Messalina Munroe, Jimmy Duran, Russell Holland, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Rated R : Strong but brief violence, language, m/m sexual contact. Some scenes are intense.
This story includes slash, which involves sexual situations between two men. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, don't read this.
Reviews are always appreciated.
"Did you notice anything unusual day before yesterday, the day your son disappeared? Anything at all?" Lina glanced up at Alan Collins' face.
"No, nothing unusual. I only saw Wes in the morning, at home."
"Were you aware that Wes and Eric had an argument that afternoon?"
"An argument? No, I didn't hear anything about it." That guarded look came back into his face.
Lina checked her notes, although she could have quoted without them. "Two of your employees heard angry shouting coming from Wes's office. They saw Eric open the door and leave. He and Wes traded a couple of final insults, and Wes slammed the door."
"I -- I'm surprised. They usually get along very well."
"According to the witnesses, Wes called Eric a bastard. Eric called Wes a spoiled brat. Doesn't sound like they get along very well to me."
"Everyone quarrels once in a while."
"Eric didn't tell you about this?"
"I -- no. No reason he should. It's their personal business."
"Any bad blood between them? They must work together closely; maybe there's some friction, some rivalry...?"
"None that I'm aware of, not anymore."
"What do you mean, not anymore?"
"Well..." Again he looked acutely uncomfortable. "Back when the mutants were here, when they were both active as Rangers, there were a couple of arguments. Nothing serious."
Lina looked down at her notes again. "According to our interviews, everyone around here knows they used to fight almost every time they saw each other. There were arguments. There were also physical fights. A few people commented that they were surprised when you made them partners. They expected Eric to be furious at having Wes come in and take an equal position, simply because he's the boss's son."
"That wasn't the only reason! Wes is a fine Guardian, and a fine commander!"
"Does Eric see it that way?"
"Are you accusing him of something?" Collins was angry now, glaring at her. It wasn't an unexpected reaction.
"I'm doing my job," she said mildly. "These are all questions we need to ask, to get the background we need. No one's accusing anyone at this point. However, I don't need to tell you that this is very serious. Your son's been missing for almost two days now. If there's anything you're not telling us, anything at all, it might keep us from finding him."
"I understand." Collins' voice was subdued, his eyes downcast, his flash of anger gone.
"Now... you said you didn't worry when Wes didn't come home that night."
"It's not unusual for him to be out very late."
"How about in the morning? You must have realized he hadn't been home at all."
"I..." Again that cautious look, but more strained, the look of a man struggling with himself. "Wes -- sometimes he stays out all night -- with friends. Or -- or at Bio-Lab."
"Is it possible he went to Eric's that night? To settle their argument?"
"It's possible." Collins' eyes turned to her, with an expression that seemed oddly -- vulnerable. Troubled, even painful. "If you suspect Eric -- I'm positive he had nothing to do with this. He and Wes have saved each other's lives more times than I even know about. They -- they care about each other very much. Eric would never hurt Wes."
"I hope you're right." She hadn't really meant to say that, but it was what she felt, even if only for the sake of the man facing her. A man with enough troubles without the possibility she was suggesting. "Well..." She stood and smiled. "I'd better find Detective Duran."
He got to his feet, walked her to the door of his office, then put out his hand and held hers in a firm, warm grasp. "I realize you have to ask these things," he said. "I'm only surprised you're not treating me as a suspect, too."
"We already spoke to your butler and chauffer, and confirmed that you were home all night." She grinned at his expression. "No one's above suspicion."
Jimmy was waiting outside, and joined her as they headed for the building entrance. "Anything?" he asked.
"Nothing new." She shook her head. "I have a feeling Collins senior thought he knew exactly where Wes was that night. But for some reason he doesn't want to tell us."
"A girlfriend? Daddy doesn't want us to know his kid fools around?" Jimmy smiled.
"A sleepover girlfriend doesn't seem like the kind of thing he'd want to hide."
"Maybe she's married?"
"Unlikely if Wes stayed at her place, but you never know. Or maybe something else is going on here. Meanwhile, we still come back to Eric. Wes went missing only hours after having a screaming argument with a man he's had serious conflicts with in the past, who may still resent him now. A man he told Holland he wanted to talk to that night. He could have gone over to Eric's house to straighten things out..."
"They got into another fight..."
"And one thing led to another. It's no secret Eric's got a nasty temper."
"Damn. I hate this." Jimmy sighed. "What next?"
"Maybe it's time to bring him in for questioning-" She was interrupted as her cellphone buzzed. The conversation was short, and left her with a frown as she hung up. "Come on," she said abruptly, starting again for the front doors.
"Where are we going?"
"North of the city. Wes's morpher has been found. And a body."
Wes sat where he could look up through the pipe and see that little circle of light that meant sky, and sun, and the world that must still exist outside. Sometimes he thought he could even hear a sound, birds chirping, maybe the rustle of leaves as the wind blew through them. What he wouldn't give to feel that breeze on his face...
The second day he had been here. He had tried again to get out, feeling all the surfaces for a weak spot, a loose board, anything. But the box was nailed shut; he could see the ends of some of the nails, where Russell and his friend had been clumsy. And he had no way of knowing how deep he was, whether he could dig his way to the surface even if he could get out of the box.
The day before, after the light visible through the pipe had faded in what he assumed was evening, he had left the flashlight off, reluctantly, but he didn't know how long the batteries would last and the thought of not having it available terrified him. Eventually he had slept, wrapped in the thin blanket they had left for him. When he woke, the pale light of morning had returned.
Today, he had eaten more of the beef jerky, not enough to satisfy his growing hunger, but he wanted to save it. But the saltiness made him thirsty. A few swallows of water were all he allowed himself. Couldn't afford to waste anything, not until he knew if anyone was coming to give him more. So far no one had. A full day gone by, part of another, and no one had come. Maybe they didn't intend to let him live, after all, maybe the food and water were just to prolong his suffering.
Maybe... But why? Who could possibly hate him enough to do something like this? Enemies, yes, he had them, but they would surely be satisfied with a quick bullet in the head, not this. No, there must be some other purpose. They had taken his morpher. His cellphone, of course. And his class ring, and wallet. The morpher wouldn't do them any good. Did they want money? Was this a kidnapping? And how was Russell involved?
How long before it got dark? Was he going to have to spend another night here, trapped, alone, afraid, wondering if he would ever see another human face again? How long? How long before someone -- anyone -- came?
"Let me see, dammit!"
"Okay. Jimmy, show it to him."
Lina watched as Jimmy brought it out, safely inside a transparent plastic evidence bag, and held it up for Eric to see. An oval device, attached to a strap, almost like a large watch. It had survived the fire without apparent damage. She remembered noticing it before, when it had been on Wes Collins' wrist. Just like it had been on the wrist of the pitiful corpse inside that shack.
A couple of hikers had seen the light of a fire last night, and decided to investigate this morning. What they had found had brought the police and Fire Department arson investigators. Word must have gotten to the Silver Guardians; she and Jimmy had been wrapping up their preliminary examination when Eric had arrived.
"It's Wes's morpher," Eric said, his voice harsh. "Where's the body?"
"Eric, I don't think you should-"
He didn't answer, only pushed between them and headed inside the remains of the shack. The door was gone, but the rest of the structure was intact. Everything inside was burned to a crisp, black and crusted with ashes and soot, barely recognizable as a table, a chair, what had probably been food, supplies including shovels, a pickaxe, and a crowbar. And lying on the floor, a body that had once been human, now burned and battered beyond any hope of recognition. They followed, each taking an arm to hold Eric back as he stopped, staring.
"No reason to think it's him." Eric sounded rational enough, but there was a quality under the surface of his voice that set Lina's nerves on edge.
"Just the morpher."
"Was he wearing it?"
"Yes. It's the only thing we've removed from the body so far." She saw Jimmy glance at her, his face grim.
"What happened to him?"
Lina sighed. "Massive head trauma. We think that crowbar's the murder weapon. He was already dead when the fire started."
Eric took a step closer, shrugging them off. "I won't disturb the damn crime scene," he muttered. He bent over the body, and then froze. Staring.
"What is it?" Jimmy asked.
The answer came after another few seconds of silence, as Eric turned a face drained of color to them. "Wes's ring..." he whispered. "He always wore it..."
"Out!" Lina cried, as he swayed. They grabbed him again and hustled him outside. He didn't resist at first, but then shook them off again and turned away, stumbling a few steps to lean against a tree, chest heaving, bent over with head bowed, a soft sound of pain coming from him.
A strong reaction, coming from someone who had seen considerably worse crime scenes than this. Of course, Wes had been his friend. Or so it had seemed. It certainly looked like genuine grief. Or was it just good acting?
Christ. The place was crawling with cops. They had questioned him, the same questions over and over, those suspicious eyes staring at him. The same way Eric had stared, when he and Collins had asked the questions. Did they think he had something to do with it? Had they found something, did they know something? They had found Chris already, he had heard it on the radio. He had been counting on more time before that happened. Would they be searching the woods for Wes?
Russell sat at his desk, face in his hands, able to give in to his own fears with the door safely shut. This wasn't the way it was supposed to have gone. Too dangerous to try for the ransom now; he had counted on Chris making the contact and picking up the money. Couldn't do it himself; what if something went wrong, what if someone saw him, or recognized his face, or his handwriting? They could get him for murder now.
Plus, he had forgotten the damn morpher. Left it on Chris's body. So stupid. Now he had no proof that he even had Wes. Maybe he could go to the graveyard, lower a phone into the box, make Wes tell his father to pay up, make him deliver the ransom message himself... but no, the woods were full of cops now, thanks to that idiot Chris forcing him to kill him. Too much chance of being seen, and how would he stop Wes from saying anything he wanted to? And couldn't they trace cellphone calls now, locate them? Couldn't remember. And couldn't take the chance.
No, no, it had all gone wrong. He had to give it up. No ransom. Forget the whole thing. But -- there was one loose end. Russell raised his head. Wes. If he could safely get into the woods, back to the graveyard, Wes had to be eliminated as soon as possible, just in case. No choice about that, too.
Lina watched as Alan Collins stared at the objects in the evidence bags. He had nodded, once; after the morpher, the ring, a partially melted cellphone, and one still readable credit card from the wallet also found on the body had been laid out on the table in this small, dreary room at the stationhouse. He reached out, fingers trembling, and touched the plastic covering his son's ring.
"Can I see him?" he asked, his voice faint but steady.
"That's not a good idea."
"How did he die?"
Why did they always torture themselves, wanting to know these things? "He was killed by a blow to the head. Probably died instantly. Painlessly."
"Are you sure it's him? I should look, maybe..."
"He's not identifiable. We don't even have enough for dental records. I'm sorry, sir. All we have to go on are these personal items."
"But you can't be sure."
"I suppose not absolutely sure, no. But the body is Wes's size. Was wearing his morpher and ring. I'm told he never took them off. I'm very sorry, but the only logical conclusion is that it's him."
There was silence for a few seconds. Then he spoke again, softly. "Do you have kids, Detective?"
"No." She paused for a moment. "I lost a younger sister, years ago. But I can only imagine what you're going through."
"Kathleen. My wife. She died when Wes was just a baby. I thought that was the worst thing that could ever possibly happen. But this is worse. My son. He wasn't even thirty yet. I remember..." He blinked, and raised a hand to rub his eyes, then looked at her. "I want a DNA test. I know, maybe I'm being irrational, I know it must be Wes, but..."
"I understand completely. We'll need a sample. Wes's hairbrush or toothbrush. It'll take several days."
"Thank you."
She had just told him his son was dead, and he was thanking her. "I'm very sorry," she said again, as he climbed stiffly to his feet, moving to the door as slowly as if he had aged thirty years in the last few minutes.
There were more questions she had to ask, more invasions of his privacy, and that of his son. But the right to privacy disappeared after death, gone, like the privilege of life itself. They would be talking to Alan Collins again. And to Eric, who had gone home, his face harshly controlled but his eyes as vacant and bleak as empty space. More questions. But not tonight.
When Eric had gotten home that night, he had fully intended to do whatever it took to blot out the reality of what he had seen in that cabin. He rarely drank; it reminded him uncomfortably of what it had done to his parents. But tonight he was making an exception. Unfortunately it only seemed to make things worse, to make the emptiness he felt more vast and dreary. He looked down into the glass as he sat on the sofa in his small living room, finding nothing in its liquid depths. Whatever answer he was looking for, he wouldn't find it there.
He got up, found his way into the kitchen, and held the glass over the sink, letting the contents pour out slowly. It drained away in a gleaming amber stream, leaving only an empty glass behind. He stared at the drain for a while, before gathering the energy to return to the living room.
It had been on the news. A body found in the woods north of the city, and identified as Wesley Collins. Could that blackened, shriveled thing he had seen ever have spoken, and laughed, and lived? Had that been all that was left of the man he remembered: the boy he had had a crush on in prep school, met again years later, fought against as a rival and fought alongside as a partner; the man he had secretly longed for, finally held in his arms, the person he loved? Could that smile, those bright eyes, the body he had touched, could all that be nothing more than ashes and memories now? No, it couldn't be real, he couldn't believe it.
"Wes," he whispered. "Please, don't be dead..."
"Eric..." Wes was startled by the sound of his own voice. He opened his eyes to darkness. A dream... it had seemed almost real, Eric's face, his voice calling, searching for him, seeming so close for a moment Wes almost tried to reach out and touch him. But there was only emptiness. He was alone, in the dark, hungry and thirsty, forgotten and abandoned; it had been two days now and no sign of anyone to give him more food and water, or to let him out. He was going to die down here, all alone...
"Eric... Dad..." he whispered. "Oh, God, please... someone help me..."
TBC...