Page 150 of Shrapnel

“The drugs andnotthe gaping hole in your chest.”

Someone yelled at Noah from a distance and his voice faded as Noah yelled back. “Talking on the phone isn’t going to slow my recovery! I’m allowed to use the phone, old man…you can’t hit me…I’ll tell the nurses…”

Owen put the phone on speaker and listened to Noah argue with Kurt as he continued to sift through photos. He ran Jamie’s face through a facial recognition software, but it was pointless. Jamie wasn’t an amateur. He hadn’t even appeared on the cameras around Paul’s.

“No breaking my legs isn’t a ‘lateral’ move! I can still feel pain, asshole,” Noah shouted. Despite his words Owen could hear the warmth in his tone. It had been a long time since Kurt and Noah bickered. It felt right in only the way their fucked up family could.

Thinking back to what Noah had said, Owen wished Elijah was awake to hear this too. He feared Kurt more than life itself, but he would have loved this. He would also believe that Jamie wasn’t lost. He would be out on the street looking for Jamie. Laying traps at their apartment and staking out all his stashes.

Apartment.

Owen flailed, knocking his phone to the ground. Noah’s yelling was all but forgotten. Owen had been so stupid. Jamie and Elijah’s apartments had CCTV cameras. Owen installed them himself. Why didn’t he think to check them? Jamie had gone back to their apartment to get Elijah’s clothes. That had been the last thing he did alone.

It was a long shot, but Owen would take those odds.

Clearing the toll booth photos from his screen, he pulled up the apartments CCTV. The files were organized by date, and he selected the right one. Fast forwarding, he watched about 8 hours of people quietly coming and going from their apartments in a matter of minutes, before he finally caught sight of Jamie.

He entered the apartment looking completely at ease. Owen’s heart squeezed seeing him again. One hand holding Chicken Nugget and the other scrolling through the video he stopped when he saw Jamie leaving the apartment. Disappointment lodged in his throat. He was an idiot to think there would be anything.

The cursor blinked over the exit button, and he lifted his right pointer finger in preparation to click it when movement caught his eye.

A large man shoved Jamie against the front door. He had a gun. Owen slowed the footage and scrambled for audio. There was none.Fuck!He slowed the footage to a crawl and watched through twice.

The big man’s face was dark. His dark hair was cropped close to his head and his beard was unruly. He wasn’t just jacked, but he was big, too. Maybe even wider than Jackson. Owen didn’t like his eyes. They were cold.

But he wasn’t speaking. Jamie was clearly saying something, but the big man wasn’t responding. Jamie was allowed to turn, and he caught sight of something off screen. Owen couldn’t read his lips, but he didn’t have to.

He could see the fear on Jamie’s face. The panic. It was so visceral that it felt like a punch to the gut. Owen stood, knocking his chair to the ground. He wanted to reach through the screen. Hold a sobbing Jamie to his chest. That was unspeakable fear. The earth shaking kind. Jamie had never looked like that. Not even when he was talking about his father or his past. Jamie literally curled up into a ball.

Finally the second man stepped into frame. He could only see the side of his face, but it was enough. He screenshotted the image and printed it.

Owen kicked open the door to the underground torture cell. He had never been down there before and had to threaten to expose a Weaver guard’s internet history to get him to tell him where it was. Thank God the guy was a Brony because if he had been a run of the mill weirdo Owen wouldn’t have been able to get here.

Jogging down the narrow concrete steps, he could hear Jackson’s voice through the thick walls.

Jackson had his arms crossed. He fashioned a makeshift eye patch out of duct tape over the bad eye, and somehow it made him look sexier? That was something Owen would have to explore later.

Mateo was hanging from a beam in the ceiling, his stumps up above his head and hanging separately. Owen marched into the cell.

“I need him to tell me who—oh my god is there a hook in his back?” Owen blanched, stumbling backwards.

“One in his back and two in his elbows. What do you need?” Jackson asked steadily.

Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

As Owen stepped back, he noticed the drain in the center of the room. It was sticky with blood and bits of bone and hair. He was grateful for the low lighting. Owen didn’t want to know what was hiding in the shadows.

Mateo’s toes brushed against the concrete floor; his face obscured by dirt. A large ugly looking hook was embedded in the meaty part of his back, holding his weight suspended. Owen suspected the elbow hooks were just for torture rather than structural stability.

Owen wobbled the printout towards Jackson, his fingers pinching the paper until it wrinkled. “This guy spoke to Jamie right before he disappeared. I need to know who he is.”

Jackson snatched the page, looking at the picture with his good eye before he slid it under Mateo’s nose.

“This the ‘Demon’?”

Mateo nodded numbly.

“Use your words. You know what happens when you go quiet.”