How do you move forward after a call like that? How do you process the words and keep functioning?
Alex still hadn’t shown up, he didn’t have anyone else to lean on for strength and he couldn’t just sit down and wait for him. Mitch was there in that building. His best friend had a gun pointed at him. He was alone and scared and more than likely already hurt. His life rest in his hands now. If he screwed up then it would be Mitch who would pay the price. He’d never be able to live with himself if-.
No. He couldn't think about it. He'd save those thoughts for a time he prayed would never come.
Regardless of the fact that he was swimming through a dense mental fog, he managed to push himself into action by sheer force of will. It took him quite some time to flag down an officer and even longer to get the man to take him seriously. It probably didn’t help that he was near hysterical as he tried to get them to understand the gravity of the situation and what was at stake.
It was a whirlwind once it was determined that he wasn’t lying. He’d been escorted into the back of a large truck full of computers and his phone was taken away. He’d started to panic, but was quickly reassured that he would be the one to answer any calls that came through, but this way they’d be able to listen as well and help walk him through how to respond.
While they waited they asked him to go over the entire previous conversation word for word. What did he hear? How many of them spoke? Did he indicate how many hostages?
He tried to help the best he could, heartbeat slowly beginning to calm as he felt like he was at least contributing. They had just started going over what he was to do and say when the time came, but his phone rang again and every person involved tensed, breath held.
Keep it together. You can do this. You have to… for Mitch.
_______________________
He’d almost been able to distract himself, to slip into a daydream, but then he was yanked to his feet by his hair, feet scrambling for purchase.
He followed the man, bent awkwardly as the man tugged him along as if his hair were a leash.
There were tears on his cheeks by the time he was tossed unceremoniously into a chair, sitting awkwardly due to his bound hands. He didn’t recognize the room, but that was the least of his problems. The large man from before strolled up to him, phone already in his hand.
“Well, well. It’s my new friend, Michelle.”
He lowered his eyes again, keeping his head down. Appearing weak was better than being dead.
“What, no hugs?” He laughed an ugly laugh and the others laughed with him like sheep. He kneeled in front of him, looking up into Mitch’s eyes with a mocking smile. “What do you say we give your boyfriend a call, eh?”
This was the worst part. The rough handling, the pulling of his hair, it wasn’t pleasant, the fear was horrible, the anticipation... crippling, but knowing he was using him against his best friend tore his heart to pieces.
He felt that icy chill run through him once more as he heard it start to ring.
“Mitch?”
“It’s nice to hear your voice again. Did you miss me?”
He hated these stupid games the bastard was playing. He was getting way too much pleasure out of mentally torturing them.
There was hesitation on Scott’s end. “Is he ok?”
“Say hello.”
“I'm ok, Scott. I promise.” He didn't realize the sound of Scott's voice had brought out his tears again and he sniffled midway through.
“I’m so sorry, Mitch.”
“Not that I’m not enjoying this little heart to heart, but I have a few things I need you to take care of. I assume your cop friends are listening in, hello by the way. Hope you have a pencil handy because there are a few things I’m going to need starting with a plane and a pilot.”
A woman’s voice came through the phone. “We want to help you, but we’re going to need some time. We have to talk with the commanding officer to see what we can-”
The man’s eyes went dark, narrowing as he interrupted the woman. “-You’re not Scott. I told you, we only talk to him. Put him back on.”
“I’m here. I’m still here.”
“I’m disappointed, Scott. I thought you could follow instructions.”
“I can! I’m trying! I didn’t-”
“Excuses, excuses.” He stood, backing away slowly as he motioned to the other two armed men. The boy immediately knew he was in a lot of trouble and closed his eyes, bracing himself.
“I’m sorry! I won’t let them do it again! Please just tell me what you want!! ”
“There isn’t TIME for your pitiful apologies. Besides, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”
___
He could hear it, the grunts, Mitch’s tiny cries as he was beaten.
“STOP! PLEASE LEAVE HIM ALONE!!!!!! I’m trying to help you!”
“THEN GET ME WHAT I WANT!”
“They said… they said they need time!”
It was suddenly quiet again. He wanted to run inside and pull Mitch into his arms and comfort him, protect him.
“I’m short on time, Scott. So for every 10 minutes I have to wait… “
“no… no…”
The sudden cry of pain echoed through the truck, loud and anguished, unmistakably Mitch.
“NO! STOPPP!!!!!! LET HIM GO! MITCH!”
The woman was trying to coach him, to get him to talk, telling him what to say and what to ask, but all he could hear was that horrible sound ringing in his ears even when it stopped.
“Better get moving. We'll be in touch.”
The call ended.
He let his head fall into his hands. He wasn’t cut out for this. One of the FBI agents put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to pull it together, to go over what to do when he called back, but he shrugged them off. He couldn’t stand the touch. They’d cost Mitch, gotten him hurt and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
His eyes burned from his tears, his head ached, but his heart was destroyed. He’d never forget those sounds, those cries.
He needed air.
He stepped out into the bright sunlight, trying to pull himself together once again, but ended up on his knees instead.