Chapter Three

The second day was a whirlwind nightmare down in the city. Yugi and all of the others had been searching high and low for Mokuba, Lector, and their treacherous captor, barely giving themselves any time to sleep. The Big Four joined the search as well, but no one came up with even the slightest hint of where they were.

"Come on, man," Joey said to Gansley at one point, "you've gotta remember something about this creep besides the fact that he liked holding knives on people for no logical reason! Hobbies, friends, something!"

"Don't you think I've been trying?!" Gansley snapped. "All I remember is how sadistic he was. When he wasn't working, he was looking at books and websites about torture! That alone would have caused me to fire him if he hadn't tried to attack an innocent employee for some imaginary insult!"

Joey cringed. "Are you serious?! Man, what is the matter with this guy?!"

"That's what I wondered," Gansley growled. "But once I fired him, I didn't think any more about him. He was nothing to me."

"While he never stopped thinking about you or how to get revenge on you," Tristan remarked. "That's a dark irony for you."

"And there hasn't been any word from this madman today at all," Seto snarled. "Not about Mokuba."

"Well, we can't stop looking," Marik declared, clenching a fist. "They have to be somewhere!"

But wherever that somewhere was, they couldn't seem to find it.

xxxx

The bad news only got worse as the day dragged on. Everyone finally gave up the search for the time being, knowing they needed to refuel and perhaps try to find a new angle for possible success. Towards evening Gansley took a phone call that left him sheet-white as he hung up the phone.

"What was it?!" Nesbitt demanded.

"The lab has finished their tests on the arm," Gansley rasped. "According to their results . . ." He passed a hand over his forehead and slumped into a chair. He didn't need to finish his sentence.

Nesbitt snarled. "Well, we all really knew it, didn't we?!"

"We were hoping it wasn't true!" Crump snapped back.

Johnson was also badly shaken, but when he took in Gansley's appearance, something else worrisome occurred to him and he hurried over. "Gansley, are you alright?!" he exclaimed.

Crump stiffened. He hadn't stopped to think, but all of this stress and horror could very easily be pushing Gansley towards a heart attack. Maybe that was even what Cove intended. He probably knew about Gansley's heart problems.

"None of us are alright," Gansley growled.

"Yes, but your heart . . . !" Johnson bent and placed a hand over Gansley's heart, trying to tell whether the heartbeat was irregular.

Gansley let him. "Strangely enough, I haven't had any trouble with my heart since we were brought back from the dead by that angel," he said.

Nesbitt raised an eyebrow. "You think you were healed?"

"I don't know," Gansley said. "I did have a doctor's appointment and he couldn't find anything wrong. . . . But blast it, it's Lector we need to worry about right now!"

Johnson straightened. "Cove wouldn't know you've been healed," he said. "Maybe he's hoping to drive you to your death by doing this to Lector!"

"He's driving himself to his own death," Gansley snarled. He grabbed his cane. "Let's go look for Lector again. It's all we can do."

No one disagreed, even though it seemed a hopeless cause. They all followed him to the door.

Crump looked sick as the telephone call's meaning really started to sink in. "Poor Lector. . . . He really is being . . ." He swallowed hard.

"If he's still alive, there's some hope," Gansley growled. "There are incredible prosthetics these days. . . ." He threw the front door open and stormed onto the porch.

"But to lose so much of himself," Johnson whispered in horror.

"That's why we have to find him before he loses any more!" Gansley screamed. He stumbled down the steps, nearly falling more than once.

"Be careful!" Nesbitt suddenly boomed. "Even if your heart's okay now, your legs aren't!"

"Bah!" Gansley snapped back. He went to the limousine and practically wrenched the door open, not bothering to wait for the chauffeur.

"Hey, wait!" Crump exclaimed. "You're in no condition to drive!" He ran over. "You didn't let Lector drive in New Orleans when he was so upset about his dad. Don't you try driving when you're like this!"

Gansley whipped to look at him with dangerous, flashing eyes. But he knew Crump was right. Snarling, he went around to the passenger side.

Crump exhaled sharply and climbed into the driver's seat. "Look, I know you're feeling like this is your fault, but it's not," he said. "You couldn't have known that creep would flip and do something like this."

"I knew he was dangerous," Gansley retorted. "That was why I fired him!"

"And you knew he needed treatment, but all you could do was recommend it. You couldn't make him use it," Crump said. He waited while Johnson and Nesbitt drove out first in their cars. Then he started to back out of the driveway.

"Martin Cove is doing this to get at me," Gansley said. "He's taking Lector apart because of me!" He slammed his hand on the inside of the door. "Lector is suffering . . . because of me. . . ."

Crump's heart twisted as he heard the anger give way to utter helplessness. "You had to fire that creep," he said quietly. "You were thinking about the safety of all the other employees. Lector is suffering because Martin Cove is a sadistic, twisted nut. You know he'd never blame you."

". . . I know," Gansley finally agreed. "But I feel so helpless. . . ."

"Me too," Crump whispered.

xxxx

Nesbitt was tightly clutching the steering wheel of his car, his knuckles white. It probably hadn't been a good idea for him to try driving any more than it had been for Gansley to do so. He was so tense at the moment that he feared the slightest grievance might completely set him off. Presently he pulled over to the curb, shaking, and just sat there as he tried his hardest to calm down. It really seemed an impossible task.

Lector was being mutilated. . . . Now they knew it for certain. Nesbitt really didn't believe Lector was still alive, but regardless, finding out what was happening to him was a horrific blow. When he thought of some sadistic madman laughing like a maniac and desecrating his friend's body, he just felt like screaming and pounding on someone—maybe anyone who pushed the wrong buttons for him right now. Lector had been right; Nesbitt could try to pretend to be robotic and emotionless, but in actuality he was anything but. He had been trying so hard not to break during this catastrophe, but he didn't know how much longer he could put up such a front.

"Nesbitt?"

He looked up with a start. Seto Kaiba, of all people, had pulled up alongside his vehicle and was frowning at him. Did he actually look . . . concerned?

Nesbitt rolled down the window. Seto leaned out of his, his eyes narrowed. "You found out something, didn't you."

Nesbitt looked away. "The police lab called back. . . . The arm is Lector's. No doubt the foot is too."

Seto snarled. "And when was I going to be informed of this? Mokuba is there with him while this is going on!"

Nesbitt slammed his hand on the steering wheel, accidentally setting off the horn. "Mokuba isn't being cut to pieces!" he screamed.

"No, but if he's watching, he's being tortured the same as you people are!" Seto shot back. "And you can bet his spirit is being cut to pieces!"

Nesbitt trembled. Out of all of them, he still struggled the most with his feelings towards Seto. This wasn't helping.

Seto clenched his teeth. "I'm sorry about Lector, whether you believe that or not. I don't want to see him treated cruelly like this. But naturally I'm worried mostly for Mokuba, just as you're worried mostly for Lector."

"I know." Nesbitt still wouldn't look at him. It made logical sense. But his best friend was being taken apart and they were all helpless to stop it. It was so tempting to just leap out of the car and hit Seto or pound him into the pavement, taking out all of his bottled-up emotions on the former boss he still didn't like. . . . But another part of him really didn't want to; Seto was an ally now. Maybe if he didn't look, he could fight off those feelings. . . .

"We've gone through just about everywhere in town," Seto said. "We need to start branching out to the surrounding area. They have to be nearby, if Cove is coming to hand-deliver his sick packages."

"That's what we're going to do," Nesbitt growled.

"Can you drive in your state?" Seto sounded skeptical at best.

"Yes, I can drive!" Nesbitt snapped. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to looking!" He revved the engine and sped off without another word.

Seto glowered after him. "You'd better not get into a car wreck, Nesbitt," he muttered before rolling up the window again.

xxxx

Johnson wasn't faring a whole lot better. He wasn't teetering on the edge of violence, but his smooth demeanor had certainly been torn away—not that it hadn't already crumbled. He hadn't really been able to pull himself together since the delivery of the first note and package.

It was strange; as a lawyer he had seen all manner of gory and grotesque images on his studies and occasionally on his cases, but he had never batted an eye. He hadn't ever quite reached the point of being able to examine gruesome photographs or documents over food, but he certainly hadn't been brought to the point of being physically ill over them. Yet that first sight of the severed arm and the very thought that it was Lector's had left him unable to hold anything down. At least he had made it to the bathroom first, although he knew all of the others were aware of what he had been doing. Somehow it didn't humiliate him, as he had thought it might.

He hadn't had the same extreme reaction over the next delivery. Maybe he had been trying to build up immunity to it, or maybe he had been trying to tell himself it really wasn't Lector's. But now they knew the arm was, and later tests would likely bring the same results for the foot. First he had panicked over Gansley's health. Then they had all run out, heartsick and agonized and desperate to find their loved one. Now he was alone, with his thoughts really sinking in that Lector was being hurt in such a sadistic way. If he was possibly still alive, he would never be the same. Johnson had read countless accounts of people who emotionally fell apart over losing parts of their body. Lector would likely try to be dignified about it, but Johnson was sure it would tear him up inside.

And if he wasn't alive. . . .

Johnson pulled over to the curb and slumped over the steering wheel in utter anguish. Brought to tears twice in as many days, after not having cried since childhood. . . .

At least, he supposed as he drew a shaking breath and straightened up moments later, it was better than throwing up again.

xxxx

Lector didn't know how long he had been unconscious when he finally felt awareness slipping over him again. He also wasn't sure that it was a welcome feeling. "Oh. . . ." Pain shot through his body and he hissed, abandoning his idea of moving.

Mokuba jumped. "Lector?!"

Lector looked up. Mokuba was standing over him, his bandanna damp with water from the sink. "Mokuba," he mumbled. "You're . . . really here?"

"Of course I'm really here," Mokuba said in disbelief.

"Lately I find myself wondering, what's the dream and what's reality?" Lector said. "I know what seems to be real is that you're here with me, and any time my mind goes fuzzy is most likely when I'm being drugged. I feel like I'm coming out of being drugged now. But what if I've got it backwards? What if my mind is playing tricks on me and you're not really here?" He held up his right arm. "What if I'm only imagining that my arm is still intact? Maybe he really did cut it off, like he said he did. . . ."

Mokuba stared at him. "Cut off your arm?! What are you talking about?!"

"That's what he said he did—he cut my arm off and sent it to Gansley," Lector mumbled. "Then he cut my foot off. . . . I was limping last night . . . maybe that's why. . . ."

A horrified chill went up Mokuba's spine. He wasn't sure what was worse: the thought of severed limbs really being sent to their loved ones, or Lector believing his limbs were being sent. "Lector . . . please don't say that!" he begged. "I'm here . . . and so's your arm and your foot! He didn't cut them off!"

"If you're really here, then that's true," Lector mused. "But if you're a phantom of my mind, you're probably only saying what I want to hear."

"I'm not just saying it!" Mokuba wailed. "Lector . . . I don't know what I'll do if you stop believing in me. . . ."

Lector was silent.

Mokuba's heart pounded in his ears. Maybe Cove wasn't just telling Lector of how the others were suffering. Maybe he was also trying to plant subliminal suggestions that Mokuba wasn't really there. And maybe under the influence of the drugs, Lector was starting to believe it.

At last Lector spoke again, seeming more coherent. "Mokuba . . . I hoped you'd got away. . . ."

"I couldn't leave you here like this," Mokuba whispered.

"No," Lector sighed, though he had to admit he was grateful. "I suppose you couldn't."

"Are you feeling any better now?" Mokuba asked. "I mean, do you know I'm really here again?"

Lector gave him a strange look. "Of course I know it. . . ."

This only scared Mokuba more, not less. "You don't remember," he gasped.

"Remember what?" Lector frowned.

"You thought maybe I'm not real," Mokuba said. He bit his lip. "Maybe it was just what was left of the drug talking. I hope so. . . ."

Lector was concerned now. "Mokuba, I am so sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to say anything to frighten you. . . ."

"You couldn't help it," Mokuba said, shaking his head. "It was all him.

"What'd he do it for?!" he suddenly sobbed. "There wasn't any reason! There wasn't . . ."

"Just to show his power," Lector said bitterly. "And maybe to humiliate me. . . . It's not so easy to overpower me in a fair fight, but he doesn't know the meaning of fair."

"And the stuff he said. . . . I couldn't hear it all, but he was liking how heartbroken your friends must be. . . ."

Lector's eyes steeled with resolve. "We have to get out of here," he said.

"Yeah, but . . . there's not a way," Mokuba protested.

"Maybe there is now. Just before he drugged me, I slipped this out of his pocket." Lector held up a long nail.

". . . I don't even want to know why he was carrying that," Mokuba said.

"Try picking the lock with it," Lector said, handing it to him. "I'll try to get up in a minute."

"You just rest," Mokuba insisted as he took the object to the door.

It was difficult to fit the nail in the lock at all, and then when it was in, difficult to get it to work like a lock-pick. But Mokuba was determined, and he scowled as he fought with the object to make it work the way he wanted it to. The nail fell from his hands several times during the battle, finally rolling far enough away that Mokuba couldn't reach through the bars and get it back. He turned away, his shoulders slumping.

"You tried your best," Lector insisted. "It wasn't ever going to work."

"Maybe it would have, if you'd done it," Mokuba muttered. "Things like that don't work for me."

"Now, that's not true," Lector scolded. "You got away from Pegasus and from the Rare Hunters. And you saved Marik when he was locked in my father's warehouse."

Mokuba trudged back to the bed and sank down on the edge. "I couldn't stay away from Pegasus," he said. "I got caught again and then he took my soul."

Lector went stiff. "He did what?!"

Mokuba turned to look at him. "You didn't know?"

Lector's tan skin had gone pale. "No. . . . I had no idea. I was angry enough as it was when I found out you were a prisoner in the dungeon and not being treated like a guest. If I had known that Pegasus had done something like that. . . ." He shook his head. He wasn't sure what he would have done.

Worry flickered through Mokuba's eyes. Something newly stressful like this could make Lector even more worse off than he currently was. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "It's all over now, Lector," he soothed. "I'm okay. . . ."

Lector just groaned and looked away, covering his eyes with a hand. "I knew partnering with Pegasus was a bad idea as soon as he wanted to take you. None of us wanted anyone hurt then. But Pegasus didn't care. He kidnapped you and his men tried to kill Seto. Now to find out he did something like this . . . !"

"Lector!" Mokuba wailed. "I'm okay now. Everything's over." He took Lector's free hand and squeezed as tightly as he dared. "Lector, please. . . . Don't make yourself sick over this. . . . I . . . I'll blame myself for it. I'm the one who brought it up. I didn't realize. . . . I thought you knew. . . ."

Lector started. He took his hand away from his eyes, sickened now to realize how distressed his behavior was probably making Mokuba. "Alright," he said. "I'll try to calm down. Mokuba, it isn't your fault. None of these things are your fault!"

"I couldn't even help you," Mokuba said bitterly. "I was right here and I couldn't do anything. I just got dumped in the other cell!"

"You did help me, Mokuba," Lector said. "I knew I needed to be strong for you, so I fought hard not to break. Honestly, I would have lasted a lot longer. Cove was getting angry with me and finally just struck me on the head to end it."

Mokuba looked at him in horror. "Oh no. . . ."

"I'm alright," Lector said. "If I'm not going to get upset about what Pegasus did to you, then you need to stay calm about this."

Mokuba bit his lip but finally nodded. "Okay. . . ."

"I know whatever he was saying was horrible, but I wish I could remember it," Lector frowned. "He was telling me what was happening to the others. I need to know. . . ."

"He wasn't talking loud enough for me to hear," Mokuba said regretfully, "but you were sure angry about it. Any time he talked to you, that's when you screamed . . . not when you were getting beat up. . . ." He looked away. He didn't think he should mention what Lector had been saying about Cove sending the Big Four severed limbs and telling them they were Lector's, or that Lector wondered if he really was being mutilated and was blocking it out.

"They're suffering," Lector said in despair. "I know they're suffering and I can't do anything to get back to them and let them know I'm alright . . . !"

"You should just think about resting," Mokuba protested. "You're not alright!"

Outside, the bell in the church tower started ringing.

"It's getting dark," Lector mumbled. He tried to move over on the bed and hissed in pain.

"Don't move, Lector," Mokuba pleaded. "I'll be okay. I'll fall asleep sitting up or lay on the floor or something."

"I don't want you to have to do that," Lector retorted. Anyway, he didn't really want to be conquered by his injuries. He should be able to make himself move. . . . But after another attempt, he gave up. Maybe when Mokuba was actually ready to sleep, he could try again.

Mokuba looked uneasily toward the window. He wanted to think about something, anything other than the messed-up town they were in, or the possibility that the hanging shadow would be back tonight. ". . . How long have you known the other guys?" he asked.

"Oh . . . a long time." Lector was slightly surprised by the query, but at the same time, he appreciated the diversion. "I've known Crump the longest. . . . I wasn't even Gozaburo's assistant at that time. I hired him when I was impressed by his accounting skills. He was always . . . unusual, and I can't say we always got along, but he liked me and often wanted to talk to me, and somehow we ended up good friends. I tried not to make enemies on my way up the corporate ladder, and I had quite a few acquaintances, but I wouldn't say I had many actual friends until then."

"I was never really sure what to make of Crump," Mokuba admitted.

"Neither were a lot of people," Lector said. "He loved penguins . . . decorated his cubicle with figures and small stuffed animals . . . and then he'd have a calendar with women in bathing suits."

Mokuba snorted. "He never seemed that friendly either. . . ."

"It depended on who you were," Lector said. "I confess I don't really know why he liked me. There were those who thought he was just trying to butter me up so I'd keep promoting him. Maybe I entertained that thought at first, but soon I realized he genuinely wanted a friend."

Mokuba smiled a bit. "That's nice. . . ."

"Then Nesbitt came along, several years younger than me and eager to get into the technology department. I was Gozaburo's assistant by then. We both liked his designs and he quickly got into a position of power in his department. Nesbitt and I did not particularly care for each other, however. He knew better than to pick fights with me since I was his superior, but I could always tell when he was frustrated with me. I was exasperated with him on occasion as well; he always had an impulsive streak. At times I had to point out an error he'd made. He'd take it, but he always hated it."

"He sure likes you now," Mokuba said.

"I don't think that really came to be until we both became members of the board of directors," Lector said. "We were on equal ground then, and we started having our infamous little spats." He paused. "I don't fully know when he came to care about me. For my part, it was very gradual. I came to see beyond the reckless fool and even the visionary designer to the lonely man who wanted understanding and friendship. He would never have admitted to those desires, but when I realized and extended them to him, he occasionally let down his defenses towards me. But it was also just how closely we worked together. You can't work that closely with someone and not come to care about them . . . if you don't end up hating them. That work formed a bond of mutual trust . . . and love."

"And that's awesome," Mokuba said. "You guys are such great friends.

"And Gansley and Johnson joined together, I remember that," he continued.

"Yes, Johnson was Gansley's lawyer at one of Gansley's businesses. He won a highly publicized case for Gansley and Gozaburo was intrigued. He had me try to recruit them both for KaibaCorp. Of course, it worked."

"How did you get along with them?" Mokuba wondered.

"Gansley was always a consummate professional," Lector said. "He respected my position of power even as he planned on how to achieve something on the same level, if not higher. I in turn respected him as a very knowledgeable businessman. I don't entirely like to say this, as we're not that far apart in age, but sometimes I saw him somewhat as a father figure."

"You probably did even more after your dad disowned you," Mokuba said softly.

"Yes," Lector agreed. "Then there was Johnson, always smooth and smug and arrogant. He never lost his composure. I sometimes found myself wondering if there was really any more to him than the clever lawyer. But he loved us all more deeply than we realized for a long time. He and Crump . . . they were the ones always inviting the rest of us to their houses, or to Johnson's cabin here in the canyons. At first it was just business associates enjoying a little time off together, but then I started to realize that despite our working together every day, we all honestly wanted to be with each other when we weren't working." Anguish passed through his eyes. "I can't stand to think of what they all must be thinking right now. . . ."

"You guys all have something really special," Mokuba said, wanting to steer conversation away from the Big Four's current feelings. "Seto and I were sure upset when you started scheming, and of course we still don't like what you did, but I guess it is pretty meaningful that none of you started trying to backstab each other. You all wanted each other to succeed."

"Gansley would say it was only the most logical business decision to stay united," Lector said, "but none of us ever considered getting ahead without the others. It had to be all of us."

"I'm glad," Mokuba said. "So you all did have some honor, and that's probably helped you all want to change your lives around."

"I would say it's more our respect and love for each other . . . and the logical realization that we were all stuck in a rut," Lector remarked.

"Well, whatever, it's great." Mokuba smiled, and half without thinking, he laid down on the edge of the bed. "I missed you a lot, Lector. I'm so glad you're back."

"So am I," Lector mused. He managed to turn onto his side and gently brought an arm around Mokuba to keep him from falling off the bed. He caught sight of the silhouette hanging from the ceiling, but he said nothing. Mokuba was dozing; there was no need to torture him with the news that the phantom was back.

Mokuba was really there, wasn't he?

Of course he was, Lector told himself. He had to be. He couldn't be losing his mind so seriously as to imagine an innocent boy being kidnapped along with him, could he?

He looked down at his right arm, draped protectively around the sleeping child. Surely he couldn't also imagine this. . . .

What if he could, though? What if he was alone and his arm and foot were gone and he couldn't deal with it or the thought that the other men were being tormented with them, so he was imagining his body still whole and Mokuba there with him as a coping mechanism?

Troubled, he shuddered and sank deeper into the pillow.

Oh please, God, no.