Chapter 17
-Absent-
From his place aboard a red barge Casey scanned the vast collection of cars that made up the Erie Basin Auto Pound. Raphael stood beside him and watched for signs of activity. It had been a while since the last time the two of them had gone on patrol together. This was due, in part by Casey's decision to join the Mutanimals in an effort to give the turtles some space.
Currently they were on a mission set forth by Slash, who'd discovered that April's getaway van was being held here, pending a police investigation. Casey drummed his forefinger against the side of his binoculars; he didn't like being this close to any building frequented by the NYPD.
"Stop doing that." Raphael barked.
"Sorry, dude." Casey said. "Can't help it. Me and the cops don't mix."
"You didn't have to come, you know." Raphael said. "You could have given me the info and went back to working with your new team."
Ouch. "Don't be like that, dude. Besides, I know you missed going out on patrol with me." Casey teased.
"I did not and I ain't being like nothing." dismissed Raphael, hoping his tone didn't convey that he was lying through his teeth. "Just keep looking."
Casey resumed his search and spotted the van in the second row of parked cars nestled between a black Honda Civic and a red Ford Focus. Casey lowered the binoculars and pointed across the lot "Is that it, right there?"
"Probably. How many crispy fried vans do you think are in there?" Raphael spat.
"It's New York, there could be more than one." Casey pointed out, "Why are you so salty? I thought you'd be happy about this."
"Let's just search the van so we can get out of here." Raphael said.
The pair of restless warriors disembarked and ran across a well-lit street before scaling the chain-link fence that surrounded the auto pound. When they landed on the other side they took cover, ducking from car to car until they reached the charred remains of what was once April's getaway van.
Raphael's focus settled on back of the vehicle where its two barn doors had been ripped from their hinges. It, no doubt, happened during Overkill's forceful departure. A twitchy feeling crawled through Raphael's veins, his muscles strained against his skin, and the urge to hurt someone bubbled to the surfaced.
"Hey! Who's there?" inquired an extremely unlucky security officer.
Raphael pounced on the officer, grabbing his arm to the point of bruising and threw him, face first, against the side of the van. The vicious action caused a plastic name tag reading Thompson to fall to the ground between them.
"You're in big trouble, whoever you are." Said Thompson.
Oh really? Thought Raphael. He poked his sai against Thompson's face, its saki-the longest prong- dug into Thompson's cheek hard enough to indent the skin without breaking it.
"Hey, please…please don't kill me," sniveled Thompson, "I got kids…"
"What the heck are you doing, Raph!?" exclaimed Casey, and at the risk of personal injury, pulled Raphael away from Thompson, who subsequently fell to the ground in an unconscious heap. "Aww, nice going, Raph." Casey whined. "Seriously, what's your problem?"
Raphael clenched his jaw and wheeled around, jabbing a green finger in Casey's face. "You want to know what my problem is." he seethed, "It's been two months! Mikey can't even look at me after that stunt I pulled back at the school!" Raphael shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Leo's still recovering from his fall, and Donnie is still missing!" Raphael's throat grew tight. "My brothers are in pain and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it!"
"I feel you, man, but we can't give up." Casey said, keeping his tone low. "Doc said that the frequency shut off a couple days ago and he seems to think that Donnie had something to do with it."
Sighing dejectedly, Raphael let his body sag forward. "You know what the worse part of all of this is?" he didn't wait for Casey to respond before continuing, "When we were growing up, I was hard on Donnie because I wanted to toughen him up." Raphael shifted his weight again, "and it created a rift between us." He admitted. "and I convinced myself that I was good with it." His stomach roiled. "But I'm not and I never got the chance to tell him that I…that he's… important to me."
Casey leaned over and awkwardly nudged Raphael's arm with his elbow, "Hey, you'll get your chance. This isn't over yet."
Raphael felt an unexpected release of tension and was filled with a renewed sense of purpose. And, though the fiery turtle would never admit it out loud, he was truly grateful for Casey's presence. "Yeah, you're right." He breathed out what was left of his anger, "Cover me while I search the van?"
"Sure thing." Casey muttered, his face flushed with color, thankfully Raphael couldn't see him too well in the dark.
Raphael rounded the vehicle and opened the driver's side door. It gave way with a screech and shards of glass rained down to the ground. Inside, the impact from hitting the tree created a deep concavity that walled the driver's side from the passenger's side. "How did you survive this?"
Raphael took a shaky breath and swept more glass from the driver's seat before climbing inside. He heard a small metallic sound as his foot came in contact with April's forgotten tessen. He grabbed it up with two hands and studied it. "What's this doing here?" leaning around the steering wheel, Raphael saw two broken zip ties near the accelerator. As he maneuvered his body to grab the ties his hands swept across the wheel and he felt two fine grove marks in the leather.
Raphael used the clues presented to him to paint a picture of what went down that night. First, Donatello was strapped the wheel and forced the drive. Second, without the use of his hands, Donatello managed to use the tessen to cut himself free.
After a brief pause, Raphael was struck by a sudden understanding. "No way." Raphael breathed, "you flipped the van on purpose, didn't you Don?" Raphael couldn't fathom the amount of calculated precision and strength it must've taken to orchestrate such an escape. Even under extreme circumstances Donatello was able to gain control of the situation. "Well, if you ain't given up then I ain't either." Vowed Raphael.
Every Thursday night since Donatello's disappearance, Michelangelo made sure the VCR recorded the latest episode of Dining Room Nightmares –a reality show about an angry but helpful British chief- While Michelangelo had always been fond of the show, it had become something of a guilty pleasure for Donatello. Nonetheless it was something they were able to enjoy together and they never missed an episode.
Boy, we are going to have a tubular time binge watching these, Michelangelo thought as he placed a hand atop the loyal VCR to reminisce; Setting up the VCR was one of the first things Donatello had ever done. And now there wasn't a single thing in the lair that didn't have that certain Donatello flare.
Michelangelo's smile melted away, transforming his face into something unnatural, something he hated. His shoulders dropped and his body bowed forward as a pained keening left his mouth. His chest ached. It was so unbearably painful that he wished to get away from the agony of reality.
Just then, Michelangelo caught a whiff of burn toast and metal coming from Donatello's lab. "Donnie?" Michelangelo hopped over the couch and padded over to the lab to look inside. A slightly transparent version of Donatello was sitting at the workbench, tinkering with the toaster.
Ignoring how unhealthy it was to see apparitions, Michelangelo decided to indulge himself in the fantasy. The sanguine turtle sauntered into the lab, and, doing his best impression of the angry British chef said, "It's burnt! Put it in the bin!"
"Pfft." Donatello smiled. "Leo said that all he did was look at it and it burst into flames." Michelangelo took a seat on the stool opposite his ghostly brother. "You think if Leo tried to boil water he'd find a way to burn that too?" Donatello asked, screwing the bottom back on to the toaster, his task complete.
"You pose an interesting question, my dear Watson." Michelangelo said, shifting his British accent to something befitting the role of Sherlock Holmes.
"Wait a minute, of the two of us I'm Watson? Seriously?"
Ha, yeah, that was so what Donnie would say, too. And he'd probably pretend to be offended, thought Michelangelo. "There's nothing wrong with being Watson." Michelangelo pointed out, taking a pencil between his lips, pretending it was a pipe. "now, let us get back to the question at hand."
"But Sherlock is all about, logic, science and chemistry." Donatello said.
"So?" Michelangelo asked while hugged his legs against his plastron so that he could rest his chin on top of his knee. Donatello's image began to fade and the tightness in Michelangelo's throat returned. No! Michelangelo focused uber hard on Donatello's side of the conversation in an effort to keep reality at bay for a little longer.
"So? Hello! Physics… Science…." Donatello pointed at himself between each word before sweeping his hands out across his lab, gesturing at the fine assembly of glassware that made up his chemistry set up. "I'm Sherlock."
"Weak. You aren't the only one good at chemistry, dude." Michelangelo said, puffing out his chest. "I'm pretty good at it myself."
"Have you been drinking the mutagen again?" Donatello asked.
"No, I'm serious bro, just what do you think cooking is?" countered Michelangelo, flailing his arms about dramatically. "I gotta mix all kinds of ingredients and experiment to make perfect meals for you guys."
"That's not the same thing." Donatello said, his voice an octave higher than normal, which was a clear sign that he'd been schooled. "Yeah, well," he paused "your "experiments" don't blow up."
"They do if Leo's in the kitchen." Donatello stared at him for a moment before a laughing. It was one of those long and uncontrollable bouts, the kind of laughter that Michelangelo loved to draw out of people. It was contagious and soon, Michelangelo gave in to a fit of giggles.
Then Reality won out, Donatello vanished, and the laughter wedged itself in Michelangelo's throat. His lungs tightened and the only sounds that followed were gut-wrenching sobs and dry heaves.
Meanwhile, hidden deep within the sewer tunnels, Leonardo stood in a middle stance, ready to perform a simple three step combo. He expanded his reach as far as he could. "Ichi." Leonardo held his katana with both hands. A few more feet and he could pull himself onto the truck. He lifted the sleek blade above his head in preparation for a descending strike. His frozen fingertips grazed the underside of the bumper and the rope snapped. "Ni." the helicopter disappeared into the night with his brother. Leonardo swung his katana, putting every ounce of his power into the strike.
The katana slipped from Leonardo's hand as pain branched up his arm like lightening, striking his right shoulder blade violently. "Damn it!" Leonardo cursed, shuttering uncontrollably; it was hard enough to get through his physical therapy without being haunted by memories of that night. He took a deep, pained breath and placed a hand over the tender joint.
He'd sustained his injury shortly after the rope snapped, but thanks to Michelangelo's unparalleled skill with kusarigama Leonardo avoided becoming a green stain on the streets of New York. The leader in blue vividly remembered what it felt like when the chain became taut around his arm, stopping his descent while simultaneously dislocating his shoulder.
After Splinter set Leonardo's shoulder, he forbade Leonardo from training for two weeks. Frustrating though it was for Leonardo, he didn't let that time go wasted, no, he used it to create a special kata. The simple configuration consisted of basic kendo movements and focused on the rehabilitation of his shoulder.
And so, for the past six weeks Leonardo sought the solitude of the tunnels in order to practice. Six weeks and he still couldn't get though the first section of the kata. Pathetic. Leonardo's face scrunched up and he tugged on the tails of his mask. "Okay, Leo, just calm down." He said. "You know all of these moves, so there's no reason you can't do them."
Leonardo retrieved his katana and rolled his shoulder; this simple movement released a new jolt of discomfort that snaked up his spine and into his brain. He pinched the bridge of his beak and closed his eyes against the impeding tension headache.
Then, his eyes snapped open and his body grew tense, someone was approaching. Leonardo switched his katana to his left hand and waited patiently. When the intruder was close enough he pounced, shoving them roughly up against the wall, pinning them there with the edge of his katana. "Leo? Wait!" said the intruder.
Leonardo felt a sudden coldness strike at his core when he realized that the intruder was April. Leonardo didn't expect to see the frightened face of the girl he and his brothers had rescued from the Kraang; but there she was, hiding behind her hair, looking fragile. Leonardo's grip faltered and April gently wrapped her tiny hands around Leonardo's forearms. "Don't touch me." He spat.
April quickly dropped her hands to her sides. She didn't expect to be alive at this moment, which meant that she still had a chance to get back on Leonardo good graces, not that it would be easy. "Leo, I know you're angry but…" Leonardo pinned her with an intense fevered stare, daring her to finish her sentence.
"Where's Donnie?" The edge of Leonardo's katana glinted with murderous intent.
"I don't know. When I woke up, I wasn't at Springhill anymore. I managed to escape but I was swept away by an aqueduct and I washed up on the Hudson." She said, probably signing her death warrant. She knew the last thing Leonardo wanted to hear was that Donatello wasn't with her.
"Wrong answer, traitor." He spoke slowly and with intent as he emphasized the word traitor. "I told you when you left that there would be no mercy." He said, but withdrew his katana anyway, "But, unlike you, I live by a code of honor." Leonardo yanked April away from the wall and shoved her toward the lair. "Move." He ordered.