I woke up with a massive headache, and one thought. Why is it always me? I'm the one who just has to go and get kidnapped. Over and over again. But this was my career path. I wanted to be an NCIS agent, so this probably wouldn't stop. But I needed to get a dog or something. Or I needed to be more aware of my surroundings. Twice in 2 months. That was bad for my pride. I was oddly okay with it though.
Despite the threat of imminent death.
Couldn't I at least finish college? I mean, I just had one more month to go. Then I was done with my education. I probably couldn't become an NCIS agent until I was 21, but I could still intern. And if I managed to land a spot in Gibbs' team, than it wouldn't matter anyway. After that, then I could get kidnapped and risk immanent death. For heaven's sake! I just turned 17.
I should probably be disturbed by my macabre sense of humor. But then again, laughing and joking about it beat the alternative. Crying and screaming. Definitely better to joke about it.
I didn't open my eyes, and continued to feign sleep. For now, it seemed that I was safe if I was still void to the world.
My arms were tied behind me, and chilly air wrapped around my bare arms. I was propped up against a wall. I flexed my hands experimentally. The ropes were tied like a sailors. In other words, no chance of getting them loose.
I was, however, still wearing my boots, and my belt was still there. I probed the back of it as slowly as I could, so I didn't make noise, and was pleased to find the knife still there. I would hate to get blood on it so soon, but I might not be able to help it.
I listened to the noise around me, and heard rustling. And clicks. It was almost like someone was building something. Something metallic if the ringing was anything to go by.
Speaking of ringing, did I still have my phone? I flexed my leg. Nope.
Unfortunately, that seemed to gain my captors attention, because the tinkering stopped.
I heard a rustle, then boot steps neared me.
"Oh. Are you waking up?" A soft voice reached my ears. It was male, and sweet. It had a musical quality to it, and, despite knowing that he had knocked me out and kidnapped me, I liked it.
I knew that I was busted, so I went through the motions of waking up with a headache (Which wasn't that hard, since the headache had not gone away. But I had been dealing with migraines most of my life, I knew how to handle a headache).
I winced, moved my head side to side slowly, lethargically, and acting like I realized what was going on. I gasped and made my eyes fly open. Honestly, sometimes my acting impressed me. Then again, that might have been my ego talking.
I winced again as harsh light invaded my sight, and suddenly a hand was in front of my eyes. I flinched, but the hand didn't leave.
Then the voice was back.
"Easy there. Sorry, I didn't expect you to wake up so soon. Normally, people stay out for at least 9 hours if I hit them that hard. If I had known you were stronger than that, I would have turned down the lights a bit. If you close your eyes for me, I'll turn them down now. Or, you could just open them slower. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."
I closed my eyes, figuring that it might be better if I followed along for now.
His hand moved slightly, "Option A then? Alright. Wait just a moment."
The boots faded away, then a click rang through the air and the light faded slightly. The boots came back, and someone crouched in front of me. "Alright. You can open your eyes now."
I still opened them slower than before, not wanting to repeat what had happened earlier. I blinked as my eyes adjusted, and looked around.
I was in a concrete room with no windows. It was big though, at least as big as the apartment.
There was a large work table pushed to one corner with various things on it. Including the source for the light.
In another corner, two mattresses were pushed against the wall.
Other than that, the room was mostly bare except for the duffle bags lying around.
I focused back on my captor. He had shaggy black hair that fell into his dark green eyes slightly, tan skin dotted with freckles, a lean build, and chiseled features. He wore a black muscle shirt, black fingerless gloves, black cargo pants, and black combat boots.
He had oil and grease on his arms, hands, and even on his cheek.
But he smiled at me. His smile was warm, but slightly sad. And angry at the same time. I realized he was the same man from the restaurant. I hadn't realized how young he was though. He looked barely older than me. If I had to guess, I'd say 19. Maybe 21.
"Hi. Is this light okay?" He asked.
With confusion, was this an act? I nodded. "Yeah." My voice was croaky. I realized that I was thirsty, but didn't focus on it.
I cleared my throat to try again, but his hand covered my mouth. "Shh. I'll get you some water. Don't try to talk. You have a pretty voice, no need to ruin it."
He got up and walked to one of the duffle bags. "Are you hungry? Just nod if you are. And don't worry, all I have are wrapped granola bars."
He looked at me, and again confused, I nodded. My stomach was grumbling, so no need to lie about it.
He removed several bottles of water, still sealed, and several breakfast bars. Also still sealed.
He walked over to me and sat down crossed legged in front of me. He opened one of the water bottles and held it up to my lips gently.
"Drink slowly. You have been out for 7 hours." He instructed gently. The way he talked to me reminded me strangely of how my brother would talk if he was helping me with my homework.
I drank slowly, as instructed, and soon finished off half the bottle. He pulled it away, closed it, and opened one of the breakfast bars. He broke off a piece, and held it up to my lips.
Seeing no point of fighting it, I opened my mouth again.
We carried on like this until the bar was gone, and the rest of the water bottle.
When I was done, he started eating his bar.
Done containing my curiosity, I asked, "Why are you being so…. Nice. Normally, captors aren't so nice."
He smirked at me, "That's the first thing you ask? Not why I brought you here? Who I am? And anyway, how would you know what normally happens?"
I raised an eyebrow at him. "I guess you didn't see my wrists then. Well, if you didn't, then you can definitely see my face. And my ear. Or my stomach if you looked. Last time I was kidnapped, I got tortured. So yeah, I know that normally, people don't let their victims stay hydrated."
His mouth fell open, and his expression got sad. "I'm sorry for that. I guess I didn't do as thorough research as I thought."
I tilted my head, "Research? Why do you want me anyway? I've never seen you before. And I have been trying not to piss people off, no matter what my friends say."
He laughed lightly at that. His laugh was rich, and as sweet as his voice.
"Well, I actually kidnapped you for revenge." He said conversationally.
My heart fell. I was right. Something happened. Something Tony might have done.
"Was it Tony?" I asked hesitantly.
His expression hardened instantly and snarled, "Yes. That pathetic man is to blame. You wouldn't understand." This was so different from a minute ago.
I tried to chose my next words carefully, but I doubt it would do me any good. "What did he do?" I asked softly. Trying to calm him down.
That worked. In reverse.
He stood suddenly, and began pacing, running a hand through his already messy hair.
"What did he do? Well, he only killed my baby brother. No big deal right?" He growled at me.
My mouth fell open. "Tony wouldn't…"
I didn't get to finish. Suddenly he was in front of me, lifting me up by my shoulders. He slammed me into the wall, "Tony did. He shot my brother. He died before he got to the hospital. Because Tony couldn't keep his freaking finger off the trigger! You don't understand anything!"
I scowled at him, "Tony wouldn't have shot him for fun! What did your brother do?!" I really needed to think before I spoke. I was also expecting to have a panic attack any minute now. I definitely wasn't helping myself here.
He slammed me into the wall again. "Sure, my brother and I weren't the best people. But I was trying to help him! He got into a bad crowd. I was trying to stop him before he hurt himself. He made bombs, planted them where his bosses told him to. He learned how because of me! I had stopped, gone away from that world. And I knew he had to do the same. I knew I had to stop him. He knew that he was doing something wrong, but he was scared! He was only 16! He was just a kid! And he was scared that his bosses would kill me if he didn't do as they said! If he didn't kill for them, I'd die! I talked to him, told him that I'd get him out of it. Like the big brother I was. He was listening! But the night that I almost had gotten him to listen to me, Tony shot him! He shot him right in front of me! He was going to stop. I could see it in his eyes! He was going to come with me! We were going to be a family again! He was just 16…. He was only 16…. His bosses couldn't let him tell NCIS about them, so they started to bomb remotely. Made it seem like my brother did it. And Tony shot him. He was just 16. He was just a kid! He was my kid brother. I never got to teach him all the stuff a big brother should have! Like how to talk to girls, or build a car. Instead, I taught him how to make a bomb. Tony took the second chance away from me.
"So I promised Tony that night, he had taken away my brother, I'd take away his younger sibling. As luck would have it, that was you. The entire team cares for you. What better revenge than to take away their baby sister, like they took away my baby brother!?"
He was getting louder, but he was also breaking. I could see it in him.
His shoulders shook, and his eyes got red. "He was just a kid. He was only a kid. He would have been 17. A few days ago, he would have turned 17. My baby brother. Would stay a kid forever. He was just a kid…"
His hands tightened painfully on my shoulders, before releasing me suddenly. I crumpled to the ground, legs out in front of me, and tried to steady my breathing. I would not have a panic attack here. I needed to stay awake, and aware. I counted to 10, in Italian (Some part of me felt comforted at the thought of Eric), and in that time the boy began pacing again.
When I was more or less in control, I spoke, "Tony hates killing. He hates causing pain. If he shot, it's because he didn't see another way. And if he shot, it was not to kill. Tony never shoots to kill."
The boy snarled at me, "How would you know?!"
I scowled up at him, "Because I know him. You don't. And you never wanted to see that he wouldn't kill him if there wasn't another way, all you want to see is an emotionless villain you can cast your misguided anger at. If you want someone to get revenge on, target your brother's idiot bosses. Not Tony. Getting Tony won't make it stop. Can't you see that?! They're just going to get someone else's baby brother or baby sister. Someone else who has people who would miss them. Someone that will cry and mourn. Someone who can't do a damn thing because they have no clue how. Do you want that?! You're playing right into their hands! You're planning on killing someone who will be missed, who has people that love her, who has a mother whose mental stability will get worse if she dies, who has an older brother who wallow in guilt for letting it happen. You are now the murderer. You are now the emotionless killer who pulled the trigger. You are now the very person that you want to get back at. And you're doing it all for your brother's bosses!"
Step one in persuasive speaking, appeal to their emotional mentality. Make them think about what you're trying to say by playing on their own insecurities.
Plus, the more I talked, the calmer I got. I was in my area of expertise, my confidence was starting to rise. Even if it didn't work. I was still calming.
He had stopped pacing, and was staring at me.
"I'm doing this for my baby brother!" He yelled, but he sounded unsure now.
I rolled my eyes, "Really? Do you really believe that? Would your brother want this? If he was just doing what they told him to, to protect you, then why would he want you to continue doing what he had done? You might not realize it in your anger and grief, but you are now the masked murderer working for your brother's bosses. If you kill me, you are doing the very thing you wanted your brother to stop doing. So bravo, hypocrite. I'll make it easy for you, there's a knife in my boot. Throw it at me. In this position, I can't fight back. I can't stop it. You'd get what you wanted, and become the murderer that you wanted your brother to stop being. You wouldn't even have to finish the bomb you're making. I do know bomb mechanics. It would be clean. Easy. And you'd actually have a body to present to Tony."
Maybe I was tempting fate. Maybe I was pushing the wrong buttons. But I think it was working. His anger was vanishing, so was his hatred. Instead, helplessness and guilt was replacing it.
He fell to his knees in front of me, "I just…. I just want my brother back. Another chance to do the right thing for him. Another chance to be the older brother. The hero. I didn't realize…. I'm sorry….. I just wanted my brother back…."
I sighed and leaned forward, kicking him lightly so he'd look at me.
Green eyes met brown, and I spoke in a softer tone than before, "Listen to me. I know you want your brother back the way he was before, but that can't happen. However, you still have the chance to do the right thing. To be an older brother again. To be the hero. You may not have been able to save your brother, but you have a chance to save another. If you tell the NCIS team who employed your brother, who forced him to kill for them, then they can get them. They can make them go to jail, or worse, for their crimes. They've done it before, they can do it again. But they can't, because they have no clue where to start. Unless you tell them.
"And besides," I smiled at him gently, "you have a part of your brother with you. In your heart. Your love for him, and your memories of him, keep him with you. Just do me a favor, yeah? Don't focus on the bad memories. Focus on the good ones. It does your heart better."
He smiled back at me, but his eyes were quickly filling with tears.
"My brother would have liked you." He murmured.
I smiled back at him, "I might have liked him too. He threw everything away to protect his older brother. I've been doing that a lot lately."
Before I was aware of what was happened, the boy's arms were around me, and he was shaking.
Done with the knife's path of cutting the ropes (Hey, I can be sneaky) I raised my arms to wrap around him too. I realized that he had started to sob, so I started rubbing circles in his back and sang to him softly. Just like I would do when Spencer had a particularly difficult case. Though I usually sang over the phone until recently. It was an old lullaby that I heard sometime when I was a kid. I had no clue who introduced it to me. Probably the same person who taught me Spanish, because I learned the Spanish variation first, then translated.
I had just stopped a murder attempt on my life, just by talking. Maybe Hotch was right. I was a really good manipulator. I didn't even need to move much, I just talked. If the thing with NCIS didn't work out, I could be a good counselor. Then again, that might not be the best place for me considering manipulation was frowned upon in schools.
And the fact that all kids hated me.
Yeah, better stick with talking down dangerous potential murderers.
Probably better for everyone.
"But hey! Since you didn't actually do anything but threaten me, you won't go to jail!" I said cheerfully.
He half laughed, half sobbed, and replied shakily, "I kidnapped you. I'm pretty sure that's a few years in prison. Besides, I was a killer before my brother died."
"Nah. I'll say you and I were just talking. And, for the sake of the intriguing conversation, I turned my phone off. And that was the past, focus on the future." I informed him with the same cheerful voice.
His arms tightened around me, "I'm assuming that the reason you can hug me is because of those knives you spoke of?"
I nodded against his shoulder, "Yep. Friend of mine gave them to me. They're extremely useful. This is the second time I've had to cut myself out of ropes. Though, thankfully, I didn't cut my own wrist this time!"
The boy pulled back, but didn't let go of me. "What happened to you last time you were kidnapped? Most people would have had a panic attack by now if they had experienced this before."
I scoffed, "I've had a few months to deal with it."
His mouth fell open, "I'm really sorry."
I waved him off, "It's fine. Like I said, I dealt with it. Granted, the little yelling and dropping thing didn't help my panic problem. But I got it under control. Now, could you actually tell me your name? Maybe we could start over. I'll go first."
I cleared my throat, smiled at him, and continued, "My name is Kiley Reid. I'm 17 years old, and will graduate college with another PhD in a month. I want to be an NCIS agent someday, and help people. Pleasure to meet you."
He laughed and took my outstretched hand, "Nicholas Stark. I'm 20 years old and have an IQ of 175. Pleasure is all mine."
I grinned at him and clapped my hands together, "Now that we are now friends, I formally forgive you for knocking me out and threatening to kill me. That being said, please tell me you didn't get that far with your bomb making plans."
He laughed again, throwing his head back and allowing pleasure to light up his features. "Forget Thomas liking you, I like you." Thomas must have been his brother. Some sadness crossed his features at that, and a bit of anger.
I refused to let him wallow in it, or we could go back to the original problem. People grieving were unpredictable, and without someone to pull them out of it, they could wind up doing something they would regret.
Nicholas stood up, "Well, songbird, if you're so smart, maybe you could tell me."
He held out his hand to me, which I took without hesitation. I raised an eyebrow at him, "Songbird? Seriously?"
He pulled me to my feet, "Yep. You do have a beautiful voice. Deal with it."
I scowled, then grinned at him as we began to walk to his work table, "Alright, Nicky."
He glowered at me, but I grinned innocently back at him.
I always seem to attract the crazies.
Again, why is it always me?
Sapphire here! Now, I understand that little Nicky might be confusing. That being said, he's supposed to be confusing. You guys aren't supposed to know more about him until later. However, Thomas' bosses are going to play a big part later on. And Kiley is going to have to clean up the mess.
So, I'm curious. Do you guys think that Nick is just acting, trying to gain Kiley's trust to make the kill worse in the end? Or do you think he is genuinely a nice guy? He was bad in the past. Really bad. A mercenary for hire actually. And he was a bad bad bomber dude that no one could trace back to. Do you think he has it in him to love someone? Could he be playing the emotions more with Thomas? Tell me what you think, even if you might be wrong, I am very curious to see what you think.
ST