Don realized that he had provoked that reaction and guiltily lowered the gun. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered.
"Try me."
The brunette's eyes were fierce. Don was a little surprised at that, but he straightened up slightly. "I'm looking for my daughter," he admitted. "Charlotte La Beau. Her mother picked her up one day without telling me and from what I found out, she came here. About two months ago."
"I don't know a Charlotte," Kendall said quietly. "Camille?"
The girl hesitated. "I think there was one," she said quietly. "When I first came here. I don't know what happened to her, but she's not here anymore."
Don stared at her. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting her to say, but the news that his daughter wasn't here… "We were expecting a fight," he whispered. "Because… because my wife and I had fought the day she left. So we just thought, if we could scare them a little…"
"I don't think you meant anything by it." Surprisingly, it was Logan who spoke up. He sounded more focused now that he was on his feet, staring hard at Don. "If you just let us all go now, I'm sure your sentence will be lighter."
Don didn't know what to say. He gazed at the kids blankly, watching them as they watched him. He blinked, and felt the gun slip from his fingers.
…
Carlos winced as he felt the blonde British man grip his hair. His helmet cracked against the wall of the stairwell as the man ripped it from his head, disregarding it like it was nothing more than what it appeared to be.
"Brat," the Brit snarled in his ear. "Couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" He started to drag Carlos back down the stairs, ignoring Carlos' scrabbling fingers as they tried to ease the yanking the fingers in his hair did. Pain pricked tears in his eyes, but Carlos was too mad about this to cry.
"You know what I promised your friend?" he asked rhetorically. "As soon as I found you, I would shoot you right in front of him. Wonder how he'll react when he sees you, eh?"
Carlos gasped as he missed a step and was sent crashing down the rest of the flight, the hand releasing his hair and shoving him forward. Carlos' world twisted and whirled on its axis as he rolled down the steps and smashed into the door to the next corridor, heading cracking against the plaster. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he rocked back to his feet, only to be grabbed by the man by the arm and dragged further down the stairs.
By the time he fully recovered the man was pushing the door to the lobby open. He could already feel the Brit's fingers bruising his upper arm. Carlos barely noticed, though—his eyes were on Kendall's as the other teen stood up, mouth dropping open in horror.
He noticed the brunette man—the one who'd been chasing him earlier—standing with his gun by his side. Much to Carlos' surprise, Logan and Camille were standing right next to him, unafraid.
"Stop, Ethan," the man said. He was definitely American. "It's over. I'm turning us in."
Ethan did stop—jerking Carlos to a stop as well as he stared open-mouthed at his companion. "What about Charlotte, Don?" he demanded.
"She's not here." Don sounded exhausted and dejected. "These kids confirmed it."
The British man turned purple in the face. "How do you know they're not lying?" he yelled, waving the gun to gesture to Carlos' friends.
"We wouldn't lie," Camille sneered. "Unlike you."
Ethan started to stomp angrily towards her when Don raised his gun slightly. Ethan stopped and stared. "You would shoot me?" he asked incredulously. "Me? We've been best friends for years, Don."
"I barely even recognize you anymore," Don said sadly. "Hurting these kids like it's second-nature to you, threatening their lives and scaring them—it isn't right, Ethan. This plan was doomed from the start."
"How can you say that?" Ethan took a step back, wounded.
"It's over," Don repeated firmly. He nodded to Carlos, who'd wisely chosen to stay silent. "Let him go."
Ethan looked at Carlos. Carlos looked at Ethan. They stared at each other for a second before Ethan released his hold on his arm. Stunned, Carlos stumbled forward, away from Ethan. The blonde hung his head.
Sirens sounded in the distance and several things happened at once. A sharp crash sounded from behind Carlos. Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos spotted Katie as she crouched from behind the side table, where the shattered remains of a vase lay scattered. And as Ethan's hand came up, gun clutched tightly in his fingers, Carlos was already moving.
…
"Come on," Carlos whined, drawing out the last word. "This place is so boring! Can't we just go home now?"
Kendall shook his head incredulously as he stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Carlos, you got shot."
"The doctors told you to stay under observation for at least twenty-four hours," Logan sprung in.
"And to not aggravate your injuries any time after that," James finished. "That means—"
"No going home until tomorrow," the boys finished together, Carlos mimicking in a childish "mom" voice.
"It's just a graze," he complained. "The doctors even said it wasn't that bad."
Logan rolled his eyes. "An inch higher and it would've taken off your ear. Honestly, why couldn't you just leave stuff alone?"
"I dunno." Carlos looked out of the window of his hospital room at the bright Los Angeles sunshine as it started to set. "I just… I saw Katie and I didn't think. I just went."
The boys were quiet as they packed up their things. Visiting hours were over and they were required to leave, but Carlos looked like he might go stir crazy at any moment, despite only being in the hospital for five hours, tops.
Kendall clapped a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "You know, Carlos… you're kind of a hero."
"Really?" Carlos' already wide, expressive eyes grew.
"Of course," James chimed in. "You were the only one who wasn't held hostage with us. You were smart enough to hide."
"You managed to escape Don when he chased after you," Logan added, grinning.
"And," Kendall said finally, "you saved my baby sister." He smiled as the other boys shuffled out of the door. "A definite hero, Carlitos. Thanks."
As he closed the door behind him, Carlos smiled dreamily up at the ceiling, replaying the events in his head—Ethan surrendering after finding he'd almost shot an eleven-year-old, the ride to the hospital with the loud sirens, and Katie's shining tears—happy tears—sliding down her face as she hugged him, the first one into his hospital room.
"A hero," he whispered to the darkness. "Yeah. I'm a hero."