Twenty One
The rest of the world was slowly waking up but Morse gritted his teeth and continued running.
He cursed himself, Jakes for following him, Thursday for being so bloody overprotective, and most of all the maniac who was the source of all this trouble.
The maniac who currently had his daughter.
The ringing phone had startled him, and it was pure exhaustion that had prevented him from outwardly reacting when he heard his terrified 5-year-old's whispered "… Daddy?"
Before he could answer, however, a different voice had replaced Abby's.
"Do you know who this is detective? Answer yes or no".
"… Yes".
"Make any move to alert your fellow officers, and I'll shoot the girl. Understand?"
He swallowed thickly.
"I understand".
"Good. Now so, I think you and I are overdue a little chat. There's a small village a few miles west of you, and an abandoned cottage just outside it. You know the place" He said, "If you bring anyone, tell anyone, or even mention that this phone call ever took place… well, I believe the implied threat here involves a gun and your daughter".
"I know, I-"
"No, Morse, you don't know" He interrupted, "Because I will make her death as slow and as agonising as I plan to make yours… So, do yourself and the brat a favour, and for once in your life, obey. Okay?"
"… Okay".
"You have one hour".
Which led him to bringing the man he might actually love down old rickety stairs to the least used part of the station where he'd picked up an abandoned floor brush and knocked him unconscious.
It was Peter's health on the line, but it was Abby's life.
He didn't have any other choice.
Which, of course, did absolutely nothing to dissuade the guilt he felt turning his back on the unconscious man sprawled against metal shelving, and making his way down to the small single window in the room. It didn't have a latch, of course, but there were other ways of opening it.
The bandages around his knuckles had protected his hands from the worst of the broken glass, but the way two fingers on his left hand were still smarting, meant he probably caused them further damage.
Max would be furious.
If he ever saw Max again.
Or Peter. Or Thursday. Or Strange, or Monica, or Mrs Laskey, or even bloody Bright or-
Morse shook his head and continued running, feet loud against the pavement and jacket long since removed and tied haphazardly around his waist.
Gull had given him one hour and taking a car would be too suspicious. The jag didn't exactly blend in, and if the mass murderer decided that it was a glaring red light then he could-
Well.
He didn't want to know.
It was 51 agonizing minutes before he reached what he hoped to god was the right place.
Rigsby's cottage had long since been locked up, and police tape fluttered off the fence post as he pushed the gate open. It was just as beautiful as it'd been the last time he'd been here, but now that beauty was darkened, tainted, almost, from all the death and destruction that the house had brought.
The front door was locked, and he felt a brief stab of panic.
What if he was wrong? What if this was the wrong place? What if he had just wasted his time and effort and god damn breath trying to reach a place that didn't even exist-
Morse forced himself to stop.
The door was locked.
Same as last time, then.
Making his way around the side of the house, he climbed the fence and landed in the well-trodden briars of the back garden. Someone had been through here, and recently too.
The back door opened immediately.
He thought he smelt blood.
Memories were a terrible thing.
This time, he didn't bother unlocking the front door, and instead headed straight for the kitchen, just as scared as he'd been the first time around.
Taking a deep breath, he willed his racing heart to slow, put back on his jacket, and tried to look somewhat confident.
Then he reached up, and pushed open the kitchen door.
The first thing he saw, was Abby. She was sitting directly opposite him, tears in her wide eyes and clothes somewhat rumbled, but otherwise seemingly unharmed.
Second, with a gun casually lying on the table between them, was Mason Gull. Prison had not been kind to him; his fair hair was lacklustre and the off-white shirt swamping his too-thin frame.
The third thing he noticed, was the huge assortment of food laid out across the entire table.
Richard and Elizabeth and a feast fit for royalty.
"Ah, Morse! How good of you to join us!"
Gull greeted him like an old friend, a wide but somewhat manic smile in place.
"Won't you have a seat?"
"I did as you asked" He replied, forcing himself to remain calm, "I'm here, I'm alone… and I'm who you want. Let her go".
He frowned, "Are you sure you won't sit?"
"I will once you release Abby".
He sighed and picked up gun, and Morse took a quick step forward.
"Ah, ah, ah!"
The weapon was levelled evenly at his head.
"No further until I know for certain that you're alone".
"Do you honestly think I'd risk my own daughter?!"
"I would".
They stared at one another, eyes like earth and air, both daring the other to make the next move, and it took an agonizing five minutes before Gull slowly lowered the gun.
"Well, I doubt even that Superintendent of yours would wait this long with no word. I guess you really did come alone".
"I upheld my end of the bargain, now it's time for you to complete yours".
He seemed to think for a minute, before letting out a dramatic sigh, "Oh, alright, since you've played the game and all… Go on, brat, say your goodbyes".
Abby jumped up in a flash and ran over to him.
Morse immediately knelt down and grabbed her, holding her close as the tears overflowed and he buried his face in her hair.
"D-Daddy I- I didn't- He- He- And Mon-"
He quickly shushed her.
"It's okay, Abby, everything's going to okay, I promise. But I need you to do something for me, and it's important, Abby, it's so important, I just-"
He reluctantly pulled back and held her arms in a tight grip.
She was crying openly now, tears staining flushed cheeks, hair in disarray but only one bruise that he could see marring her skin.
It was one bruise too many.
"Abby, listen to me. In a minute, I'm going to tell you to run, and you're going to leave through that door and I'm going to stay here but you are not to look back-"
"But-"
"No!" He snapped, "Listen to me! You are going to leave and I'm not, and that's it! You are going to run and you are going to keep running until you find a village or town or some bloody place that has a phone, okay? Then you're going to ring the station, and you're going to ask for Mr Peter, and you will not move until he gets there. Do you understand?!"
She quickly nodded.
From behind her, Gull stiffly began to get up.
"I love you, okay?" He continued hurriedly, "I love you so so much and- and none of this is your fault. I need you to remember that. None of this happened because of you, it was all because of me and my job and- and that's it. Okay? I love you".
She was sobbing now, great heaving tremors that racked her frame and Morse didn't think he could hate anyone as much as he hated himself in that moment.
Placing one last kiss on her forehead, he forced himself to stand, and quickly shoved her behind him, closer to the kitchen door. Gull was staring at them with a sick twisted look of curiosity on his face.
"You'll let her go?"
"I'm a man of my word".
"Abby?"
"D-Daddy?"
"… Run".
"-akes! Jakes! Dammit, matey, come on! JAKES!"
He groaned and immediately raised a hand to his head, feeling something sticky at his hairline.
"There you are, matey, now take it easy".
He opened his eyes only to immediately shut them again as the bright light pierced him.
"… Stra'ge?"
Slowly blinking, the mass of navy and blue in front of him blurred.
"I'm here, Sarge. Thursday's gone to call the doctor".
The meaningless colours began to merge into one.
"Wha'… Where… What happened?"
He grimaced.
"Strange? What- What happened? Where's…"
And then he realised.
"Where's Morse?"
Jakes struggled to sit up but was quickly held down by stronger hands.
"Woah there, matey! You've taken quite a knock to the head and need to stay down a while, alright? At least till DeBryn gets here".
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear".
Jakes frowned as the pathologist stepped in, followed closely by an agitated looking Inspector.
And Thursday only ever got really agitated when a certain detective did something really stupid.
"He's gone, isn't he?"
Thursday remained silent, and Strange avoided his gaze.
"From what I've been told, Sergeant" DeBryn answered, "It would appear so, yes. But let's sort out that head wound first, hmm?"
It was only then that he realised the stickiness on his face and hand was blood, and it all came back in a flash.
"That little bastard!"
The darkness, the stumbling, the blunt instrument.
"He hit me with a fucking broom handle!"
They stared at him.
Strange snorted.
DeBryn bit back a smile and knelt down next to him, handing over what looked like an old tea towel.
"Press that to your head while I get a bandage ready".
He did as told, mourning the loss of a good shirt as he caught sight of more red on his once-white collar.
"You remember what happened to you then?"
"Morse" He bit out, "He got a- a phone call, looked shaken up afterwards so I asked him about it. Said it was Uniform, wanting him to check something down here. I followed, he shut the door behind us, and then…"
"Bang" DeBryn finished, with somewhat morose humour, "The brush handle, you said? It left quite a mark".
He winced as the towel was removed and gloved hands took its place.
"He hit me twice" He explained, "I think. At least twice, anyway. Then I fell and… that's it. How long was I out?"
"When did he get that phone call?" Thursday asked.
"About six?"
"Well it's eight, now".
Strange stood and made his way through the rest of the room.
"He's definitely gone, then?"
"It was Gull who rang him. I'd bet money on it. He probably set up a time and place to meet, Morse agreed, and then all that was left to do was to shake off his babysitter".
"Bodyguard" Thursday half-heartedly correctly, still standing at the door, "That bloody fool".
"What's new?" DeBryn quipped tapping down a strip of gauze, "I didn't think there were any doors out down here though".
"There aren't" Strange called from the back of the evidence room, "There's just this broken window".
Thursday nodded, still grim, "I'll inform Bright".
Jakes watched him go, before turning back to the doctor, "Help me up?"
The trio stood in front of the smashed window, glass littered on the concrete floor both inside and out. The remaining frame had a few jagged pieces still attached, but thankfully none were dipped in blood. It would be a tight squeeze for any man, and the last thing they needed was Morse somehow puncturing a vital artery while escaping.
"He's lucky he's so bloody skinny" Strange commented, his own shoulders comically large in comparison.
"Luck, I'm afraid, has nothing to do with it" DeBryn replied, "When an animal's young is threatened, said animal is capable of incredible things".
"You calling Morse an animal, doc?"
"Aren't we all, at our base level?"
Jakes shook his head, and then immediately regretted the action.
"This is getting too deep for me. I'm going back to work".
"You're doing no such thing! A head wound is not to be messed with sergeant, and right now you need to rest".
"While Morse and Abby are still out there?" He shot back, "In that- that lunatics hands?!"
DeBryn pursed his lips but said nothing, knowing but not liking the fact he'd lost the battle.
The fact that he also would lose the battle, where Jakes' two most loved people were concerned.
"Desk duty, then" He compromised, "No running about for the rest of the week, at least. You'll do neither of them any good with a concussion. Understood?"
The day, if possible, dragged on even longer than the previous night.
Jakes couldn't concentrate, not with a pounding headache, blood-stained clothes, and an empty desk where his partner should have been sitting.
He couldn't ever remember feeling this stiff.
He couldn't ever remember feeling this tired.
… He couldn't ever remember feeling this helpless.
Morse had gotten the phone call at 6am, Strange had found Jakes' unconscious form after a long search at 8am, and it was now just after lunch.
That gave him approximately five hours of no Morse, no Abby, and no Gull.
Just where the hell had that psychopath taken them?!
Carefully putting his head down on his desk, Jakes groaned and willed himself not to fall asleep.
Missing people aside, sleeping with a concussion was so not good for him, and the last thing he needed was giving DeBryn an excuse to order Thursday to bench him.
Not that he thought the Inspector would.
Not now, after their 'heart to heart' talk in the car and the revelation of his and Morse's relationship and his somewhat pathetic blurting of maybe being in love with him.
The man would never be that cruel.
Around him, the hustle and bustle of the office continued, men and women alike working overtime to try and find out where the hell their missing persons were. Despite half the precinct hating Morse and the other half intimidated by him, he was still one of theirs, and still a bloody brilliant copper no matter his personality. That, combined with a missing five-year-old blue-eyed princess had everyone giving it their all.
"JAKES!"
He jumped, head snapping up and then reeling and his vision swimming and the stale coffee and day-old bagel in his stomach threatening to make a reappearance.
Taking a few deep breaths, he looked back up to find Strange frantically gesturing for him to hurry.
"The phone!"
"The phone?" He frowned, "What- What about the phone? Who the hell's on the-"
"It's for you" He added unnecessarily, "I think- I think it's Abigail".