1. The mouse with the click buttons on the side is NOT COOL for fanfic writing. I keep bumping it and changing pages and losing all my work (bitchmoancomplain)
ANYWHO holy turn around time! Look how quick on this update! Thanks for the review you four :) rockin' my socks, as always.
-leanmean
The quiet ringing in Rachel's pocket almost goes unnoticed. She drags herself up from the sidewalk, unsure of how much time had passed, but positive the car with Quinn was long gone. Pulling it out of her coat, she lifts the burn phone to her ear without checking the number.
"What."
"Hello Rachel."
She pauses, confused as to why the witness protection voice isn't the same guy she usually talks to.
"Who is this?"
"Oh, Rachel I'm embarrassed. How could you forget me so quickly?"
The quiet chuckle churns her stomach as she reaches to steady herself on the brick building.
"...How did you get this number."
"You can't hide from me. And considering what I've recently found in my possession, I didn't think you'd be that interested."
"I'm not sure what you mean, Vince."
The chuckle echoes through the phone again and Rachel hears a quiet rustling on the other end. The beep in her ear signals an incoming message.
"I think that picture may jog your memory."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rachel clicks open the image and bites into her cheek to keep from crying out.
Quinn lays in a pile on a wooden floor with a black bag over her head, clearly unconscious, surrounded by the black leather shoes of Maroney's men. Taking a deep breath, she brings the receiver back to her face.
"I have no idea who that is."
"Ahh.." Vince says, his voice losing some of its humorous tone. "Well in that case, I suppose I can get rid of it-"
"Stop! Okay! I'm listening!"
The pause on the other end is eerily quiet.
"Much better, Rachel. Tell me, how is your last night with Quinn working out?"
"Why Vince."
"With age, I have realized that, often times, there are other things people hold more dear than their own life."
"You could have had me, Vince. I was right beside her."
"And how many times have you interviewed with the police? With the F.B.I.? Killing you was never the original goal, Rachel. Torture you? sure. Exchange you for your interviews? Absolutely. Kill you later? Maybe. Depended on my mood. But then my good friend Leo suggested I cut right to the chase. So a simple exchange is all I'm asking for."
"So you want my interviews."
"I want you to pull your testimony from the trial. Anything on the record, anything in person, all of it. Pull it all, and I will return Quinn to you in slightly used condition."
"Don't you hurt her. If you hurt her-"
"Let's not waste time. You have no other option. You do this by the end of the week, Quinn lives."
Setting her head against the rough brick, Rachel closes her eyes tight.
"What if I can't get the stuff?"
"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone. Take it from me. Now do we have a deal?"
"I'll have it to you in two days."
Rachel could almost hear his smile through the phone.
"I know you will. After all, you're Rachel Berry."
And with that, the line went dead.
"Boss said to keep her quiet, but I figure we could have a little fun. You're sure this is her?"
"I saw them together outside of that club. It's her."
"Good. Let's get her up."
The loud crack of skin on skin echoes in Quinn's ears as she slowly comes to, wrinkling her nose against a musty stench and a steady thrumming in her cheek bone. Suddenly alert, she gasps, filling her lungs until her chest presses tightly against the gnarled thick strands of rope around her, forcing her upright in a hard wooden chair. She blinks rapidly, adjusting to the relative darkness of the tiny room, a single naked light bulb hanging above her head.
She remembers Rachel and the car... she was too far away, then everything gets a little hazy. That was then.
Breathing evenly through her nose, Quinn opens her eyes slowly. This, she thinks, scanning the room, is now.
The silhouette of a large man beside the chair shadows across the floor in front of her, the only person she can actually see. The rustle of movement in the shadowed corners of the stone cellar hints of others. Quinn is more concerned with the man beside her, his knuckles covered in blood, her's she's assuming, by the tough swollen discomfort along the right side of her face. Swallowing slowly, she flexes her hands against the rope binding her wrists together.
"You know why you're here?"
The man's voice is lighter than she expects, like music, drifting from the corner of the room, and tailored with the round sound of Italian dialect. She squints up at him as he steps into the light, his brown hair curling around his clean face. That's not the face of a killer, she thinks to herself, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He steps forward abruptly, and with a small smile, drives the back of his hand across her jaw.
Quinn holds back a whimper as the metallic taste of blood filters between her clenched teeth. She turns her head back to him, his face close enough she can make out the tiny flecks of gold in his green eyes.
"It will be much easier if you speak."
"I don't know why I'm here." She hoarses, her jaw biting down on her cheek as a meaty hand knocks the back of her head, the silhouette beside her making his presence known. Growling quietly, she rests her chin against her chest, watching the steady drip of blood from her mouth to her lap.
These are not the Italians Eat, Pray, Love described.
The curly haired man watches her closely as she lifts her head again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"You don't know why you're here. Well. Shall we try something that worked for your friend?"
Unsure whether she should answer, Quinn ducks her head down and eyes him warily as he turns away, reaching for something in the darkness. He approaches her, his fingertips brushing against a photograph in his hand. Crouching down in front of her, he stares at the picture, then he flips it slowly, holding it in front of Quinn's face.
Quinn's eyes soften automatically when they meet the rich brown of Rachel's.
This time she does whimper when the knuckles strike her face, the sticky warmth of broken skin stinging under her temple. The single light bulb multiplies before her eyes, spinning bright, light bouncing like stars in her vision.
"I knew you knew. You know her? Yes?"
Quinn wraps her fingers around the loose bit of rope binding her wrists and squeezes it tightly, clinging to stability in the spinning room. A low chuckle sounds beside her ear as he leans closer, swiping a finger across the blonde's chin, intimately smearing the blood down her neck.
"I saw how you looked at her." The man reaches forward, running his fingers through a strand of blonde hair affectionately before tucking it behind Quinn's ear. His voice murmurs softly. "You know her very well, don't you?"
Quinn stares forward, jaw set, as he leans a hand on her thigh. Her lip curls at the feel of his mouth against her earlobe, the words he whispers barely audible over the thundering in her heart.
"I will know her very well, too."
Quinn rears her head into his with a dull thud, sending him sprawling towards the floor. She fights to stand, the anger raging all the way to her toes as the man beside her struggles to keep the chair down on the floor. Her arms pulling violently against her bindings, but she can only lash out with her words.
"Don't you fucking touch her, you sick piece of shit. Do you think I care what happens to me? Did you think I would be the person to lead you to her? you will never find her. I will kill you myself."
His laughter bounces off the stone floor as he lifts his head, a trickle of blood running from his split lip.
"She speaks!" He laughs, pushing himself off the floor with ease, chuckles joining his from the hidden figures around the room. "You are a fiery one, yes? Ohh…" He clucks his tongue, brushing the dirt off his shirt, a spark of pleasure in his eye. Smirking, he pats the side of Quinn's cheek heartily, then wipes his sticky fingers on a handkerchief. "I bet you two are wonderful together. Maybe I will hold onto you and find out myself."
Quinn spits at him, speckling his cheek with her dull red blood. Before her mouth even closes, his fist meets her face with a growl, lights bursting again behind her eyes. Keep it coming, she thinks. If it buys Rachel time until morning, keep it coming.
"You think you can save your little friend?" He yells suddenly, the room silencing around them. He stares at her, through her, and Quinn's focus shifts from her thoughts directly to him. He smiles and she pauses, caught for a second in his strange beauty.
"She's made a deal to save you, Quinn. And when it's done, we will kill her."
Quinn feels her face fall before he even begins the second round of pummeling. Again and again, his fists land blows, but she doesn't notice, her face numb and uncomfortable, her heart clinging for some sort of hope.
Rachel would come. Maroney had found her weakness.
The room starts to fade and she eases her eyes shut, the sharp angry words he utters following her into the darkness.
She will come for you.. and she will be mine... and there's nothing you can do... to stop me...
Rachel raps on the door again, biting her sleeve as another sob racks her body. She can't get it out of her head, the pale shock of Quinn's face behind that black glove. The rasp of Maroney's voice. The time slowly ticking away on her two day deadline. Somewhere in the back of her mind she's fairly sure she's having an anxiety attack, but there's no time for that now. She has to get help. She has to get organized.
She has to save Quinn.
Whimpering, she slides to the floor against the door and pulls her knees to her chest, laying her head against them. They should have stayed together. She should have made Quinn see. She should have been the one taken. For God's sake they should have never gone at all.
Santana finally opens the door, pulling a robe around her as Brittany's head pops up behind her shoulder. Rachel's chewed a hole through the cuff of her shirt. She registers the look of panic on their faces as she sits in a pile on their front mat, shuddering once before the tightness in her chest has her gasping for air.
"Brittany, grab a paper bag." Santana says, sliding her hands under Rachel's armpits and hauling her into the room. "We gotta calm her down."
Brittany shoves the brown bag into Rachel's face and scuttles back into the kitchen as Santana mimics breathing patterns, holding the sack closed around Rachel's mouth.
"Come on, Berry. In and out."
Rachel inhales deeply and exhales slowly, the bag crinkling softly as it expands.
"Good, Rach," Brittany says, returning with a warm rag to wipe her face. Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she leans over and kisses her cheek. "Good job."
Santana sets the bag down beside her on the coffee table, leaning over Rachel's knees to test her temperature with the back of her hand. Rachel feels her pulse start to level out and sighs, her eyes easing shut as she presses her fingers to her temple.
"They took her."
A cup clatters to the floor somewhere in the kitchen and then Brittany is back, speaking silently to Santana with her eyes. Santana stands as Rachel starts to rock herself slowly, her fingers wringing in her lap.
"They took her Santana. I have to give them everything to get her back."
"Okay." Santana says, holding out an arm as Brittany slides into her side, worry creasing their brows. "Let's get everything. I'll call the station. You call witness protection. We'll make them understand. We'll get her back. We just-" Her voice catches, a tear streaking quietly down her face. Rachel grips her hand.
"We'll get it done, Rachel. All of it."
The girls separate into their corners, dialing furiously on cell phones, until all of their demands are in motion. Coming together on the couch, Rachel leans her head against Santana's shoulder as Brittany wraps an arm behind both of their heads, all three watching the silent phones on the coffee table, willing them to ring with good news.
"Now what," Santana says, intertwining her fingers in Brittany's.
"There's only one thing we can do," Brittany says setting her head against Santana's other shoulder. "We hope."
Reaching down, Santana grabs Rachel's hand and wraps it in her own.
"We wait and we hope."
But Brittany's words aren't quite strong enough to smooth the fine lines of doubt on their faces.