by G. R. Lyons
Vic nodded. The scanner wand wasn't as precise as the holoscanners at the hospital, but it worked in a pinch. Ryley shoved the wand into his pocket while Vic unfurled the blanket and draped it over the boy, wrapping it around the slight form and then lifting the poor kid into his arms.
The boy's head lolled toward him while Vic headed straight for the stairs. He felt little hands weakly clinging to his jacket. Vic cradled the boy close to his body and raced out of the house, right behind Ryley, who helped Vic slide into the back seat without letting go of the boy.
Ryley dove into the driver's seat, and they tore off down the road.
“Ry?” Vic asked, eyeing the dashboard over Ryley's shoulder, looking for any signs of a flicker. He knew all too well how Ryley's emotions could let out uncontrolled bursts of magic, affecting nearby electronics. “How are you doing?”
“I'm alright,” Ryley muttered. He glanced in the mirror at Vic, then blew out a breath. “I'll be better once I know he's gonna be fine.” He shook his head and focused on the road. “Don't worry, Vic. I've got this.”
“I know you do.” Vic reached forward, gave Ryley's shoulder a squeeze, then sat back with a sigh.
He looked down at the boy to check on him. The little guy was shaking, his lips pale and cracked, his breath rapid and shallow. Vic held him closer.
“We're almost there,” he murmured, just as much to himself as to the boy, checking the street to see how far they still had to go. “Almost there.”
Vic looked down again, studying the boy's face while the little guy had his eyes closed. There was something almost fae about him, something pure and sweet in the fan of his eyelashes and the curve of his jaw. Despite the horrors the poor kid had most likely endured, he was the picture of youthful beauty and innocence.
From the front of the car, Ryley placed a call through the navigation system, dragging Vic out of his thoughts.
The hospital's emergency room coordinator answered, the woman's voice unfortunately familiar. Vic long ago lost count of how many times he'd spoken to her, bringing in his various rescues for emergency treatment.
“This is Ryley Skye with Sturmwyn Insurance,” Ryley told her. “We're inbound with a teenage male, apparent severe dehydration–”
Vic looked down at the boy again. They should have brought some water along and spent the drive forcing more drops into the boy's mouth. He checked the streets again. At least they'd be at the hospital soon.
The boy stopped shaking. Frowning, Vic held his breath as he studied the boy's face.
The kid wasn't moving.
“Ryley!” Vic yelled, interrupting the man's conversation. “He's not breathing!”
“What? Shit!” Ryley checked his mirrors and accelerated as he told the coordinator, “He's in respiratory arrest–”
“What's your ETA?”
“Five minutes,” Ryley said, then groaned. “Fuck, too long.” He looked around rapidly and yanked the car over to the curb. “Scratch that. We'll be outside the ER in ten seconds. Send out a gurney.”
Before Vic could ask, Ryley switched off the car and threw open his door. “Get out!” he ordered.
Vic rushed to comply, opening the door and maneuvering himself and the boy out of the back seat.
“Hang on,” Ryley ordered. He slammed the back door shut, grabbed Vic, and closed his eyes.
Vic's body tingled and gave a slight lurch. Between one breath and the next, he found himself—still holding the boy and Ryley still wrapped around him—standing just outside the hospital.
Just in time for the emergency entrance to fly open, three nurses and a gurney spilling out to meet them.
Vic dropped the boy onto the gurney and stepped out of the way as one of the nurses climbed up and straddled the boy, pressing an oxygen mask to his face and inserting an IV in his arm while the other two nurses wheeled them inside. Vic and Ryley followed, watching as the fluids and oxygen did their work.
The boy started breathing again.
“Oh thank gods,” Ryley gasped, grabbing Vic's arm and bending forward as though he might be sick.
Vic closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Thank gods, indeed. And Ryley, too, for that matter. He pulled the smaller man to his side.
“You're amazing, you know that?”
Ryley took a calming breath. “It was just a transportation spell.”
“And it saved his life.” He gave Ryley a squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me until we know he's gonna live,” Ryley muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably as he stared at the little figure on the gurney.
Vic squeezed Ryley again, then also turned his attention to the gurney as Dr. Garrison, one of the hospital's lead physicians, raced over and quickly checked the boy's vitals.
The doctor looked grim. “Give me a full scan.”
The nurses maneuvered the boy into place at one of the scanning stations, then they all stepped back as the doctor pressed a button on the wall. The holoscanner turned on, a bar of blue light tracking down the boy's form from head to toe. Vic held his breath, waiting. The light winked out in time with a beep, and a hologram of the boy's body rendered in midair.
Dr. Garrison studied the rendering, then ordered more fluids, a blood sample, and a rape kit, amongst other things. Then he turned, spotted Vic, and walked over, offering his hand.
“Vic,” the doctor said, eyeing him carefully. “Good to see you again.”
Vic swallowed hard and nodded in response as he returned the handshake. He didn't want to be thinking about Cam just then, though it was difficult not to, considering the similarities.
Dr. Garrison shook Ryley's hand, his look still assessing but with a different quality. “Mr. Skye.” He tilted his head. “Dr. Edrich told me you had an…interesting situation the last time you were here.”
Ryley held his hands up. “I'm in control, I swear.”
The doctor gave the lights and machines all around them a cursory glance, then chuckled and shook his head. “I can see that.” He blew out a breath, and looked from Vic to Ryley and back. “So, what do we know about him?”
Ryley looked away, so Vic answered, “Not much. We found him held captive in a deceased client's basement. He wasn't coherent, so we have no idea how long he was down there.”
“Any idea who he is?”
Vic shook his head, gesturing at the doctor's tablet. “I was hoping you could tell us.”
Dr. Garrison frowned. “Hmmm.” He clicked through a few menus, and shook his head “I'm sorry, no. His blood work does show a match to a sample already in our database, but there's no name attached to it.”
Ryley whirled back toward them. “How come?”
The doctor shrugged, then clicked to another screen. “Huh. Two samples, actually. One, tied to a birth record. No name listed, though. And another, dated two years later…Looks like a sample the attending surgeon collected off another patient's clothes…nineteen years ago.”
Vic blinked. “Nineteen–”
He shared a look with Ryley, who darted away a few steps to get as far from the hospital equipment as he could, scanned the room, and waved his hand. A tablet appeared out of nowhere—Vic's tablet, from the look of it, the one he'd left in the back seat of Ryley's car—and hurried back over to them as he tapped through the screens. “Any chance it's a match to this?” Ryley turned the tablet around so Dr. Garrison could see.
The tablet displayed the DNA file for the cold case that had prompted their search of Dr. Ahriman's house.
The doctor looked over the profiling markers and compared them to what showed on his own screen. “Yep. They're identical.”
Vic glanced at the boy. “But…he's just a kid…”
Dr. Garrison shook his head and gestured at the hologram. “According to his birth record, his skeletal and brain development, as well as his blood work,” he said, pointing at the vial that had just been processed, “he's twenty-one.”
Ryley gasped. “We found him?”
Vic s
tared, slowly shaking his head. Missing for nineteen years, and—if Vic had to guess—held captive that long. It would explain how pale the boy was, like he'd never seen sunlight before, how unnaturally low his testosterone and vitamin D levels were, amongst other things, how short and frail he was. Captivity and trauma wreaked havoc on the body, but Vic had never seen such a bad case up close.
But they'd found him. A missing kid, a cold case, someone who had been given up on.
Vic wasn't done, though. Finding the boy was one thing.
Bringing him back to a normal life was going to be a whole different story.
Chapter 4
VIC SANK into his chair with a sigh, closing his eyes and tuning out the noise of the bullpen. He and Ryley had just gotten back to the office from the hospital. The boy was still unconscious, aided by a sedative, which allowed the doctors to continue getting much-needed fluids and nutrients into his system.
The kid was going to live, but his mental state was yet to be seen.
“Vic?”
Vic opened his eyes and straightened in his chair. His boss, Mace Parker, stood before his desk, looking at him with concern.
“Could you come to my office, please?” Mace asked.
Vic rose and followed him.
Mace closed the door, shutting out the noise of multiple conversations, and they sat across from one another, a heavy silence settling between them. Vic slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and clutched the blood-stained bracelet.
“You wanna tell me about this case?” Mace asked gently.
Vic took a deep breath and gave the man a rundown of everything from the DNA match that had flagged from Ryley's death case to getting the boy to the hospital. Mace nodded along silently, fingers steepled in front of his mouth and a frown on his face.
“I'm not sure where to go from here,” Vic finished. “If he's been held captive almost his entire life, foster care won't work, and despite his age, I seriously doubt he lacks the skills to live on his own.”
Mace's frown deepened. “Convalescent home?” he suggested, though even he didn't sound convinced by the idea.
Vic shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” It was probably the best choice, all things considered. His department had a budget for arrangements like that—though they'd never had such an extreme case before, requiring such extensive care—and the boy could get the therapy he was desperately going to need, and in a tranquil setting.
Mace narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Vic's face for a long moment. “Why don't you take him?”
Vic flinched back. “Me?”
“Why not?” Mace asked, his eyes lighting up like he was warming to the idea. “It would suit your halfway house project, and your department's funds could pay you just as easily as a convalescent home.”
“But…” Vic shook his head. “He's going to need intensive care. More than I'm trained for. I can't do that and be here and–”
“So work from home,” Mace suggested.
Vic blinked, and couldn't come up with a response.
“Vic, look.” Mace sighed, sat forward, and planted his elbows on his desk. “You're bored here. I've seen it coming on for a couple years now. And it's gotten especially bad since you haven't had a proper case in months.” Mace paused, and Vic was about to argue the point until he realized Mace was right: Vic no longer felt challenged and purposeful in his work unless he had a rescue case. “Besides, you know you can work on contracts remotely just as easily as you can from that desk.”
Vic nodded along. Gods knew he spent any number of nights working on contracts and insurance policies from his computer at home just for the sake of keeping himself busy. That all depended on Cam, though. If Cam needed therapy or just wanted to hang out, that was one thing. But if the kid needed space and didn't make an appearance, Vic had to kill time with paperwork. Otherwise, he'd go out of his mind, feeling like he wasn't doing enough to make up for his failures.
“What do you think?” Mace asked, cutting into Vic's thoughts.
Vic considered it. He could take the boy home to live with him. He certainly had the space. But did he have the skills necessary to get the boy the help he really needed? Or would a quiet, safe place be enough to get him started?
Or would it make things worse for Cam?
“I'll need to ask–” Vic began, then stopped himself. Mace didn't know Cam's ghost followed Vic around. Not that Vic was embarrassed by the notion, but not everyone believed in ghosts, and he didn't want to make Cam into a puppet in order to prove it. “The kid,” he corrected himself after an awkward pause.
“Yeah, no, of course,” Mace agreed, giving Vic an apologetic look. “Shit, I hadn't even thought of that. Yeah, of course he'd have to agree to it.” Mace sighed through his nose. “Whatever you decide, we'll make it work. The poor kid deserves some good in his life.”
Vic nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he does.”
That night, when Vic got home, he put his briefcase in his office, then went straight to the living room and perched on the couch, setting out Cam's notepad and pen.
“Cam?” he called, looking around.
The pen floated up and waved at him.
Vic breathed a laugh, then quickly sobered. “How are you? We haven't talked about–” He broke off, hating to even say it out loud. The anniversary of your death. Just thinking the words gave him a chill.
The pen hesitated, then wrote, Wait, if we're doing therapy, shouldn't I be the one on the couch?
Vic read the words twice while he struggled between wanting to laugh and wanting to scowl at the kid. “I can't believe you just made a joke like that.”
I have to joke about it, Vic. If I don't, I might lose my mind. The pen paused, then looked a little too chipper in its movement as it added, Which would suck, because that's all I've got left.
Vic barked a laugh, though the humor felt bittersweet. “Cam!”
You love me, Cam wrote, adding a grinning smiley face at the end.
Vic sighed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I do.”
So…
Vic waited, raising his eyebrows, and could tell, as the pen started to move again, that Cam was changing the subject.
We're bringing the kid to live with us, right?
“I–” Vic blinked, and stared at the words again. “How do you know about the kid?”
The pen hesitated, then wrote, I was there.
“You were?” Vic gasped. Cam never came on rescue missions. Never. They'd always been too painful a reminder of what had happened to him.
You were thinking of me hard, Cam told him. Kinda couldn't help but show up.
Vic grimaced. “I'm so sorry.” He still didn't quite understand how it worked, but just thinking of a ghost was often enough to create a sort of energy to which the ghost was attracted. The harder one thought about a ghost, the more the ghost was drawn in, especially when there was already any sort of strong, emotional connection that had developed during life.
Was he really trapped in there for nineteen years?!?
“I think so.”
Shit.
Vic nodded. He didn't even bother scolding the kid for using profanity. The word was a gross understatement.
So we're gonna bring him home?
“Do–” Vic frowned, looking back over their conversation. That was twice now that Cam had asked if 'we' were bringing the boy home, not to mention making it sound more like a statement than a question.
You told your boss you had to ask me, after all. So consider me asked. And my answer is yes.
“Cam…” Vic slowly shook his head. “I'm not equipped for this. The therapy he's going to need…And, besides, I can't risk his presence setting back your progress. Have you even thought about how hard it's gonna be, always having him around? Fragile as he is? After what he's probably been through?” Vic paused, then added, “After what you went through?”
Vic… The pen hesitated, then Cam wrote, Your entire life has been about me for the past fourteen years. Hells, it's almost f
ifteen years now. And I'm better. Really. You've helped me so much. Maybe it's time for you to turn that attention on someone else instead. Cam paused. And besides that, I want him with us. He underlined the I for emphasis.
Vic stared at the words, then looked up. Gods, he wished he could see Cam. It just didn't feel as effective, trying to have a serious conversation like this, when he couldn't look into Cam's eyes and judge how Cam felt about all this. Vic reached out, found Cam's shoulder, then rubbed his back. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask: Are you sure? And I mean really, really sure, Cam. Won't having him around upset you? The potential to bring up bad memories–”
Cam took a deep breath, and sighed. Rather, that was what Vic felt under his hand. He knew Cam wasn't actually breathing, but Cam said that mimicking behaviors like that helped settle him and keep him tethered to his humanity.
I'm not saying it'll be easy, Cam conceded. But he needs this, Vic. He's just a kid. Yeah, I know you guys said he was twenty-one, but he's really just a kid. He's all alone in the world, and scared. You can help him. Cam paused, then added, I want you to help him. I need you to help him.
“Cam–”
Before you find another excuse, Cam interrupted him. Vic shut his mouth, and the pen continued: I know you feel guilty about what happened to me. But I'm dead.
Vic winced.
I know you regret that, but it's true. But this boy isn't, Vic. He's ALIVE. And now he's safe because YOU found him. Just imagine how amazing it would be to see him eventually have a normal life? The life I couldn't have?
Vic swallowed hard. “Cam–”
It's not too late for him. You can help him. Please.
Vic started to shake his head.
Do for him what The Asshole didn't give you a chance to do for me.
Vic opened his mouth to say something, then felt his shoulders drop as Cam's words struck home. He hadn't been able to save Cam, but Cam was right. That was, as Cam put it, The Asshole's fault—though Vic would have gladly used a much stronger word to describe the man who had cut off Cam's life-support while Vic was out of town and unable to intervene. If the bastard hadn't pulled the plug, Cam could have gotten his experimental surgery and had another chance to live. That shot at redemption had been taken away from him.