Somewhere In Between
-----
Chapter Nine: It Ebbs Away.
------
"Wait—he's just gone?"
"Yeah, I can't find him anywhere."
"Where did he say he was going after we left the police station?"
"He didn't, remember? He didn't say much of anything, mostly just unintelligible mumbling and tense silence. You know, when he wasn't screaming at the top of his lungs, threatening every cop that didn't immediately say something useful."
Elizabeth took a deep breath and pressed a shaky hand to her forehead. She didn't need this right now. One best friend disappearing was about all she could handle. "Okay, let's just think about this, you know, logically. What about Wyndemere? You know the tunnels are like stone mazes, maybe he just went down into the network to, I don't know, clear his head or something."
"Liz, be serious. This is my brother we're talking about. When he has ever taken the passive approach to anything? And the tunnels? For head-clearing? Elizabeth, get real."
Elizabeth glared at Lucky. He wasn't being helpful right now. "Fine," she said tensely. "What about—"
"Do you not remember the last time this happened?" Lucky was beginning to lose his patience. He knew the alternative wasn't pleasant, but they couldn't just ignore it. "We were not sulking at home or taking calming rides in the jag, we were at the PCPD, out there, out anywhere, just looking, just trying to find some way to get to her."
"I know that, Lucky. Last time we didn't have a clue about who Zander was, and we didn't know anyone who did. All there was to do was hit the pavement. But this is… well, it's just different, Lucky. There's no reason to do that now. If this was done to get at Sonny, then he'll cooperate with the authorities, he'll try to—"
Lucky snorted. "Elizabeth. Please. The authorities? Are you kidding? The losers at the PCPD couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a map. If you think Sonny and Jason are gonna leave finding Emily to that sideshow…."
Elizabeth gnawed at her bottom lip in despair. They were running out of other options here, and even though she was fully aware of that fact, she still had to try. Looking up at Lucky with half-doubtful, half-hopeful eyes, she said: "What about calling his—"
Lucky, prepared for the last ditch attempt, vetoed it before it even left her mouth. "Tried it," he said waving a hand. "It was a no-go. Either he's outta range, it's off, or he' just not bothering."
"Okay, well then what about his—"
"No luck there, either. He hasn't answered any of my pages. I'm telling you, Elizabeth, he's either taken off on some one man crusade to get her back... or he's…" Lucky trailed off and allowed years of friendship and knowing each other like few did to fill in the rest. Elizabeth instantly caught on, her deep brown eyes becoming wide but somehow not surprised.
"No." She shook her head, errant strands of hair escaping from the messy ponytail atop her head. "You don't think…"
Lucky picked up the ball this time and nodded his head. "Actually, Elizabeth, I do. If I know my brother half as well as I think I do, I'd bet anything that he's already talked Sonny into letting him help with the search. And you know what? I pity the guys behind this, I really do. Because when this mess is all over and Emily's back home with us again and they catch her kidnappers, there won't be anything left for Mac to slap the cuffs on. Jason and Sonny will see to that. And add Cassadine Vengeance to the mix?" Lucky shook his head and let out a mirthless laugh. "The city coroner might as well prep the tables now, because he's about to find himself knee-deep in business."
-----
Ric watched from the hallway through half-lidded eyes as his wife and her former flame discussed the apparent disappearance of another one of their friends. Spencer's last words sent a pang of nausea straight to his belly, leaving the lawyer weak-kneed and somewhat dizzy.
He should have seen this coming. That was all Ric could think. Who the hell had he been fooling, thinking he could turn a blind eye to Lorenzo's plans? Well, whatever he had been thinking, the thought process for damn sure hadn't been clear. Because he'd more than turned a blind eye, he'd opened the floodgates. Well, the security gate if one wished to get technical.
It doesn't matter.
That was another thing Ric kept telling himself. There was nothing to be guilty about. Morgan and Corinthos brought this shit-storm down on themselves. For all those times Sonny—the arrogant bastard—had laughed in his face, made him feel worthless, and for all the steely veined threats Morgan had cast his way.
They. Deserved. This.
They deserved to have something taken away from them. They deserved to not know how to get it back.
But, see, the glitch in that mantra was the 'they' part. In Ric's skewed reality, Sonny and Jason did deserve it. But that list was only two people long. The list of those who didn't deserve it had quite a few more names to it.
Like Emily.
Her family.
Her friends.
Elizabeth.
None of them deserved to have her taken away… to not know how to get her back, or if she even would come back at all.
But even as he felt the familiar surge of blame ripple through his veins, a hot resentment sparked to life in him as he watched Lucky and Elizabeth continue their whispered conversation.
It hadn't started out that way. Whispered, that is. But after Lucky had shown up to bring Elizabeth home from the Quartermaine mansion, a wary glance and a deliberately lowered voice from the scruffy blond had reminded Ric once again of just how few people in this town trusted him. His marriage to Elizabeth didn't count for anything with the Spencer kid, Ric saw it clearly in his red-eyed stare. Something terrible had happened within the hallowed inner circle known as the 'Four Musketeers', and wedding ring or not, he wasn't invited to this comfort session. Nor did Ric think he ever would be.
And that just pissed him off.
He counted in this. Hell, he was this.
He was Elizabeth's husband, her friend, her love, her life. This was his house, the home he'd made with his wife. Lucky didn't have the right to throw up those walls around them, to toss him out of the equation with that miserable, untrusting stare. But what angered Ric the most wasn't necessarily this occurrence, but more the fact that occurrences of its kind—silent snubs and furtive judgments of his monstrous character—were almost routine here, even in his own home.
And who the hell did these people think they were, huh? Sonny, Morgan, Spencer… all telling him—without really telling him—that he wasn't worthy, wasn't good enough. What made them so great that they could just think that way? What gave them the right to shut him out and shut him down like that? Didn't they know what he was capable of, didn't they get it? Ric Lansing wasn't the freak-show butt of anyone's jokes, or the pathetic loser pining for his brother's acceptance.
He was a threat, dammit. Not just the so-called 'big boys' like Sonny and Alcazar, but him, too. Him. He deserved respect. He deserved to be feared. Not Sonny. Not just Sonny.
Lucky looked up then from under the weight of Ric's stare. The younger man's brow pulled together into a tiny frown, barely noticeable, but definitely there. There was that familiar wariness in Lucky's eyes that Ric didn't much care for, but one that also made the lawyer's arrogant streak swell heartily. Yeah, that's right, he thought, fending off a smirk. Look at me funny. Doubt me. Question me. 'Cause, guess what? All this grief—all this sorrow and doubt, this anger? Yup, all me, kiddo. All me...
The silent confession sent an electric shock down Ric's spine. There was something so incredibly conflicting going on inside of him. A building and then a breaking, a recovery and then a destruction, a repentance crushed under the weight of hatred, pure, black, and twisted. To be honest, it was kind of scary, that war inside his head.
On the one hand, he was guilty. Terribly guilty, hate-yourself guilty. But on the other…oh, Jesus, it felt almost like glee, rising steadily in his chest, hissing and bubbling like hot water on a stovetop.
It disgusted him.
But then it didn't.
And then there was this, what was happening with Lucky right now. Two men looking at each other; one man knowing his own culpability like he knew back of his hand, while the other was stewing in what probably seemed like inexplicable doubt. An instinct, a spark of suspicion, Ric could see it all in Spencer's face. And the fact that there was no way—short of hearing it straight from Miguel or Lorenzo, which was unlikely at best—that any of it could be justified, brought about that jolt electricity again. It was exciting, this hiding in plain sight. It was thrilling.
And it was sick.
Ric knew all of this. And it made him want to give into peels of absurd laughter, this tiny gnawing knowledge eating away at the attorney's brain like trapped rats tunneling for a way out. He hated himself, but he hated his brother more. He had done something truly awful. He had betrayed a sacred trust, and sacrificed an innocent girl on the altar of a personal hate so old and rigid, it didn't even have a name anymore. But the real funny thing—the honest-to-God gut-buster—was that, now, as he looked Spencer in the eye, watched him rub circles of comfort on his wife's back, Ric was experiencing his first ever 'Moment of Clarity', like suddenly all that foggy mess in his brain was lifting and he could finally see the truth.
He didn't care.
He didn't care about any of it. Not really. Not like how he thought he would.
The girl was off somewhere being held by a know drug lord and someone whom Ric was positive had killed before, possibly even derived pleasure from the act. Morgan was shot, the girl's bodyguard was near death, Sonny was undoubtedly scrambling in the shooting's wake, and every person Emily knew and loved was either desperately searching for her or grieving as if the poor thing was already six feet under the ground.
And yes, he was guilty. He carried that. He shared in his wife's somber stares and broken glances; they were genuine, believe it or not. But that guilt in no way muted the giddy feeling of anticipation already fluttering in Ric's gut.
Morgan would suffer in his sister's absence, be devastated if the worse happened, and there would be Sonny, his disgusting thug of a brother, taking the blame for it all, finally knowing what it felt like to lose everything. Because if things went as Ric suspected, and Lorenzo dragged this out, or Miguel brought it to a believable end, Sonny would lose it all, his business and the friendship of his apelike enforcer. And Ric would be able sit back and watch it happen, savoring the sweet knowledge that he helped bring it about. And best of all, it would be a passive revenge, with no foreseeable consequences on the horizon—no matter what Spencer said. No one would know the truth about his involvement, except for Ric himself. And that was more than enough for now.
He would enjoy this. He could enjoy this and still be there for Elizabeth. It was possible. And he would do it. Because he had earned it. All those years of pain had earned him this reward. He would get to see Sonny hurt for a change, and no one—not Lucky, not Jason, not even Sonny himself—could take that away from him.
Oh, yeah. All things considered, this little drama was promising to be one hell of a show. Two-Buckets-Of-Popcorn-Academy-Award-Winning type entertainment was about to commence. And, as unfortunate as the circumstances were, Ric could hardly wait for the lights to dim and the curtain to go up.
-----
A milky white haze pressed upon Jason's unfocused eyes. Not just any white, but that eerily familiar, sterile white. Hospital white. And then, as if on cue, the sickly sweet hospital smell—that mingling presence of disinfectants, medicines, past-their-prime-flowers, and a bunch of other things you were better off not identifying—filled Jason's nostrils and removed any doubt of where he was. Well, that and the fact that he was very obviously laying down blinking up at an ugly, water-stained square of ceiling tile through his gradually clearing vision. He knew this ceiling tile, had been in this position more than once. So, all in all, it was an easy deduction. Which he was thankful for at the moment, considering his thoughts seemed to be dragging through his mind like they had lead weights attached to them.
The next thing Jason's fuzzy mind processed was pain in his shoulder. And a general throb everywhere else, like he'd just found himself on the losing side of a bar room brawl. But most of it seemed to be centered in his left shoulder, a steady pulsating stab of discomfort leaking down his arm in pin-prick tracks. That and his head felt like a split cantaloupe.
Distantly, he heard someone call his name, and then felt the warm tingle of a hand over his.
Jason, the voice called, Jason, can you here me?
He wanted to say yes, but his tongue felt like wool and he wasn't even sure he could open his mouth. Peeling his gaze off the ugly ceiling, Jason searched for a face to go with the muffled voice. As he blinked away the haze, he made out the dim outline of a featureless face haloed in fierce yellow-white light. For a second, Jason thought maybe he'd been wrong, and that he wasn't at GH, but that he was dead, and that this glowing figure was an angel or something. But as quick flutters of lashes cleared away the last hinders of his fog, Jason saw that he wasn't dead, but that it was still an angel he was looking at; his own personal angel.
"Courtney…" He rasped, his woolen tongue crudely shaping his fiancé's name. "Courtney, is that you…?"
"Yeah…" Her voice was clear now, so full of that gentle sweetness he loved about her. "I'm here, Jason. I'm here, its okay." He felt her hand press deeper into his, felt the bed dip as she settled more of her weight on it to get close to him. She was perched on the bed's edge, peering down at him with a broad, but somewhat sad smile. And as he looked up into her beautiful, open face, with the beginnings of tears welling up in her blue eyes, he heard footsteps approach the bed.
"Hey there, tough guy. Welcome back."
Jason swiveled his gaze and was met by Carly's face. She wore the same smile. That odd look of genuine happiness that was strained and beaten somehow. Something about it bothered Jason. There was a reason for the sadness in their eyes, but he just couldn't place it. It was right at the edge of his mind, but so much was still cloudy…
"How are you feeling? You in a lot of pain?" His attention was diverted back to his fiancé as she ran a warm hand up his sore arm only as far as the elbow.
Jason shrugged as best he could. "No, not a lot."
He heard Carly laugh the second the words had left his mouth, and heard her mutter a cheeky "typical" under her breath. He fought his smile and focused hard on Courtney's face. That look in her eyes, the way she was holding herself, even Carly's demeanor, the very air in the room… something about all of it screamed abnormal to him. Something wasn't right. He was seeing them, talking to them, but it was as if a part of his brain had yet to click on, like someone had wrapped his mind in a net and only tiny things were getting through. Like he was looking at a puzzle with most of the pieces gone.
It was so damn weird…
He was about to ask what the hell was going on, but then Carly spoke again, and questions were no longer necessary. "I know you're going to ask, so I'll just say it before you do." Carly's eyes seemed to pierce him, and Jason glimpsed an honest maturity in her that he had never seen before. "We haven't found her, Jase. Emily's still gone."
Like a whirlwind, Jason's mind surged with vicious awareness:
The flashlights in Emily's apartment. The bottle dropping and shattering. All those beams focused on a panicked Johnny. The mad dash to Sonny. The elevator that wanted to stop at every floor and the frustration that drove them to take the stairs all the way down to street level. The image of his sister's lifeless form being hastily shoved in a van. The fear. The anger. The vain bargaining. That cold laughter. The desperation he'd felt. The gunshots. Sonny's scream. The searing pain in his shoulder. That sick clunk his head made as it connected with the ground. That van tearing off down Harbor View Drive just before everything in sight dimmed out….
Suddenly things weren't muddled anymore. They were perfectly clear.
He reached down to the IV drip threading into his wrist and yanked it out clean, not even wincing.
"Jason, don't!"
Courtney's scream didn't even register as he threw his beddings off in one sweep of his good arm and sat up.
"Jason, please lay back down!"
Forcing himself not to flinch at the pain rocketing though his shoulder, he still said nothing in response to Courtney's pleas. He calmly shrugged away her tugging hands and swung his feet off the bed and to the floor, cradling his arm as he did so. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that Jason saw Carly's very still profile observing the new chaos, but saying nothing. He was thankful for that, immeasurably so. He didn't think he could have lasted very long if they'd both been yelling at him.
"You just woke up, Jason. Don't do this…"
Getting to his feet with a surge of strength he couldn't place, Jason fought his body's urge to wobble, the frantic begging of his fiancé melting into the background of his consciousness. He felt bad for phasing her out, but if he took time to explain or even look at her right now, he'd cave and he knew it. She just had that affect on him, and at present it was something he couldn't afford. Emily was his focus; his sister was all that mattered right now, finding her, getting her back again. Everything else would wait, including his health.
He righted his frame and straightened his back as he flexed to his full height. Okay, so far, so good. But it was when Jason decided to give the barren hospital room a guarded once over, that he suddenly realized he had a bit of problem. Well, besides that Courtney was in front of him now, trying to push him back toward the bed. There seemed to an earthquake—an 8.7 easy—rocking the sterile room back and forth like there was no tomorrow. He felt an arm catch him mid-teeter.
"See! You're not ready to be on your feet, Jason. Just please sit back down." At last the determined blonde succeeded and somehow Jason found himself sitting on the edge of the hospital bed again. "Good," she breathed, sounding equal parts relieved and plain frustrated. "Alright, just sit there and don't move, Jason. I mean it. I'm going to get a doctor to make sure you haven't ruptured your stitches or something. Carly, keep an eye on him, I'll be right back." In a flash of blonde hair, Courtney was gone, leaving Jason sitting on his bed, his eyes closed against the shifting room.
A pounding silence filled his ears for a full minute before: "Now's your chance."
Jason snapped his head up and looked at Carly, who had come to stand directly in front of him. "What?" he asked. "You're encouraging me to escape?"
Carly shook her head slowly and Jason got the distinct impression she was weighing ever word like it was gold. She was in her 'don't-mess-up' mode. It was a good mode for her. He thought she should try it out more regularly.
"Is there really anything I could say that would stop you?"
For a long moment, Jason looked at her, really looked at her. He couldn't put his finger on it, and he knew such things weren't possible in such small spaces of time, but something in Carly had changed since yesterday. It was like, overnight, she'd aged a hundred years in her own head. She seemed almost all-knowing now as she looked down at him with that half-smile on her lips. Truthfully, it unnerved him a bit. First off, because an all-knowing Carly could just never be a good thing, and second because the transformation sort of plunked everything into place. They were in the middle of some seriously bad things right now, things that actually held the power to change a person, to change even Carly. Jason's stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with quarters. He shook his head and lowered his eyes to the tops of her boots.
"I can't just sit in here, Carly. I have to find her. I have to."
Her boots moved toward him and then the bed shifted as she sat down next to him, the silk of her blouse chilling his bare forearm. "Sonny can help. That's what he's doing right now. Helping."
The quarters disappeared from his gut, replaced with tiny stabs of not-quite anger. "It isn't enough. I need to be out there, me—" Jason directed a finger at his chest "—not him."
"Oh?" The single word rang in his ears like a sour note, and he didn't even have to look at her to know her eyebrows were pulled skyward. "How about you just let Sonny do something for you this time, Jase, how 'bout that? He'll be here any second. You can tell him whatever it is you know that he may not, and then you can let yourself heal up a bit before joining him."
"I'm not going to be sidelined while my sister is out there somewhere scared and alone. It isn't going to happen, so give it up, okay?"
If she noticed the grinding edge to his voice, she didn't let on. "Nobody's trying to sideline you, Jason, just asking you to give it a few days. That's all."
Looking at her, Jason decided a subject change was best. They'd never agree on this point. She didn't love Emily like he did. She just didn't understand. Nobody would. Jason reached up with his good arm and ran a hand over his face, the simple movement echoing through every bone in his body. "Does Sonny have anything yet?" He could at least feel things out before Sonny got there, see if he knew about Alcazar's run-in with Emily, which he doubted he did.
His suspicions were confirmed when Carly frowned at him. "He didn't know anything when he left here. You know, after you and Johnny got sent up to the OR. But if he's gotten anything new since then…?" Carly shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it isn't like I'm the first person he'd run to with that kind of information. That's more your job."
Jason nodded, absorbing it, getting acquainted with the fact that outside of Lorenzo Alcazar, they had no real leads as to who took Emily. A half second later, something clicked in Jason's head. He looked up at Carly. "Wait—Johnny was in the OR?"
This Carly that had seemed like cooled over molten lava, crumbled a bit as he looked at her. It was then that the sadness invading her and Courtney's eyes made sense. "He's dead isn't he?" Jason asked bluntly. "They killed Johnny?"
Her eyes popped and her mouth fell open. "Oh, God, no!" she said, maybe just a little too loudly. "Well, what I mean is that he's still not out of the woods, not out of surgery actually. He's hurt really bad, Jase, really bad."
So he'd been right. The image of Johnny spinning around and around inside that halo of blinding light flashed in Jason's head. God, it must have been at least half a dozen guys. It was a miracle he even made it out of Emily's apartment alive. "What're his chances?"
Carly's head fell as she fiddled with a button on her blouse. "Not too good. He's lost a lot of blood; his spleen's ruptured, too. The doctor said that if they can't stem the bleeding…" Carly shook her head as she looked at him, that maturity from earlier was slowly ebbing away, her dark eyes becoming big and sad. "Jason, if he doesn't make it… I mean, what's going to happen to his sister? He's all she's got in the world."
It was true. Johnny had a baby sister, a beautiful fourteen-year-old-girl named Gina that reminded Jason so much of Emily right now, he tried not to think about it too hard. But Carly was absolutely right. It was just them. If you took Johnny out of that equation, all you had left was a little girl with a broken world and no doting big brother to take care of her anymore, nobody to keep her safe, make her feel loved or wanted. It really didn't seem fair. "Sonny and I will handle it, Carly. We take care of our own. Whatever happens we'll figure it out." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I promise."
Just then the door to his room swung open, but instead of Courtney, Jason found himself looking up at a clearly rundown Sonny and a very anxious Nikolas Cassadine. What the hell? Why was Nikolas walking around with Sonny
Sonny approached first with a lopsided smile on his face, reeking of sleep deprivation. "Hey, man," he said, bending to give Jason's good arm a brotherly tap. "It's great to see you up. You really scared the hell out of us last night."
Jason smiled back, even though he really didn't feel like smiling, or making idle chit-chat. What he felt like doing was getting the hell out of this place and getting to work. But before he could do that he had to confer with Sonny, even if—for some nameless reason—that option wasn't exactly appealing, either. "Look," Jason said, sliding his gaze warily over Carly and Nikolas before resting again on Sonny. "We have a lot of things that need to be discussed."
Carly, knowing how this kinda thing went, popped up from beside him, bent to kiss his cheek, walked over to her husband, did the same, and then left. Simple as that. Jason sat there and waited expectantly for Nikolas to vacate the room as well. But the kid didn't seem to be catching on.
Jason cleared his throat and gave Nikolas a pointed look. "Um, Nikolas, you mind…? Sonny and I need to talk. Alone."
He expected the young Cassadine to mumble some apology and then make his exit. But again Jason's expectations were not met. Nikolas held his gaze—well, his glare now—and kept his feet planted exactly where they were. "I'm not going anywhere, Jason. I want to hear this."
For a second, Jason thought he must have heard wrong, but then he realized it hadn't been a trick of the ear. Nikolas Cassadine was actually standing there, refusing to leave. Jason's eyes narrowed to angry slits. "Excuse me? I said, Sonny and I need to talk. Now, get the hell—"
"He stays, Jase."
Jason whipped his eyes to Sonny. "What?"
Sonny kept his voice quiet and steady, his 'don't question me' voice. "Nikolas is going to work with us on finding Emily. I told him that as long as he kept his mouth shut, he could be a part of the dealings."
Jason was now looking back and forth between Sonny and Nikolas like they were both certifiable. A kid, a know-nothing involved in his search to get Emily back, knee-deep in Corinthos family business? Had he just slipped through the rabbit hole or something? "You're kidding."
"Sorry to say, Jason, but Sonny's absolutely serious." The Cassadine spoke again and Jason suddenly hated the sound of his voice. "I'm in this now."
"The hell you are," Jason snapped, getting to his feet again, a spike of adrenaline nullifying the throb in his shoulder and canceling out the room's tilt.
"All I want to do is help, Jason," Nikolas said, storm clouds forming behind his eyes. "I care about Emily, too, you know." A beat passed before Nikolas practically spat his next words: "Maybe more than you do."
Sonny closed his eyes and prepared for the room to blow sky high. Wrong thing to say Nikky-boy, wrong thing to say…
An icy fury had seized Jason's body as he slowly closed the gap between them. "Oh, so now you care about my sister? Huh? You care about her so much that you neglect her and hurt her, ignore her and take her for granted? Is that how you care for Emily?"
Nikolas straitened his back and held his ground, glaring back at Emily's brother. Jason didn't have a clue about what he felt for Emily… he had no right… "Hey—hold on a second here, that's not—"
"Shut your mouth, Cassadine." The words were low and gravely, floating somewhere between control and the utter lack of it. "My sister has cared about you from the first time she laid eyes on you, probably loved you even. And all it's ever gotten her is pain." Jason stepped closer to Nikolas, silent warning echoing off the barren walls. "You," Jason pointed over Nikolas' shoulder at the door. "Need to leave. Because this? This doesn't concern you."
Sonny, who had been watching the exchange raptly, stepped between the pair just as Nikolas was about to open his mouth. "Okay, that's enough." He took Nikolas by the arm and pushed Jason back down on the hospital bed. "Come on kid. Just go wait outside for a minute—no, I said go wait outside—I'll be right there."
Once the quietly seething Nikolas had been ushered away, Sonny turned to Jason. The wounded Enforcer held up a hand and spoke before Sonny had a chance. "If you want to let him help you, I don't care. But I'm not working with him—I'm not working with anybody."
Realization dawned in Sonny's eyes. Jason had no intention of making this search a team effort. "Wait—so, you're just gonna go it alone?" Silence met his question as Jason stared blankly at him. It was all the confirmation he needed. Sonny sighed and dragged a heavy hand through his hair. "Jason, you can't be--"
"Lorenzo Alcazar."
Sonny's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Did I miss something?"
"Alcazar," Jason said again. "He took her. I can feel it."
Sonny's eyebrows went up. "What happened to my brother? You're not itching to pin this on him?" Sonny knew how that sounded, but he didn't really care. If Jason had finally seen the light, Sonny wasn't going to be overly diplomatic about it. Jason had put him through hell over this Ric thing.
Jason shrugged and idly tried to test his bum shoulder's range of movement, wincing as he did so. "Don't worry; I still don't trust him. But I came across a new development yesterday."
"Oh, yeah—like what?" Sonny, shooting Jason a disapproving look, reached out and kept his friend's arm stationary. "Don't do that. You'll tear something and then Courtney'll kill you."
Jason laughed, barely, as he continued on, looking back up at Sonny. "Alcazar approached Emily at Kelly's yesterday. Johnny called me afterward and told me about it."
"Approached her like, talked to her?" Jason nodded stoically and Sonny, his mind rapidly processing the new information, took a seat on the edge of the hospital bed next to his friend. "So you think he tried to kidnap her yesterday at Kelly's, but that Johnny botched it for him, is that it?"
Jason shrugged his good arm again. "Maybe. I don't know everything. I just find it kinda strange how yesterday, out of the blue, he decides to try and talk to my sister, and then a few hours later she's… she's gone." Jason tried his best to swallow the lump in throat, but he couldn't. The more he thought about Emily, the bigger it got.
"Okay," Sonny said thoughtfully, elbows perched on his knees. "Okay, well, it's something at least halfway solid to go on. Anything else?"
Coughing a bit, Jason forced himself to speak past the uncomfortable lump in his throat. "Yeah, I went to Alcazar's yacht last night, around ten. He wasn't there, Sonny. He had that crazy son-of-a-bitch Garcia-Covas sitting in for him, told me Alcazar was 'out of town', that I'd 'just missed him'."
The first thing that flashed in Sonny's mind was a giant 'uh-oh.' Alcazar had flown the PC coop only hours before Emily's kidnapping. To anyone else that would read like a solid alibi, to Sonny and Jason, however, it reeked of guilt. And if Alcazar was behind this—an idea that was slowly becoming more likely—then he knew exactly how Sonny and Jason would take his absence. It was only a step away from laughing in their faces. "Okay," Sonny said, sighing. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do. Me and Nikolas—"
Jason had gotten to his feet again, was staring down at Sonny with determined eyes. "You and Nikolas can do anything you want, Sonny. But I'm not sticking around. Too much time has already been wasted."
"Oh, so what, you're gonna go track down Alcazar—who could be anywhere, by the way—and take him on all by yourself, and do it with a pulverized shoulder? Yeah, Jason, that sounds like a great plan to me…"
Jason shook his head angrily. "Don't do that. I don't need you telling me how screwed we are or reminding me that I basically know nothing about how to get to her. What I need right now is some real clothes, my gun, and to go have a talk with your brother."
Sonny's eyebrows went up again. He hadn't expected that last article on the list. "So we're back to him now? I thought you were locked on Alcazar."
Jason sighed, frustration bubbling up in his gut again. "Think, Sonny. Ric used to be Luis Alcazar's money-man. That means he used to work closely with him. If Alcazar's got Emily at one of his compounds or something, Ric may know what we're dealing with. He may know how to get her out."
Sonny barked out a laugh. "And he'll help us why? Because he just likes us both so much?"
Jason became completely still as he looked at Sonny. There was a brutal coldness brewing in Jason's eyes. "No. Because if he doesn't, I'll kill him."
-----
Emily blinked. And then blinked again. Nope, still there, she thought, nearing flat-out hysteria at an alarming rate. It had to be a bad dream, just a really awful, twisted nightmare that at any second she'd wake up from. That was all there was to it; any minute now she'd be yanked out of this soap-opera type delusion and she'd open her eyes to the crisp white of her new bedroom in her new apartment, get dressed, greet Johnny, and then drag him along with her to go have breakfast with her brother, as was the plan. See? That was why this just couldn't be happening. Because it just wasn't how things were supposed to go.
But, as Emily once again rolled a pair of panicky brown eyes around the bedroom, and across the man staring quite amusedly at her from the foot of the bed, Emily realized with a horrible sinking feeling, that this wasn't a dream at all. She'd been kidnapped—again. Honestly, wasn't once enough?
The nausea from before hit her full force as Alcazar's smirk morphed into a wide, mocking grin as he stared down at her. Bastard, she thought, he thinks this is funnyAnd, as if on cue, her former panic vanished and steadily melded into a far less conforming sentiment.
Lorenzo watched, with a mixture of careful weariness and honest-to-goodness amusement as Emily glared daggers at him from the bed. She no longer resembled a confused child. No, she looked much more like herself now, every bit the fiery young woman who so fearlessly faced him down in front of Kelly's. The inferno of obvious hate roaring behind her chocolate eyes sparked a raw anticipation of sorts in his blood. He could already feel his veins humming with the odd excitement, his heart speeding up, his mind and body subconsciously preparing for the blaze. Because, if yesterday had been any indication, blaze she would. And he could hardly wait.
Emily, never breaking gaze with the dark-haired Venezuelan, pulled herself upright and tightened the closure of her robe (and tried not to get too hung up on the fact that a skimpy short robe and nightgown was all she had going for her clothing wise), all traces of disorientation suddenly nowhere to be found. Anger, pure and white-hot surged through her, searing the edges of her mind with its ferocity. Bit by bit, as she stared defiantly at Alcazar, her present situation began to take shape within her head, falling deftly into place each second that passed. She was… well, obviously not in Port Charles anymore and this slick looking son-of-a-bitch was the reason for it.
Emily tilted her head and considered him in their mutual silence. Why, her mind asked. Well, that one was easy. Sonny…and Jason. It always came back to her brother and the man he worked for, always. Never-freaking-fail. But another part of that question still remained unanswered: Why take her, of all people? Surely, Alcazar had to realize that the baby sister of Sonny's enforcer wasn't as much of an on-the-money option as, say, Carly, or Courtney.
No, she thought, rushing to settle the annoying anomaly as a light flicked on in her thoughts, he had already tried Carly. At the wedding. And that ship had sailed, or, rather, that jet had taken off, right along with option number one, and two, hell, maybe even three tucked neatly away within its luxurious interior. Part of Emily wanted to laugh, let a rousing chorus of "Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Boo-Boo" rip while she thumbed her nose at the smug idiot standing over her—but another wanted to cry, because while Carly, Courtney, and Michael were safe and home—she wasn't. And that kinda sucked. A lot.
But Emily refused, as rattled and even worried as she may have been on the inside, to let it show. She was a smart girl, and as such, she knew where this whole ridiculous thing was headed. And exactly what part she played in all of it. She was (ta-da!) the bargaining chip in this little sideshow. And that meant they couldn't kill her. What's more useless than a dead bargaining chip? That's right, nothing. Of course, that didn't mean they couldn't hurt her, torture her. But, for some unfathomable reason, the man standing in front of her didn't seem like the 'make-them-suffer' type. He was a business man, just like Sonny. Though, she doubted Sonny would stoop to kidnapping, being the kindler, gentler, Mob Boss that he was. Well, as far as she was concerned, anyhow. She assumed more than a few people would have a different take on that one. Say, for starters, Lorenzo Alcazar.
And that brought her back to the task at hand. Emily had been an observer in her brother's world long enough, and had sat through too many Mob movies with Dillon, not to know, at least vaguely, what the next step would be. She was the kidnapped, and Lorenzo was the Kidnaper. He took her for leverage (what else could it be?) and now it was time to up the ante, to chuck the first log in the fire and get negotiations rolling. And there was only one way to do that.
Squaring her jaw, Emily spoke evenly and with confidence. "I want to speak to my brother."
Lorenzo's eyebrows shot up. That definitely wasn't the first thing he expected to come tumbling out of her mouth. But then he had to remind himself: Emily Quartermaine was full of surprises. "Been through this before, have we?" he said, feeling that familiar need to provoke, to see if he could provoke her. He had no idea where it stemmed from.
Emily snorted; Lorenzo smirked. "As if you didn't know," she snarled, drawing her naked legs under her, leaning back on her heels. Hot or cold, he couldn't tell. Her reactions were a mixed bag, he decided. And that was fine with him, for now. He watched as Emily finally tore her eyes from his and did a coherent sweep of the bedroom, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes filled with mocking. "I do have to say, though, the digs are a cut above what I got last time around."
Again Lorenzo was assaulted with the unbearable urge to grin at her impudence. That 'blaze' was already starting, and he intended full well to play along before their banter turned vicious, as it no doubt would once she learned of the… mess his men had left behind in Port Charles. Until that moment, though, the one where she'd ask and he'd be forced to tell her, and watch her eyes move beyond dislike and into raw, unbridled hatred, he'd indulge the girl's need to fight him every step of the way—maybe even get in a few barbs, himself. It seemed only fair. "Yes, well, we happen to be short on barnyard comfort around here, but there are stables in the back, that is, if you'd prefer them. Though, I dare say they won't be quite as… inviting without Zander Smith there to keep you warm."
With a ripple of subdued injury he couldn't quite figure, Lorenzo noted the way her eyes narrowed upon him like he was the most despicable person on earth. He became instantly aware that he'd crossed the line. Her angelic face became hard and something not so much angry, but more resolute instead. There was a certainty bubbling in those eyes, a certainty of will, a declaration of victory. She would beat him, and—with some arcane certainty of his own—Lorenzo couldn't help but believe—if only barely—that the girl was right. It was enough to melt his smile and drive the humming din of rushing blood from his ears.
This wasn't a game and she wasn't a toy. She was a girl whom he had kidnapped; she was a victim of his making. There was no excitement to be had here, no spectacle to ogle at. And what was more, something about her scared him. Yes, scared him.
Breaking contact and settling instead for the richly embroidered bedspread, he gathered a response, knowing just how paltry it would be, and knowing she would only use it as further kindling for that Blaze he had so stupidly sought to invoke. "I shouldn't have said that. It was insensitive of me and I apologize."
Emily laughed out loud as she looked at the top of his head. So, first the guy tries to frighten her with just how much he knows about her, but only manages to insult her in the process, and then he apologizes for it? Weird, Emily thought, just weird. "I wouldn't bother with apologies if I were you. It won't make a bit of difference when this is all over."
Again, Lorenzo was struck with the need to just stare at her. The way her mind worked was truly intriguing. He had apologized because he had felt genuinely out of line, and she viewed it as an attempt to win her over. He honestly wondered where all her cynicism came from. It didn't suit her. "That isn't why I did it."
"Oh," Emily said, pulling her arms around herself even tighter, "Right. Cause you're just the perfect gentlemen, just a real nice guy under that stuffy suit and all that Mob bravado?" Emily paused and leveled him with another glare. "Please. I know how people like you work, okay, so don't even try it. You decided you couldn't scare me so instead you're going to try and be my friend, see if you can get one more angle up on Jason and Sonny that way. Well, don't. Because like I said before, it's not going to matter. My brother is still going to find me, and he's still going to make you wish you'd never been born."
Oh, that was right. He'd forgotten that the poor girl still had no idea this grand rescue she was figuring in her head just wasn't going to happen, not with Morgan in his present condition. Lorenzo cocked his head to the side and eyed her intently. "You're awfully confident in that notion, aren't you, Ms. Quartermaine?"
"In what notion?" Her voice was dripping with acid, and her eyes were full to the brim with disdain.
"That your adoring big brother will swoop in and save you any minute now."
He was messing with her and it pissed her off. He was trying to shake her confidence in Jason. But, see, there was one thing Lorenzo Alcazar didn't know about her: such a thing wasn't even possible. Emily drew her gaze back to his face and stared him dead in the eye, wanting him to know that she wasn't afraid and that no head-game he played would ever work on her, not as long as she knew Jason would come. "He came for me before, and he'll do it again. He always does."
Lorenzo clucked his tongue and walked to the veranda doors, pushed them open and inhaled the warm, sweet morning air. With his back to still to Emily, he spoke, knowing that as he did so, he'd be hurting her, and terrifying her. Maybe not right away, but eventually defiance would fall away and she would accept truth. And if she didn't hate him now, she certainly would then. "Always? Well, I think even the great Jason Morgan would find it an impossible task, saving you while confined to a hospital bed."
It felt like someone had just doused her in ice-cold water. Everything was numb. Hospital bed? No, he was lying, just trying to get to her. Jason couldn't be… He wasn't. Jason was okay. He was okay… "You're lying," she said, her voice not as steady as she'd hoped it would be. "Jason's not hurt. I just saw him yesterday. He's fine, and you are lying to me."
He pivoted to face her. He could already see it starting, that doubting panic slowly setting in. It would only be a matter of time now. "No, Ms. Quartermaine, I'm being perfectly truthful with you. Your brother was injured this morning. See, he was struck with the noble idea of preventing your capture, and was shot for his meddling. I'm sorry."
"No…" Emily shook her head furiously and closed her eyes, not wanting Alcazar to see the tears already welling in them. He's lying, he's lying, he's lying… "I don't believe you," she squeaked, and then winced at it. God, why was she letting this bastard's lies get to her? Jason was fine. He wasn't shot. He was okay, and he would come for her and then everything would be okay again. It would be. It had to be. Jason wasn't hurt. Oh, God, please don't let him be hurt… please.
"Then maybe you'd believe the news? Why don't you go turn on that television there," he said, pointing to the armoire in the corner. "I'm sure the story of your kidnapping and the shooting has already broken. Go see for yourself."
Emily swallowed hard as she turned toward the armoire. All the dread and the fear she felt rising up in her seemed somehow focused on that cabinet. It would either be her strength—or her unraveling. It was suddenly all her eyes could see.
"Go on," Lorenzo urged, watching her carefully. "It doesn't bite."
Emily's hands curled into fists at her side, her back still to Lorenzo. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her approach that television like it had the plague. She was stronger than that, better than that. Steeling herself, Emily plunged forward, ripped open the armoire's solid wooden doors and hastily grabbed for the TV's remote. She turned it on and was instantly assaulted by the image of a blonder-than-blonde newswoman. How convenient.
"…In a breaking News story," the blonde woman said in that practiced anchor voice—you know, the one that tried to sound genuine but only managed to drip cold insincerity. "Emily Bowen-Quartermaine, heiress to the vast Quartermaine fortune, was kidnapped early this morning in a violent struggle that took place at her Port Charles residence. Two men, Jason Morgan, 30, associate of notorious New York Mobster, Michael "Sonny" Corinthos, and John Douglas O'Brien, 28, were admitted to Port Charles General Hospital shortly after 2 this morning—both men suffering from what hospital officials described as 'severe gunshot wounds'—" Emily's heart crumbled in her chest, and a dry sob rose in her throat as her vision blurred with tears. No, no, no, no, no…
The scene on the TV changed suddenly, switching to a morning shot of the 100 block of Harbor View Drive—her street. She watched, the acid tinge of bile stinging her mouth, as the camera panned down from the morning sky and towering buildings to land upon a chaotic scene on the street just outside her apartment complex. Police barriers and crime scene tape barred off an area of swarming uniforms and suited detectives. The camera did a sharp zoom, honing in on a section of road through the forest of legs and pacing feet. The tears that had only threatened before now came in a warm, burning rush. There, visible in flashes beyond the milling officers and detectives, was a patch of charcoal pavement, marred an ugly, sickening shade of black-red. Distantly, she heard the remote clatter to the ground as one hand flew to cover her mouth and stifle any sound that may escape, while the other reached up to the screen, her trembling fingers hovering only millimeters from the offensive scene as if afraid to touch it, afraid the horror of it would channel through her touch and make it real. She didn't want it to be real. "Jason…"
Lorenzo barely heard the tearful word as it slipped from her lips. But what he did hear twisted his stomach violently. And when Emily's legs failed her, and the girl slipped to the floor in a heap of brown hair, broken sobs, and flowered robes—a picture that was so achingly familiar to him—he was overcome with the desire to go to her, to try and comfort her. But he quickly mastered the urge, and instead merely walked up behind her and dipped to pick up the remote as the trembling girl continued to watch the news bulletin.
"—at this time no further information is available on the men's conditions or concerning the brutal kidnapping of Ms. Quartermaine which has left the city of Port Charles shocked and dismayed. Police in the area--"
With a twitch of his thumb, the TV went black. He tucked the remote away and closed up the armoire. Taking a deep breath, he turned around, prepared to be met the beginnings of vehement rage. What he found only stirred a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. Her delicate arms were drawn around her lithe body, her dark hair fell unruly over her face, and her eyes were unfocused and glassy. Through the curtain of her hair he could see her chin trembling.
She remembered telling him once, years ago, that he felt like home, that he was her home. She had felt stupid at the time, silly as the unbidden words flowed freely, and she had waited for him to make that unsure face he would make when something she told him just didn't make sense. She waited. And she waited. But it never came. He just gave her one of his half smiles and saved his words, choosing instead to ruffle her hair and give her a hug. Just a simple hug. But somehow it had meant everything. It had been acceptance, it had been forgiveness, and it had been understanding and love. It had been him. Just Jason. Just her brother. Her brother that was strong and caring, brave and fearless. Invincible.
That was why none of it could be true. Because Jason wasn't supposed to be 'severely wounded'. Nicks, tough scrapes, and close calls…? Sure. But this? His blood soaked into asphalt, his name splashed across breaking news reports as part of the casualty list? No. Hell no. And maybe it was because of this belief that the need for denial took such a hold on her then. All she wanted to do was to shrug this whole thing off, to believe that somehow—someway—Alcazar had rigged all of this. That every last detail—the news woman, the camera footage of Harbor View Drive, even the very room she sat in—was just part of some really bad joke she wasn't getting. That, maybe, if she just sat there and closed her eyes really tight, every part of this nightmare would melt away and she'd be back home, waiting at Kelly's for Jason to show up, teasing him for being late when he finally did, and cracking some stupid joke just to see him smile… But, like everything else in the past few hours, Alcazar ruined even that vain little hope with his unwanted voice.
"Do you believe me now?"
She stayed unresponsive for a few very long moments, and just as he was about to speak again, he heard her mumble something. Again, the brunette's words were so soft, Lorenzo couldn't make them out. "What was that?" he asked, straining an ear toward her.
As Emily stared at the polished maple floor, a horrific image of Jason's bloodied body being wheeled into the General Hospital emergency bay suddenly assaulted her mind, and Emily felt something within her snap and then burn away, as if it never existed. Maybe it was the denial she'd clung to, her unwillingness to come to terms with her situation, but more than likely, she believed it was her control. Jason and Johnny could be fighting for their lives for all she knew. And for that atrocity, there was only one person to blame. Well, at least only one tangible person. Lucky for her the bastard was standing right behind her. Emily drew in a deep breath, but this time it wasn't an effort to quell her anger—it was to summon it. Surging to her feet, Emily rounded on Lorenzo. "I said, 'I—want—to—go—home'." Her words were tense and barely contained, just like her. "My brother, and someone I consider a friend are hurt—because of you—and I want to be with them—NOW!"
As he looked at her, Lorenzo suddenly gained a new understanding of self-loathing. The once bright, happy girl that had smiled up at him from those photographs was slowly, steadily falling away and being seized by a darkness of his creation. He was responsible for this and he hated himself for it. But with that hate, came a sobering surge of resentment toward her and this foreign empathy he was feeling. What made this mark, this girl so different from anyone else he had hurt or ruined to get what he wanted? What gave her the right to make him feel anything but numb right now? This was business, and as such, concessions were not allowed. Feelings were not allowed. "I'm sorry, Ms. Quartermaine, but that won't be possible."
Not possible? Was this guy deaf or something? Jason was hurt and he needed her. What was so difficult for him to understand? She couldn't stay in this place. She wouldn't—no matter what he said. Emily's jaw clenched and she felt the muscles there twitch under the pressure. "Maybe you didn't hear me…"
"No, I heard you perfectly. Now perhaps you should hear me." Lorenzo, feeling brazen now, even as he saw the firestorm raging in Emily's eyes, stepped closer to her, putting less than a few feet between them. He ducked his head and held her gaze steadily. "You still aren't leaving here, not until I get what it is I want."
"And what the hell would that be!"
His answer was simple, and at the same time anything but. "Cooperation. From Corinthos."
Emily laughed darkly, throwing her head back, and giving Lorenzo a look that plainly said she thought him the stupidest man on Earth. "Well," she said, eyes wild and mocking as she fought against the odd laughter bubbling in her throat. "If that's what you wanted, I could have saved you a bunch of trouble, pal, because that's something you're never gonna get—at least not by using me."
An equally cruel expression found his lips, his mouth twisting up into a smirk. If she wanted to do things this way and downplay her own worth, then so be it. He'd just have to set the girl straight. Make her understand that a quick plane ride home wasn't going to be an option. "Oh, I don't know about that," he said, scratching idly at his beard. "I think you may be selling yourself short. You'll be extremely useful in my negotiations with Sonny. Just you wait and see."
"Oh, really? And what's going to happen until then, huh?" Emily cast the closed chamber doors a reproachful glare. "You just gonna keep me here, locked away, until Sonny gives in to whatever ridiculous demands you have for him?"
"Well, that is the plan."
A yell of fever-pitched frustration crackled through the room like a lightening bolt as Emily reached to her side, seized a delicate blue vase from a nearby table, and hurled it against the wall over Alcazar's shoulder. It exploded in a cloud of sparkling cobalt. And she was now standing very close to him, her anger blinding her to that fact. "I don't want to spend one more second in this decked-out prison of yours, understand? For the last time, I want to go home!"
Lorenzo—who had not even flinched at her outburst, or when the antique vase narrowly missed his head and shattered against the back wall—remained the picture of calm, staying absolutely still as Emily's body quaked with rage mere inches from him. Even this angry, Lorenzo couldn't help but admire the girl's beauty. In fact, her fury seemed to heighten it, to kindle something in her that radiated out, making the air around them crackle to life. The charge rolling off of her was damn near intoxicating. "Well," Lorenzo said in a hushed, collected voice, his steady fingers reaching up to brush a wayward piece of chestnut hair from Emily's fire-filled eyes. "Then I suggest you learn to adapt to your new surroundings, Ms. Quartermaine, because you aren't going anywhere."
-----
Jason and Sonny stared each other, one in dead serious determination, just asking to be challenged, and the other in a sort of disbelief—pissed off disbelief.
But, perhaps thankfully, the tense moment was broken when Carly and Courtney came barreling through the door, both women smiling from ear to ear.
"He's out," Carly breathed, it obvious the pair had run all the way here. "Johnny's out of surgery, and—"
"And the doctors are really hopeful," Courtney finished for Carly, griping onto her friend's arm like it was some sort of lifeline. She looked between her fiancé and her brother, a desperate relief trickling over her as the news sunk in. At least something good is happening in all this mess, she thought, slightly dazed, thank you God. "They think he's going to be okay."
-----
TBC…