Fear fought with another emotion across Rodney’s face, finally settling into something Owen recognized as relief. “He’s dead. He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s real dead.” Owen didn’t respond, didn’t react, but kept his gaze steady on Rodney’s face as the boy crumpled into tears. “Thank God. Thank God. I prayed he’d die.” He lifted his hand, showing Owen a stump where his little finger had been. “I’ve been here three years. I prayed. I prayed.” Rodney shoved at the blanket to free his lower extremities and pointed to his feet in succession, indicating the missing little toe on each. He held up his other hand, all five digits. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow was four years.”
“He’s never hurting you, or anyone, ever again.”
“Okay. Okay. Never again. I prayed for you.” Rodney nodded as he sat up, shifting so his back leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait here.” Fingers fussily plucking at the blanket, he arranged it around him. “Right here.”
“Owen.” Alace’s tone warned him, and he stiffened his spine as he waited for her to finish her thought. “I found him. Rodney Faust, age fourteen. He’s been missing for seven years. Against all odds, his parents are still looking for him. Oldest of three kids, he was taken from a birthday party at a park in Georgia. Seven years, Owen. He’s special needs, but there’s no real detail, the file simply says cognitive delays.”
“Perfect, Rodney. Thank you, buddy. Stay right here.” Owen scooched back before rising to his feet, not wanting to loom over the boy. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Owen couldn’t let himself focus on the nightmare Rodney’s parents had been living. Are still living. Seven years. God. Dialing in on the little he knew, he recited the pertinent details to Alace. “No ligature marks on wrists or ankles, he has been restrained differently, probably in cages or locked rooms, like here. Is he on our list from the auctions?” Owen stepped through the doorway, noting the wedge August had placed on the hinge side, keeping the door from shutting completely, protecting them from being locked inside. Continuing with the subvocal, he nodded at August. “I know you are keeping your voice from being heard. Smart. Show me what you need.”
August’s cheeks lifted again, revealing he was evidently a smiley type of fellow, and he pointed at Kuellen, now unnaturally bent double at the waist, broken in half with his legs already bound to his torso. August mimed lifting something heavy and pointed to Owen, then upstairs.
“You need me to go upstairs and find a bag?” August shook his head, tipping his chin towards the outside of the house. “You have one in your vehicle?” That earned him a nod, and he grinned, hoping August could see it in his eyes. “How about if I get the kid out of here, and you deal with our friend?” August gave a decisive nod. “Okay. We can meet up later to debrief.” August blanked him on that, neither giving affirmative or negative reactions. “No, for real. We should meet later to discuss.” August looked straight at him for a long beat, then slowly dipped his chin. “Deal. Alace has my address if you don’t already have it. Literally a block and a half from here.”
August pointed at the door and made a shooing motion.
“Yeah, yeah. I am going.” He turned, then looked back. “Appreciate this. Gratitude, man.” Back in the main room, he saw Rodney hadn’t moved. Audibly, he said, “You ready to go, Rodney?”
“Doc is primed, Owen. How will you keep him from knowing where you live?”
Switching to subaudible, he told her, “I will tell him to get in back and lie down, then I will drive around for half an hour.”
“Copy that, relaying the delay to Doc.”
“Rodney, let’s go upstairs and see if we can find a pair of shorts for you to wear, then we’ll go to my friend’s house.” He walked past where Rodney sat, then turned and bent, offering a hand to help the boy rise to his feet, blanket clutched around his body, held in place with bone-thin fingers.
“Door at the top is unlocked.”
“Thanks.” He masked his unthinking audible response with a cough. “Nearly there, Rodney. You’re doin’ great.” At the top, he swung the door wide, glancing back to see Rodney’s eyes wide, as if he were taking in the house for the first time. Probably is. Owen aimed them towards Kuellen’s bedroom, sickened by the idea of the boy wearing clothing belonging to his tormentor but more motivated by the idea of giving the boy back some of his dignity. Social mores required clothing, and Kuellen had taken that from Rodney. Owen would give it back, much as he’d done with the kids in the compound around Warrant’s cabin. “Here we go.”
Once in the darkened room, Owen saw a dresser along the inside wall. In the top drawer, he found a pair of briefs, and in the bottom, both a T-shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. Handing them to Rodney, he went to the doorway and stood with his back to the boy, giving him privacy to dress.
Sounds of hopping, then the soft shurring of fabric being pulled into place were the only noises Owen could hear. “Help me?” The boy’s slurred request for assistance made him look over his shoulder. Rodney was fumbling with the string of the pants. “I can’t.” In his mind, he saw Doc with Shiloh, patiently showing her the bunny ears process of tying her own shoes.
“Sure you can, buddy.” He moved slowly, pleased when Rodney didn’t flinch away. “Over, under first. Then make two bunny ears with the string, and loop one over, bring it through the bunny hole.” Seven years in this hell. My God. He was only seven when he was taken. “Easy peasy, buddy.” He pulled the loops tight and stepped back. “There you go.” He held out his hand, pleased when Rodney took it right away.
“Where’s your car, Owen?”
He stutter-stepped at Alace’s question, then started walking again. Using the subaudible mic, he asked, “Can you have Doc move the car to the curb?”
Alace laughed and sighed. “Only for you, Owen. Only for you.” He heard her shuffling something around; then she said, “He’s on his way to you, but he needs the car parked on the curb. He probably doesn’t have keys, either, so if you could leave them on top of the front tire on the driver side, that would be appreciated.”
“Almost there.” Rodney was stumbling in his exhaustion, no doubt malnutrition exacerbated by the attack he’d been withstanding from Kuellen combined with the unexpected activity of passing out, climbing the stairs, and getting dressed for the first time in who knew how long. “We’ll go as slow as you need. The car’s right up the street.”
Rodney’s grip dragged on his hand and halted their forward progress. Owen turned to find him slumped against the hallway wall, head hanging loosely from his bowed neck. “I’m tired.”
“I can carry you if that’s okay.” Rodney nodded, his head wobbling with the movement. “Okay, then. I’ve got you.” Owen repeated what he’d first told the boy. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” Scooping the thin child into his arms, he winced as the boy’s hips and elbows dug sharply into him. “Just about there.”
Owen navigated their way out of the house and to the quiet street, passing a darkened car parked halfway between Ashworth’s house and his own. Probably August’s ride. Another minute slipped by, and he stopped next to the car Doc had backed out of the garage. He looked down and realized Rodney had passed out, either overcome as he had been earlier or simply asleep. Either way, what he’d hoped to accomplish was effectively done, because the boy would never know if they’d driven away or not.
Using the throat mic, he told Alace, “Tell Doc I am walking up the sidewalk. Meet me at the front door. I am afraid the garage opener would wake the boy.” Within seconds, the front door swept wide, the room behind Doc darkened so he didn’t stand out as a target silhouette. Doc moved back as Owen approached, closed the door behind him, and led the way to the treatment room. Faint light coming from the kitchen illuminated enough to see Doc had on a medical mask, as requested.
“Owen, I’m switching you to a different channel. I can focus on August better that way.” His earpiece buzzed, then she said, “Clear your throat if you can hear me.” Doc cleared his throat in sy
nc with Owen, who stared at the man’s back.
Subaudibly, he asked, “Can Doc hear me?”
Doc nodded, cleared his throat, then nodded again, the uncertain movements telegraphing his nerves.
“Got it. Here is what I know. Rodney Faust, fourteen years old. Probably repeatedly sodomized. Had fingers and a toe amputated, those wounds are long healed, the newest about a year old. His tongue has been split and amputated about halfway back. The tongue is healed but looks irritated and was bleeding recently. Exhausted, underweight, I estimate he is about ninety pounds, probably should be one fifty given bone structure. Taken from family in Georgia seven years ago.” Doc made a choked sound as he turned into the treatment room. He stood to one side as Owen walked past, closing the door behind him.
“He’s lucid?” As he’d done when first meeting their kids, Doc crouched several feet away, putting himself in a lower position than Rodney would be when he awoke.
“Lucid and aware.” Owen paused, knowing this next bit would be telling. “Compliant, not complaining, even when he was too exhausted to take another step. He has been pleasing people for a long time, Doc.”
“I hate that for him. You said his name is Rodney? Did he tell you that?”
“Yes. His speech is impacted by the mutilation, but he is not unintelligent.”
Alace broke in. “The file said he was cognitively delayed.”
“Does not mean he is stupid.” Taking a seat on the treatment table, Owen wrestled with his growing anger, knowing the emotion was without a target. Kuellen is already dead. That’s a goddamned fact. Audibly, he whispered, “Rodney. Time to wake up, buddy. My friend is here. The doctor, I told you about him.” Owen adjusted the boy across his lap, setting him up straighter. “Rodney? Time to wake up. You slept the whole way. What a good boy. I’ve got you, remember? You’re safe.”
Confused brown eyes blinked up at him, taking a couple of deep, even breaths before Owen saw recognition set in.
“There you are. Did you have a good sleep?”
The boy’s mouth opened, jaw waggling side to side as his tongue worked at the back of his mouth. Almost as if it too were waking.
“Yes.” His slur was pronounced, the single word emerging as yaff. “Are…” His lips lifted and spread, as if he were stretching them in an effort to better pronounce the words. “Are.” More movement, like a physical and vocal tic. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, Rodney.” He was touched by the boy’s remembered fear that Kuellen would somehow rise from the dead and hurt Owen. “This is my friend, Doc. Will you let us help you?”
Rodney’s head swung so he could look Doc’s direction, his mouth closing with a wet snap.
“Hey, Rodney.” Doc waved, hand low to the ground, as far from threatening as he could get. “How are you feeling?”
The two of them went on with their greeting, Owen gradually easing Rodney off his lap and onto the table. He stood, stretching, and activated the throat mic.
“Alace?”
“Yes?” Her response was immediate. Either she was closely listening to both communication channels as she’d promised, or August was in a quiet period so she could focus on Owen and Doc.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue tonight. We make good partners.”
“Thank your other partner. He’s the one who made the call.” Owen glanced down to see Doc’s gaze trained on him. “Also, what the actual fuck, Owen? You didn’t have an entry strategy, much less a planned exit.”
“He had video of Shiloh. I could not fail her. I was not there when it happened, and that has been killing me.” Time to open the door to his past a little, something Alace had no idea about. “I had a daughter, Emma. She was taken, like Rodney. They kept her alive for months. I was deployed, deep enough there were no messages in or out. I came back to find her dead and buried, the bastards who did it in the wind. My bosses did not give a shit. It was a turn and burn home leave, no exceptions made.”
Alace’s sigh held empathetic pain. “They redeployed you before you had a chance to come to grips with what happened.” It could have been a statement, but he answered as if it were a question.
“Yes. Sent me down to Central America, where I proceeded to lose my mind.”
“That’s the reason you went rogue on ’em. Your daughter, Emma, she’s not part of any official history for you.” He wished he could see Alace’s face, know if she were angry he’d never shared, hadn’t trusted her with this personal part of himself. If wishes were horses. The tone was plaintive when she asked, “Why, Owen?”
“Her mom put unknown on the birth certificate. I did not love the girl, and that lack was a two-way street. I loved my Emma, though. So, so much, Alace. From the moment I saw her, six months old and laughing, I loved her.”
“Did you find the guys who took and killed her?”
“Some, yes. But not all of them, no. I do not think so.”
“Sounds like we’ve got a joint mission. Let’s plan on talking this through after you and I debrief August. Can he stay with you tonight? Guest room or couch, he said he’s not particular.”
“Sure. Put him in channel when he is ready to head this way.”
As he and Alace had talked, Doc had made Rodney more comfortable with a clean blanket and bottle of water.
“My friend and I will be just a moment, Rodney. Can you stay here, please?” Rodney was again showing signs of exhaustion, his head wobbling as he nodded slowly, lifting the bottle of water to study the label. “It’s only water, promise. See how it’s sealed?” Doc pointed to the lid. “I haven’t opened it. It’s safe, Rodney.” He stood and motioned to Owen. “We’ll be right down the hall if you need us.”
In the kitchen, Doc leaned against the cabinet, his shoulders slumping as if he shared Rodney’s exhaustion. A glance at the clock on the microwave said he probably did, and had guilt stealing over Owen.
“He’s malnourished but is otherwise surprisingly healthy. Alace said he’d been kept in an enclosed small space, so little to no exercise, which, if he was regularly going without food, is probably a good thing. The amputations to his small toes and finger healed cleanly, and he remembers bandaging. They appear to have been cauterized, so I’m glad he doesn’t remember that part of the procedure. The tongue is more problematic. The split extends back into the root and severed the bundle of muscles underneath the tongue, but because the amputation was about half an inch forward of that, he has better speech than I’d expect. The continued irritation and subsequent bleeding is because the split was not stitched, and so hasn’t healed completely. He doesn’t know how old he was, but it was before Aldo, whatever that means.”
“Aldo Kuellen, the guy we dealt with tonight.”
“Did you know he had a prisoner when you went down there?” Doc scrubbed across his forehead with one hand, fingers repeatedly shoving through his hair. “No, don’t answer that. I’m sure you didn’t because you didn’t take the time to do your homework.”
“Doc’s not wrong,” Alace said in his ear, and Owen tipped his head back, gritting his teeth together. “Not part of this conversation, though. Doc, is he okay to transport? I hope he is. I’ve got someone on the way. ETA less than five minutes. Can you prep him to move?”
“Yes, and yes.” Doc leveled a finger at Owen. “I know you can see me, Alace. We’re not done with this topic. You and I have to work together on this one.”
“I hear you loud and clear.” Owen wished he could see Alace. “The lady’s name is Astrid, and she’s driving a gray sedan. She’ll take Rodney to the children’s hospital in Aurora.” Owen waited, knowing the pause meant Alace was about to disclose something either he or Doc wouldn’t like. Learnin’ the boss lady’s tells. Go me. “Doc, he needs to be asleep.”
“He is.” Doc stated it so baldly, Owen nearly missed the significance of the phrase.
“He is? How do you know? We’re in here.”
“The water was drugged. Little technique I learned in Thailand. Run t
he cap under hot water for thirty seconds, and it pulls straight off, but without breaking the seal ring. Insert the drugs and heat the cap again to get it back on.” Doc shrugged. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
Ten minutes later, they watched through the open garage door as the woman backed out of the driveway. It had been fortuitous Owen’s car was parked on the curb after all.
“Guys? I’m adding August to the channel now.”
A rumbling filled Owen’s ear, and he jerked, seeing Doc similarly startled.
“You there?” The same southern accent he’d heard earlier dripped from those two words, and Owen grinned.
“Yeah, we’re here.” Owen stepped backwards and turned, headed towards the interior door. “You comin’ back, or what?”
“Or what, asshole. How big is your garage?” This came out as “gayrodge” and Owen stopped, staring at Doc. Is this guy kidding? What a fucking asshole. “Got room for a bike?”
“Our garage? It’s a two-and-a-half car. Yes, we have room for a bicycle, or two.” Shaking his head, Owen stepped through into the kitchen. “We’ll leave the door open for you.”
“Not a bicycle, what the hell? A motorcycle. I ditched the car and picked up my ride.” This was pronounced like motorsickle, and fully cemented Owen’s understanding of the man’s origins. The assumed slur was nothing more than his accent, because August was southern, through and through. The rumbling grew louder, echoing through the garage and into the house.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, he and Doc watched August ride a motorcycle right into the garage, as promised. One quick three-point turnaround later, August dropped the kickstand and killed the engine, the ringing silence somehow more startling than the overwhelming noise had been.
Owen glanced back at the tablet on the wall, but nothing indicated either of the kids had woken from the unexpected noise. He turned around just as August stood up off the bike and took a step forwards, hand out. “Doc, right? I’m August.”
An Embarrassment of Monsters: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 3) Page 25