When John stormed into the BZR Corporation building, not even the security guards dared to get in his way.
He went straight to Balthazar's office, shoved the door open, ignored the client sitting across from Dextera, and grabbed the half breed by the lapels and threw him down on his desk.
"Where the hell is he?"
Balthazar raised an eyebrow at John, and the client made a beeline from the room, eyes wide with terror. He'd no doubt be calling security up.
"I haven't the slightest what you're referri-"
"Don't give me that shit. Your only shot at the Masters was getting rid of him."
Balthazar frowned. "I sincerely doubt that, Johnny-boy. If something happened to Chas, it was more than likely someone with a grudge against you."
John snarled, picking the half-breed up and slamming him down against the desk again.
"I won't ask you again. Where'd your goons take him!"
Dextera didn't get a chance to answer. Two security guards had finally mustered up some courage and grabbed John by the back of his jacket, pulling him off their boss and holding him back.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Dextera said to the officers, standing up and straightening his jacket. "Kindly remove this man from the building, would you? He's mentally instable."
The guards did just that. They dragged John downstairs and literally threw him out the front doors onto the hard cement steps.
John yelled obscenities at them for a few moments before finally giving up and shutting up. He sat on the steps, his logic in shambles, trying to come up with his next move.
Things weren't looking good.
Chas was in a helluva lot of pain.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was still tied, gagged, and blindfolded in the same position as when he'd woken up. His arms were aching, his hands were tingling, and his shoulders were wrenched around in a way that couldn't be good for his golf swing.
The most his kidnappers had done was to remove the gag and try and force Chas to eat, which he'd easily avoided. For one, he couldn't even see what they were trying to shove down his throat, like hell was he going to actually swallow it. And for another, it would be giving in to the same idiots who'd kidnapped him.
He was desperate, and he made a desperate, clichéd move. He let his head fall forward onto his chest, and then relaxed his body as much as he could.
It was less than ten minutes before he heard Tyler's voice say, "Hey, hey Brian…the kid ain't movin'."
"So?"
"So maybe he already starved or somethin'."
Chas heard the sound of a sharp slap. "You idiot, it takes people days to starve."
"How do we know when he last ate though?"
"He's not anorexic. He's a golfer. They eat all the time."
"How do you know?"
"Cause there was a really fat kid on my high school team."
"Oh. Well, that kinda makes sense."
A pause.
"But are you sure he's okay?"
A groan. "I'm goin' out to get more beer. Don't touch the kid."
The screeching of a chair sliding against the floor, then Chas heard the door open and close. He listened for Tyler, heard a few shuffling sounds, but then footsteps coming over to him.
He felt Tyler tug the blindfold up, but he kept his eyes closed and his head limp.
"Hey…hey, kid, you okay?"
Chas didn't respond, even tried to keep from breathing too noticeably. He felt the gag tugged down next, but made no response to that either. He was waiting, waiting for Tyler to do something stupid.
"Come on, wake up," Tyler said, slapping Chas's face lightly. Chas still didn't respond.
Finally, Chas felt Tyler's hands on the leather belts tying him to the chair. Those came loose, followed by the ties on Chas's wrists. His acting must've been pretty convincing, if Tyler was worried enough to untie him. Then again, Tyler wasn't the brightest crayon in the box.
The second his hands were free, Chas pivoted in the chair and swung hard, his fist catching Tyler in the jaw. The man went down, but wasn't out, and now Chas's fist hurt like hell. He paid no attention to that- he took off toward the door, which was further away than he'd approximated. He was in some kind of prop room, filled with strange scenery pieces and props, and he could hear Tyler scrambling to his feet already.
He reached the door, threw it open, and ran right into someone- and that someone was obviously a very pissed off Brian.
Chas put up the best fight he could manage. He landed more than a few punches and kicks, screamed for help, but in the end it was two against one and the numbers won out.
The last thing he saw before the world went dark was a two by four hurtling toward his head.
The last thing John expected to find at his apartment was a sobbing, hysterical Kenya.
She was leaned against his door with her face in her hands when he approached, and when she heard his footsteps and looked up she pulled him into a tight hug.
"These reporters were at my house, t-then the cops called…" she sobbed, and John stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.
"Ssh, it's alright, kiddo. Did they show you the tape?"
"N-No…"
"Chas is okay. They haven't hurt him, and they're not going to."
Kenya sniffled, sighing heavily. "I should've known something was wrong last night. Chas doesn't get sick, he just doesn't, and when he does he doesn't tell anyone. I should've known."
"Nobody could've known that this was going to happen. Don't beat yourself up over this," John said, forcing a smile. "Besides, if I have things my way, we'll know where Chas is within the next hour."
Kenya looked skeptical, yet guardedly hopeful. "An hour? How…"
John held up the brown paper sack he was carrying. "I'm an exorcist. Spells are my thing," he said vaguely, unlocking his apartment and gesturing Kenya inside.
"What kind of spell? What could a spell do? I thought they were just to put curses on people, stuff like that," Kenya said, closing the door behind them.
"Well, in order to affect a person with a spell, you have to already have some kind of connection with them. Otherwise I would've already struck those two bastards down with a curse," John explained. "But Chas is another story."
"You aren't going to put a curse on Chas, are you?"
John laughed. "No. I'm going to put a kind of spiritual GPS on him. It won't last long, but if I do this right, I'll be able to tell exactly where he is. So you can go home, relax, stop worrying so much…"
"No. I want to help," Kenya said stubbornly.
"You're as bad as Chas."
"Damn right I am."
John sighed, and started unloading supplies from the bag. "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to be here during the spell-"
"I can handle it. I deal with critics on a daily basis, a spell will be no problem," Kenya insisted. John stared at her for a moment, considered, and then thought of what Chas would say.
He picked up three bags from the table and handed them to Kenya. "Three herbs, one in each bag. Boil some water for me and add those in. It's gonna smell like shit, probably give you a headache."
She didn't hesitate. As he prepared an herb circle on the floor and found the appropriate relic, she followed his directions with an exactness that he hardly expected from a Hollywood girl.
It took half as much time to set up as it usually would've with just him, and he studied the ritualistic Latin that he would need to use once the ritual got started as Kenya finished up with the herbs.
"They're ready," she said quietly (wrinkling her nose from the stench), and John motioned for her to put the pot just outside the circle on the floor.
"It would be best if you went into a different room while I'm doing this," he said, and for once she didn't argue. She went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, nervously tracing the stitched-in crosses on the bedspread with her fingers.
John took the last part of the ritual from the table- one of Chas's shirts that he'd left behind here. It still smelled like Chas, and John couldn't help but just hold it close for a few moments, taking in the uniquely Chas scent and for once praying to God that the boy would be okay.
He stepped inside the circle, and the ritual began.
He opened his mind to the outside world, dropping all barriers, the scent of the herbs furthering the process of allowing everything and anything in. His grip tightened on the shirt, and Latin words began to spill from his lips as voices filled his mind.
The floor was beginning to heat up beneath his feet, so much so that steam was curling up from the floorboards, and the water in the pot began to bubble again. He reached out with his mind, searching, the shirt dragging him in a direction- the rest was his job. A possession couldn't do everything for the ritual.
There. It was there, weak, but definitely his Chas. He reached out further, his words louder, the floor sizzling beneath his feet.
His grip tightened. His concentration wavered as he realized that Chas was unconscious and in pain, but he grabbed on once again, before the connection got too foggy.
Chas.
There it was. That snap, that connection, it was there. He'd done it.
He dropped to the floor, barely missing the pot of boiling water, his mind snapping back into reality and the protective walls coming back up. Kenya rushed into the room and kneeled next to John, her hand jerking back from the floor within a second of touching it- it was scalding hot.
"Are you okay?" She asked, her brown eyes wide with concern. John slowly sat up, searching his mind.
Chas's presence was still there. Not active, but noticeable.
"I know where he is."