Back again!
Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, truly each one made my day. It's really awesome to see there's still a community here. :)
So, I've sort of figured out what I want to do with this story, as I don't remember my plans for it from so long ago, and I don't have access to that google drive account anymore- but with this clarity I'm may be changing the rating of this story to M. I just want to play it safe, and be respectful! As a small warning, there are (very) brief mentions of rape in this chapter, and some descriptions of torture.
Again, please excuse any continuity issues from the first five chapters to these recent ones. We love suspension of disbelief here.
Hope you guys enjoy!
(EDITED 8/27 FOR CONTINUITY & MINOR FIXES)
Frank couldn't sleep.
This was now a common occurrence, and Frank couldn't help but think that sleeping in his childhood home, something inexplicably linked to his brother, wasn't doing him any favors.
Six days.
Joe had been missing for six days. There was no consistent amount of time Egorov would hold his victims for, the shortest period of time had been a week, and the longest was around two months. In fact, there was no consistent anything Egorov did, which was proving to be the most frustrating thing about the case.
Running a hand over his face, Frank sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. He needed air.
Avoiding the creaky parts of the stairs that led him to the first floor of his parents home was second nature, as was the blind walk through the dark hallway toward the kitchen.
He had spent eighteen years of his life, living in this home, growing up in it. A piece of him hoped his parents would never move. So much of him was tied to this house, here in Bayport, and coming home to it during his college summers felt only natural. This one would be his last- he had one more semester, and he'd be graduated. Six days ago, that had been the most stressful thing in his life.
Reaching the kitchen, Frank flipped on a light.
His mother sat at the kitchen table, looking startled to see him.
"Frank! I didn't hear you come down."
Smiling softly, he took a step toward his mother. "Sorry, mom. I didn't realize you'd be up. It's late."
Laura gave him a knowing look. "Yes it is, young man." She smiled, patting the table beside her. "Come sit."
With no protest, Frank slid into the seat, relaxing immediately. His mother had that sort of effect. A warm, kind aura constantly surrounded her, and Frank was calmed by it.
"You look rough, sweetie," His mother told him, and Frank chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"I feel rough."
Giving him a sympathetic smile, she tilted her head. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Frank could tell it was only half a question. She was always telling him he needed to talk about his feelings more, express himself so he didn't just bottle it up inside.
It seemed easy, for her and Joe. He had never had the same way with words, with what he was feeling.
His mother sat, waiting for him to speak.
Frank cleared his throat. "I haven't been sleeping," he started, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him, "I haven't been able to. I keep feeling like I'm missing something about the case, and I can't let myself rest until I find it."
Laura watched him, silently, and Frank continued, the words not stopping now that he had started speaking.
"I feel so helpless. I've never felt like this on a case before, even ones where Joe has been in danger. I always have something to go off of, or Dad does, or someone does. I've been staring at paragraphs of nothing the past six days trying to will a lead into existence. And I can't even think about what…what-" Frank pressed his palms against his eyes, taking a deep breath, "I can only imagine what's happening to them. It makes me sick. And I just…I just feel so helpless, Mom."
There was a small silence before Laura spoke, her hand now rubbing Frank's back comfortingly.
"So do I."
It wasn't the response Frank thought she was going to give. She seemed to sense his surprise.
"When I married your father, I knew my life was going to be very different from what I was used to. My father had been a schoolteacher, and my mother worked at a bank. I had never been surrounded by anything as fast-paced as what Fenton did. But I loved it. I was so proud of him, and I loved being a part of it, in my own way. I remember, before we had kids, nights and nights of staying up late with him, piles of case files and evidence stacked around us, bouncing ideas off of one another, working until the early morning. Your father always said I should think about changing my career path, and I always told him he was crazy. Half the time those sessions were me repeating things he had said, and him trying to convince me I was a genius for thinking of it."
Frank smiled, picturing the scene. His parents, young, starting out.
"And then one day, your father was on a case, and he went missing. It was something on a charter boat he was investigating, a smuggling ring, and he had gone undercover to work on the boat. He sent me letters, always. They were nondescript and short, of course, but he knew I needed to know he was okay. And then, they stopped coming. There were men at my door telling me they didn't know where he was." Laura sighed. "I think I was pregnant with you at the time. Your father had had close calls before, of course, but this was the first time that I sat at home and felt so incredibly helpless. It was paralyzing."
"Mom-"
Laura held up a finger, giving Frank a smile.
"But I learned something, then. I was always going to feel helpless when something like this happened. But I couldn't let it take over me. Helplessness doesn't mean that things like hope, love, or faith are gone. And helplessness doesn't mean you can't do anything. It's a feeling, not a state of being." Laura leaned back in her chair, regarding her eldest son with kind eyes. "I feel helpless every time something happens to one of you boys, or your father. But I can't let it control me. That doesn't do any of you any favors."
Frank smiled ruefully, shaking his head. "You're right, Mom, as always."
She patted his hand, releasing a small sigh. "But here I am, awake in the middle of the night, doing nothing but worrying. I need to take my own advice."
In the dim light of the kitchen, Frank could see the dark circles under his mother's eyes, the way her knuckles were white around her cup of tea, and the way her mouth pulled itself into a worried frown.
Placing a hand on top of his mother's, Frank gave it a small squeeze. "Thank you, Mom. I'm not giving up hope."
She met his eyes, giving him a firm smile. "I have the utmost faith in you and your father. And I have faith in Joe and Vanessa. Even though I can't tell them, I know they can feel it."
Standing, Frank gave his mother a quick kiss on the cheek, thanking her.
"Have you called Callie?"
Frank froze. His girlfriend was currently a week and a half into her cross-country backpacking trip with some friends from college in the Swiss Alps. For the past six days, he had sat in his childhood room, staring at his phone, debating whether or not to call her. She had been so excited for this trip, it was all she had talked about for the past several months. If he told her what had happened, he knew she'd be flying home the next day.
"I don't want to ruin her trip."
Something like an amused look flitted across his mother's face, and she bowed her head. "As someone who has experience dating a private investigator…you should call her."
He knew she was right. "I will."
"Good," she said, standing. "I'm going to bed, sweetie." She placed her cup by the sink, starting towards the bedroom. Just before she entered, she turned to him. "Your father is up in his study."
Frank gave her a nod in acknowledgement, heading towards his father's office instead of back to his room. He would sleep, soon, he knew he needed to, but his brain was too awake to even contemplate lying back down.
Light spilled through the crack of his father's door, and Frank knocked lightly.
"I know, Laura," Came his father's tired voice, "I'm almost done."
"It's me, dad."
There was a brief silence. A second later, the door swung open.
Frank gave his father a once-over. He looked just as rough as Frank knew he himself did. Fenton's hair was unkempt, a stark contrast to the usually very put together man, his white shirt wrinkled, and his desk a mess. Just like everyone in their family, it seemed, dark circles accompanied Fenton's under eyes.
"What can I do for you, son?" His father's voice was low and tired.
"I'm here to help," Frank said, "I can't sleep."
For a moment, it looked like Fenton would fight his son on the matter, tell him to go to bed, but the resolve crumbled a moment later, and Fenton opened the door so Frank could get through.
"I need all the help I can get," Fenton said, letting the door swing closed, walking back over to his scattered desk. "Collig told me I should go home and sleep…but," With a sweep of his arms, Fenton gestured to the piles of case files piled on his desk.
"I get it," Frank told him, settling himself in the chair across from his father.
Fenton gave him a small, tired smile. Frank was stunned by how human his father looked.
Dad's never failed us before. He's not going to this time.
"What do you have?" Frank asked, tearing his eyes away from his father's haggard face, instead opting to stare at the piles of paper and manilla folders, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Fenton immediately snapped into business. "Really, I'm just trying to look for some sort of pattern. A pattern can give us information like motive, location, can show us where they got sloppy. And they always get sloppy."
Frank frowned. "The victimology was completely different each time, right?"
Fenton nodded. "Which leads me to believe that that isn't what's important to him. There's always a chance we're missing some connection between all these people, but seeing as they're from completely different areas of New York, are different ages, sexes, and races, it's unlikely. We've scoured every possible connection they might have, and nothing."
"So what's the connection you're looking for?"
A pause. Fenton's mouth pressed into a hard line. "The method of torture. If the victims don't matter, it must be his process. Maybe it's ritualistic, it could be a sexual release, or even some sort of compulsion."
Ritualist. Sexual. Compulsion.
Frank couldn't help but think of Joe and Vanessa.
Please hold on, guys. We'll find you.
Frank nodded slowly. "The process is so important that it doesn't matter who it's done to. The people are just a conduit. But we've heard more than one account that tells us that the kidnappings aren't all together random. They've been neat and calculated, and you said most people have said he knew their name."
Fenton sighed. "It's been added to the long list of unfitting pieces. But something tells me that finding a pattern in his methodology might give us a hint on why that is. Or a pattern in something."
Leaning forward, Frank scanned the documents on his father's desk. "Catch me up on what you've found."
His father grimaced. "More like not found. I'll take you through each victim, though. Maybe you'll find something I've missed." Scooting over a pile of paper, Fenton set a stack of case files in front of his son, taking a seat.
"Victim one. Matthew Greer. Taken December 13, found on the steps of a Plattsburgh church on January 3rd. For most of that time, he was left in solitary confinement. Subjected to basically every type of deprivation. Sleep, food, water, the room itself was completely blank. He reported that he had only seen Egorov a few times, and it was never for very long.
"Sara Martinez was next. Reported missing February 7th, found in an alley outside of a bar in Sherrill on February 14th. For the first few days, she was brutally raped, though she refused to say by whom, and following that, she told us she would be beaten and whipped almost daily. She told us Egorov had told her it was 'punishment', but he never specified what for."
Fenton slid the next file in front of him. "Sheila Denvers. Reported missing February 17th, found March 5th in a dumpster right outside of Tupper Lake. He forced her at gunpoint to eat large amounts of food for what she thinks was around a week. Afterwards, she was forced to live in her own, and reportedly other people's fecal matter. She was forced to eat it, was stoned, subjected to freezing temperatures. Very, very unfortunately, she took her life about two weeks ago."
Frank stared at the file, telling himself to take deep breaths.
This was something only a monster could do. What could he be doing to Joe and Vanessa?
The thought made him nauseous. He felt lightheaded.
Get a hold of yourself, Frank. For Joe. For Vanessa.
His father hadn't stopped his debrief, the private investigator in full work mode. "-found in the parking lot of a bank on April 9th. He was put into a medically induced coma, and has yet to wake up. His injuries were severe, but the doctors were unsure what exactly caused them. The coma was because of a head injury he received, and they feared his brain would swell, but alongside of this, he had muscle tearing, broken bones, and most severely, his back was broken."
Frank could feel his chest tightening.
"Andrew Dalton was the next victim, and the first instance where Egorov took two individuals. He also took his husband, Santino Dalton. He apparently made Santino tell Andrew every problem he had with him, had him say everything he didn't like about their marriage, which resulted in what Andrew described as 'constant arguments and fighting, which Egorov seemed to encourage'. They were both taken on April 30th, but Santino was found miles out from his hometown on May 8th, in the middle of a field. Some local farmer found him, unconscious. Andrew was held until June 17th, during which he said he was forced to physically fight every day, though again, he wouldn't say who. He also was held underwater for prolonged periods of time, usually after whatever 'fighting' he was made to do finished. He was found near a hospital in Albany."
Frank hadn't heard the details of the case before, not like this. He had been allowed to help, but only up to a certain point as Fenton and the police force had wanted him to have somewhat of a normal summer before he returned to college for his last semester. That seemed impossible, now.
Unwanted tears pricked his eyes at the descriptions of what Egorov had done. He had never been one for tears, or overly outward displays of emotion, that was Joe's realm. But with each disgusting form of torture his father told him about, he could only think about Joe going through those things, about Vanessa.
He had all but pushed Joe out the door, teasing him about being late for his date with Vanessa.
Why did I rush him?
Why did they go to that park?
Why didn't I tell him I loved him?
Frank desperately blinked back tears.
"The latest victim before…" Fenton took a deep, steadying breath, "before Joe and Vanessa was Mikey Huang. She was taken on July 1st, and found just a couple weeks ago on July 29th. We heard word that she said he buried her alive. She hasn't said anything else yet."
They must be so scared.
"With all the evidence-" His father's voice was distant.
I'm so sorry, Joe. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you two.
"Find something between each-"
He knew his brother was an adult, that it wasn't his job to protect him anymore, but Frank couldn't feel as if he had failed his role as an older brother, somehow.
Buried alive. Broken back. Raped.
"Maybe something to do with-"
Frank's breath hitched. The tears finally came, and he buried his face in his hands.
Please don't let that happen to my brother.
His father's voice trailed off.
A moment later, his father's arms were around him, pulling him out of his chair and into an embrace.
"Oh, Frank," the older man murmured, his hand cradling the back of Frank's head, holding him as he cried, "I'm sorry, son."
They stayed that way for a moment, before Frank pulled away, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Sorry," he muttered gruffly, kicking himself inwardly. If he wanted to be a vital part of this case, a helpful one, he needed to keep it together, not break down in his father's arms like a child.
His father's hand came to rest on the side of his face, gently guiding their eyes to meet. "You have nothing to apologize for, Frank. Sometimes…" Fenton paused, before drawing Frank in for another hug. "Sometimes I'm so used to seeing you as an equal, I forget you're just my little boy."
This time, Frank returned the hug. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered, "I just…Hearing everything made me think about Joe, and I just…" he trailed off, and Fenton pulled back from their embrace, placing a hand on his shoulder and meeting his eyes.
"I know, son."
A comfortable moment of silence passed between the two men, before Fenton took a step away, towards his desk, flipping a file closed. "We should get some rest."
Brows furrowed, Frank shook his head, "No, Dad, I'm okay, I can keep at it-"
" We, Frank. One look at each other should tell us we shouldn't keep at it, even if we can. We'll sleep on it, get rest, make sure our minds are sharp. You can come with me to the station tomorrow, first thing in the morning."
At the mention of sleep, Frank realized how all-together tired he was, his eyelids heavy as he looked at his father. "Okay," he said, too exhausted to put up any resistance.
"I love you, Frank."
His father wasn't one to overuse the sentence. Frank let it linger for a moment.
"Love you, Dad."
The study door clicked closed quietly behind the pair, Frank giving his father one last look as they parted ways, the stairs up to his room feeling harder to climb than they ever had. God, was he ever tired.
Before he collapsed in his bed, however, the words of his mother rang in his ears.
The phone rang twice before going to voicemail.
"Hey, Callie. It's Frank." He paused, realizing he hadn't had a plan going into the phone call. He truly must be exhausted. "Um, there's been an accident. Sort of. Joe and Vanessa have been taken. By Egorov." Sitting on the edge of his bed, Frank let his gaze wander around his room, across pictures of him as Joe as children, him and Callie when they were younger, bookshelves full of school books that he had read and Joe definitely hadn't. "Call me when you get this message, okay? I'm sorry for not calling earlier. I love you, Cal."
He hung up, letting the phone slide from his hands, his eyes closed before he even hit his pillow.
There must be some connection between it all. Something.
Fatigue threatened to lull him to sleep.
Something tickled in the back of his mind. He hadn't noticed it before, when his father had been speaking.
Why does it sound familiar?
With his last bit of energy, Frank tugged a blanket over himself.
Where have I heard it before?
Sleep took him.
Frank's back, everyone!
No fear for those who love Callie, she will soon be back as a regular stay in the story.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review if you feel so inclined! I always love reading them.
Don't worry, Joe and Vanessa will be back in the next installment.
Thanks for reading!
-Lee
