Dark Mysteries (27 page)

So,
it was the feet.

Ellie
turned her head away, leaning heavily on her restraints. Trying to
focus on that pain. The body could only focus on so much pain at
once. Whichever one hurt most, she'd be feeling. And she much rather
feel pain she inflicted herself. She felt him grab her toes, flexing
her foot out.

She
bit into her lip to keep her mouth shut, closed her eyes, and thought
of Xander.

Thought
about his dark eyes. His lips that always seemed to quirk up at
strange times, finding humor in unusual topics. His arms. How safe
she felt encircled in them.

The
blade made the first cut into her skin, sharp, a twinge that made her
leg jerk, then a burning as the blood started to drip out.

Xander
and his soft hair.

Another
cut.

Xander
and his silly, cocky swagger.

Another
cut. Deeper.

She
pressed harder down on her wrists.

Xander
and his scars. Scars that he wasn't ashamed of. Scars that he wore
like a badge of honor.

Another
cut. Another direction.

Xander
and his toe-tingling kiss.

Nick
pulled up her other foot.

Xander
inside her. Xander on top of her. Xander beneath her.

Nick
was frustrated. Cursing. Dragging the blade deeper.

She
wasn't going to cry. She let all her weight fall onto one wrist,
feeling her shoulder object painfully.

Xander.
Xander. Xander. Xander. Xander. Xander

And
then it was over. Nick slammed the door shut in his frustration and
she shifted her weight more comfortably, turning her head and lifting
up her feet to inspect. She survived. She got through sharp. Sharp
was the worst.

She
sunk her feet into the water, swishing around, cleaning out the cuts.
The pool around her feet streaked with red and she kicked until she
stopped bleeding, stepping up onto her tiptoes and counting.

Two-thousand
three-hundred fifty three. Two-thousand three-hundred fifty four.

Twenty-One

Three
days. It had been three days. Forty hours in, K and Gabe insisted
they check into a motel. Get some sleep. Eat. Shower. Recharge. Get
to a place where they could think through the disappointment. The
fear.

But
Xander couldn't sleep. Or eat. He paced the room silently as they
dozed restlessly.

If
he lived a thousand years, he could never find the words to describe
what he felt when he walked into the door of that house. It felt like
all his blood moved downward and drained through his feet. Like every
last shard of hope crumbled into dust. Like time was frozen and he
was suspended in an awful nothingness.

They
had spent an hour searching that house. In and out of every room,
feeling around in the walls for hidden doors, searching the grounds
like bloodhounds for any scent, any trace of her. In the end, K had
slammed his fist into a tree, his knuckles getting bloody and
bruised. Gabe had stood dumbly, raking a hand through his blonde
hair. And Xander had just... fallen. To the ground, his knees in the
moist dirt. Defeated.

They
had stood next to the truck for a long time, no one willing to open a
door. No one willing to walk away from their only lead.

“Are
you guys lost?” a man asked, walking his dog around the
cul-de-sac.

“Well,
in a manner of speaking,” Gabe had said, charming, sounding
like he absolutely did not have a gun tucked into his pants. “We
were told a friend of ours lived here,” he explained, waving a
hand at the house.

“Oh,”
the man said, looking over at the house curiously, “yeah
someone bought it. And the lights go on at night and everything. But
no one ever moved in. Weird.”

“That
is weird,” Gabe agreed, looking confused and it wasn't for
show. “Well, thanks, man. I guess we have to give him a call,”
he said, reaching for the door and giving them all pointed looks.

They
pulled away, Gabe driving aimlessly. “So, are we going to talk
about this?” he asked, looking between the two of them
worriedly.

“Should
we go back to Three Sixes, drag that bastard out of the fridge, and
get a real answer?” K asked, sounding excited at the prospect.

“He's
probably already out,” Xander shrugged, “and reported
back to Nick that we are looking for her.”

“I'll
go talk to my friend here,” Gabe said, hoping that it wouldn't
be a dead end. Knowing it probably was. Nick had planned on someone
looking for him. And he had hidden away somewhere. He was a ghost.
And Ellie was probably gone forever. “And while I'm doing that,
you two hit the streets. Find the dealers. Find someone who knows
something. Bribe them. Beat them. Whatever it takes.”

So
that's what they did. For the first thirty hours. Until there were no
more leads. Until all the cash they had on hand was gone. Until their
hands were destroyed. Until their adrenaline was spent.

Then
there had been conversation. Endless ideas. None of which would get
them anywhere. But they needed to suggest them. They needed to keep
the hope alive.

Because
she was gone.

–

His
office was in better shape than when he left it. Inside he found only
one of the kids he had left in charge. He was sitting behind the
desk, reading through a newspaper, looking every bit like he actually
belonged there. The glass had all been cleaned up, the remains of all
his broken possessions in a trash bin somewhere. He had even taped
cardboard wrapped in black bags to the shattered door. Keeping the
weather and passerbys out.

The
kid's head shot up when he walked in. He was young. Younger than
Xander had been when he had been on the streets. Sixteen, maybe? With
a sharp face, a little gaunt-looking from malnutrition, long brown
hair that looked clean, pulled into a bun toward the crown of his
head. His eyes were light. A hazel shade of brown. Keen and
intelligent.

“The
lone survivor, huh?” Xander asked, nodding at him.

“We
figured you died or something,” he said, smirking.

“But
you're still here...”

“Hey
man,” he said, smiling wider. “I can be Xander Rhodes.
Take pictures of cheating husbands. Chase down druggies. Stay in this
nice place...”

“Nice
place, huh?” Xander said, looking around, eyebrow raised,
smiling slightly.

“Alright.
This dump,” the kid conceded. “A little paint would work
wonders.”

“Sounds
like you're volunteering,” Xander said, emptying his pockets of
his weapons.

“Yeah
man, anything you need,” the kid said, jumping out of the seat,
looking excited. Determined.

He
wanted off the streets. Xander remembered that feeling. That
knowledge that he would do anything it took to get a warm place to
lay his head, food to put in his belly.

Suddenly,
the words from Ellie's letter flashed into his mind.

Keep
protecting the little strays that show up on your doorstep.

“Alright,”
Xander said, running a hand down his face, scruffier than usual,
almost a beard, “tell you what... you can take that couch,”
he said, pointing to the beat up leather sofa under the windows, “as
long as you pull your weight around here.”

“Yes,
sir,” the kid said, smiling, extending his hand.

“I'm
gonna need a name,” Xander said, shaking his hand. “And
not some bullshit street name.”

“Brian,”
he said, shrugging.

“Alright,
Brian,” he said. “You don't fucking touch any weapons. Or
any money. Or my files. But you can help yourself to food and
toothpaste and whatever else like that.” Brian nodded, looking
almost a little embarrassed. “Don't worry,” Xander said,
offering him a small smile, “it's not charity. You're gonna
earn it.”

“Thanks,”
Brian said, nodding.

Sometime
after midnight, Xander was pulled out of bed by a slamming sound
outside the office door. Brian was already on his feet, tense, his
hands in fists at his side. Xander inclined his head to him before
pulling the door open.

And
there was K. A suitcase in his hand and a determined set to his brow.
Xander nodded at him, moving out of the way so he could pass.

Then
he had two strays. Brian in the office. K on the red couch that Ellie
had slept on.

–

There
was an odd sort of comfort to having other people around. By the time
he woke up the next morning, K had already sent Brian out to grab
breakfast and the coffee was hot and strong. They sat down to egg
sandwiches on bagels, K quietly and calmly filling Brian in on what
was going on. Like he was already a part of the team.

Xander
watched, eating the food that tasted like cardboard, wondering
exactly what kind of self-control K had taught himself over the
years. How he could go from the mess he had been the day before to
the collected, rational person at his dining table. His hands were
still wrecked, and he was having trouble bending his knuckles with
the scabs. But his face was serene, his tone methodical and
reasoning.

Meanwhile,
he felt like an alien in his own body. Detached. He went about the
tasks he knew he needed to. He attempted sleep. He showered. Shaved.
Changed. Drank his coffee. Ate his food. But it was like someone else
was doing. Like his hands didn't belong to him.

“So,
now we are regrouping,” he heard K tell Brian, “and we
are going to look into other methods. Things we might have missed.
People we haven't contacted.”

And
that was exactly what they did. Every day there was a new list of
calls to make. New people to try to track down. Until there were more
questions than answers.

Gabe
went back to work three days after they got back. And Xander couldn't
blame him. Bills needed to be paid. Life needed to move on.

K
continued some sort of secret business. Calls on burner cells. Trips
to the post office every few days. Maybe more women like Ellie. Women
who needed his help. Maybe his self-defense business was just what
kept money in his pockets, but his real career was helping people
escape their awful situations. It would explain why he was so good at
it. Why he was so regimented with Ellie.

“You're
going to have to take on cases again,” K told him, five days
later as they sat over the newspapers.

Xander
looked up, his brow furrowed. “Dude, you're still here,”
he said, suggesting K was shirking his business back in Seattle as
well.

“I
have people who run things when I need to take off. You are all you
got. You need to handle business.”

“She
needs me,” Xander said, looking pained.

“And
you can still devote your time to her. Work cases on the hours you
spend staring at the ceiling not sleeping.”

He
was right. Xander knew he was right.

If
he wanted to find her, he would need money. And, now, he needed to
keep a roof over Brian. Who had already painted the awful kitchen
cabinets white and the office a less dingy shade of brown. He
answered the phone and ran errands.

“Alright,”
Xander said, nodding.

Two
days later, he went back to work.

–

A
month was a long time. It never occurred to him before to notice the
passing of the seasons. But winter was taking a turn toward the warm.
March came quickly, a taunting, painful reminder that she had been
gone for four weeks.

And
he remembered the story about her being chained and tortured for six
weeks. How she had almost died. She probably wished by now that she
was already dead. But a part of him knew, knew like he knew the Earth
would keep spinning that day, that she was still alive. Waiting. For
death, probably. Not for him. Because she wouldn't know he even knew.
She wouldn't think he would even care if he did.

But
she would be wrong. Because he fucking loved her. He loved her and
the only thing that kept him pushing through his days was the idea of
finding her. Dragging her out of that hell. Bringing her back and
taking care of her.

Xander
sat down at the dining room table, holding one of her books in his
hand. Gabe walked in, looking less like himself. More tired. Less
arrogant. “I'm going to file a report,” he said, sounding
sad.

“What?”
Xander asked, not sure he had heard him.

“A
missing person's report. It's time,” he said, shifting his
feet. “We have hit nothing but dead ends. Maybe the cops can
find him.”

Xander
found himself nodding. “Make sure you tell them he's the one
who killed her father. Maybe that will put a fire under their asses.”

Gabe
watched Xander for a moment, seeing the defeat. Seeing the acceptance
of his own incompetence. But what was to be done? They needed
whatever help they could get.

“Wait,”
Xander yelled, jumping out of his chair, almost knocking it over.