Buried Emotions
Disclaimer - I think, therefore...I sure as heck don't own the Thunderbirds.
Chapter Sixteen
Jeff was sitting with his head in his hands. Any joy at the recovery of his grandson had been washed away with the sheer terror of Alan being in the hands of two escaped convicts, both who had reasons for wanting Alan to suffer. He barely heard his cell phone ring and he looked at it absently before quickly answering.
"Alan? Son, are you alright?"
A cold chuckle filled Jeff with dread.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Boss," Jackson Mitchell drawled. "But let's have a quick business meeting...let's see what you are willing to put on the table to get one of your "true treasures" home."
Jeff froze in horror, barely noticing when Jean Landman slipped his phone from his hand and hit "speaker" before gently setting the device on the table. Tin-Tin had forced herself to stop crying and quickly took Elizabeth and Jason into the room with DJ.
They didn't want the kids to hear this.
"What do you want, Mitchell?" Jeff asked, his voice solid, refusing to give into the fear that was sweeping over him.
"Why money, of course! It's what I wanted before. I needed to get Kyle the hell away from here. I thought maybe Europe. Or some tropical island. Hey, you raised your boy on a tropical isle. How was that? Oh, yeah, I forgot – you dumped him at a boarding school so you didn't have to deal with him until he was useful."
"You bastard," Scott growled.
"Oh, is the gang all there? That would be Scott, wouldn't it? You have a real firecracker for a son, Scotty boy."
"You're a monster, Mitchell," Scott snapped. "Jason is only five. What was the purpose of taking my boy?"
"Now which boy was that? The one you fathered or the one you were more of a father to than Jefferson ever was? That was such a touching interview little Alan did, wasn't it? You could see how much he loved his family…how much he loved his nephew. I mean, he was sweet with any of the children. But Jason? You could see how much he adored the kid, how he would give his life to keep him safe. So Kyle and I decided to see if he was willing to sacrifice himself for Jason. And what do you know but he was! Such devotion. It must come from being the first person to touch that little boy."
"Let us speak to Alan," John calmly said.
As Daria worked to trace the call, silently cursing that they were using cells instead of landlines – so much harder to trace – she wondered if the men would let them hear Alan.
"Hey Johnny."
The Tracys all paled once more at hearing Alan's voice. They knew how the youngest brother sounded when hurt…and he was obviously hurting now.
"Hey Sprout," John said, forcing a smile into his voice. "Not how you planned the week to go?"
A weakened "no" was heard, worrying the family more before the sound of a struggle made them almost go mad. A "thud noise" and the sudden silence were even worse.
"Alan!" Jeff cried out frantically.
"Five million dollars," Mitchell said coldly. "With a Tracy jet and a Tracy to fly my brother and me to a non-extradition country. So which one will it be?"
"Do you honestly think we'll give you another family member to -" Virgil began only to have Gordon cut him off.
"Say when and where," Gordon calmly said. "But Alan stays behind."
"We'll consider it," Mitchell said with an equal calm. "I'll give you details later."
The dial tone echoed dully around the room until Jeff turned off his phone and set it down.
Gordon looked at the rest of his family, his chin held high. "It's obvious. I'm not married and I don't have any kids. I have the least to lose." Looking at Scott, he sighed.
"Dad, Scott and Kate should leave. They can take Tracy One to the Island with the kids. You heard them, they know how important the kids are to Alan. I doubt they are above hurting one of them to hurt Allie."
Kate and Scott made to argue as Jeff stood up, nodding.
"Gordon's right. We need to get the kids out of here." Putting his hands on the couple's shoulders, Jeff sighed.
"You have to take care of the kids," Jeff said firmly. "Jason and Elizabeth have both been traumatized by this. Please – take them home. We'll get your brother back, Scotty. But we can't be distracted by worrying about the kids at the same time."
The couple looked at each other. Parental instincts warred with older sibling ones, as they both considered the rule of following command in the field. Soon the pair nodded.
"I'll help you pack the kids' stuff," Virgil said only to have Billy hold up his hand.
"I'll help," Billy said. "You pow-wow. I need to examine Jason. Jean, can you get me some evidence bags?"
Even as the sheriff nodded and got the items for her husband, John looked puzzled.
"Evidence bags?"
"Jason may have DNA evidence on him, or there may be some other forensic we can use to figure out where he was held," Daria said calmly as she also extricated a larger bag. "Don't forget his clothes," she instructed Billy. "And use gloves."
"Not my first rodeo," Billy gave a small smile as he took the items and headed into the room where the kids were.
"Billy sometimes helps with processing evidence from live victims," Jean explained. "I find it helps crime victims to have the doctor gather it as he examines them. Billy was given special training by a friend of mine in the State Crime Lab." Looking at her best friend and his wife, she smiled.
"Go on, Scotty. Take care of your boy. We'll get your other baby home."
Scott nodded tightly and led a still shaking Kate into the room. They needed to be with their children and they needed it now.
Kyle smirked at the sight of a still-bound Alan Tracy lying on the floor, blood staining his shoulder and the collar of his shirt from the repeated blows Kyle had just given him.
"He's still alive, right?" Mitchell asked his brother.
"Golden Boy is still breathing," Kyle said coldly. Looking out of the rear window, Kyle gave a cold smile at the view. The sun was beginning to set over the gravestones, some of them dating back to the founding of Bailey. One of an angel seeming to almost shimmer in the setting sun, glowing golden from the fading beams of light.
"And I know exactly what to do next."
Jean accepted the evidence bags from her husband, watching as Daria carefully catalogued the items.
"Will this help any?" she murmured to the FBI agent, keeping an eye on Scott and Kate as they simultaneously packed bags and comforted children.
"It has to," Daria said softly.
"Mommy, I don't wanna leave without Uncle Allie," Jason cried, fat tears running down his cheek. "He promised everything would be alright and Uncle Allie never breaks his promises to us."
"He doesn't," Elizabeth chimed in. "Even when he's tired or has a sick headache, he still will read us a story."
"What do you mean, honey?" Kate asked as she finished changing DJ.
"If you guys are, um, out," Jason said, eyeing the other grownups (not knowing Daria and Jean knew about International Rescue), "Uncle Allie will call and read us a bedtime story. He said Daddy used to call him when he was little and Daddy was at school."
"And he has those bad headaches sometimes," Elizabeth explained. "The ones that make his tummy sick and he has to lie down. But he'll still tell us a story."
"I like the dragon stories best, cause Uncle Allie makes those up," Jason said, his lower lip trembling.
"Dragon stories?" Scott asked, trying to smile at his son.
"There is the brave king dragon, who raised his five babies all by himself because a foolish hunter accidentally killed the queen," Elizabeth said. "His sons are brave but none so brave as the oldest one, he's blue. And the second one who is a pale purple is real smart…"
Getting a bit excited, Jason chimed in. "The third son can make colors brighter and music be heard in the bad times and he's yellow like the sun."
"The fourth son is orange like…well, like an orange," Elizabeth shrugged. "He makes everyone laugh and smile and his fire works underwater because that is where he feels strongest."
Scott did smile now, realizing that Alan was basing the dragons on his family. Where the kid got the colors was a mystery…
"And how about the youngest son?" he asked.
"He's white, but it depends on how he feels what kinda white," Jason smiled. "If he's happy, it's bright like the moon but if he's sad it fades. He tries to be like his family but he's afraid he's not as brave or as smart or as special. But he loves them and spends his life trying to prove he's worthy of being in the family."
Kate held a hand to her mouth, realizing at the same time as Scott how Alan viewed his role in the family.
"Alan's first book," Jeff murmured as he came in the room. "It's the dragons' story. Just done as a fantasy novel. I didn't realize until now…"
"Our publisher went nuts over it," John said, coming up behind their father. "He's hoping for a whole series ala Harry Potter or Dragons of Pern. Maybe even a movie tie-in. Alan even got an agreement in his contract that he has final script approval if it's made into a movie."
"Grandpa?" Elizabeth asked solemnly. "If we are good and go home like Auntie Kate says we haves to, will you bring Uncle Alan home too? We want him home with us."
Jeff knelt and gathered his two oldest grandchildren close to him. "I'm going to try, Princess. I promise."
If anyone saw the anguished tears that poured down Scott Tracy's face at that moment, no one would ever mention it. Then again, their own tears might have blurred their view.
Alan's return to reality was surreal to say the least. Above his head was a shimmering angel…
Nope. Just the setting sun behind a stone angel.
Wait.
He knew that angel.
"Westcott," Alan thought angrily.
He was bound and gagged, the zip ties on his wrists cutting into the skin – although they were now tied to the front instead of the back. Alan noted his legs were tied with what looked like an old shawl and he could swear a ladies scarf now was jammed into his mouth, making sure he could not speak.
Absently, Alan took toll of what was wrong with this situation.
Then again, what was right about it?
OK, that thought would be part of the head injury. Kyle had clobbered his head into a table – twice. He could feel the dried blood in his hair.
And he had just washed it.
That's it. Definite concussion.
The knife wound in his shoulder had settled into what might be considered a dull roar of pain.
A never-ending, relentless dull roar.
A never-ending, relentless dull roar that was beginning to radiate heat. Great. The little jackass couldn't even use a clean knife when he stabbed Alan. Even going untreated, it should still not be infected yet, unless the knife had been dirty. He wouldn't put it past the jerk to have intentionally gotten the knife contaminated before he thrust it into Alan's shoulder.
Alan leaned his head back, trying to ease the pain. But as if to increase his suffering, it was where he was that caused the greatest pain. He knew that angel, even if he hadn't seen it in years. Alan could remember limply clutching to his father's coat while Jeff ran soothing hands over Alan's still recovering body, occasionally kissing his golden curls even as they watched the big box be lowered at the angel's feet. Alan didn't understand how Mommy was in the box, didn't know what a coffin was. He didn't get then why Mommy wasn't there and yet was there. He didn't understand why any of the family was there. And Alan didn't understand why he was there now.
His mother's grave.
Alan could hear sounds, but with the roaring headache he had thanks to Kyle, it was confusing at best.
Suddenly, Kyle was leaning over him.
"Hey, Golden Boy. Wonder what's happening?"
Kyle only smirked at the "yeah, duh" look Alan shot him.
"Well, we can't have Daddy and Big Brothers finding you too soon. And you need to learn a lesson." Kyle's face turned cold and ugly.
"You need to know how it feels to be in lockdown. You need to know how it feels to lose all hope. Now, if you get lucky, after we get the money, your family will find you. If not...well didn't you once say you wanted a memory of your mother besides her dying?"
Kyle stepped back, pulling Alan upright. To Alan's horror, he saw a shallow hole had been dug next to his mother's plot.
Hole? More like a shallow grave.
"Sorry it's not a velvet lined finely polished box like I'm sure your mommy had," Kyle sighed in mock sorrow. "It's a wooden storage box, one Jack and I retro fitted. You'll be able to breathe. Well, for twenty four hours. After that..."
"That's enough Kyle," Jackson Mitchell sighed. "We'll have the money by then and Gordon Tracy has offered us a ride out of town, hasn't he? Daddy Tracy will get his baby boy back and we'll have enough money to settle in comfort elsewhere."
The brothers forced Alan into the box, Jackson kneeling down to untie Alan's legs and began to remove the gag when a whiny voice was heard.
"What are you doing here?"
Patrick "Paddy" Vernon had been casing this graveyard for a few days. With the old lady gone for more than a month, there would be no one to disrupt his activities. Paddy liked to think of himself as a practitioner of extreme recycling.
The legal system would call him a grave robber.
Paddy's eyes went wide at the sight of the beat-up blonde youth in the box. "What the hell?" he gasped and made to run away.
Suddenly, Paddy gurgled and dropped to his knees, his blood spurting out from the brand new gaping gash in his throat.
A shovel blade thrust in your windpipe will do that to you.
Alan's eyes were wide as Kyle coolly dropped the shovel. Kyle reached down and yanked the gag from Alan's mouth, not caring that it made Alan's head bang against the box.
"Try not to move too much," Kyle said in mock concern. "It could disrupt the air system."
Mitchell stood up and closed the lid to the case. Not long after the fading light disappeared from Alan's view, he heard the sound of dirt and rock being dropped onto the lid.
Tears poured from Alan's eyes as he pounded his bound hands against the lid. But once the sounds of the falling soil ended, Alan realized he couldn't hear anything else from outside his box.
"Oh, God," Alan murmured. "God help me. Please. Anyone help me."
A/N - Remember the new tote I told you I got? The one that said not to annoy the writer?
Paddy was someone who annoyed me. I wanted him to shut up. Well, I did it. Writing...so much cheaper than therapy.
Alan - You buried me! Alive!
CC - Had to be alive. I don't do death fics, remember?
Alan - But you buried me!
CC - Where do you think I got the title from? This was my ultimate goal all along.
Alan - You are nuts, you know that?
CC- Flattery will get you...still in the box. But I got such a great response to the last chapter, I posted early.
Alan - So...you going to get me out next chapter. CC? CC? Stop laughing like that, your scaring puppies and small children.
CC - OK, so in a better mood. Was sick, now better. Agents of SHIELD, Castle and Supernatural are all renewed, and school will be out soon so certain writers (cough - Sammygirl1963 - cough) will hopefully have more time to write. And Alan, you live. Hmmm. Ever spend time in a coma?
Alan - Help.
CC - No such luck. BTW - Cyber gluten free cookies for anyone who knows why the colors for Alan's dragons. Laters!