Author's Note: There is an extreme amount of cursing and violence in this chapter. You've been warned…
Chapter Twenty One: Just Dead
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.
-Martin Luther King Jr.
It took me everything I had
To give all that I could
Walk beside me while I sleep
Steer me from the slumber wolf
Tangled forest of the mind
Speaks to me of self-defense
Close the window through the pane
Hear the siren's serenade
-Lyrics from Punch Drunk Grinning Soul, By Flogging Molly
The darkness falls around my heart
And I know what's coming before it starts
The slightest whisper in the night
The cold that advances,
The tendrils of fright
All these I know,
All these I feel
In the dark of the night,
On the edge of my heels.
-Unknown
Theresa's head was pounding in her skull, and the pain was so immense that she couldn't help the groan the escaped between her lips, even though warning bells were sounding off in the back of her mind.
"Oh good, you're waking up."
It was more like warning alarms now. If the pain hadn't been so colossal, she would have fringed unconsciousness. As it was, her head felt as though it were splitting open and another gasp of pain escaped from her lips.
There was a quiet chuckle from somewhere, although placing where it came from was complicated. However, Theresa vaguely thought that it seemed as though the throaty lilt came from a small distance in front of her. She could hear the voice and recognize it with no problems, even though he sounded like he was a million miles away compared to the pain in her head, and her body involuntarily shuddered.
Him?
Her mind knew the truth, knew what and who was going to be staring her in the face once she could get her eyes to open… but it seemed so impossible. The thought of opening her eyes and facing what would be there in front of her, grinning like a maniac she was sure, was the most undesirable thing she could think of. Her head spun with the after effects of the chloroform, and she saw spots every time she did try to peer up at her kidnapper.
"Its time to wake up Theresa… Don't make me hit you. We have so much to do together before I start that."
Another chill ran up her spine. Her whole body felt stiff, and Theresa knew form the way she was sitting that she was in a chair, held up by rope or duct tape. When she tried to move her hands forward, wanting to shield them from the bright light that was in reality only a floor lamp, she felt cool metal against her wrists. Handcuffs. It had to be handcuffs keeping her wrist so firmly behind her back, arms uncomfortably detained around the chair she was secured in.
It took her a moment to pry her eyes open, but when she did Theresa was able to see the blurred image of Ethan Shempski towering over her, grinning in a way that could only be described as hungry. Greedy.
"Lo' Ethan," she mumbled groggily, her head lulling to the side as she began to slip back into unconsciousness.
"None of that," he said happily, and Theresa heard more than felt the crack that was his hand slapping across her face. And then her head felt like it was exploding.
xxx
"My sister is gone? What the fuck did you do?!"
Donatello's hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, and his jaw flexed forcefully. He, Leonardo and Corbin were in the living room, standing near the door that would lead them out of the lair, and Tommy was, of course, the cause their delay. Instead of leaving, instead of rushing to the surface like they wanted so desperately to do in their urgency to try and locate Theresa, they were listening to Thomas Colden bitch at them.
"Listen, put on the blindfold so we can get topside," Leonardo growled, holding out the cloth and looking angry beyond belief.
Theresa's brother stood broad shouldered and confident, his eyes piercing as he looked at the three opposing individuals, sneering in obvious dislike at all of them. The three, Donatello, Leonardo and Corbin, stood almost shoulder to shoulder in front of the door, blocking Tommy's exit as effectively as a brick wall.
"Fuck you! I'm going up now, without the blindfold!" Tommy's voice was steadfastly increasing to insolent shouting, but there was a sly undertone to it. It was that devious suggestion in Tommy's voice that caused Donatello to know without a doubt that the reason Thomas Colden was so resistant to the thick and impenetrable cloth over his eyes was so that he could try and remember his way back the lair. The man wanted try and remember how to navigate his way through the sewer so he could tell Benito Escobar where Parker McCoy's murderer was, and lead him back to where he resided. Back to the lair so Benito could do away with his half-brothers killer. So he could do away with…
Mikey …
'Over my dead body,' Donny thought heatedly, and he had to take a deep breath before he lost himself in the anger that was quickly overwhelming him. His blood felt as though it were boiling in his veins, and he had his teeth clenched so tightly that he was sure they might break. He could feel not only his palms, but his forearms and shoulders begin to tremble and shake in his effort to suppress his anger. And dimly through it all he had to wonder; was this how Raphael felt every time something upset him? Is this what his hot headed brother went through every occasion something made him angry? This impossible struggle to control the rage… If this was even an iota of what Raphael felt like at all times, Donatello had to greater respect his brother.
"Put. On. The. Fucking. Blindfold," Leonardo snarled, and each emphasized word was jerky as he said it, raw anger evident in every fiber of the oldest turtle's body. Donatello wondered if the anger was not only directed at Tommy, but at Raphael as well, for leaving Theresa in the situation where they were now in- scrambling to find her.
To find her and make sure she was unharmed. To find her and make sure she was alive.
Probably this was true. Probably, Leo wanted to kill Raphael right now.
…Probably.
"Fuck you! You fuckin' freaks caused all this shit! You're the reason my sisters gone missin' an' I aint listening to shit else you have ta say to me. Fuck you," Tommy repeated, grabbing his crotch and flicking Leo the bird.
Corbin growled in frustration and fury and spoke before Leo had the chance to. "Jesus Tommy, each second you stand here and argue, your sister could be gettin' killed. What the fuck is wrong wit' you?!" Corbin had said the word they had all been afraid to utter, and he was now looking at Tommy as though he'd never seen him before, as if the man facing him was a stranger. In a way, it was true. Tommy looked as though the word killed when applied to his younger sister had no effect on him.
"Shut up you fuckin' traitor," Tommy threw at him, and Corbin took several threatening steps forward.
"God dammit Tom, I swear to God I'll fucking slit your throat. Put on the fucking blindfold!" Corbin's face had turned crimson with his anger, veins pulsating from his neck.
Tommy grinned in an unnerving way, and Donatello felt another strand of his usually harnessed control slip. Unconsciously he inched closer to Tommy, the irate man now only an arms length away from Donatello and the door out of the lair.
Out of the corner of his eye Donny saw that Leonardo had a deep flush of red that had somehow become apparent on his neck and cheeks; a feat that was hard to manage with any of the terrapin brothers because of their skin tone. Tommy's brow raised in a mocking way at the eldest brothers obvious fury, arching just as Donatello had seen Theresa's do a thousands times before. The small gesture, although it was slight, reminded Donatello so greatly of Theresa that he was inexplicably recalling the situation between him and Theresa the previous month, when the woman who he'd made an awkward friendship with had been sobbing in his arms.
"I don't want to die!" she weeped, and Donny held her closer, tighter, feeling a shock course through him at her words.
He flinched visibly at the memory, and he felt his anger elevate inside his chest. It was a tight fist of rage that was threatening every moment to break loose, only growing steadily as he looked at the selfish face of Thomas Colden. She had begged him for her life, and here he was wasting precious time because of a man who didn't even really care about her- a man who used her in his time of need and thought nothing of abandoning her when her life was in true and absolute jeopardy.
Leonardo's voice was slightly shaky as he began to speak, and his voice also held an angry bite to it that Donny was sure he'd never heard before. "We're being considerate that Theresa is your sister, taking you to the top with us," he said. "You can fucking stay here if you don't put on the blindfold."
Tommy was openly grinning now, "What makes you think I'll stay here?" the man asked in sarcasm. "What, is the rat gonna stop me from leaving?"
It was at that moment, in that very instant, that Donatello lost it. His anger flared rampant in him like a wild fire, torching every nerve in his body. The movement Donatello made was deft, his arm shooting out so quickly that it was a mere blur. Tommy's throat was squeezed steadfastly in his right hand, and Donatello turned fluidly and slammed the man against the door so hard that it echoed throughout the lair.
All was quiet for a moment before Donny spoke.
"You fucking pretentious piece of white trash," he began, paying no mind to the way Tommy kicked at his thighs. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" His voice was low and deadly, and he lifted Tommy off his feet, his head spinning as rage engulfed him entirely. Donatello could barely even feel the scrapes of Tommy's nails against his hand as the man tried in vain to pry the much stronger turtle's fingers from around his neck.
Behind him Donatello could distantly hear Leonardo say; "Don… calm down," but the purple banded turtle ignored him.
Tommy gasped and Donatello squeezed his large hand tighter around the man's throat, his grip vice-like. He could feel the veins in Tommy's neck pulsing beneath his thick fingers, he could see as Tommy's face turned a brighter shade of red. Tommy was gasping soundlessly now, eyes bulging in a way that conveyed with ease the terror that had washed over him. It took every ounce of willpower in him not to snap Thomas Colden's neck.
"What makes you think that I won't beat you so fucking bad you won't need a blindfold? …I will, you know," Donny breathed in deeply, his ears roaring in rage, and released his hold. Tommy collapsed on the ground, wheezing and coughing, taking in air noisily as he rose weakly to his hands and knees. Donatello sneered down at him, disgust plain on his features.
"Now either put the blindfold on, or I'll make you put the damn thing on."
xxx
(…flashback…)
"Shut up Mike. Just because Jade is dead," Michelangelo blanched as he said this, "doesn't mean you get to act like an asshole."
"Oh I'm the asshole? You know what Raph, Jade is dead. She's dead. I never get to see her again… I wasted so much time without her."
Michelangelo sucked in a breath, his voice becoming strained.
"I don't ever get to see her again Raph. No one gets it. She's gone. I… we broke up, and I though I missed her then. But it's nothing, nothing compared to this. She's… she's in the ground. She doesn't laugh or smile or cry. She's just dead."
(…end flashback…)
Raphael ran down the sidewalk, not caring that he was entirely exposed to anyone that he might happen to pass.
Just dead. It's what Michelangelo had been trying to tell him all this time, and he'd been too stupid to listen. 'She's in the ground,' he'd said.
No more Theresa. No more hearing her voice saying 'Good Morning!' every time they woke up, and no more hearing her say 'Good Night!' every evening before they fell to sleep. No more hearing her laugh or cry. No more hearing her gasp in pleasure. No more seeing her eyes light up when he walked into the room, like he was the best damn thing that had ever happened to her. No more late night walks with Thor, no more movie nights that always ended with them ignoring the film and instead wrapped in each others arms. No more 'I love you.'
No second chances.
No goodbyes.
'She's in the ground.'
"Oh God."
He could see the massive figure limping towards him on the side walk, and he knew it was Thor before he ever reached the St. Bernard.
xxx
Justin Hunt paced in agitation, wearing a long track into the deep green carpet with his troubled strides
He'd seen Theresa pass his office.
He was working late (ever since Benito had threatened him he'd been working weekends and later hours than usual, unable to sleep with the anxiety of potential death looming over his head), and, as his office window was a clear view of the street, he'd seen Theresa and her massive dog pass. She'd looked upset for the brief moment that he'd glimpsed her (it had been by chance, really. He had been engrossed in a case file, and he'd just happened to see her from the corner of his eye before she was past his window and out of sight). She'd had her head down, and her eyes hadn't even glanced up as she had walked by, obviously distracted in her thoughts.
That was an hour ago.
Not that he was keeping track of her, and certainly not that he'd been paying too much attention to whether or not she'd passed back this way, but Justin was almost sure that she hadn't walked by again.
What was more, only ten minutes after Theresa had walked by Justin could have sworn it had been Ethan's black Mercedes that had flown past his window. …And a black Mercedes had gone by again, just fifteen minutes ago, speeding back down the road with the same urgency as it had on its first trip past.
Not that it would normally mean anything…
But…
But didn't Justin already suspect Ethan? Wasn't he already wary of the seemingly unobtrusive, overly polite man? A nice Jewish lawyer that handled small claims and civil matters shouldn't be suspected. A guy who never overindulged in liquor or gambling. A bachelor, making a nice living for himself, always calm and level headed. That was not the kind of man involved in any kind of unsavory behavior.
But…
Ethan had always gone out of his way to be… nice. He was nice in the courtroom, he was nice at the office, and the couple of times he'd gone out for a drink with the rest of the firm, he'd been perfectly nice.
Justin was glad he'd remembered a few things from his father, before the bastard had drunkenly wrapped himself around a tree when Justin had only been nine.
"Remember, mah boy. You don' never wunna trust three kind's a men. Ya never trust a man who aint big enough to take a punch. Ya never trust a man too dumb ta lie. An ya never, ever, trust a man who don't never get mad. Them nice ones… its them nice ones who'll get'cha when yer back's turned. I learned me that in Nam."
There had been a plethora of other men you couldn't trust, according to Justin's veteran father, but it was that conversation that stuck in Justin Hunt's mind, and he was glad for it. Growing up in southern Tennessee had been an… experience. As a small child he'd never seen the problem with the trailer park or the food stamps or the confederate flag his father had hung in their window. But as he'd gotten older, he'd realized that The Walton's lived in a home, and The Brady's were still a functioning family, and even The Jefferson's had a better chance at life than little ole' Justin Hunt, with his alcoholic Father and his manic-depressive Mother.
So when Vernon Hunt had ended his night at the VFW, where he'd been drunkenly recalling the horrors of Viet Nam with other war veterans, he'd also ended his life, hugging a sturdy elm that didn't so much as budge when the old ford had smashed into it. And nine year old Justin, who was realizing that life wasn't a TV show that ended with the family kissing their kids goodnight and everyone learning their lesson, knew what and who he wanted to be. He'd worked hard to loose that Tennessee accent, he'd made sure his grades were more than above average, and he'd gotten tough. He'd been no sniffling straight A nerd. Oh no. Justin Hunt went looking for fights. He never backed down, he never gave up, and he sure as hell never let anyone tell him wasn't good enough. And, over the years, he'd become straight forward to a point of crassness, enjoying the shocked look on other's faces when he said whatever he was thinking.
So a month earlier, when he'd caught Ethan Shempski in Theresa Colden's office, he confronted the nice man. Because you just could trust nice.
(…flashback…)
"What are you doing?" He asked, his hands in pockets, looking with a raised eyebrow as Ethan tiptoed out of Theresa's office.
Ethan Shempski jumped in startled alarm, his eyes bulging as he turned to face Justin.
"Mr. Hunt! I had no idea you were still here!" Ethan took a deep breath and relaxed his posture. "I was just getting some paperwork out of Theresa's office… she told me I could."
There was silence between them, and Justin saw sweat break out on Ethan's forehead. Otherwise the man remained completely calm. He was fidgeting just a bit, but he was calm.
"…I thought Theresa locked her office when she left," Justin said casually, and a realization came to him as he saw Ethan's hand reach almost unconsciously into the pocket of his dress slacks.
He has a key.
The though, so completely random, came on its own. But there it was. And Justin knew it was true, knew that Ethan's hand was gripping a key to Theresa's office just as surely as he knew the man would be gripping his dick later tonight while watching some sad soft core porn on HBO. Guys like this were all the same. They were too nice to get ahead, too damn smart for their own good, and they were definitely too predictable.
"Not tonight. She left it unlocked so I could get the file I needed."
'Calm as a clam,' Justin thought. 'But he's lying.'
"Couldn't find the file?" Justin asked out loud, looking pointedly at Ethan's file-less hands.
"Oh, well, I think she took it home on accident."
Ethan smiled a bit, something Justin was sure the man thought was meant to look genuine, but just came off as a bit… creepy. Then, when Justin neither smiled back nor looked convinced, Ethan moved around him and retreated to his own office, emerging a moment later with his coat and leaving the law firm in a noticeable hurry.
The following night, while Justin had been in the office by himself-with only his dog Dandy for company, he'd jimmied his way into Ethan's office and found a lone key in the man's desk drawer. And lo and behold it had fit in Theresa's locked office door- and had opened the sucker too.
There had been nothing in Theresa's office worth taking, nothing that Justin was even interested in looking for, so he'd left and locked the door behind him, keeping the key in his own office and wondering why Ethan had felt the need to have it in the first place. Because the fact that Ethan had truly needed anything from his colleagues office really was just plain and simple bull shit.
And then the most amazing thing had happened. Horrifying, but still, amazing. Ethan had looked at Justin the next workday- a Monday- (which was two days later) and there had been a brief yet undeniable flash of anger in his normally complacent eyes. A flash of anger that was directed exclusively towards Justin.
Three days later the key he'd stolen from Ethan's office was missing from Justin's top drawer.
And so was his gun.
(… end flashback…)
Justin grimaced now at the memory. He probably should have mentioned all of this to Theresa. He probably should have told her about the key and the missing gun and the fact that Ethan Shempski was rummaging in her office late at night. But he hadn't, and the reason was so infantile, so childish, that Justin felt a hot creeping of shame make its way up his neck.
He liked her. And Theresa, with all her haughty professionalism and charm, hated Justin Hunt.
Justin groaned. The woman had helped him when Benito Escobar had threatened his life. She'd helped him find Dandy, who he loved, and she'd even had the intelligence to take him to the ammo surplus and make sure he got bullets for his unregistered, illegal, 9mm glock.
Bullets to a gun that had been meant to protect Justin from that fucking thug Benito Escobar. Bullets to a gun that Ethan Shempski had undoubtedly stolen. Bullets to a gun that may possibly be the cause of Theresa's death?
Justin tried to shake off the chill that ran down his spine. No. Ethan Shempski would not kill Theresa. And the reason he wouldn't kill Theresa was because Ethan Shempski was not her stalker, and he was not the one barreling down the street in that Mercedes just twenty minutes ago.
"An ya never, ever, trust a man who don't never get mad. Them nice ones… its them nice ones who'll get'cha when yer back's turned."
His Father's words echoed in his head for a moment, and it was in that moment that Justin knew in his gut, knew it like he knew Santa wasn't real or that the Easter bunny wasn't out shitting eggs into the back yard, that Ethan Shempski had been the one in that car, and Theresa was in it as well- and not by her own will.
"Shit."
He pivoted on his heels in a cold panic, not knowing what he was going to do, but knowing that he had to do something, and he was met with the face of a monster, dark green and red banded, only inches from his own nose.
"Where the fuck is Theresa?" it growled, and before he could even open his mouth, Justin felt a fist, more like a rock or an anvil, connect with his jaw.
xxx
Duct tape.
He'd wound the duct tape around and around her head, covering her mouth tightly. Theresa took air in through her nose and tried to push down the panic that was rising steadily in her. The inability to breathe or talk through her mouth made her feel even more powerless than the handcuffs on her wrists did. And the duct tape was wound tight, so there was no way she could maneuver her head to try and pry it off. Only her hands would allow her to pull off the silver adhesive, and even as Theresa tried to wedge her wrists through the heavy duty links she knew they were clasped too tightly for her to pull them through.
Ethan stood in front of her, hands on hips, grinning like it was Christmas morning.
"Oh Theresa," he began. "Do you know how long I've wanted this?" His voice was giddy, and his breath was so heated with excitement that he had to pull off his fogged spectacles and wipe them clean on his dress shirt. He was wearing black work slacks and a light blue top, the collar undone at his neck and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and if it had been any other situation one might think of him as a somewhat handsome business man getting ready to do some at-home tinkering with the broken sink or the busted DVD player. As it was, he looked far from the happy-go-lucky family man. He looked deranged, his glasses now slightly askew on his face and his eyes bulging in excitement.
"I need to keep you from screaming. We're so close, you know, for help, and it wouldn't do to have anyone hear you scream."
Theresa was confused for a moment. They were in a large studio style apartment, and lining the walls were mattresses and exercise padding, rudimentary placed to keep sound from entering or leaving the large room. There was one tall floor lamp in the middle of the room, and to her left Theresa saw one solitary window. To the back of the room Theresa saw a door that was slightly ajar, and she assumed it was a bathroom.
That was it, there was nothing else. Nothing she could see that could be of any help to her. Nothing she could use that could help aid her in an escape.
It was then that Theresa realized that she was going to die, and it would not be quick or pleasant.
Ethan was talking once more. "You see, we're so close to help for you, and you need to not be making any noise. It would be very bad if you did… for me. I don't think that if your new friends heard you screaming they would be too happy with me… We can't have them snooping around here too soon, after all."
It was obvious to Theresa that he was baiting her. He wanted her to wonder where she was, and it was working. Where was she that if she screamed her new friends (obviously Raphael and the other turtles) would here her and come to her rescue?
Her brows furrowed at Ethan, who was grinning down at her like a maniac.
"You see, Theresa," he began, walking in a lazy circle around her chair. "This all started almost a year ago. …I bet that you didn't know that, I bet you didn't know I've been following you for over a year."
He was standing in front of her again, grinning down at her in pride. Theresa felt as though prey might, after the lion has it between its maws.
"You'd already been at the law firm for almost a year, and I liked you. A lot. But you didn't notice me. Sure, you said hello, you made your small talk, but you didn't notice me. So one night I followed you home after work. It had been a whim really; I'd been talking myself into doing it for weeks… And God was it exhilarating! You had told me once that you didn't live far from the office, and it was that night that I realized I could use that to my advantage. The fire escape, your cheap bedroom window, the less than savory neighborhood… it was all to my advantage. And after that first night… well, there was no stopping it. You were an addiction, Theresa. I'll never find another woman as good as you once you're gone. You'll be nearly irreplaceable."
There was a glint in Ethan Shempski's eye as he looked down at her, a small half grin on his face that was maniacal. Theresa shuddered, not missing the way he'd said nearly. There would be more after he killed her, more women he would stalk and harass and murder.
"After awhile though, following you became so… tedious. I wanted you more than anything Theresa, more than anything," he said the last on a whisper, holding the kind of reverence in his tone that usually belonged to church goers and library patrons. He sighed and began to pace in front of her, straightening his glasses so that they were no longer cockeyed. He looked normal now, like the Ethan she had worked with for the last two years. The only difference was that he'd tied her to a chair and was contemplating rape and murder- instead of litigation and legal proceedings.
"The reason it was becoming so tedious Theresa, is because it was becoming harder and hared to keep myself in the shadows. I was crazy with the want to have you, to revel myself to you. I was following you home every night at this point, and I was impatient."
He stopped and looked at Theresa once more, grinning wolfishly down at her. Theresa shuddered visibly, which only made the white gleam of Ethan's canines more prominent.
"That's when it happened, Theresa. That's when everything seemed to fall into place."
He smiled at her, wanting her to wonder, wanting her eyes to question him, and since she had absolutely no idea what he could possibly be talking about, she did. Her eyes narrowed at him, the look in them clearly saying, 'what are you talking about?'
'Keep him talking,' Theresa thought. 'Maybe the guys are looking for me. Leo would have been in my apartment by now, he knows I'm missing. Just keep him talking.'
She pushed down the steady panic that was rising in her, willing herself to remain clam, willing herself to take the steady breaths through her nose and not let the surmounting fear and terror take hold of her.
Ethan's smile remained as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, his hand grazing over the gun that was still tucked into his belt- the gun that had shot Thor. The gun that had made her big, sloppy, wonderful dog lay and not move. Theresa held back tears at the thought of Thor and saw that what he'd extracted from the pocket of his slacks was a silver cigarette case. He lit up, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his nose.
"I was going to my car one night, after following you home and watching you for hours… hours Theresa, and I was thinking that I just needed to have you soon, to take you at the next opportunity that presented itself. Waiting and watching build up an excitement, but it gets so monotonous, as I said. Besides, I was tired all the time; I could barely keep my eyes open at work. …And that's when it happed, sweet God it was like a sign!"
His eyes had become wild and wide, his voice excited, and it made Theresa wary, suspicious. What had happened? What was a sign from God? He dragged another long pull of his filtered -possibly Marborol- smokes, filling his lung that was more than likely already blacker than night. His eyes glazed in memory, and his smile was large.
"The sign," he said. "Oh, a sign from God I'm sure, but a literal sign as well. You see, Theresa, the pawn shop you live across from… it rents out its upper level. For the last five months I've been living right across from you… if I look out this window," he gestured to the solitary window, "I can see right into your bedroom."
Theresa's heart beat a wild tempo in her breast. Her apartment? They were mere feet from her apartment?
Theresa took a deep breath through her nose, willing herself to calm. They would hear her. If she could get this duct tape off, they would hear her.
Immediately she began to work on the handcuffs, feeling her wrists chaff horribly in her vigor to remove them. Ethan was talking again, and although Theresa watched him closely, she heard nothing of what he said.
'Lubricant,' she thought. 'I need something to make my hand slick enough to slip through the handcuffs. I need…'
Blood.
Instantly, and without second thought, Theresa switched from pulling at the handcuffs to digging her manicured nails deeply into her wrists. She kept her face impassive as she scratched and ripped at the veins that were covered with the thin layer of skin, willing back tears when she felt the sudden gush of hot blood pour over her hands. Still she worked, clawing until she knew that the blood wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. The sticky wetness pooled into her awaiting palm, making her hands slick in the blood.
And still Ethan talked and paced, and talked and paced…
xxx
It was dark when Leonardo emerged from the sewer, his face grim as he stood to assess his surroundings. The others waited for him to give them the clear, wanting no one to see them as they emerged. When he was sure no one was around to witness them rising from the sewer he turned and reached a strong arm down the manhole, gripping Tommy's underarm and yanking him up forcefully. The man cursed, but Leonardo snarled in anger and pushed him roughly away. Tommy, who now had dark bruises forming around his throat, yanked off the blindfold and glared at the turtle, but Leonardo ignored him, watching the street vigilantly as the others emerged behind him. Once the rusted cover was back in place, sliding with the tell-tale thunk over the manhole, Leo flipped open his cell phone and dialed Raphael's number.
"Yeah?"
His brother answered on the second ring, his voice clearly strained and angry.
"Did you find anything?" Leonardo asked, his tone devoid of emotion. The question was really, 'did you find Theresa?' but there was a part of him that didn't want to know, that was afraid of what the answer might be.
"Yeah," Raphael answered, "Ethan is the one who has Theresa. He shot our Goddamn dog."
Leonardo clenched his jaw tightly, his blood quickening in his veins. "How do you know?" The leader asked harshly.
"I'm at Theresa's law firm. I just had an interesting conversation with Justin Hunt," there was a brief moment of muffled conversation before Raphael continued. "Anyway," he continued, his voice waspish, "I went through Ethan's office drawers and found a lease to a house he owns about twenty miles from here, on the north end. Send Donny and get your ass up here… I don't think he'd be there but someone needs to check it out to make sure."
"Why wouldn't he be there?" Leo asked, confused, but already motioning for Donny to come forward.
"I'll explain when you get here… The address is 1274 Thatcher Blvd." Raphael gave hurried directions and then added, "Tell Don to get there fast, to take Theresa's car. And then get your ass over here Leo!"
And then the call was ended and Leonardo snapped his phone shut. He relayed the message to Donny, who nodded and said nothing, only turning and making his way to the adjacent parking lot where he knew Theresa's car would be.
Once Donatello was out of sight Leo motioned for Corbin and Tommy to follow him, making his way quickly but surreptitiously down the sidewalk, passing unnoticed by a laughing couple under the cover of the pawn shop's awning. Corbin kept close to his heels, and Tommy behind Corbin, snarling and muttering under his breath the whole time.
Where could Theresa be? Leonardo thought. Why wouldn't Ethan have her at his home? And why did Raphael seem so sure that it was Ethan who was Theresa's stalker and kidnapper?
It was these thoughts that plagued him for the fist half of the walk/run to Theresa's law firm. They distracted Leo so much so that when Tommy suddenly ran out into the middle of the street and stepped in front of a taxi, the turtle was taken almost completely by surprise. The leader made to move forward and grab Tommy, but halted in his tracks, seeing that the street was semi-populated. Leonardo was hit was the realization that Tommy had probably relied heavily on the fact that Leonardo would not reveal himself to aid him in his escape. The knowledge of this had Leo almost angry enough to spring forward and damn the witnesses and the consequences.
Almost…
As it was, Tommy scrambled into the back of the taxi without the hindering pursuit of Leonardo. Corbin, however, was hot on his heels, trying in vain to grab onto the handle of the car door.
There was a scuffling as the two men tugged urgently at the door before Tommy shouted, "GO!" and the Taxi sped off, leaving Corbin to stumble away fro the vehicle least he get run over, coughing and cursing in a cloud of tire tract.
"SHIT!" Corbin shouted in fury. "SHIT! …Mother fucking bull shit!"
The shouting was drawing attention to passersby, and many were stopping to watch and gape at Corbin, who was still standing in the middle of the street, hesitantly.
Leo had stood rooted to the spot through the entire ordeal, grasping onto the reality that he had no disguise and that he would be adversely exposing himself if he were to step into the street and drag Corbin to the shadows.
"Corbin!" Leonardo finally barked, and the blonde's head spun to where Leo was before he huffed he strode angrily to the turtle that was still in the dark shadows of the buildings.
"He's fucking left!" Corbin snarled as he stood before Leonardo. "I knew it! I knew he was gonna fucking split! FUCK!"
"Corbin," Leo said once more, a feral bite to his tone this time, and Corbin's head snapped to attention.
Leonardo inhaled through his nose, his mind flying a mile a minute with surreptitious thoughts, quickly formulating a plan of action.
"Corbin," he began. "Catch a taxi and follow him. Please." Leo's voice was firm, his thoughts now in overdrive. He knew that if Tommy made it to Benito, than Theresa's older brother was either dead or he was talking…more than likely he'd be doing a bit of both. And while Leonardo couldn't bring himself to be excessively concerned about the life of a man like Thomas Colden, he did care that information like what Tommy had about Parker McCoy's death shouldn't reach Benito Escobar until a much later date.
And the death of Thomas Colden, as infuriating as the man was, would not be something Leonardo would allow himself to carry on his shoulders.
"Follow Tommy and get him away from Benito. Make him get back here. Call me when you find him, but if he's already found Benito just get back here. Don't play hero, and don't go in there by yourself. Just let him go and get back here. Do you understand?"
Leonardo's voice held the commanding brashness that identified him as a leader, a no-nonsense bite that was almost impossible to defy, and Corbin could only nod, his face grave and serious.
"Get back here, I get it," Corbin said- mostly to himself. "No playing hero. …I know where he's going, I'll get him."
Leo nodded, his eyes grave and serious as he studied Corbin, and Corbin breathed deeply as if to steady himself.
"I'll get him," the blonde repeated, looking Leonardo dead in the eyes as if to reassure not only the leader, but himself as well. Then Corbin was turning and running to the curb, urgently hailing a Taxi. It only took a moment for a canary yellow cab to pull to the shoulder, and Corbin was in it before it had even come to a complete stop. Leonardo only caught a hurried snippet of Corbin's directions, "To the corner of St. Clair and-" before Corbin was into the taxi and down the street in the same direction Tommy had gone.
Leo exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, allowing himself to take only a moment longer in standing immobile on the sidewalk before he sprung lithely deeper into the shadows, scaling the nearest brick wall and hauling himself up it. He ran full speed once he reached the rooftops, sprinting fluidly across the gaps in the close spaced New York buildings. It wasn't long before he was nearing the law firm, its lights blazing like a beacon against the closing dark of the night.
It was time to find Theresa…
xxx
Justin Hunt couldn't help but glace surreptitiously at the hulking green monster that was now cursing as he tore through Ethan Shempski's immaculate desk.
Turtle, he mentally corrected himself. It's a… turtle.
And so it was. A dark green, red banded, walking, talking, 6 foot tall turtle.
Holy shit.
As if the thing were sensing his thought, or perhaps could feel Justin's eyes on him, his head snapped and he glared intensely.
"What is this, a freak show? Keep fuckin' lookin'!"
Justin could feel his neck turn crimson as he looked quickly away from the turtle and continued in the search through Ethan's file cabinet. And with that barked command he was back to searching for something, anything, that would lead them to where Theresa might be, some clue that would direct them to where she was. The past half hour had been like something out of an LSD induced nightmare, and Justin couldn't help but wonder when he'd wake up from the dream he was having.
But there was a throbbing in his jaw from where the turtle had hit him, and the events unfolding felt nothing like a dream. They felt, in fact, as real as they could possibly get- with Justin's mind incredibly clear through the shock the coursed through his veins. Something from a month ago, a memory he'd long since forgotten, came floating back to him as clear as if it had only been an hour ago. He and Theresa had just gotten Dandy and Thor from the pound when Theresa's phone had began to ring. Justin remembered hearing a gruff voice on her line say, "What is that?" and Theresa, Justin recalled, had looked to the rooftops. She'd done this as if knowing something was there, watching her, and Justin had at the time thought that it had been an odd thing to do. Even odder when she had answered, "Ummm… A dog?" Because that meant that whatever had been up there watching her was asking about Thor…
This was what Theresa had been looking for, what she had been talking to, when she had answered her phone outside of the pound that day. Which meant that this turtle was Theresa's friend, was someone Theresa had trusted to keep her safe. And this turtle, who was charged in protecting Theresa, had the audacity to walk into Justin Hunt's office with the one hundred and twenty pound St. Bernard that she loved (and had now been shot in the shoulder), and punch Justin in the face because he'd let her get caught. Because this turtle had let Theresa stray into danger.
"What's your name?" Justin asked, flipping through a file and throwing it into a large discarded pile of similar files he'd already looked through.
"Raphael," the turtle replied, not stopping as he yanked the bottom drawer off its track and flung it across the room, papers and files spilling out of it as it slammed violently against the wall. He then proceeded to get on his hands and knees and reach into open gap where the drawer had previously been.
"Well Raphael, if she's dead I'm going to kill you."
That made the turtle pause. His eyes looked unseeing down at the carpet for a moment before he raised his head and stared Justin dead in the eyes. It was very well one of the most alarming and harrowing instants in Justin's life.
"If she's dead," he said, his voice frighteningly hollow, "I'll let you."
Before either of them could say anything else the door to Ethan's office opened and Justin found himself looking at the hulking figure of another turtle.
'Go figure,' he though grimly.
This one was in a blue bandanna, and Raphael greeted him tersely as Leo. Which also meant that there had to be another turtle, because Raphael had referred to a Donny in his phone conversation earlier.
"What took you so long?" Raphael asked Leo, who looked at Justin in an assessing manner before he strode across the room to stand next to his brother.
"Tommy split," Leo said, his jaw clenching furiously in what Justin assumed was anger, but Raphael only grunted as he ran his palms along the inside of the drawer.
"Corbin went after him," Leo added, "and Donny called me before I got here to let me know he's halfway to Ethan's house already… what are you looking for Raph?"
"… I'm looking for the reason Donny aint gonna find Theresa at Ethan's house."
Leo sighed in frustration, "Why?" he asked. "Why wouldn't she be there?"
"Cuz, oh-all-knowing-leader, its twenty miles away. The guys been getting around way to fast to have a house so far away… All those times me and Mikey went lookin' for him an he wasn't nowhere around… he'd have to have a place nearby Theresa's apartment to pull a fast one on us. And Justin here said that Ethan drives a black Mercedes. He said one went flying by in both directions about an hour ago…"
Leo looked uncertainly at Justin again before saying, "How do you know its Ethan Raph?"
Raphael never stopped feeling slowly over the inside of the desk as he spoke. "Cause I know," he began. "Because earlier today when we were all at the lair you said you found a letter from Ethan's mom. It bothered me then but I couldn't place why. Its cuz you said it was post marked from Florida, but Ethan told Theresa his parents lived in Iowa. That's where he said he was on vacation at… the prick even bought tickets there and back to make it look plausible, I found them lyin' plain as day in his top drawer. He bought them online… must've been the cheapest thing he could find, and he didn't figure anyone would look inta' where is family really lived... Then, after I got to talking to Justin, he fessed up and said someone stole his gun. That confused me, cause why wouldn't you carry your piece on you? But Justin said it's unregistered, so he leaves it at work. And if Ethan has a gun, that's how Thor got shot."
"Where is Thor?" Leo asked, concerned for the dog that had once tried to eat him, and Raphael answered, "lying in Theresa's office… he should be fine, just needs a vet. I shoved some aspirin down his throat for the pain."
It was visibly obvious that Raphael was beyond furious that Thor had been shot. He had to stop for a moment to take a deep steadying breath, and Justin could swear that if the turtle clenched his fist any tighter he'd break his own fingers. Then he was in control, his hands running along the inside of the desk once more. There was a pregnated pause as Leo processed the information he'd been given, his eyes looking to the side in deep thought.
"So why are you looking in Ethan's desk?" Leo finally inquired.
Raphael grunted and answered, "When I asked Justin about it, he said Ethan had his desk specially brought in from a pair of brothers that do carpentry. They work free lance… which explains why Don couldn't find out who fixed Theresa's window. If Ethan stole Justin's gun, plus anything else he might have that could incriminate him, maybe he has-"
Raphael broke off mid-sentence, a humorless smile curving his lips. He yanked, and a small drawer dropped from the top of the desk.
"Maybe he has a hidden panel," Raphael finished. The turtle stood and pulled the drawer out of the small cubby it had been hidden away in, laying it on top of the desk. Justin and Leo immediately flanked either side of Raphael, looking down at the contents of the drawer.
Pictures. Mostly there were pictures. Polaroid's of Theresa in all kinds of different day to day situations. Raphael thumbed through them, seeing one of her coming down the stairs of the courthouse, and another of her laughing with a group of friends. There were others, one that looked like they were of higher quality and from a digital camera. These showed Theresa in states of half or full undress.
"Those are taken into her bedroom," Leo said, averting his eyes to the photo that depicted Theresa bare chested and clothed in only conservative white boy shorts as she bent across the bed.
"No shit Sherlock," Raphael snapped, slamming the photos face down and reaching again into the drawer. More photos, some with writing scrawled on the back of them identifying the date and time.
"These pictures," Raphael muttered darkly, "There's something wrong."
Justin snorted. "Really?" he quipped scathingly, "I hadn't notice."
"Shuddup," Raphael bit. "That aint what I meant. Look… see this one, it's taken from her fire escape." Raphael held a picture in front of them of Theresa sleeping. "But this one… Look, you can see the fire escape in this picture. Where is he?"
Justin looked at the picture for a moment before his eyes diverted back to the drawer. There was a large manila envelope left. Justin grabbed it and pried it open.
"Is he on the roof of the pawn shop?" Leo was asking, eye ridges knit.
"That aint right," Raphael said. "The roofs higher than Theresa's window. …I can jump from it to her fire escape on an incline. That means he'd have to be-"
"Inside the building," Justin finished hurriedly, thrusting the papers at Raphael face. "It's a renters lease… he's renting a place about a block from here."
Raphael's eyes widened as he scanned the papers. "It's the pawn shop... Shit… He's in the building across from Theresa's apartment. That has to be where he is… We gotta go!"
It only took moments for them rush out of the office and to pile into Justin's Benz, the curly haired man insisting that it would be faster than being on foot.
And all Raphael could think was, 'he's been there the whole time…'
xxx
Theresa had waited, and finally she could feel her waiting about to pay off. Ethan had talked for longer than she could have hoped, spouting off about his love and obsession in a fanatical way, always pacing in front of her like a caged animal waiting to be released so it could maul its prey. There were several times Theresa was sure he'd notice the blood that was dripping to the floor, but Ethan seemed impervious to the evident. It was as though he had zoned in only on the fact that he had finally, after all this time caught Theresa, and not that there was still any possibility she would or could escape.
"So long, Theresa… I've waited so long," was all Ethan kept repeating, and Theresa couldn't help the involuntary chill that ran up her spine every time he said it. It was as if he were savoring the victory of "capturing" Theresa for as long as he could.
Theresa had worked her right hand halfway out of the handcuffs, and at this point she was waiting for Ethan to turn his back so she could jerk it the rest of the painful way out of the metal constraint and pry the duct tape from around her mouth.
'One good scream,' was all she kept thinking. 'I just need one good scream and Leo will hear me…'
But there was doubt in her mind. What if Leo had left her apartment to go and look for her? What if there was no one to hear her cry for help? As far as she knew the man who owned the Pawn Shop would be gone for the night, and with her luck no one on the street would hear her- or if they did they would hold to the street code of 'keep your mouth shut and mind your business.' She was tied so tightly to her chair that she knew there was no way she would be able to maneuver her way out of her bonds. And this flat was small, small enough that wherever Ethan was he could get to Theresa and silence her fairly quickly.
'I only have one chance… I can't mess this up… I only have one chance…'
"Its time, Theresa," Ethan was saying, and Theresa snapped to attention.
Time? For what? Her eyes conveyed the message, but Ethan only grinned. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a moment. It was as though he were in the most passionate form of ecstasy, his head lolling back and a soft sigh escaping his lips. When his eyes opened they were dark and intense. The primal obsession they acquired alighted a new fear in Theresa, and quickly she was edging her hand out of the cuff link.
She knew that look. It was the look a lover might give when he was feeling particularly aroused. But the way Ethan looked at her, the needy, hungry way his eyes bore into her own, made Theresa feel violated and disgusted.
Her hand was entirely out of the hand cuff now, and all she could think was, 'if I can't scream, at least I'll have a hand free… I'll rip out his throat if he comes near me…'
And then Ethan sighed and turned on a heel, making his way to the back of the flat and entering the door that Theresa had correctly assumed was a bathroom. As soon was he had turned his back Theresa had her hands at the duct tape, yanking it in fervor, panicking slightly when the many wound layers of the adhesive refused to budge.
But then they were peeling back, and Theresa steadfastly ignored the pain in her wrists and the dizziness she felt from the loss of blood and the aching pain of the duct tape tearing at her lips.
She clawed until it was removed from her mouth, and even as Ethan exited from the bathroom, a wicked looking knife in his grasp, he could not reach Theresa in time to stop the one, long, piercing scream from escaping her lips.
And one rooftop away, Michelangelo jerked his head up, and he heard her.
xxx
Authors Note: Ok, so I know this took forever to post, but it took me forever to write…. I apologize, and I hope it was worth it. XD
A nice little twist is about to come…
Thanks for all your support, more to come soon! As it is, it's late, and I'm going to bed…*yawn* :)
Any mistakes I'll fix later... Like I said... late, tired, blah, blah, blah...