Chapter 9. Help That Never Seems To Come
In the silence, Mike pulled himself together and considered his options. It seemed the would-be rescue party had left, so that meant it was up to him to rescue himself. In the time that seemed to drag on since the familiar seeming voices faded away, he pulled again and again against the cuffs, slowly coating and lubricating them with the blood they drew from his own wrists until finally, at long last, his hands slipped through. By then his entire body was covered in ice cold sweat and his breathing came in short, painful gasps, and yet he knew he couldn't stop. Not if he wanted a chance to escape.
You have to do this, he reminded himself whenever he faltered. She's going to kill you if you don't. Maybe not right away. Maybe she'll just keep on making you wish she'd just get it over with first.
The thought of her with her hands on him again made him feel sicker than any of his injuries did. He was pretty sure he'd could scrub himself raw and still not be rid of that feeling. He tried pushing himself up into a sitting position, but the movement caused the room to tilt and spin wildly. His stomach lurched and he only just managed to lean over the side of the bed before it revolted completely, leaving him with the foul, sour taste of bile in his mouth and a headache so bad he thought he might pass out right there.
No, he ordered himself sternly, blinking away the blackness that threatened. You can't. Not yet. If you do, she'll lock you up again. Move!
He still couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't move them. And the pain that shot through is back and hips at even attempting made him cry out silently, though this time he was grateful at being unable to make a sound. If she was back. If she heard him. That thought prodded him onward. He dragged himself weakly from the bed, sobbing breathlessly as his broken body hit the floor, the room spinning and lurching violently, his stomach threatening once again to do the same.
Now what? That voice that had taunted him since he'd first awakened asked now.
Mike ignored it, pushing himself to his stomach, partly in case his stomach let go again, and partly to make movement easier. He began crawling, using his elbows to dig in and drag himself forward.
faster soldier! An authoritarian voice in his head urged him onward.
The shivering was now full blown shaking, his entire body wracked with pain with each tiny motion, and yet he continued, inch by excruciating inch until he could no longer breathe at all. He knew he couldn't go much further. He looked around a moment before spotting a small space between the freestanding wardrobe. Desperately he forced himself into that space, crying out silently again as he painfully wedged himself in and then reached forward, dragging his legs in as well, folding himself up into it, so that he was effectively concealed from sight.
Just for a minute, he promised himself, knowing there was still a chance he might be found, no matter how well hidden he was. One minute…
The thought barely registered as the blackness swooped in, claiming him at last.
Kaitlyn slowed as she approached her home, noting the police cars surrounding it. Turning off the engine, she allowed herself to coast silently back down the hill a short ways until she reached the mouth of an old hidden dirt road. She coasted the car into the brush, then exited, concealing it carefully there before moving on, a satchel in one hand and a beautiful blonde twelve string guitar in the other. The sun had long since set when at last she reached her destination, a heavy, well concealed wooden door at the base of a very large, very old oak. She set her burdens aside and tugged mightily at it, shouldering it's weight as she set first the guitar, then the satchel within, then eased it silently closed behind her, making certain that no sound dared echo through the forest and alert the officers that she and her lover were there.
"Michael," she called out as she came down the hall. "I'm home."
Kaitlyn opened the door to the room and froze. A slick pool of blood congealed beside the bed only inches from where his empty stomach had still revolted. "Michael?" she called. How had they found him? She wondered. Moving to the wall, she tilted a picture frame slightly to the right and pulling the lever concealed behind it that allowed the pantry shelf to swing into the room. She looked up spotting the open trap door. Hastily pushing the shelf back into place, she looked around again. They can't have gotten far, she knew. Not when the news was still reporting he hadn't been found yet. The ambulance that waited with the police cars suggested that they still hoped to find him alive here, as well.
"Michael," she called again, noticing the bloodstained handcuffs. She turned slowly, looking around the room for what might be out of place. She stormed toward the freestanding wardrobe. "That was a very foolish thing to do, Michael. Now I have to bandage your wrists, too?" She paused, waiting to see if he'd answer her. "They must hurt. Come out and let me have a look at them." Still nothing. "Come out now and I'll go easy on you, Michael. Don't make me drag you out. I'll have to make it hurt much worse if you do. You don't want to do that."
Nothing. Not even a hint of movement.
"Alright, Michael. Such a shame, though. You'll never get your voice back at this rate." Kaitlyn spat, her eyes narrowing. She walked around to the side of the wardrobe and paused. "Last chance, Michael. Come on out and I'll go much easier on you."
She shook the large wooden behemoth, then stomped her foot, narrowly missing Michael's fingers as a hand flopped out of his hiding place, before rounding the wardrobe and flinging the door open. Finding it empty, she turned to survey the rest of the room. "Michael, you need to stop play…." She stopped as the voices came from the other side of the wall.
"I guess they left," one very deep male voice said. " I left them down here looking for a hidden latch or something like that. They seemed convinced he had to be down here somewhere."
"Alright, well, I'll just call them when I get back to the station." The voice of an older sounding man replied. "If they found anything, we'll need to know about it. I want a guard posted outside the front door, and one over by that damned well. When she comes back, I want her, do you understand?"
"yes sir," the first voice replied smartly.
The second faded as they mounted the steps back up into the house, telling the guard that he was going to ask the boys where else she might have gone.
Kaitlyn waited, barely managing to contain her fury, until the voices had faded completely. "NOOO," she screamed. "He's MINE! Those BASTARDS!" She went on and on, screaming and ranting, as she picked up the guitar and smashed it against the wardrobe. She began throwing things around the room, continuing until the she reached the lamp, throwing it against the wall by the wardrobe, then howling when it went out.
"They want war." She said after several long moments there in the darkness. "They've got it. Nobody takes what's mine and lives." She hurried back the way she'd come, pushing open the heavy door and sneaking off into the night.
The boys had ridden in white knuckled silence as Shug insisted on driving them home. Once there, she stormed into the Pad and up the stairwell, tersely announcing, "Need a shower." Peter exchanged looks with the others, then followed up her the stairs, suspecting she'd need him.
From outside the bathroom door, he could hear the sounds of the water almost but not quite hiding her sobs. Tapping lightly on the door, Peter called out, "Shug?" He waited for an answer, though he didn't really expect one. When the sobbing continued, he tried the handle. Surprised to find it unlocked, he stepped inside. She sat curled into a ball, crying helplessly as the water beat down upon her. Hesitating for only a moment, Peter disrobed and stepped in, seating himself beside her in the tub, and drew her into his arms, smoothing her hair and making soft soothing sounds in an effort to comfort her, though he felt as if his own heart were breaking as well.
"Shhh," he whispered, places soft kisses along her temple. "don't, Shug. Don't give up. We'll find him. I promise, we'll find him." He had to believe that. He couldn't accept that his friend was gone any more than she could.
Shug turned into his embrace, still crying, her softness pressed into him, her hips flush against him. Peter felt his arousal growing in spite of the situation and silently chastised himself. What kind of jerk gets hard while comforting his distraught girlfriend?
The kind sitting stark naked in a bathtub with her warm, soft, wet body pressing all against him, his mind answered, causing him to blush. He kissed her once more upon the temple, surprised when she raised her eyes to meet his closing then as her lips met his, needing to be distracted from everything happening, if only for a few moments.
His hands make their way down her back as she rose up onto her knees, pressing herself fully against him a moment before straddling him.
"I need you, Pete," she pleaded softly. "Please. It hurts."
Peter wrapped his arms around her, kissing her slowly and tenderly at first, then with increasing passion. He placed his hands upon her narrow waist, guiding her onto him carefully before allowing them to slide around her again, holding her tightly, letting her take whatever she needed from him.
Shug began to rock her hips slowly at first, riding him gently. Peter shifted slightly, angling his hips so that her clit was brushed with each movement. A breathy moan escaped her as she picked up the pace, lowering her head onto his shoulder. "Oh, fuck, Pete…I need more…"
Peter held her ass in his hands and angled his hips further, moving so that not only was her clit brushed, but also so that he stroked her g-spot with each thrust as well. Her moans grew louder, his mouth capturing them, savoring them as if they had a flavor of their own. He picked up the pace gradually, smiling as he continued kissing her, her moans giving way to screams as she neared orgasm. Peter could feel her tightening her inner muscles and gasped. "Shug, I'm going to…"he tried to warn her, only to feel her lips pressed to his again, her muscles tightening further, her hips driving him insistently onward. They came together, holding onto one another as if each feared the other might disappear the moment they let go. Only when they'd caught their breath, did they stand together, still clinging to one another, the water washing away the sweat and tears as they wept together, both for what they'd found, and for what was still tragically lost.
Davy flung himself on the couch. "We need to go back there. He has to be there somewhere."
"I know." Micky agreed. "I'm just not sure where else to look."
"I thought sure we'd find him when you found that trap door." Davy grumbled, throwing a pillow across the room. "She can't have taken him too far hurt like they said, can she?"
Micky shook his head. "I still think we missed something in that pantry. She's got to have him down there somewhere. We just needed to find a lever or switch or something. I bet he was right there."
"We called for him." Davy reminded Micky as if he could possibly have forgotten. "If he was there, don't you think he'd have answered?"
"Unless," Micky replied after a moment, his eyes taking on that half wild look they got when he became excited. "What if he couldn't answer? What if we he heard us, but couldn't answer."
Davy jumped up, growing excited as well. "What are we waiting for? We have to go back!"
"I'll go get…" Micky began, when the sound of Shug's cries reached them. "On second thought, maybe we'll just leave a note."
Davy nodded, writing one out quickly, then hurrying for the door as Micky grabbed his keys and following just a step behind him.
They'd only been gone a few minutes when the phone began to ring.
"Micky….Davy…" Peter called from upstairs. "Can one of you answer that?"
After several more rings, peter dashed down the stairs clad only in a towel, with a similarly dressed Shug following in his wake. Shug reached for the phone as she spied the note, holding it up for Peter to read. "Bet they forgot somethin'?"
"Yeah…like us, maybe?" Peter sighed, watching as Shug answered the phone, then froze. Wide eyed, she angled the receiver so that he could hear as well.
"…wasn't too upset about your little visit, given that I paid you one as well, but you took something that wasn't yours to take," the voice on the other end said flatly. "That was really not smart, Sugar. You know how I feel about that. I'll make it easy on you. Put him on the porch and I won't come in. We'll go on with our lives and leave you to yours. Otherwise, just remember you chose this ending, not me." There was a click and the line went dead.
"Wait, she's coming here?" Peter's voice rose almost an entire octave as the memory of the well hit him.
"She thinks we took Michael," Shug said, her brow furrowed. "He's got away." She looked up at Peter hopefully. "He can't have been hurt as bad as them boys said if he got away from her, right? We just have to wait by the phone. Someone'll be calling to tell us where he is any time now."
"Shug, she's coming here," Peter repeated, panic rising at the thought. "It won't help if nobody's alive when they call." He reached out and took her hand, heading for the stairs. "come on, we have to hide."
A knock at the door followed by a loud report announced Kaitlyn's arrival as the door was blown off of its hinges. They were already too late.
