Their hearts were heavy as they packed up their papers. They hadnt had any sort of break in the case, and they were being called back to Virginia. They'd wanted to see this through, to find those kids and bring them home, but other cases were stacking up, and with nothing to go on, they had no choice.
They told themselves that they'd come back to it, that they'd find that one clue they were missing. They swore that those boys would all be brought home, that they wouldn't forget...
Reid couldnt look at the others, didnt want to. he knew what those boys were going through, the cruelties that bad men could do upon them. He'd wanted to see this case through. He knew that the others hadnt wanted to go, that he shouldnt be angry with them for following orders, but he was.
Gideon turned to Reid, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Those men will slip up eventually, and as soon as they do, we'll get them." he promised.
"And until them those kids will be suffering." he said bitterly. "If we give up on them, then what hope do they have?"
Gideon shook his head. "We're not giving up." he said softly.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Two weeks had passed since the FBI agents had left. Two weeks since the only real hope they had of getting Drake back had dissapeared. Sure, the local police were still looking into it, but, there was only so much that the San Diago Police could do. They had the same information that the FBI had, and they'd been unable to do anything.
Josh sat alone in his all to empty room, reading the licence plates over and over, memorizing them. He didnt know what else to do. He lets their letters and numbers invade his brain, let them burn their meaningless rabble into his mind. he needed anything to distract him from the pain.
For every day that Drake was gone, he added another cut to his wrist. Spread betewwn to two of them, there were twenty-eight. Twenty-eight ugly reminders that Drake was gone, that he may never be comeing home. Some still bright red, others scabbed, and a few almost completly healed. But all of them a brief reminder of the pain, of the loss he was feeling.
How much longer could he hide them? What would he do when he ran out of room on his arms? He didnt want to think about it. he didnt want to think that Drake would be gone that long. With empty eyes and a heavy heart, he slipped into his work clothes. Taking one last look into his room, he closed his eyes, always wishing that when he opened them, Drake would be there, staring up at him from his guitar. But he never was, might never again...
Meghan waited until Josh was gone to slip into the boys' room. She walked around it slowly, lightly tracing her shaking fingers over everything that reminded her of Drake. His clothes, his guitar... She climbed up into her brothers bed, laying against the pillows, trying to remember him better. It no longer smelt like Drake though, now, it smelt like her mom. She knew that her mom cried in Drake's bed, same as she did, and now, that little bit of him that they'd been clinging to was gone.
She let the tears crawl across her face as she lay there, remembering everything she could. Every smile and laugh, every accusing look after each prank. If she could change anything about the past, just done one simple thing differently, she would have hugged him more. Would have let him be her big brother, and not just the boob that she tormented.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Two weeks had passed since Damien's death. They boys had changed since that day, everything had changed...
They tried not to talk about him, because everytime they did they were filled with an emptiness that left them hurting. They hadnt realized just how much he had meant to them, and now he was gone. His chores had been divided among them, and they did them with empty eyes. The extra work didnt bother them, working was the only thing that kept their minds empty.
Drake tried harder to concentrate on home now. Since their pills had been upped, he found it harder to remember. Their voices, their faces... it was all slipping away from him now. Soon, they would be gone, and so would Damien. He cried as he cleaned the small room with the instruments in it, touching that guitar and remembering the smile on Damien's face as he had played it.
Josh used to listen to him play, to help his band set up... He couldnt even remember what their fight had been about, just that it had been his fault, and he was sorry. He wanted to go back, to fix whatever he had done to hurt josh, to make that last week they'd had together a happy one.
They sat awake at night, their minds fighting to hold onto what little happiness they had left. They were breaking down, all of them. Physically, emotionally, they were weaker now. They knew it, and, they suspected that Brendon knew it to. They were to be examined tomorrow, and each of them dreaded it.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Dr. Stromhill stood in Brendon's office, looking down on him with hard eyes and pressed lips. In the bag hanging loosely at his side rested the next few monthes pills. He cleared his throat before speaking.
"I'll need to see each of them seperatly." He said coldly.
"Yes," Brendon said, stepping away from his desk. "You have full use of each of them, of coarse."
"Of coarse." the Doctor repeated, setting the bag on Brendon's desk. "As my usual method of payment is now gone," he said sharply, referring to Damien. "They lot of them will have to do."
Brendon flinched. He knew the Doctor was angry, but he'd hoped that after a rather nasty exchanged of emails the bitterness would have died down. "They're almost done working for the night, would you like anything to drink before the examinations?"
"Scotch." Dr. Stromhill replied, sitting himself down. "Have you had any trouble since raising their dossages?"
"They were sick for a few days, a bit shaky, but other then that, no." Brendon replied, ringing the bell and signalling Brent to come in. "Two glasses." He ordered.
"Are you feeding them more?" The doctor asked.
"No, their rations have remianed the same."
"Thats part of your problem." the Doctor snapped. "If your going to shove stronger pills down their throats, you need to feed them more." He chuckled. "If things keep up the way they are, you'll loose whats left of your stock, and your investors."
Brendon bit back his words as he took the glasses from brent and filled them. he hated this man, but, without him he lost his only reliable source of medications. "Of coarse." he answered. "And wich of the boys would you like to see first?"
"Might as well start with the newest one." The doctor said, taking a greedy sip from his glass. "Work my way back to Ash. He's always been a difficult one."
Drake was pulled out of the basement as they finished eating. His plate left to the others to clean as he was forced up both sets of stairs to the guest bedroom. Too weak to fight back, he numbed himself to their tight holds on his arms, to the small bruises forming where their fingers dug into the skin. He was stripped down to his underwear and chained to the wall before being left alone, shaking and cold.
The Doctor entered the room shortly after the others left, closing the door and dropping his medical bag to the floor. He was a tall man, in his mid forties with graying brown hair and dim brown hair hidden behind his thrick glasses. He walked over to Drake, looking him over thoughorly before grabbing tools from his bag.
It was almost like a regular check-up. The doctor checked his blood pressure, his respitory rate and guessed his weight. He was very thin, very pale.
"How have you been feeling?" he asked.
Drake didnt want to answer him. Wasnt it obvious how he must feel? "I thought doctors helped people." he said bitterly.
"I'm trying." The doctor said, ignoring Drake's tone.
"Then why don't you tell the police where we are, so we can get real help?"
Dr. Stromhill smacked him. "I happen to be a real doctor, boy, and as I see it you dont need that much aside from a bigger meal and some rest."
"We've been kidnapped!" Drake snapped. "We're kept here like animals, abused..."
"These things happen." The doctor cut in. "It could be much worse."
"How?" Drake scoffed, angry.
"Ive seen what the wrong kind of people can do to a boy your age. You've got it made here."
"I was happy at home." He said, glarring at the doctor. "The wrong kind of people take kids from their homes, use them..." He spit at the doctor. "You are the wrong kind."
Doctor Stromhill took a handkerchief from his pocket, whipping the spit off of his shirt. "You boy, are going to be respect me." he demanded.
"No." Drake snapped back, pulling at his restraints.
The doctor went to the dresser across the room, pulling out a length af cloth and trying it into Drake's mouth. "I've always despised mouthy teenagers.' he said.
He turned Drake around, pressing him against the wall as he began the physical part of his examination. He wasnt gentle, but drake had finally learned to fade away from his body. To make himself completely numb to what was happening.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"They're getting too thin." The doctor said as he whipped the sweat away from his forhead. "They need to eat more, and, I heavily suggest at least one day of rest each week."
"Anything else?" Brendon asked, pouring the doctor another glass of scotch.
Doctor Stromhill sat down, thinking over his next words. "I'd suggest starting over." he said, drinking from his glass. "Sell them off for whatever you can get, and get yourself some new ones."
"Thats rediculous!" Brendon snapped. "I've a perfectly good lot right now."
"Until they end up like the others." Dr. Stromhill snapped. "How many are burried in your yard right now?" He set his glass down, taking a few breathes. "Just think it over Brendon. The three you've got are going to be getting too old anyway, once they hit a certain age they're damn near impossible to sell. Break your routine, bring in a few new ones slowly, and get rid of the three down there."
"I know your upset about Damien, but, suggesting that I undo everything," brendon cut himself off.
"he has nothing to do with it." Dr. Stromhill snarled. "If you keep prostituting them off, one of them is likely to get sick anyway. That would be bad for buisness, for your reputation." He shook his head, calming down. "It is just a suggestion." Dr. Stromhill said, putting his glass down and gathering his medical bag. "have a nice night." he said, letting himself out.
Brendon sat at his desk, thinking over the doctors words. He had a good thing going right now, to change all of it could only cause him trouble. He didnt sell his own collectibles off, they were his. he shared them, and he kept them, that was all. New blood would help buisness, but, he didnt want to risk breaking his cycle. The FBI was already on to them, one mess up could end all of it.