Title: Resurfacing
Authoress: Ladya C. Maxine
Rating: R
Summary: see chapter one
Warnings: see chapter one
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or any of its characters. Any unrecognizable characters belong solely to me and are not to be touched. I am not making any money off of this and I write with the sole intention to amuse.
************************
"Fucking waste, I tell yah. Should have seen it coming."
"I'd go to the cops if I was you. File a complain."
"You thick?! I'd get arrested right on the spot and end up in the same place as that bastard..."
The rest was drowned out when a group of men at another table exploded in laugher but Bruce's attention had been piqued.
It was nearing the end of week two and no leads had been discovered though the officials were still searching. It was as if Kai had fallen off the face of the earth. Boris, despite all the threats and demands, wasn't talking. His trial was coming up in a week but he remained as pompous as ever, choosing instead to mock the situation and their efforts. The workers and scientists from the Abbey had all gone through extensive interrogations but it became clear that, though they worked for him, none of them knew much of Voltaire, much less his hide-aways. Of the four bladers, Bryan was the only one conscious but he altered a lot between awareness and sleep.
On their side, the number of bladers had lessened though the concerns were all the same. The White Tigers and the Majestics had returned home, unable to help and called for by relatives or, in the Majestics' case, responsibilities. They made it clear though that they wanted to be kept informed of the preceding. The remainders could only wait and hope for the best. Kai's team mates were definitely feeling it. Even Ray, who had kept up a brave facade for the others, was showing signs of tension and weariness. Tyson and Max were barely recognizable, both having lost their brightness. Kenny spent hours on his laptop, searching late into the night for anything to help the officials out. It had only two days ago that Bruce had entered the living room to find the small boy sprawled over the coffee table, having passed out in exhaustion, face streaked with tears of frustration.
He had used his own people and resources to assist in the massive undertaking and had worked alongside Stanley and Judy. Private investigators, expert hackers, international officials, local law enforcement; a group that would have found its target within a day. But Voltaire was too powerful and his money too much. Bank accounts were blocked and any contacts were also inaccessible.
Needing a time-off before he burst with frustration, Bruce had left the building, simply walking through the streets with no real destination. His wandering eventually brought him to a bar he had visited before with his dad. Cold and miserable, he had entered and taken a seat at the bar, musing over his drink, ignoring the other, rather loud, tenants. That is, until a certain topic between two men nearby caught his attention. One was an obvious American from his accent. He was dressed in a smart suit but looked like he had been mellowing about the bar for some time; his shirt untucked and his tie loose. The other was dressed more casually.
What had gotten his attention was the mentioning of a red-head. It could have been anyone but his mind had immediately turned to Tala. Pretending to lean back to see the small television mounted on the wall better, he listened to pick up more of the discussion. The American was obviously very bitter about the topic.
"50,000,- fucking dollars lost! If I ever get my hand on that bastard...!"
"50.000?! You paid $50.000,- for a whore?!" his friend asked aghast.
"Yes, or rather, that's part of the amount. But it would have been money well-spent. The bitch was the best I've had in years! The best time to take them is when they are young and tight. If you were there and had seen the look in them blue eyes of his and had heard the muffled cries you would have come without even laying a hand on him."
"That good, huh?" the other chuckled, taking a swig of beer.
"That fucking good... Not like any of the boys I've had back home. But that fool Balcov got himself arrested..."
His friend gave him a sympathetic pat on his back but Bruce's eyes narrowed. How would this American know Boris or Tala? The ex-director had always kept a very tight hold on any of his students, especially his top bladers.
'The...semen...we found in him suggest that it was more than one man. We found 5 different types.'
The doctor's words which sounded in his mind plus what he had just heard solved the 'mystery'; after their loss to the Bladebreakers, Boris had, for some reason, attempted to...sell Tala. Judging from Voltaire's reaction to the defeat it must have been a matter of financial money. Or Boris was simply the most sadistic bastard walking this earth. Both were just as likely.
Someone dropped onto the seat next to him and Bruce was surprised to see it to be the American. His friend had vanished, probably went home or passed out in the bathroom. In any case the man who knew rather vital information to the case was brooding right next to him.
"Two beers," Bruce told the bartender. Turning to the man, he asked, "Rough day, pal?"
The man seemed to just notice him but nodded a grunted answer.
"Rough time," he corrected.
The beers were served and Bruce took one, offering the other one to the man. Pretending to make sure that no one was listening, Bruce began his interrogation, relieved to realise the man didn't recognize him from the news.
"So you were swindled by Balcov too?"
The man's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing in dislike for the name.
"What's it to you?"
"Nothing at all. Just got off the phone with a friend who's also bitching about that bastard."
Studying him for a moment, the man then sighed and leaned onto the bar.
"Yeah, probably one of the other men who were there."
"My friend said that some lucky son-of-a-gun had managed to pay down on a rather costly red-head." He mentally winced at his own blunt words but he needed to play it this way if he was going to get the man to talk.
"Lucky?" the man snorted, putting down the now empty bottle with a loud *clink*, "I lost 50.000!"
"So I heard. No doubt Balcov managed to stash it away before he was caught," he shrugged, handing the man another beer.
Again the American snorted.
"Stash away? He used it to fond more blasted experiments. Like it is any of my fucking business if his boss refused to pay him anymore..."
"My friend said he'd been selling boys for years."
"Your friend got his wires crossed. He only started after the Russians lost the championships. And only one kid was up to be auctioned off, though we were allowed to...'test'...the item first." The man chuckled softly at the memory. "Best testing I've ever had to do. Such a sweet package; all tied up and laid out. Too weak to put up a good fight but still had enough energy to struggle beneath you so fucking good."
His fingers curled tightly around the cool surface of his beer but Bruce kept himself in check. He couldn't blow this. Faking a smirking grin, he raised a brow.
"Sounds like a perfect buy. Too bad there was only one of them."
The man, having gotten his hand on a third beer, blinked blearily in concentration.
"Actually...I think there was another. Nah, he wasn't there..."
"Who?" Bruce questioned, pretending to do so distractedly as he watched a waitress flirt with one of the patrons.
"We were with I think seven, buyers that is. One of them asked Balcov about another boy. What was that bitch's name...?" He looked off into space, pondering. "Tai? No, that's not it....Hi, no....Lai...?"
"Kai?" Bruce offered.
"Yeah! That's it!" The eyes narrowed though. "How do you know?"
"The man who asked for him is my friend," Bruce said, using quick thinking to cover.
"Oh...well, anyways, yeah. That was the boy's name. Anyways, Boris said he wasn't up for auction. Something about him having to catch a plane with his boss."
Bingo. Bruce mentally took a deep breath; this piece of information was just what they needed.
"Should have tried bargaining for him."
"Boris' boss is a fucking millionaire. No way in hell any of us had enough money for that one. The man has houses everywhere. Who the hell needs to reserve an entire plane for a ten hour flight?! I'm surprise he didn't take the red-head as well."
By now the man was ranting, beers having caught up to him. What he said could have been alcohol induced but Bruce hoped it was true.
"I'll tell ya one thing...," the man swayed in his seat, about ready too topple. "I hope thut basturd rots in prison!"
He wasn't going to get anything else out of the now thoroughly drunk business man so he sighed and stood. Before walking off though he leaned over and looked the man in the eyes.
"Tell me one thing, the red-head you were 'robbed' of, what was his name?"
The man blinked and looked pensive, or as pensive as a drunken person can be, before shrugging.
"Ne'er asked. Didn't care. Little bitch wuz meant only for a good'lay whenever I want'd, nothing more." With that he collapsed on the bar-top, slipping into an incoherent sleep.
Bruce watched him for a moment before nodding darkly. Walking out of the bar, he pulled out his cell and dialled.
"Mr.Dickenson? I have some information that may be useful. Also, can you get a couple of the cops downtown at the bar near the dock? There's an individual inside that needs some legal reality check..."
**************
*~*~*~begin flashback~*~*~*
"Bastard!!"
"Don't you talk to me that way, *boy*!!"
"How could you do this?! He's your grandson!!"
Gentle hands gathered him, holding him against a soft chest. Scared, he buried his face in the soft material of her blouse.
"Mama..."
"It's okay," she assured, covering his ears to block out the heated argument.
"He needs to be taught the harsh way of life!! I will not make the same mistake raising him as I did you!! He will grow to be a strong man; one I can proudly call my heir!!"
"Bullshit!! You just want him for your own twisted pleasure!! I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I *will* make you pay for ever touching him!!"
Breaking off the elder's glare, he turned and took his family in his arms.
"We're leaving," he told them softly, beginning to guide them out of the large library.
"Don't you walk away from me!! Come back here!!"
"Over my dead body!!"
Peaking over his mother's shoulder, her soft blue hair tickling his face, he shivered when enraged crimson eyes glared baleful daggers at his parents' retreating forms. A sneer spread across the stern face.
"I will hold you to those words, *boy*."
The door slammed shut behind them.
*~*~*~end flashback~*~*~*
Dreams had a way of transferring into the real world and he jumped at the sound of the banging door. Sitting up suddenly, he panted for breath, expecting to find himself back in that library, with his parents and grandfather. Instead, he was in his room, and alone.
What had happened? Why was he in bed? He didn't remember lying down...
"Oh man..." he sighed as the memory of his breakdown enlightened him. His abduction...Voltaire...Tala...Dranzer...The Bladebreakers; everything was just a jumbled mass of pain and depression in him. He had nothing left to keep him going. Except...
"Margaret."
Her frightened voice and worried face came to mind. She must have placed him in bed. He remembered hearing her speaking to him through the darkness, sitting beside him loyally many times, telling him stories of her home and places she had been. Though he couldn't respond, she knew he could somehow hear her and wanted him to know that she was there for him.
His muscles were badly cramped and with a stifled moan of pain he stretched and was about to stand when the door handle wobbled. Freezing on the spot, he waited but then relaxed when Margaret entered...only to feel his heart clench again.
"Margaret?"
She looked up in surprise but then smiled. Balancing two trays in her hands, she walked over and placed them on the nightstand, her movement somewhat awkward.
"You're awake. I had feared that you had slipped out of my control. Lay down; I have something for the pain."
He didn't hear a word she said, his mind desperately telling him that his eyes were lying as he looked at her.
"Margaret..."
"You've been unconscious for a couple of days; eat some bread to regain your strength." She held out the plate, pretending everything was normal.
Taking the plate from her, he placed it back on the tray, instead holding her hand in his, studying the angry welts that surrounded her thin wrist. She pulled away, her calm facade somewhat chipped as she nervously cleared her throat, turning back to the tray.
"I brought you some medicine in case you felt any sore throat. Oh, take some tea, for you throat. I put extra lemon in it." Her voice was soft and somewhat hoarse, trembling though not as much as her hands as she poured the hot liquid into the cup.
Watching her fight her pain to be brave for him, his eyes watered.
"Margaret...I'm sorry..."
She stopped pouring and looking at him with her one open eye, the other too swollen to see, she shook her head.
"Don't worry about me, Kai. I'll live." She offered him a smile, despite how painful the action was.
"When...?" He couldn't finish the sentence.
She sighed softly, picking up a heated pack and gently placing it behind him to warm his back.
"Only last night."
"But--"
"Please don't get upset about it, dear. I rather it happened to me than to you again. You weren't in a state to protect yourself."
"Just because I was unconscious didn't give him the right to touch you--"
"That's enough, Kai," she cut in sharply, "I don't care if I have to be his whore every night; as long as it keeps him away from you I will do it."
A silence fell between them. Kai taken back by her defensive tone and Margaret keeping herself busy with adding something to his tea which she offered again.
"Please drink it."
Taking the steaming cup, he took a small sip, flinching as the lemon stung his somewhat sore throat on the way down. It took a while but he finally finished the tea and handed it back. Glancing at her bruised face, he looked away and waited a few seconds before asking softly, "Were you afraid?"
A long minute passed before, "Yes. Yes, I was."
Both felt silent, letting each other's company soothe them.
*****************
Ray sighed in frustration and slammed the book shut, pushing it away from him and flopping over onto his back.
It was nerve wrecking. No sighting. No findings. No clues. No phone calls. Absolutely *nothing*.
His fingers absentmindedly searched for and found the smooth casing on the nightstand. Running his fingers idly over the curved gold tail feathers of the phoenix, he tried to think of something other than what was going on around him but it was impossible.
They were entering day four of Wolborg's sudden appearance and the glacier bit beast had remained next to his master. At first he had absolutely refused to allow anyone near Tala, growling and snapping sharp teeth at any hand that came near the red-head. But then it had slowly come to realise that they were helping him, not hurting him. The wolf would watch with concentrated eyes every movement the doctors and nurses made, searching for the slightest malice.
Early yesterday morning, however, the first signs of weakness appeared as the wolf started to stumble and sometimes collapse, its energy failing. Yet it was adamant about being able to see its blader and had struggled back to its feet every time. A stretcher was brought in, at Judy's request, and the bit beast had accepted the aid, glad to be able to lay on it next to his master, resting his head on the mattress, nudging a hand or shoulder every now and then.
One good thing had happened, though. Two days ago. Ray had been sitting in the room, something he did a lot, hoping Tala would wake up and be okay, when the door behind him had opened. Expecting a nurse or one of the others, he hadn't turned at first but the footsteps were doubled. One was soft, a nurse whose footsteps he had come to recognize. The other, however, was heavy and somewhat unstable.
Standing, he had been surprised to see the tall, burly figure of Spencer slowly walking towards him, allowing the nurse to lead him. Bandage covered the blond's eyes but he seemed to notice Ray, his head turning in the neko-jin's direction before returning to face forward as he was brought to stand next to the bed.
Wolborg's head had risen the moment the door had opened but now the ears flitted in recognition and he whimpered. Hearing the sound, Spencer frowned slightly but held out a hand which Wolborg leaned over to nuzzle. Petting the beast's snout, Spencer said something to the nurse in russian and she replied before stepping back.
"How is he?" Ray had asked, coming to stand next to her.
"We're still trying. He has been asking to visit the others for days." She smiled softly at something the blond told Wolborg, which got him a disagreeing snort. "He worries for Wolborg. He's telling him to go back to his blade," she informed Ray.
The visit had ended with Spencer taking Tala's much more slender hand in his and saying what sounded like a prayer to his captain. The nurse had then led him out to go visit Ian, who had undergone surgery to repair a ruptured vein in his head.
"All of this...All because of one man..."
Ray had never hated anyone in his life. At the moment, however, he was going crazy with want to maul Boris. And Voltaire. How could two men completely destroy so many peoples' lives? How was it possible?
Pondering, his finger continued to trace the design on the casing. He knew every curve by now. How many times had he sat in the room while Kai had held this black box in his hands, applying the markings that were his trademark? How many times had he bugged Kai about it? Asking him why he needed a casing when the paint came with its own? Kai had always replied; 'In case of an emergency.'
The silence in the room was interrupted when the phone went loudly. Startling, he reached over and grabbed it off the horn, his heart beating hard.
"Hello?...Oh, hey Mr.D....No, I just thought....*sighs*....It's alright. Is there anything you need?...Yeah....Let me get a pen." Finding one in the drawer of the nightstand, he took his rejected book and opening it he began to write on the inner cover. "So this is the new phone number?...Alright....Yeah, I'll give it to the others....Okay, bye."
Hanging up he was about to go downstairs to find the others when Max, Kenny and Tyson rushed in.
"We heard the phone."
"Did they find anything new?"
"Did Boris confess?"
"Is Tala awake?"
He shook his head, feeling bad to shatter their hopes though his had been already. The small portion of hope fell from their face.
"Oh...well, who was it?" Tyson asked, dropping down on the bed next to Ray while Kenny and Max each took a chair.
"Mr Dickenson just called to say that he has a new phone number, in case we need him urgently."
"That's good. I mean, maybe we'll find something and..." Max began but didn't finish, instead sighing as if to chastise himself.
Looking at his down team mates, Ray couldn't recall a single moment in time when he had ever seen them like this.
"I just don't get why we haven't even heard anything," Kenny said softly, hugging Dizzy to him, "Why hasn't Kai found a way to contact us or something."
"I don't think Voltaire will let him. Maybe he has him locked in a room," Max pointed out, hugging his knees to him. "Or maybe he...Maybe Kai is...."
"Don't go there, Max," Ray intervened, softening his voice when the blond flinched at his tone, "We don't know anything. But Kai's tough. And he's alive. He'll pull through this. We've got to believe in him and in Mr D and everyone else. We will win this."
"What makes you so sure?" Tyson asked, distractedly playing with the black casing Ray had left on the bed.
Offering the navy-haired blader a small smile, Ray said, "Because we're the good guys."
Tyson returned the smile softly despite his mood. Glad to see some recognition of the Dragoon blader, Ray picked up the book.
"You guys better write this number down."
Max got up and retrieved a notepad and a pen and sat back down on the bed next to Tyson, waiting for the number.
"34..." Ray began, watching the blond write down the numbers.
"99..."
Tyson still played with the casing, trailing the elaborate tail feathers.
"16..."
As he watched Max write he followed Tyson's movements out of the corner of his eyes.
"43..."
That pattern...
"87..."
He had followed it so many times...
"76."
And now...
Max sighed as he finished but his eyes widened when Ray suddenly leaned forward, grabbing the casing from a shocked Tyson.
"Sorry, Ray! I didn't damage it, I swear!" Tyson said, mistaking the tiger's actions.
Ray didn't hear him, instead tracing the gold patterns.
So familiar....
'...In case of an emergency...'
"That's it..."
"What?" Tyson asked but instead of answering, Ray grabbed the phone and quickly dialled the number he had just been given, leaving the other three bladers confused.
"Mr Dickenson, I think I have a clue here! We'll be there in ten minutes!"
Hanging up, he jumped to his feet.
"Ray? What's wron--" Kenny started to ask but the tiger blader pulled him to his feet and began for the door.
"Get your coats! Let's go!"
Unable to do anything else, the younger boys did as they were told.
Running to the front door for his coat, Ray actually smiled for the first time in a long time. All this time he actually might have had the answer right in his hands...
tbc............
********************
Read & Reviews, please.
Authoress: Ladya C. Maxine
Rating: R
Summary: see chapter one
Warnings: see chapter one
Disclaimer: I do not own Beyblade or any of its characters. Any unrecognizable characters belong solely to me and are not to be touched. I am not making any money off of this and I write with the sole intention to amuse.
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"Fucking waste, I tell yah. Should have seen it coming."
"I'd go to the cops if I was you. File a complain."
"You thick?! I'd get arrested right on the spot and end up in the same place as that bastard..."
The rest was drowned out when a group of men at another table exploded in laugher but Bruce's attention had been piqued.
It was nearing the end of week two and no leads had been discovered though the officials were still searching. It was as if Kai had fallen off the face of the earth. Boris, despite all the threats and demands, wasn't talking. His trial was coming up in a week but he remained as pompous as ever, choosing instead to mock the situation and their efforts. The workers and scientists from the Abbey had all gone through extensive interrogations but it became clear that, though they worked for him, none of them knew much of Voltaire, much less his hide-aways. Of the four bladers, Bryan was the only one conscious but he altered a lot between awareness and sleep.
On their side, the number of bladers had lessened though the concerns were all the same. The White Tigers and the Majestics had returned home, unable to help and called for by relatives or, in the Majestics' case, responsibilities. They made it clear though that they wanted to be kept informed of the preceding. The remainders could only wait and hope for the best. Kai's team mates were definitely feeling it. Even Ray, who had kept up a brave facade for the others, was showing signs of tension and weariness. Tyson and Max were barely recognizable, both having lost their brightness. Kenny spent hours on his laptop, searching late into the night for anything to help the officials out. It had only two days ago that Bruce had entered the living room to find the small boy sprawled over the coffee table, having passed out in exhaustion, face streaked with tears of frustration.
He had used his own people and resources to assist in the massive undertaking and had worked alongside Stanley and Judy. Private investigators, expert hackers, international officials, local law enforcement; a group that would have found its target within a day. But Voltaire was too powerful and his money too much. Bank accounts were blocked and any contacts were also inaccessible.
Needing a time-off before he burst with frustration, Bruce had left the building, simply walking through the streets with no real destination. His wandering eventually brought him to a bar he had visited before with his dad. Cold and miserable, he had entered and taken a seat at the bar, musing over his drink, ignoring the other, rather loud, tenants. That is, until a certain topic between two men nearby caught his attention. One was an obvious American from his accent. He was dressed in a smart suit but looked like he had been mellowing about the bar for some time; his shirt untucked and his tie loose. The other was dressed more casually.
What had gotten his attention was the mentioning of a red-head. It could have been anyone but his mind had immediately turned to Tala. Pretending to lean back to see the small television mounted on the wall better, he listened to pick up more of the discussion. The American was obviously very bitter about the topic.
"50,000,- fucking dollars lost! If I ever get my hand on that bastard...!"
"50.000?! You paid $50.000,- for a whore?!" his friend asked aghast.
"Yes, or rather, that's part of the amount. But it would have been money well-spent. The bitch was the best I've had in years! The best time to take them is when they are young and tight. If you were there and had seen the look in them blue eyes of his and had heard the muffled cries you would have come without even laying a hand on him."
"That good, huh?" the other chuckled, taking a swig of beer.
"That fucking good... Not like any of the boys I've had back home. But that fool Balcov got himself arrested..."
His friend gave him a sympathetic pat on his back but Bruce's eyes narrowed. How would this American know Boris or Tala? The ex-director had always kept a very tight hold on any of his students, especially his top bladers.
'The...semen...we found in him suggest that it was more than one man. We found 5 different types.'
The doctor's words which sounded in his mind plus what he had just heard solved the 'mystery'; after their loss to the Bladebreakers, Boris had, for some reason, attempted to...sell Tala. Judging from Voltaire's reaction to the defeat it must have been a matter of financial money. Or Boris was simply the most sadistic bastard walking this earth. Both were just as likely.
Someone dropped onto the seat next to him and Bruce was surprised to see it to be the American. His friend had vanished, probably went home or passed out in the bathroom. In any case the man who knew rather vital information to the case was brooding right next to him.
"Two beers," Bruce told the bartender. Turning to the man, he asked, "Rough day, pal?"
The man seemed to just notice him but nodded a grunted answer.
"Rough time," he corrected.
The beers were served and Bruce took one, offering the other one to the man. Pretending to make sure that no one was listening, Bruce began his interrogation, relieved to realise the man didn't recognize him from the news.
"So you were swindled by Balcov too?"
The man's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing in dislike for the name.
"What's it to you?"
"Nothing at all. Just got off the phone with a friend who's also bitching about that bastard."
Studying him for a moment, the man then sighed and leaned onto the bar.
"Yeah, probably one of the other men who were there."
"My friend said that some lucky son-of-a-gun had managed to pay down on a rather costly red-head." He mentally winced at his own blunt words but he needed to play it this way if he was going to get the man to talk.
"Lucky?" the man snorted, putting down the now empty bottle with a loud *clink*, "I lost 50.000!"
"So I heard. No doubt Balcov managed to stash it away before he was caught," he shrugged, handing the man another beer.
Again the American snorted.
"Stash away? He used it to fond more blasted experiments. Like it is any of my fucking business if his boss refused to pay him anymore..."
"My friend said he'd been selling boys for years."
"Your friend got his wires crossed. He only started after the Russians lost the championships. And only one kid was up to be auctioned off, though we were allowed to...'test'...the item first." The man chuckled softly at the memory. "Best testing I've ever had to do. Such a sweet package; all tied up and laid out. Too weak to put up a good fight but still had enough energy to struggle beneath you so fucking good."
His fingers curled tightly around the cool surface of his beer but Bruce kept himself in check. He couldn't blow this. Faking a smirking grin, he raised a brow.
"Sounds like a perfect buy. Too bad there was only one of them."
The man, having gotten his hand on a third beer, blinked blearily in concentration.
"Actually...I think there was another. Nah, he wasn't there..."
"Who?" Bruce questioned, pretending to do so distractedly as he watched a waitress flirt with one of the patrons.
"We were with I think seven, buyers that is. One of them asked Balcov about another boy. What was that bitch's name...?" He looked off into space, pondering. "Tai? No, that's not it....Hi, no....Lai...?"
"Kai?" Bruce offered.
"Yeah! That's it!" The eyes narrowed though. "How do you know?"
"The man who asked for him is my friend," Bruce said, using quick thinking to cover.
"Oh...well, anyways, yeah. That was the boy's name. Anyways, Boris said he wasn't up for auction. Something about him having to catch a plane with his boss."
Bingo. Bruce mentally took a deep breath; this piece of information was just what they needed.
"Should have tried bargaining for him."
"Boris' boss is a fucking millionaire. No way in hell any of us had enough money for that one. The man has houses everywhere. Who the hell needs to reserve an entire plane for a ten hour flight?! I'm surprise he didn't take the red-head as well."
By now the man was ranting, beers having caught up to him. What he said could have been alcohol induced but Bruce hoped it was true.
"I'll tell ya one thing...," the man swayed in his seat, about ready too topple. "I hope thut basturd rots in prison!"
He wasn't going to get anything else out of the now thoroughly drunk business man so he sighed and stood. Before walking off though he leaned over and looked the man in the eyes.
"Tell me one thing, the red-head you were 'robbed' of, what was his name?"
The man blinked and looked pensive, or as pensive as a drunken person can be, before shrugging.
"Ne'er asked. Didn't care. Little bitch wuz meant only for a good'lay whenever I want'd, nothing more." With that he collapsed on the bar-top, slipping into an incoherent sleep.
Bruce watched him for a moment before nodding darkly. Walking out of the bar, he pulled out his cell and dialled.
"Mr.Dickenson? I have some information that may be useful. Also, can you get a couple of the cops downtown at the bar near the dock? There's an individual inside that needs some legal reality check..."
**************
*~*~*~begin flashback~*~*~*
"Bastard!!"
"Don't you talk to me that way, *boy*!!"
"How could you do this?! He's your grandson!!"
Gentle hands gathered him, holding him against a soft chest. Scared, he buried his face in the soft material of her blouse.
"Mama..."
"It's okay," she assured, covering his ears to block out the heated argument.
"He needs to be taught the harsh way of life!! I will not make the same mistake raising him as I did you!! He will grow to be a strong man; one I can proudly call my heir!!"
"Bullshit!! You just want him for your own twisted pleasure!! I swear, if it's the last thing I do, I *will* make you pay for ever touching him!!"
Breaking off the elder's glare, he turned and took his family in his arms.
"We're leaving," he told them softly, beginning to guide them out of the large library.
"Don't you walk away from me!! Come back here!!"
"Over my dead body!!"
Peaking over his mother's shoulder, her soft blue hair tickling his face, he shivered when enraged crimson eyes glared baleful daggers at his parents' retreating forms. A sneer spread across the stern face.
"I will hold you to those words, *boy*."
The door slammed shut behind them.
*~*~*~end flashback~*~*~*
Dreams had a way of transferring into the real world and he jumped at the sound of the banging door. Sitting up suddenly, he panted for breath, expecting to find himself back in that library, with his parents and grandfather. Instead, he was in his room, and alone.
What had happened? Why was he in bed? He didn't remember lying down...
"Oh man..." he sighed as the memory of his breakdown enlightened him. His abduction...Voltaire...Tala...Dranzer...The Bladebreakers; everything was just a jumbled mass of pain and depression in him. He had nothing left to keep him going. Except...
"Margaret."
Her frightened voice and worried face came to mind. She must have placed him in bed. He remembered hearing her speaking to him through the darkness, sitting beside him loyally many times, telling him stories of her home and places she had been. Though he couldn't respond, she knew he could somehow hear her and wanted him to know that she was there for him.
His muscles were badly cramped and with a stifled moan of pain he stretched and was about to stand when the door handle wobbled. Freezing on the spot, he waited but then relaxed when Margaret entered...only to feel his heart clench again.
"Margaret?"
She looked up in surprise but then smiled. Balancing two trays in her hands, she walked over and placed them on the nightstand, her movement somewhat awkward.
"You're awake. I had feared that you had slipped out of my control. Lay down; I have something for the pain."
He didn't hear a word she said, his mind desperately telling him that his eyes were lying as he looked at her.
"Margaret..."
"You've been unconscious for a couple of days; eat some bread to regain your strength." She held out the plate, pretending everything was normal.
Taking the plate from her, he placed it back on the tray, instead holding her hand in his, studying the angry welts that surrounded her thin wrist. She pulled away, her calm facade somewhat chipped as she nervously cleared her throat, turning back to the tray.
"I brought you some medicine in case you felt any sore throat. Oh, take some tea, for you throat. I put extra lemon in it." Her voice was soft and somewhat hoarse, trembling though not as much as her hands as she poured the hot liquid into the cup.
Watching her fight her pain to be brave for him, his eyes watered.
"Margaret...I'm sorry..."
She stopped pouring and looking at him with her one open eye, the other too swollen to see, she shook her head.
"Don't worry about me, Kai. I'll live." She offered him a smile, despite how painful the action was.
"When...?" He couldn't finish the sentence.
She sighed softly, picking up a heated pack and gently placing it behind him to warm his back.
"Only last night."
"But--"
"Please don't get upset about it, dear. I rather it happened to me than to you again. You weren't in a state to protect yourself."
"Just because I was unconscious didn't give him the right to touch you--"
"That's enough, Kai," she cut in sharply, "I don't care if I have to be his whore every night; as long as it keeps him away from you I will do it."
A silence fell between them. Kai taken back by her defensive tone and Margaret keeping herself busy with adding something to his tea which she offered again.
"Please drink it."
Taking the steaming cup, he took a small sip, flinching as the lemon stung his somewhat sore throat on the way down. It took a while but he finally finished the tea and handed it back. Glancing at her bruised face, he looked away and waited a few seconds before asking softly, "Were you afraid?"
A long minute passed before, "Yes. Yes, I was."
Both felt silent, letting each other's company soothe them.
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Ray sighed in frustration and slammed the book shut, pushing it away from him and flopping over onto his back.
It was nerve wrecking. No sighting. No findings. No clues. No phone calls. Absolutely *nothing*.
His fingers absentmindedly searched for and found the smooth casing on the nightstand. Running his fingers idly over the curved gold tail feathers of the phoenix, he tried to think of something other than what was going on around him but it was impossible.
They were entering day four of Wolborg's sudden appearance and the glacier bit beast had remained next to his master. At first he had absolutely refused to allow anyone near Tala, growling and snapping sharp teeth at any hand that came near the red-head. But then it had slowly come to realise that they were helping him, not hurting him. The wolf would watch with concentrated eyes every movement the doctors and nurses made, searching for the slightest malice.
Early yesterday morning, however, the first signs of weakness appeared as the wolf started to stumble and sometimes collapse, its energy failing. Yet it was adamant about being able to see its blader and had struggled back to its feet every time. A stretcher was brought in, at Judy's request, and the bit beast had accepted the aid, glad to be able to lay on it next to his master, resting his head on the mattress, nudging a hand or shoulder every now and then.
One good thing had happened, though. Two days ago. Ray had been sitting in the room, something he did a lot, hoping Tala would wake up and be okay, when the door behind him had opened. Expecting a nurse or one of the others, he hadn't turned at first but the footsteps were doubled. One was soft, a nurse whose footsteps he had come to recognize. The other, however, was heavy and somewhat unstable.
Standing, he had been surprised to see the tall, burly figure of Spencer slowly walking towards him, allowing the nurse to lead him. Bandage covered the blond's eyes but he seemed to notice Ray, his head turning in the neko-jin's direction before returning to face forward as he was brought to stand next to the bed.
Wolborg's head had risen the moment the door had opened but now the ears flitted in recognition and he whimpered. Hearing the sound, Spencer frowned slightly but held out a hand which Wolborg leaned over to nuzzle. Petting the beast's snout, Spencer said something to the nurse in russian and she replied before stepping back.
"How is he?" Ray had asked, coming to stand next to her.
"We're still trying. He has been asking to visit the others for days." She smiled softly at something the blond told Wolborg, which got him a disagreeing snort. "He worries for Wolborg. He's telling him to go back to his blade," she informed Ray.
The visit had ended with Spencer taking Tala's much more slender hand in his and saying what sounded like a prayer to his captain. The nurse had then led him out to go visit Ian, who had undergone surgery to repair a ruptured vein in his head.
"All of this...All because of one man..."
Ray had never hated anyone in his life. At the moment, however, he was going crazy with want to maul Boris. And Voltaire. How could two men completely destroy so many peoples' lives? How was it possible?
Pondering, his finger continued to trace the design on the casing. He knew every curve by now. How many times had he sat in the room while Kai had held this black box in his hands, applying the markings that were his trademark? How many times had he bugged Kai about it? Asking him why he needed a casing when the paint came with its own? Kai had always replied; 'In case of an emergency.'
The silence in the room was interrupted when the phone went loudly. Startling, he reached over and grabbed it off the horn, his heart beating hard.
"Hello?...Oh, hey Mr.D....No, I just thought....*sighs*....It's alright. Is there anything you need?...Yeah....Let me get a pen." Finding one in the drawer of the nightstand, he took his rejected book and opening it he began to write on the inner cover. "So this is the new phone number?...Alright....Yeah, I'll give it to the others....Okay, bye."
Hanging up he was about to go downstairs to find the others when Max, Kenny and Tyson rushed in.
"We heard the phone."
"Did they find anything new?"
"Did Boris confess?"
"Is Tala awake?"
He shook his head, feeling bad to shatter their hopes though his had been already. The small portion of hope fell from their face.
"Oh...well, who was it?" Tyson asked, dropping down on the bed next to Ray while Kenny and Max each took a chair.
"Mr Dickenson just called to say that he has a new phone number, in case we need him urgently."
"That's good. I mean, maybe we'll find something and..." Max began but didn't finish, instead sighing as if to chastise himself.
Looking at his down team mates, Ray couldn't recall a single moment in time when he had ever seen them like this.
"I just don't get why we haven't even heard anything," Kenny said softly, hugging Dizzy to him, "Why hasn't Kai found a way to contact us or something."
"I don't think Voltaire will let him. Maybe he has him locked in a room," Max pointed out, hugging his knees to him. "Or maybe he...Maybe Kai is...."
"Don't go there, Max," Ray intervened, softening his voice when the blond flinched at his tone, "We don't know anything. But Kai's tough. And he's alive. He'll pull through this. We've got to believe in him and in Mr D and everyone else. We will win this."
"What makes you so sure?" Tyson asked, distractedly playing with the black casing Ray had left on the bed.
Offering the navy-haired blader a small smile, Ray said, "Because we're the good guys."
Tyson returned the smile softly despite his mood. Glad to see some recognition of the Dragoon blader, Ray picked up the book.
"You guys better write this number down."
Max got up and retrieved a notepad and a pen and sat back down on the bed next to Tyson, waiting for the number.
"34..." Ray began, watching the blond write down the numbers.
"99..."
Tyson still played with the casing, trailing the elaborate tail feathers.
"16..."
As he watched Max write he followed Tyson's movements out of the corner of his eyes.
"43..."
That pattern...
"87..."
He had followed it so many times...
"76."
And now...
Max sighed as he finished but his eyes widened when Ray suddenly leaned forward, grabbing the casing from a shocked Tyson.
"Sorry, Ray! I didn't damage it, I swear!" Tyson said, mistaking the tiger's actions.
Ray didn't hear him, instead tracing the gold patterns.
So familiar....
'...In case of an emergency...'
"That's it..."
"What?" Tyson asked but instead of answering, Ray grabbed the phone and quickly dialled the number he had just been given, leaving the other three bladers confused.
"Mr Dickenson, I think I have a clue here! We'll be there in ten minutes!"
Hanging up, he jumped to his feet.
"Ray? What's wron--" Kenny started to ask but the tiger blader pulled him to his feet and began for the door.
"Get your coats! Let's go!"
Unable to do anything else, the younger boys did as they were told.
Running to the front door for his coat, Ray actually smiled for the first time in a long time. All this time he actually might have had the answer right in his hands...
tbc............
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Read & Reviews, please.