Somewhere In Between

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Chapter Seven: As You Were

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Sonny hadn't felt this old in a very, very long time. Every muscle in his body ached, his head felt like someone had driven a railroad spike through it, and he hadn't slept a wink now in nearly thirty-six hours. Suffice it to say, Sonny Corinthos felt like shit, and he wasn't even the one in surgery. Hell, he wasn't even hurt this time around.

A slim, elegant hand, brushed against his shoulder blades and Sonny leaned into the touch, drawing any comfort he could from it.

"You should try to get some rest, Sonny," said the voice.

The gentleness of those words dragged a small, sad, smile from his lips, and Sonny looked up, right into the eyes of his adoring wife. He shook his head in protest, taking a long moment to study the love, the concern, and the worry etched across her features. God, he loved this woman.

Carly tilted her head to the side and frowned. "You can't stay here all night," she said softly, sweeping the cold, uninviting ER waiting area with somber eyes. She had only just gotten there a couple of hours ago--her, Courtney, and Michael having come straight home at the news. But her husband was quite a different story. He hadn't left this waiting area since he arrived, trailing after the remnants of his broken army.

"I'm not leaving, Carly," he said, voice cracking from under use. "Not until they wake up."

Her chest tightened roughly and Carly felt the now familiar tears well up in her eyes again. There were no words for what she, what Sonny, what Courtney…what anyone was feeling now. No way to describe just how awful things had become in the space of a few precious hours.

Emily was gone. Jason was shot, in surgery removing the bullet from his shoulder. And Johnny was in surgery too, only she assumed the bodyguard was faring much, much worse.

According to Sonny, when they finally got to Johnny, he'd all but bled out. Blood had been everywhere, and in the frantic rush to save him, Sonny had come away with his clothes and skin marred by the ghastly red. Inwardly, Carly cringed. She didn't need or want the details. She just wanted for both of them to be okay and for Emily to be home, where she belonged. Only, Carly didn't know if half those things were going to happen at all. But the one thing she hated was waiting to find out if fate would smile upon them or not, sitting there with nothing to do but dwell, but stew. She despised it and she knew Sonny did too. The feeling of uselessness was clawing at her insides.

"Sonny," she pushed in a near whisper. "Sonny, if you're not going to rest… well… well, then we can't just sit here." Carly was pleading now, with quiet desperation. Her eyes were tired and red-rimmed from crying. "We have to try and find her, stop them from getting--"

"It's been hours, Carly." He tiredly laced his still crimson-tinged fingers together at his nape. Fleetingly he wondered just how long it would take for that tint to leave his hands, if it ever really would. "They're already gone. I have Myer running a track on them, checking for paper trails, searching for any vehicle rental records, flight plans that may have been filed…." Sonny's voice dipped off at the sheer magnitude of their search. Even though Emily's taking was very clearly a strike against him and his organization, he still had no clue as to who was behind it. In his history as Boss, Sonny had managed to amass quite the impressive list of enemies, Lorenzo Alcazar and Ric of course being two of the most recent. But even that knowledge wouldn't be enough to excuse him, and the rest of his troops, the grueling task of going person to person, trying to root out the offender. That was, until they stepped forward of their own accord. After all, the people who took Emily wanted something from him, Sonny was sure of it. All that was left now was a waiting game, hopelessly broken up by what could prove to be fruitless digging. Sonny couldn't shake the feeling that, even when Jason and Johnny could tell him more—such as who was behind it, the elapsed hours since the kidnapping would find them at a formidable stalemate, until someone decided to show their hand.

Sonny only hoped the second half of the kidnapper's plans progressed in a timely fashion. He wasn't sure how long he'd last without some kind of reassurance of her safety to offer Jason.

If possible, Carly felt her heart sink even further. She didn't much care for the Quartermaines, actually loathed the lot of them –save Lila and Emily- quite thoroughly, but having one child almost mortally wounded, and another snatched up in the dead of night and taken away? That was something not even Carly would wish on them, on anyone. And getting her back…? She shook her head solemnly. Negativity wouldn't do anyone any good right now. She had to believe, for Jason and even for herself a little, that Emily would be okay. She had to have faith in her husband and in the patterns of his business.

That's right; Carly was no fool of a mob wife who sheltered herself from the truth. She knew this was about one of two things: leverage over Sonny or revenge against him. The men behind this had only decided to swap out the players a bit.

An Emily in place of a Carly.

A new resolve rippled through her at the thought. Emily was gone. Gone. Because of them, because of her connection to them. They had to do something. Jason couldn't be the one here to push now, what kind of friend would she be if she didn't forge ahead in his absence, didn't at least try to find his sister for him?

"Then you need to be out there too," said Carly, her lips set in a thin line. "I know you want to be here when Jason wakes up but we have to prioritize, Sonny. Jason will be okay, Monica said as much. You need to shift your focus now. You need to find her for him, Sonny. He would do it for you."

Sonny stared at her, absorbing her words, knowing she was speaking the absolute truth. If Carly had been taken three days ago, Jason would have been the first one out there, torching the world--ruthless enemy by ruthless enemy, until her found her. Jason was loyal beyond reason and never failed to protect what Sonny held dear with rabid and –at times- violent ferocity.

Sonny owed Jason for that never wavering devotion, and now it was time to pay. Sonny crept to his feet. "You'll stay with Courtney?" he asked his wife, watching gratitude quietly bloom in her eyes.

Carly nodded and grasped his hand tightly, letting him pull her up and to her feet. "Of course," she said softly. "I'll head up now."

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Her world was shadows. Thick and murky, a fog covered everything. Her limbs felt awkward, hollow and leaden, stiff and rubbery all at the same time. She couldn't move anything, save her eyelids. And even those fluttered slowly, as if weighed, opening and then closing again to where even the faint shadows and outlines faded out into black.

Inside her mind was a jumbled, frantic mess of half-remembered things and details that were hazier still.

Apartment.Bed. Sleeping…

A jolt of images flickered against her closed eyelids: A face, masked by something dark and woolen and thick. Struggling. Arms and hands pushing, shoving, hitting at something solid and unyielding. A scream, drowned out and muffled by something soft held viciously to her mouth.

A grunt of frustration squeaked past her lips and her brow twisted. She wanted to remember. She needed to remember…

'Save your strength, angel.'

The voice echoed through her mind and Emily squinted against the memory. The words were so cold, so darkly unsettling that it made her stomach bunch reactively. The penthouse… I was sleeping and then…

'Don't make me hurt you.'

Slowly the scene came back to her, the blanket smothering her thoughts being dragged back gradually. She remembered the hand over her mouth, the weight over her body, the gruff, disturbing voice, the struggle, the cold laughing, the cloth over her face, the sickly sweet smell invading her nose and mouth, darkness slowly encroaching on her…

Suddenly aware, even if still mostly under the chloroform's influence, Emily forced her eyes open, made herself take in her surroundings. She had to get her bearings and figure this out. Bogged down by her haze, her eyes still traced the space around her, searching…

She was in a room on a bed. Her bed? No. That couldn't be. Her bed was smaller than this, her bedroom was white, and here everything was clay-like reddish-brown, terracotta. There were exotic palms in huge stony pots; wrought iron scrolls on the lavishly windowed walls, paintings, rugs, old and ornate, hung everywhere. The room was spinning and huge.

Huge and completely unlike any place she'd ever been in.

Where was she?

But, more importantly, where was everyone else?

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"Rest assured, Mrs. Quartermaine, the PCPD is doing everything in our power to find your daughter and to have her returned to you." Police Commissioner Mac Scorpio gave the mournful pair of Alan and Monica Quartermaine a soft nod and then turned on his heel and exited the hospital lobby through one of the elevators.

Sonny imagined that, by the horribly distraught looks on both Monica and Alan's faces, Mac's attempt at appeasement meant very little. People could say all they wanted, make all the promises in the world. None of that would bring Emily home.

No, that was on his shoulders. That mission was his cross to bear, and he wouldn't rest until it was completed.

Sonny looked away from the stricken parents with something akin to fear coming over him. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to even speak to them when both had to be aware that all this was his fault, an offshoot of his treacherous life?

Would Alan threaten, Monica shrill and curse him… Edward bellow? Well, that was a given, he supposed. Edward bellowed even when his "favorite granddaughter" wasn't suddenly kidnapped. Sonny's hand found its way into his mussed hair, raking over closed eyes and his unshaven face. Everything just seemed so beyond repair now; he honestly didn't know what to do, or how to go about doing it. Sonny Corinthos wasn't a man accustomed to feeling lost.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Sonny's private reverie was broken by a softly accented voice and he turned to find Lila Quartermaine looking up at him from the confines of her wheelchair, with a sorrowful expression on her face. Sonny sighed. This woman truly was a living saint, giving him consideration even when he clearly didn't deserve it. "I-I'm fine, Mrs. Quartermaine," he said with a weak smile. "You don't need to worry about me." Sonny began to move behind her chair with the intent of guiding her back to her family. "Here, let me help you back over to--"

"Lila!" Sonny clenched his eyes closed at the sharp interruption. Here comes the bellow. "Corinthos keep your distance from my wife," growled the old man, eyes set in a furious blaze. "What are you doing here anyhow, haven't you done enough damage to our family for one evening?"

"Edward," said Lila sternly, frowning disapprovingly at the old oaf. "You aren't being fair; he's obviously just as affected by--"

Edward looked completely aghast as he glowered down at his wife. "Sonny Corinthos is a danger to society, Lila. He a common criminal and every bit of what has happened is a result of him! I can't believe that you would actually feel sorry for…"

Edward's volume was increasing at an alarming rate and Sonny felt the need to intervene before he became the center of another Quartermaine battle right in the middle of the GH lobby. "All right, Eddie, just calm down--"

The interrupted Quartermaine patriarch went red with anger. "CALM DOWN!"

Sonny tried again, arms raised in defense, casting a furtive glance over their thickening audience. "Look, I think that you should just--"

"I don't give a damn what you think! It's because of you that my granddaughter is God knows where, and that my grandson is in an operating room, as we speak, having a bullet taken out of him! You are nothing but a--"

"Edward!" Lila's command sliced through her husband's bellow rather effectively, but then Sonny imagined she'd had quite a bit of practice at it. "Stop your ridiculous ranting this instant, and leave Mr. Corinthos be. He was just passing through the lobby when I approached him, he hasn't done anything…"

Sonny's head suddenly began to swim. This wasn't right. This was glaringly off kilter, and he knew it. She shouldn't be defending him. She should be condemning him, screeching and yelling, egging Eddie boy on until the old man was blue in the face.

It was what he deserved.

This was his fault. His life had once again managed to ensnare an innocent, a young woman who was good and decent, and who also happened to mean more to his best friend than life itself. And it was because of that connection to him that she was gone. He couldn't let this go on or one more second. "Don't…" He interrupted Lilah, the welling guilt threatening to take his voice and instead succeeding only in breaking its even timbre for the first time in a very long while. "I'm…" His tongue's reluctance to form the words aggravated Sonny to no end. Pride shouldn't have been an option, pride shouldn't have matter right then.

But somehow it did.

A simple 'I'm sorry' felt just as wrong as allowing Lila to paint him as a victim. It didn't feel nearly good enough, substantial enough to fill that void, not that anything but Emily could ever fill it properly. But until that day came, Sonny thought maybe he knew of one thing he could do. He just hoped they understood that this… gesture wouldn't be like the ones lavished upon them by the PCPD.

Sonny lowered his troubled eyes to Lila's and spoke as earnestly and as softly as he could. "I'll get her back," he said, looking between the unlikely pair solemnly, a certain fire burning in his dark eyes. "I promise that I will find who did this, and I will bring her home." The words came as only a bare whisper, but with a strength and determination trademark to Sonny Corinthos.

Not giving Edward the time to scoff, or Lila the opportunity to coo and soothe, Sonny turned and went for the elevator.

And as the elevator doors slid closed upon the dismal scene, another vow was made; only this one went straight to God's ears.

The promise he had just made to Lila and Edward would be different from the one Scorpio had made to her parents; it was one Sonny knew he could make good on, and one he had every intention of seeing through.

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"I demand to know what's being done to find her!" The impassioned shout echoed loudly within the stark halls of the PCPD, and was met by a mixture of harsh glares and sympathetic, knowing glances. But neither made a difference. As far as Nikolas was concerned, every person who wouldn't help him find out what in the hell had happened to Emily, was against him. And being against a Cassadine was not a place anyone should seek to be. Maybe they all needed to be reminded of that.

"Fine," he rasped, nearly hoarse from the roaring he'd done just to push past those inane patrolmen out-front. "If you two incompetent excuses for law enforcement won't help me, then I'll find the Commissioner myself. And believe me; it won't bode well for either of you when I do."

Giving the still annoyingly silent detectives in front of him a murderous look, Nikolas shoved past them roughly and stalked down the hall in search of Mac Scorpio. Surely, Mac would tell him something. At this point, Nikolas would take anything. He had to know what was being done to find Emily; he had to be as close to this as humanly possible. His heart wouldn't allow him any other recourse. He had to get her back; he couldn't lose her now, not when they were so close…

Nikolas was nearly at Mac's office when a cold, derisive voice stopped him in his tracks. "Hate to break it to you, Cassadine, but the Commish is otherwise engaged at the moment. He's off attending to the poor girl's heartbroken family."

Scott Baldwin. Nikolas could almost hear the snaky bastard's rattle. He rounded slowly and met PC's District Attorney's gaze with deliberate irreverence. "Baldwin," came Nikolas' tight greeting.

Nikolas watched, a small ball of disgust forming in his gut, as Scotty began his strut toward him, looking every bit the part of a ridiculously proud peacock in a cheap suit. Nikolas barely held in a scoff.

"I see I can add you to the list of those all hot and bothered over Ms. Quartermaine's disappearance," sneered Baldwin, eyes glinting maliciously at the Prince.

"Kidnapping, Baldwin," Nikolas corrected him firmly. "Emily was kidnapped."

A smirk, tiny and thoroughly punch-able, clung suddenly to Baldwin's arrogant face. "She does that quite a bit, doesn't she? Getting herself nabbed, that is. Let's just hope the girl has the good sense not go making moon-eyes at her kidnapper this time."

Of their own volition, Nikolas' fingers curled tightly into lethal fists at his sides. "Watch it, Baldwin," he gritted out, feeling precious control ebb away from him with every condescending word the DA spoke.

The sound of a clucked tongue flittered through the air, and Scotty's smile only grew wider as his hands found their way into his pants' pocket. "Careful now, littlest Cassadine, you don't want to go picking a fight with someone such as myself. I don't give a rat's ass who your uncle is, I have the power to make things very difficult for you…" Baldwin trailed off as his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his head cocked to the side slightly. "Say there, Nikky, have you been thoroughly questioned yet? Where were you at the time of the kidnapping? I mean, isn't that how you Cassadines like your women, helpless and held against their will?" Scott's eyes were practically glowing with unbridled glee. It made Nikolas' fists itch. "Maybe you just decided to glaze over that whole dating nonsense and get right to the capture and imprisonment. You know, the good stuff."

The image that Scott presented, one absolutely devoid of actual human decency and, instead, dripping with mirthful scorn, threatened to push Nikolas' already fragile state past the breaking point. All he wanted was to find out what had happened, and since both Jason and Emily's guard were incapacitated, and Sonny wasn't exactly… approachable, legal and traditional methods were all the Prince had left. He honestly didn't need this pompous bastard making even this alternative difficult on him, standing as just one more obstacle between him and finding Emily. Nikolas just wouldn't stand for it. Bottom line: the Prince was in no mood for Baldwin's bullshit. He wasn't in the mood for much at all.

Steeling his gaze and making his body go as rigid as humanly possible; Nikolas made special effort to look DA Baldwin directly in his ferrety little eyes. "Go to hell, Scott." With that, Nikolas turned and stalked out of the Police Department.

As much as it chafed him to admit it, he should've known, really. To get anything worthwhile accomplished in this town, the completely incompetent police force of Port Charles stood as the absolute last place to go to.

No, if you wanted answers in PC, if you wanted things to get done, you went to one man and one man alone.

-----

"She sleeping again?"

Lorenzo started slightly at the familiar voice, but not enough to be noticeable. He turned around to see Miguel creep out from a patch of shadow in the long hallway. "The chloroform really did a number on her, I think," said Lorenzo, his gaze retrained on the image of Emily's prone form on the massive four poster bed. "She stirred a bit, but then…"

"She'll be slipping in and out for at least the rest of the day," said Miguel, peering over Lorenzo's shoulder into the room. "I'm afraid Javier got a little carried away with the stuff."

Lorenzo snapped his head up. "She'll be all right, though? I mean, it won't do any damage…"

Tiny frown lines Lorenzo couldn't quite see in the dim light appeared on Miguel's face. There was that note of concern in Lorenzo's voice again. He wasn't sure he liked it. "She'll be fine. Considerably groggy when she finally comes to, but fine none the less."

Lorenzo sighed, relieved, and turned his eyes back to Emily. Pinkish morning sunlight filtered softly through the sheer drapes and splayed across the girl's body. Trying not to, but honestly not being able to help himself, Lorenzo admired how the light made her hair spark and her skin glow. He thought back to the photograph he'd seen of her, that… something he had seen in her face. On paper it hadn't been much more than a vague flash, but in person… Well, you know what they say. Seeing is believing. And now, as he looked at her, the impossibly long brown hair, the fair skin made almost golden in the dawn's light… If he were to just squint the tiniest bit—

"Why did you have her put in here?"

Miguel's quiet, but noticeably strained voice once again cut through Lorenzo's thoughts, only this time the interruption was welcomed. He couldn't afford to have his mind wander like that again. Nothing could be gained from that sort of thinking, nothing. "The rooms were available, Miguel."

The Lieutenant's eyebrows pitched questioningly. "Of course, they're always available, "he whispered harshly. "But so were the other ten living quarters."

Lorenzo pivoted and looked his friend in the eye. This was one of the things that could bother him about Miguel. The way he seemed to feel so at ease being openly defiant and, at times, even disrespectful. If it had been anyone else… "Do you have a problem with my choice of lodging for Ms. Quartermaine, Miguel?"

Miguel's face became imperceptibly tense. "I think you know the answer to that," he said, narrowing his eyes at the figure on the bed. "She doesn't belong in there, Lorenzo. No one does."

"This is my home, and I'll put her wherever I damn well please," snapped Lorenzo, jaw tightening roughly. He really did not want to have this conversation right now…

Miguel's eyes slipped closed in exasperation. "I just don't see why it had to be this--"

"Enough!" Lorenzo's voiced boomed loudly in the empty hall, eliciting a faint moan from the now stirring Emily. Panic flashed in Lorenzo's eyes and he latched a hand on Miguel's arm, dragging him away from the doorway. "Don't read more into this than there is, Miguel. She may be here against her will, but that doesn't mean the girl doesn't deserve every comfort. I won't have her holed up here like some prisoner—"

"But that's exactly what she is!" protested Miguel, ripping his arm away from Lorenzo's grasp. "You would do well to remember that."

A cold fury swirled in Lorenzo's blood. "Was that a threat?"

Miguel held Lorenzo's stare steadily, not even daring to blink. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, he had been afraid of this ever since he first saw the girl, but out of respect he had kept his mouth shut and given his friend the benefit of the doubt. After all, just because he saw it, didn't mean Lorenzo did. But the fire in Lorenzo's eyes told Miguel he didn't have that particular luxury any longer. Lorenzo did, in fact, see it. And absolute nothing could have been worse. "Don't do this, Lorenzo. Please, don't go down this road…"

There was a twitch in his stance, a slight falter of his shoulder blades that in one second confirmed all of Miguel's suspicions. Heaven help us… "Lorenzo –hey, look at me—Lorenzo, you cannot do this to yourself, okay? We are so close to getting what we want, don't make things difficult now." Miguel's eyes flickered to the bedroom behind them. "That girl in there is Emily Quartermaine, she is not--"

"Breathe so much as another word, and you will regret it." The words were savage but quiet, frighteningly calm but brutal all at once.

Any sympathy Miguel may have been feeling sharply fell away as he narrowed his eyes upon Lorenzo. There was a hardness brewing in their depths, a hardness Lorenzo had only seen directed at him once before. "Don't you dare forget who you are speaking to, Lorenzo," said Miguel, his quiet voice nearly quaking with rage. What in the hell made Lorenzo think he could just order him silent like that, about this of all things? "I may be your subordinate when it comes to business, but we aren't talking about business. Do you honestly think I don't see what's going on?" Miguel gestured toward the open bedroom door. "This was supposed to be simple. But no, you couldn't handle that, could you?" Clenching his eyes closed, Miguel shook his head in disbelief. "I knew it. I knew something was off from the second you told me to keep her safe…"

Lorenzo's brow knitted and his jaw became set. "Oh, I'm sorry, last time I checked bargaining chips were useless dead. I was protecting our interests, Miguel. It had nothing to do with the girl." Lorenzo paused and took in a deliberate breath. "And absolutely nothing to do with what you're hinting about." It was a lie, of course, but Lorenzo didn't see how Miguel needed to know that.

Miguel took a slow step forward, his form casting Lorenzo's face completely in shadow. "I am not blind. Do you think I don't recognize that look in your eyes? First you go and see her in person yesterday, next you tell me to keep her safe during the kidnapping, then you show concern for our prisoner, and now you put her in Elena's bedroom! You tell me what I'm supposed to think, Lorenzo. Because I really do not like the way things are adding up here!"

He was right. Goddamn-it, Miguel was right. Inside Lorenzo knew he was being ridiculous, groping for something that just could not be there. He was being foolish and he knew it. But there was no way he could ever let Miguel know that. Hell, he didn't even want to know it. Squaring his stance, Lorenzo drew upon the resurging bitterness he felt coursing through him toward his childhood friend. It stunned him how easy it was to feel all that again. "Quiet yourself, Miguel. You are treading on dangerous ground here."

"No," spat Miguel, a twisted grimace forming on his lips. "That, my friend, would be you." With one final glare at the bedroom, Miguel turned and walked away.

Lorenzo didn't waste his energies staring at Miguel's retreating back. Instead he quietly made his way back to Emily's room. Only this time he dared to venture past the threshold, to within the chamber itself. With every careful step he took, Lorenzo's eyes stayed fixed on the sleeping girl that occupied the ornately carved bed.

The bed, the whole room, everything in it was once as familiar to him as his own quarters. But now… Well, Lorenzo hadn't been within these particular set of rooms for nearly twelve years. Reluctantly, he peeled his gaze away from Emily and slid it tentatively over the room's walls, the furniture, the paintings, everything… It was like a living snapshot of the past, a moment captured in time, frozen for over a decade.

It felt eerie, and maybe, just a little wrong. He knew Miguel saw this as wrong. Little Mige, as Lorenzo had grown up calling him --a nickname bestowed upon an infant Miguel by Lorenzo's father, Ramon-- detested the idea of anyone within these walls. Much like Lorenzo himself, Miguel avoided contact with this part of the house, avoided the memories, did his best to avoid the past altogether. They buried themselves in the present, threw their minds and their heart into new business ventures, anything to keep it all safely away, where it belonged.

So why put some nothing little girl who was, in truth, a perfect stranger and the sister of his enemy, within this hallowed space? Lorenzo wasn't sure. All he knew was that, from where he sat, seeing her curled form huddled against those beddings in this room… Something about it felt achingly familiar.

Something about it felt right.

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TBC…