A/N: As I warned you last week, this chapter is very short. InSilva says that I should blame her for this. To be honest I'm not sure why but I'm willing to go along with it. *shrug* It's all InSilva's fault. Apparently.
Saul stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. The lump on his head was looking ugly. Noticeable. Didn't hurt too much at least, but it was going to attract attention. That was the last thing he needed.
God. This was a nightmare. His hands gripped the sink tightly and the image of Mike punching Rusty was just as sharp in his mind as the ropes and the blood and the pliers.
They'd lived through this before. He knew that.
"Stupid bastard never learned. No matter how much he got beat."
Just the thought of that voice, that man...his fists were clenched.
They were supposed to be safe. No more pain. No more fear. They'd thought they were safe and then Saul had come along with his clever schemes and his enemies and he'd dragged them straight into a hell that was none of their making.
He was going to get them back. He was going to make sure they were safe.
When he walked out into the living room, he found Bobby staring down at the phone.
"Everything alright?" he asked sharply, suddenly afraid.
Bobby looked up at him. "The first envelope came to your apartment," he said quickly. "Patrick knows where you live. And you're what this is all about."
He didn't have to be reminded of that. His mouth was dry. "You think he might get in touch?"
"He wants you to suffer," Bobby said, and his eyes were dark and apologetic. "He's going to want to hear from you. See how he's doing."
Yes. Saul shivered. That seemed likely. And Patrick wasn't going to want to be kept waiting. God...If he'd tried to get in contact, and Saul wasn't there... Somehow he didn't think that Patrick would take that well. "We need to go," he said urgently.
Bobby grabbed his arm before he went to open the door to his apartment. "All we know is that he knows where you live," he muttered urgently. "I go first."
There was a gun in Bobby's hand and Saul was staring. It was just...unexpected. And he tried not to think that it was at least a little more comforting than it was disturbing.
He followed Bobby into the dark apartment. Nothing. No one.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing. They could go and check out the strip joint. Track down Mike and his friend. Find the boys.
Then he noticed that Bobby was staring at the answering machine.
Two messages. He looked at Bobby for a long moment then reached out and heavily pressed play. The first message.
"Hello, Saul," Patrick's voice said, breathy and cheerful and Saul clenched his teeth, fighting back the useless rage and fear. "I hear you decided to start looking for your children at long last. Four days? Really?" He sighed. "And now you're not even in. I guess you don't care about them nearly as much as I thought."
He couldn't quite choke back the soft noise of agonised protest. Four days. He'd left the boys alone, in the hands of a monster, for four days.
"I'm afraid that Daniel and Robert can't come to the phone right now," Patrick added giddily. "They're a little preoccupied. But they send their love. Or at least, I'm sure they would, if they had the slightest idea what this was about." He giggled. "Did you notice that? I told them this was about their Daddy, and they didn't think of you. Not once. I bet that hurts."
His face was blank. Didn't matter that Patrick couldn't see him. He still wasn't rising to the bait.
"If you go back to the PO box, I've left you something there," Patrick told him. "Just a little update on how the boys are doing. I'm sure you want to know. After all. Such a lot has...such a lot can happen in four days, can't it?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I want you to know how it feels to be helpless. I want you to know how it feels like to know that somewhere, out of your reach, your son is hurting, and you don't know how and you don't know why, and you can't make it stop. I want you to live on nothing but the tiniest scraps of information, waiting for the day you have to admit he's dead. Then, maybe, you'll begin to understand what you did to me!"
He'd started in a whisper. By the end he was screaming, and the hairs on the back of Saul's neck were standing up.
The message cut off abruptly.
He was vaguely aware of Bobby beside him, shifting uneasily, and in some small part of his brain, he knew that Bobby was sifting through Patrick's words, looking for clues, looking for anything relevant. But all Saul's attention was on the answering machine, and he didn't dare look away.
The second message, and it was Patrick's voice again, and this time he started out angry.
"You cheated!" he howled, loud and uproarious outrage. "Do you think the rules don't apply to you? Do you think you're better than me? You were waiting at the post office. Treacherous bastard. Just like before."
He winced, a little, at the reminder that he'd fooled Patrick before, tricked Patrick before, and the stakes had seen so high at the time and victory had tasted so sweet.
He seemed to calm down, giggling darkly. "Not that it did you much good, now, did it? See? Even when you're cheating you still can't win."
Not true. Not true. And this wasn't a game and there was nothing that he'd consider cheating, no steps that crossed the line. Anything was acceptable.
"So, there are rules," Patrick went on slowly. "I would have expected you to understand that. But since you seem to be getting a little slow in your old age...You don't try and find me. I'll find you. Whenever I want. You don't try and find your boys. They're mine now. You don't tell anyone about our little game. This is between me and you." He laughed softly to himself. "No one else gets to play."
Saul glanced sharply at Bobby, fear gripping him. Patrick couldn't know...there was no way that Patrick could know. And if he did, he would have said. They were okay, for the time being.
Bobby nodded quickly, and Saul would guess that they were both coming up with ways of keeping Bobby's actions invisible.
"And those are the rules," Patrick finished up. "It's really up to you whether or not you stick to them. There are penalties, if you don't, naturally, but..." Saul could hear the smile in his voice. Could picture it, sharp and wolf-like. "I suppose you're not the one who has to pay it." He raised his voice. "You ready?"
The sound of struggling. Swearing. Raised, frantic, frightened voices. Rusty. Danny.
"Fuck off already...no!"
Anger breaking off into sudden panic.
"Let go of him, you sick bastard!"
Absolute fury. Total fear.
"Danny!"
High and childish, a desperate, hopeless plea.
"Don't...Don't do this...Please..."
Pleading and desperate and broken.
"Talk to you soon," Patrick said with renewed good humour.
The message came to an end.
