Mirloc thought the boy had slept soundly enough, but when he awoke, he was ravenous, malcontent, and oozing blood from a sore on his elbow. With no provisions on hand, Mirloc had simply sent the child to bed the night before in the only room in the house that had a bed. Now the child was whining of hunger as he scratched at the reddened skin in the crook of his arm. He had several such angry patches in various folds of skin on his body—behind his knees, on his neck, and on his wrists. Only the one was bleeding at the moment, but if the fragility of humans was anything to go by, Mirloc thought even just the one might be problematic.
He had not been able to contact his acquaintance during the night and they were not due to meet until the next night, which meant that the mercenary had to keep the child fed, unmaimed, and occupied until then.
The promise of food quieted the boy down, and Mirloc left him in the room with the bed, which had been denuded of all things a young child might accidentally hurt himself with. A forcefield device affixed above the doorway blocked any potential escape.
Mirloc had no idea what a human child required. During his hunt for provisions, he stopped to observe other humans with their brats in a public park. Very quickly, he noted that those with the youngest babes carried provisions with them, and he decided that availing himself to those was the most expedient way to obtain what he needed. He filched several containers of food, a set of clothing, and some colorful object intended for amusement, as well as a medical kit from an actual shop. How exhausting it must have been for humans to have to carry all those supplies everywhere for their young.
The first thing he took care of when he returned to the house were the rashes. He smeared ointment on them, covered them with fresh bandages, and told the boy sternly not to pick or pull at them. Then he handed over the containers of food.
"That's for babies," the boy said, looking at the jars balefully.
"This is all you get," Mirloc said. "You can eat what I give you or you can go hungry."
The child pouted, but there was worry in those blue eyes as he regarded the jars again. Mirloc opened the containers, handed the boy a spoon, then left him with his new provisions. A short time later, the sound of shattering glass brought the mercenary back to the room in a hurry. From the doorway, he saw one of the food jars shattered upon the floor.
"What have you done?" Mirloc demanded.
"I sorry," the child whimpered.
Mirloc stepped through the forcefield and the boy shrank back against the bed. Empty containers and dribbles of food littered the floor around him, but the broken jar lay nearly on the other side of the room, the only disruption in the layer of dust that coated the floorboards. Mirloc looked back at the boy suspiciously, but his wide eyes betrayed only fear. At least the child understood consequences.
Mirloc retrieved the spare clothing from the end of the bed and motioned for the boy to come closer. "Come here, boy. You are filthy." Smears of food clung to his little face and shirt.
The child resisted at first, but a glowering look from the mercenary cowed him into obedience. Mirloc changed the boy's shirt, then used the old one to clean his face and hastily sweep the mess on the floor under the bed. When he was done, the boy pointed at the doorway and said, "I can too."
The mercenary became suspicious again. "You can what?"
The boy tugged at the shielding device around his waist, which his new shirt didn't quite cover. "Off."
Mirloc didn't move. Was this a trick? Would the child somehow escape if the device was removed? Perhaps he did not know how to work the fastening mechanism after all. After a moment's deliberation, the mercenary decided not to risk it.
"No," he told the boy, and the little face crumpled.
"I want to go home," the child whined.
"You cannot."
"I want mommy and daddy."
"You are not being a very good boy."
The boy stomped a foot. "I want home!"
"Silence, child!"
"Home!" The boy began repeating it, his voice growing louder and shriller until he was screaming. Mirloc had to pacify the brat fast before somebody heard. He reached for the plates on his chest.
"Do you remember the place of mirrors?" he growled, and the menacing rumble finally shut the boy up. From the panicked look on his face, Mirloc knew he remembered the mirror dimension well. "If you yell again, I will send you back there. Do you want to go to the place of mirrors or stay here in this nice room?"
"Stay," the boy said quickly.
"Then behave yourself."
The commander intervened at noon, when he caught Jay and Nate arguing without actually disagreeing about anything. They were both dead tired, worried sick, and borderline dysfunctional, and not even a lecture from Mori could get them to settle down. Cruger, on the other hand, kept it simple: he would deactivate their access to everything in the Delta Base if they didn't go and get some rest. Nothing and no one could be helped with them in such a state, but the only thing that really pacified Jay was a check-in with Gene, who promised him that no stone in the city was being left unturned. The police chief also asked after Madelaine, who had stayed at the house today in case anyone—good or bad—tried to contact them there. Jay had a feeling she would be Gene's next call no matter what he said.
He and Nate decided to take their break in the common room, where they could be out of the way but easily found in case any news came through. The room was thankfully deserted, not unusual for the lunch hour when most personnel were down in the mess hall. By now, everyone on Base must have known what had happened and Jay didn't have the energy to deal with their sympathy or questions right now.
He and Nate sank down on opposite couches, where Nate immediately grabbed a pillow and lay down. Jay felt a stab of guilt as he realized his second-in-command had been up the entire night. After finding out that Jay had hit the streets long before daybreak, Nate had sent Carmen home and insisted on joining Jay instead. They'd been together ever since, coming back to Base when Fran took on the next shift. Cruger was allowing their 24-hour rotation, but had cut it down to one Ranger per shift.
"You should get some sleep," Jay told Nate when the other man just kept watching him sit there instead of closing his eyes.
"So should you."
"I did."
"Two to four a.m. doesn't count."
"It was one to four, I think."
"Bull. You have no fucking idea when you slept."
"Fine. It doesn't matter anyway."
"It will when you miss something because you're so fried. You're no use to anyone this way, especially not Sky."
The sound of his son's name brought another, more painful realization. "It's been almost twenty-four hours."
"What?"
"It's been almost twenty-four hours since Sky went missing." Jay's chest tightened as he said the words. "There's been no note, no ransom, nothing. We still have no idea what happened or who—"
He shut down his thoughts, hard and fast. It was too soon to start losing hope, too soon to start doubting. Patience, faith, and throwing everything he had in his fucking power to throw was going to see him through this.
"Get some rest, Jay," Nate said. "You're just too tired to see that we're gonna win this. Everything's going to be okay."