Chapter 8

Tony's first thought upon awakening was that he was freezing. Then he wondered why the world around him shook so much. He was lying in darkness on an uneven surface, and when he tried to move to make himself more comfortable, he realized that his hands and feet were bound to stationary objects – or at least stationary relative to him, as the whole shebang appeared to be in a moving vehicle. He was also gagged, and that seemed to be making his breathing problematic. He was lightheaded, and he couldn't seem to draw in enough air. He strove to lengthen his breaths so that he wouldn't hyperventilate.

Feeling around the best he could, bound as he was, he figured out that he had to be in the trunk of a car, hence the tight binding. Everyone knew these days how to get noticed if you were stuck in the trunk of a car. He was still naked, though he thought there was something thrown over most of him. It didn't help much. His breathing wasn't easing any. He was in a U shape, his hands and feet tied to sections of the car's frame that were accessible from inside the trunk, and his back was to the opening. In this position, he might not be able to reach the trunk release or kick out the tail lights, but he could pound on the passenger seat, so he did.

After what seemed an eternity, one side of the rear seat opened somewhat, letting in light and fresh air. Tony breathed in deeply, but dust from the trunk and the coldness of the air made him cough into the gag, which made him start choking. Almost immediately, the car stopped and the open section of the seat was folded down and someone reached in to loosen the gag. He spat it out and gulped air into his lungs. When he had enough breath, he gasped out, "Are you trying to kill me?"

"You haven't been in the trunk more than four hours," Peter said, giving him an exasperated look.

"I can't breathe in here," Tony said. He could feel his lungs. He was reasonably sure that people weren't supposed to be able to feel those. They seemed heavy and difficult to fill.

"It takes eight hours for a normally healthy adult to start having serious problems, and we'll be there long before then." Peter reached out to stuff the gag back in his mouth.

Tony twisted his head to avoid him. "Whoa, wait, I'm not!" he said.

Peter stared at him, puzzled. "You're not what?"

He grimaced. He didn't want to talk about this. "A normally healthy adult," he said reluctantly. "My lungs are scarred."

"There's no one coming now, Pete," Butch called from the front seat. "But someone could show up anytime. Get him closed back in there."

"I can't!" Tony protested.

"How did your lungs get scarred?" Peter asked.

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It instigated another round of coughing, and he cleared his throat. "I know how this sounds, but . . . I had plague." There were mutterings from the front seat, but Tony was gazing into Peter's eyes, trying to convince him since he was in charge. "Someone sent a virus to the office, and I got lucky enough to breathe some in."

Peter gazed at him for a moment, then tilted his head. "Which plague?"

He never pronounced the word right, but Peter was waiting. Tony hoped someone would come by and notice something odd, but he didn't know how they would. At normal driving speeds, passersby didn't see much inside other people's cars. He bit his lip. "The one that's not spelled how it sounds."

"Pneumonic?"

"Yeah, that's it," Tony said, nodding, and Peter's eyes widened. "It left scars on my lungs. Normally it's not a big deal, but I . . . I can't do this." He gestured with his head around at the trunk. "I don't want to die, but I sure as hell don't want to suffocate. Been there, done that. I'd rather be shot."

"That can be arranged," Butch muttered.

"You haven't had plague!" Tony croaked.

"You haven't either, I'll wager," Butch growled, turning around.

Tony could see him glaring now that his eyes had largely adjusted to the light after the total darkness of the trunk. There were trees on either side of a narrow road up ahead, and he could see Lola's hair in the front passenger seat, but she hadn't turned around. He opened his mouth to speak, but took in dust with the air and ended up coughing again. Coughing while stuck in one position sucked big time. He could hear the three kidnappers speaking, but he couldn't understand them as he continued with racking coughs. Finally, the paroxysms slowed down and he was able to breathe normally again.

"We ought to just kill him, Pete," Butch said, and Tony clenched his fists as fear and anger swept through him. "We could shoot him right here and roll the body down the hill. He wouldn't –"

"Enough!" Peter snapped. He was still gazing at Tony. "I'm not going to gag you, Tony, because we're not likely to be close enough to anyone for you to be heard, and I will keep this open a couple of inches most of the time." Tony nodded, fury surging as panic subsided. Peter leaned towards him and put a hand on his face, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb. "Just remember, Tony, I will shoot you if you yell." With that, he drew back and brought the open panel of the seat nearly closed. The car started moving again and Tony lay still on the floor of the trunk, grinding his teeth.

What had changed? Was this move why Peter had insisted he drink a heavy duty sedative? Tony shook his head. That didn't track. If they'd sedated him for the trip, he'd still be out – and possibly dead. There was something else at work here.

He hoped that Butch was a good driver, because if there was a wreck, he was not in a good position. Not only would he be totally humiliated, he'd be hurt as well. Dislocated joints, sliced up wrists and ankles. Not a pretty picture.

He had no idea how long the rest of the drive was. He lay in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the finger width opening in the back seat. He could see Peter's fingers holding it open. There were occasional stops, but it was stop sign stopping, not stop light stopping. He never heard another car the whole time, which both pleased and alarmed him. No cars meant Peter kept the seat open and fresh air trickled in. It helped, not enough, but it helped. On the other hand, no cars meant no chance of rescue. He figured they had to be in an isolated rural area, because he couldn't think of anyplace else where there would be this total lack of traffic.

Finally, after a gentle right turn, they came to a stop and Lola got out of the front seat, slamming the door on that side of the car. Tony pressed forward. He wanted to know where they were. "Lola's opening the garage door," Peter said, and Tony realized that the other man could feel the pressure he was exerting on the seat. "It'll be just a few minutes more – and don't be tempted to yell. There's no one around for miles."

Tony just clenched his teeth. No point in telling the bastard that he didn't have the lung capacity to yell at the moment anyway. The car started moving again, very slowly, then it stopped and Butch turned the engine off. Peter dropped the unlatched side of the backseat down and Tony craned his neck to see out the windows. He couldn't tell what time of day it was, just that it was day time. The light was bright, but it started dimming almost immediately. Butch popped the trunk open and Tony squinted up at him. He was haloed by the light from the garage door, but that was closing even as Tony watched.

Butch pulled the blanket off Tony and bent to untie him. Tony longed to knock him on his ass, but even once he was loose, he couldn't do more than stretch his stiff muscles. Even getting out of the trunk sounded like too much effort. For one thing, Butch hadn't released the cuffs, he'd just unhooked them from the car frame. Maybe they'd let him crawl out through the back seat.

Butch reached in and grabbed him by the arms, and Tony flinched back automatically. The big man wrestled him out of the trunk without regard for the integrity of his limbs. Somewhat weakened by the wretchedness of the trip, Tony could neither resist nor hold in the grunts of pain. Butch put him feet-first on the ground, but when he tried to stand, he tottered and found that he had to catch onto the other man or brain himself on the back end of the car. His muscles were still too stiff to hold him up, and his left foot was tingling from a numbness he hadn't noticed before. Butch pushed him away with a curse. He stumbled sideways and ended up leaning against the wall of the garage. He glanced back out the way they'd come in, but the door had no windows. Neither did the walls, for that matter.

Peter and Lola seemed to be occupied with something, but Butch stayed next to Tony, keeping watch on him or whatever. Like he was in any shape to get up and run away. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor. It was cold, but he couldn't remain standing and concentrate on breathing at the same time. He reached up and pulled the gag from around his neck and threw it across the garage. The other man laughed at him and Tony spent a pleasant few minutes imagining him being eaten slowly by sharks.

"Butch!" At Peter's sharp-voiced exclamation, Butch stood up straight and stopped laughing. "We put the blanket in there for a reason. Let him sit on it till we're ready for him."

"Why don't we just shoot him and be done with it?" Butch demanded. "We're not giving him back." Good question, Tony thought, but he didn't really want it asked at the moment because he couldn't think of a good reason himself.

"We still need him," Peter said. "His father wants to talk to him when I call this evening." Tony blinked. He was going to be talking to his father later? That should be interesting. For which of his many sins would he be castigated on this occasion?

Butch yanked him to his feet, dropped the blanket on the floor and let him slide back down the wall. Tony sank back onto the blanket, now imagining Butch going through an endless time loop of sensitivity training. Butch had reached the mindless drooling stage in Tony's imagination before Peter came and squatted down in front of him. "Do you think you're up to walking now?"

He wanted to curse and yell at him. He wanted to smack him with his bound hands. He wanted to tell the scrawny bastard just what he thought of him. He summoned a smile. "I can try," he said, forcing his voice to be pleasant. It had become very clear to Tony that his survival really, profoundly depended on Peter's continuing to like him. He just really hoped that Peter didn't like him as much as he was beginning to suspect he did. He needed to like him, sure, but just enough to keep him alive. Not too much. Of course, Tony knew he was probably imagining things, but . . . he was babbling in his own head. Not a good sign. Regardless, threats of murder aside, Peter did seem very tactile. He took Tony's hands and helped him to his feet, and when Tony swayed slightly, he put his arm around Tony's waist again. "I'm good," Tony said, pulling away, but Peter stayed close.

A door in the back of the garage led into a sort of anteroom – he'd have called it a mud room, but who had a mudroom to get into the garage? There were cupboards, shelves with gardening implements on them, a door to the outside and a set of stairs leading down. Peter guided Tony to the stairs. "The house and the garage are detached," he said. "But they share a common basement."

"Handy," Tony said. For kidnappers and serial killers, at any rate. The stairs weren't quite wide enough for two abreast, so Peter started down first, presumably to catch Tony if he fell. They might both break their necks if that happened. Tony focused on keeping his balance.

Butch started to follow them down, but Peter paused, then looked up at him. "Get rid of the car," he ordered.

"Right. You sure you don't need any help with him?"

"Lola's here." Tony struggled to keep his reaction off his face. One little guy and a woman were all it was taking to control him. But they had guns and he wasn't up to wrestling a brownie scout for her cookies right now. Besides, he had no idea where he was. He couldn't be sure how long they'd driven or in what direction. All he knew was that he was naked, in a strange place, handcuffed, and held by people who wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if he got out of line.

Butch rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're the boss. Be back in a while."

At the foot of the stairs was a laundry room. The furnace made up one wall with a little pass through into what seemed to be a storage area. It was the neatest such that Tony had ever seen. Boxes piled in orderly rows, labeled clearly. Most of them said 'Books' with a list appended of which books. There were stairs leading upward on the other side of the room. Tony looked at them disgustedly. He was tired. Even though he'd slept all night, hours in the back of that car without sufficient air had taken a toll on him. Staying down here sounded more appealing than climbing more stairs. For one thing, his lungs burned from the effort movement cost him. For another, there were boxes down here that said things like 'Baseball Supplies.' Handcuffs would not seriously hinder the use of a baseball bat, and Tony could think of several people whose heads would better for the judicious application of that implement. They were crossing the room when Tony decided he'd had enough. He came to a stop and contemplated the armchair that was sitting in the corner. It had several cushions on top of it, but he figured he could toss those on the floor. Peter kept going to the foot of the stairs, then he seemed to notice that Tony hadn't kept up.

"Tony, come on," he said.

"Why?" Tony asked wearily. He turned his eyes away from the chair to Peter's face. "You're going to kill me anyway, so why should I bother?"

Peter blinked at him, looked up the stairs for a second, then walked back over to him. Reaching up, he cupped Tony's cheek with his hand. "I'm not going to kill you, Tony."

"Butch seems to think you are." Tony thought that Peter was a good deal too close to him, naked as he was.

"What Butch doesn't know won't hurt him," Peter said with a smile. Then he seemed to consider his statement and let out a quiet chuckle. "Actually, it might, but that needn't concern you. Suffice it to say, I'm not going to kill you." He took Tony's left hand in his right and drew him along towards the stairway. "I have other plans for you, my dear Tony." Tony hesitated, pulling back. He didn't like the sound of that at all. Peter turned and smiled at him. "Don't be foolish, Tony. You've been many things so far, but never foolish. Come along."

He pushed Tony in front of him when they reached the stairs. Tony almost balked when he realized just where Peter's face would be once they were on the incline. He forced himself forward and tried not to think about it. He was probably reading too much into things. Everyone was always telling him how self-centered he was.

He started coughing again and stopped cold in his tracks as he doubled over. He grabbed onto the railing with both hands, trying to keep from falling. When the fit subsided, he stood up again. His balance wavered for a second and Peter steadied him with gentle hands on his waist. The hands lingered after Tony had caught his balance, thumbs moving up and down on the small of his back. Tony started forward again and Peter's hands dropped away. Tony gulped nervously. Was he misreading that?

All the blinds in the house were drawn. No doubt that was some of what Peter and Lola had been up to while he'd waited. Tony let Peter take the lead again, and the smaller man took him into a bathroom. Here there were no drawn blinds, but the glass was frosted.

"Things are not quite ready upstairs, and I thought you might like the opportunity to get cleaned up."

Tony nodded. Peter was going to leave him alone? That would be great. He could look out a window . . . find a phone . . .find some pants.

"Give me your hands," Peter said. Uncertainly Tony held them out. Was he actually going to uncuff him? That would be even better. Peter undid the left cuff and pulled Tony forward towards a bar on the wall above the tub.

"No way," Tony protested. He pulled back. "I won't –" A footstep behind him made him break off and turn. Lola had come to the doorway with her trusty pink taser. He sighed. He needed to be liked. Fighting back when there was no possibility of success made little sense to begin with. It made even less sense if it irritated the one man Tony needed to keep on the good side of.

Peter pinched Tony's ass, causing Tony to stand up straight in surprise and alarm.

"You won't what, Tony?" Peter asked with a smile. Tony tried to regain his composure. "Come now, Tony, were you going to promise not to try to escape? I'm not that trusting."

"It was worth a try," Tony said with what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace. He let Peter cuff him to the bar, which necessitated stepping into the tub.

"You should be able to reach everything from here," Peter said, pulling the towels closer and looking around at the hygiene products. The minute Tony was cuffed to the wall, Lola left again, apparently confident that Peter could handle himself with his prisoner stuck in one spot. Tony glanced at the window. It didn't appear to open. "That's not glass, by the way, it's plexiglas." Peter went to the door. "I'll be back soon."

"Take your time," Tony said.

"Oh I will, Tony," Peter said, looking him up and down. "I will." He left, and Tony found himself staring at the closed door in deep dismay.