Aftermath (17 page)

Chris, who had killed himself not long ago, had been the oldest at forty-four, still younger than the kidnapper.

"Where did you all grow up?" Chase asked, and so they continued trying to piece everything together. One had grown up in New York, most were from Bakersfield, a couple were from LA, and one guy was from Portland.

No connections there, unless it fit with the kidnapper's family and friends.

"Our fucking jobs," Cam blurted out with a frown. "Yeah, think about it." He snapped his fingers. "What kinds of jobs do we all hold?"

But before anyone could ponder further, the madman was back in the basement.

"Attention, little minions!" he shouted. "It seems we've got a problem on our hands, and like a good boss, I'm here so we can fix it."

Austin and Cam exchanged a wary look as they leaned forward on their cots and rested their elbows on their knees, listening intently.

"Who has college experience?" the madman asked impatiently.

There was a brief silence before one spoke up. "Why the fuck should we answer, you twisted—"

Mr. Whoever-the-hell cut the man off. "I shoot! How about that, you brainless lowlife?"

Another silence ensued, this one tense.

Then the men began to answer—one by one, hesitantly. Most of them had gone off to college at some point. A few to two-year programs at community colleges to get associate's degrees, another few held bachelor's degrees; when Cam quietly announced he had a bachelor's, too, Austin curiously asked in what.

He was more than a little surprised when he heard Cam's answer.

"Theology," he mumbled, appearing slightly embarrassed. Just a second later, he squared his shoulders, as if getting ready to defend himself.

But Austin wasn’t about to go on the offensive. He was just surprised and intrigued. Besides, the madman was waiting for his response, so he sighed and said, "Did my undergrad at USC Marshall, then got my MBA at Duke." Back in his day, it wasn’t named Marshall School of Business, but it was what people knew it as today. Which made him feel a little old.

The last one to answer was Tim. "I have one year left to get my master's in engineering."

That made the madman explode for some reason. "But you're a fucking mailman!" he roared. "You're wearing your uniform!"

Austin eyed Cam's work clothes and couldn’t help but wonder if they were all wearing some kind of uniform. But then he remembered two of the guys didn’t have jobs, so there couldn’t be a connection there, either.

What the hell was the crazy guy's obsession with work and education, though?

"It's to pay for school, idiot," Tim grunted. "I decided to change careers when I already had a family. I needed a fuckin' income. Christ."

Outside the cells, the men could hear the sounds of furious pacing, some kicking around, and a few fists being slammed into walls.

Cam was rigid.

Austin was exhausted. They were being toyed with, and there was only so much he could take before he broke. Or gave up. It had been months with no glimpse of freedom in sight.

"Looks like I have to rework a few things," their captor said flatly. "It will take too long to replace all of you, but…" It appeared he was talking to himself, and Austin didn’t know what to make of his words. "Sam and Frank are done, that much is clear." He spoke of Austin's and Tim's characters, which terrified both men, not to mention Cam, judging by the look on his face. "Then…bachelor's degrees…fairly good, but most have failed later. Still…educated…" He let out a growl. "I'll have to start over. This cannot be half-assed."

Before he stormed off, he announced, "Thank you for your cooperation, but this is the end. I have one meeting left—with Sam and Frank—and then it's time to terminate the project." He paused. "By project, I mean you. All of you." Lastly, there was a smile in his voice. "How do you feel about fire?"

*

Austin shot up from the bed and gasped for air while tears streamed down his face.

He was sure he could smell the gasoline.

Cam was almost home, having walked Bourbon and picked up two burritos, when he saw a man about to ring the doorbell. Because Austin was asleep inside, Cam sped up.

"Can I help you?" he asked irritably.

He vaguely recognized the man as a neighbor from farther down the street. He was around Cam's age, maybe a few years younger, not very tall, slim, his dark hair a lot shorter on the sides than at the top of his head, plenty of ink and piercings, and looked like a mix between a skateboarder and a punk rocker.

"Sorry," the guy said, sticking his hands down into the pockets of his baggy chinos. "I didn’t mean to disturb you. I tried to call you earlier."

Cam raised a brow. Maybe this had been the anonymous caller, and it made sense. His home phone number was unfortunately listed, but his cell phone number wasn’t. Though, if this dude had been calling, he could've gotten the number from the contact sheet that everyone on the block had.

"I live down the street," he went on uncomfortably. "I'm trying to get in touch with Chase Gallardo—"

"Not interested," Cam snapped abruptly. Fucking hell, when were people gonna let this go? Idiots were still trying to contact all the surviving men for interviews, and they despised the attention. These were regular men who just wanted to get on with their lives.

Cam couldn’t say he was close to the other guys, Chase included, but he did see them once every other week for their group session with Gale.

"Please wait," the guy practically begged. "I need to talk to him—to apologize."

That made Cam turn his head. With one hand on the door handle, he stared at the younger guy, who appeared to be fighting tears. He hid behind a stony mask of anger, but Cam saw guilt and desperation there, too.

"I was contacted by the police a few weeks ago," the guy explained, stumbling over his words. "Several people in my family were. But it wasn’t until yesterday that a few details about the investigation were made public." Cam had shut out everything about the case, 'cause he saw no reason to follow the damn investigation. It wasn’t like there'd be a trial or anything. Now they were just trying to piece things together, and regardless of how plausible each theory was, they'd never get solid proof. "I found out who Chase Gallardo was supposed to be when you were kidnapped—" he released a shaky breath "—by my half-brother."

Cam clenched his jaw, willing himself to calm down. It was probably the fury in his eyes that made the other guy take a step back. "Who are you, exactly?" he asked in an eerily calm voice.

"My name is Remy." He said it as if it was a crime to carry that name. "Remy Stahl."

Cam nodded jerkily. Chase had been given the name Remy in that basement. It was Psycho's little brother. "Half-brother?"

"Yes." The guy, Remy, tugged at the piercing in his lip, and now he kept his eyes downcast. "My—our…father had an affair with-with my mom." Perhaps that could explain the age gap, 'cause Remy couldn’t be much older than thirty, and Psycho had to have been in his late forties or fifties; plus, he had an older brother, to boot. "Look, I didn’t come here to start trouble or anything. I barely have any contact with my family, but I wanna apologize to Chase…" He trailed off, still looking guilty.

Cam guessed it was survivor's guilt of whatever-the-fuck he could call it.

"I don’t have his number," Cam said. "Don’t know where he lives, either. But…" He hesitated for a beat. "I'm gonna see him next week." They had a group session on Tuesday. He could mention this to Chase then.

Remy nodded and let out a breath. "I'll understand if he doesn’t wanna see me. Is it all right if I drop off a letter for him?"

Cam didn’t really see the harm in that. "I guess."

*

Bourbon was quick to run into the kitchen to drink, and Cam went for the fridge to get some drinks, too. They'd only been out for a couple hours, but because Cam hadn't really eaten—he didn’t count the scrambled eggs that tasted like shit—he was fucking starving now.

After leaving Austin's burrito in the kitchen, he took his own and a soda and headed for the patio. But when he reached the living room, he stopped short at the sight of the empty bed. Again, he'd only been gone a couple hours, which meant Austin hadn't slept long. At all.

"Austin?" he called out. He didn’t get a response, but when he walked down the hall toward the bathroom, he heard the shower running. "You okay in there?"

"Yeah."
Austin's voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of water.
"I'll be out soon."

Cam frowned, then told himself he was worrying for nothing, and went outside.

While he sat at the table, shielded by the umbrella, he ate in silence and mulled over the weird meeting with Remy Stahl. He didn’t really know what to make of it, though, so he just shook it off. Maybe if he'd been closer to Chase, he'd have an opinion. All Cam really knew about Chase was that he was a thirty-six-year-old bartender; he was quiet and reserved.

"Shit." Cam rubbed at his chest, having eaten too fast. Again. More Pepto were definitely coming his way.

Pulling his T-shirt over his head, he dropped it in the chair next to him, then fished out his smokes. Around that time, Austin joined him, too, only wearing a towel around his hips. Cam told him there was food for him in the kitchen, so Austin disappeared for a minute, only to return with his burrito.

"Thank you," Austin said quietly, kissing the top of Cam's head. Then he sat down on the other side of table, and Cam saw that his eyes were bloodshot behind his glasses. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

Cam pursed his lips and shook his head minutely. "Couldn’t sleep?"

It was Austin's turn to shake his head. "Nightmares." He unwrapped his burrito and seemed to be struggling to keep his breathing even.

"You can talk to me about it," Cam offered carefully.

"The last night," Austin whispered, looking down at his food. "I can't shake the smell of gasoline."

Cam swallowed hard and turned his gaze to the covered pool.

In many ways, the last night in captivity was the absolute worst.

*

Cam had pictured his final meal to be a bit more extravagant than the usual chicken soup, stale bread, and lukewarm milk. Not that it really mattered. He had no appetite what-so-fucking-ever.

The newly-added smell in the basement didn’t help. A while ago, Psycho had poured gasoline on the floor. It was slowly seeping inside the cells, and the fumes were making everyone dizzy and nauseous.

"You should eat," Austin mumbled automatically.

Cam shook his head, seated on his cot, and stared down into his bowl. After yesterday's announcement from the goddamn psycho, the only thing he could stomach was water.

"Cam…"

"He's gonna set this fucking place on fire," Cam whispered, not lifting his eyes to face his friend. "We're gonna burn alive."

So far, Psycho had followed through on every goddamn promise. He wasn’t afraid to use his gun, and he seemed to get his rocks off in torturing others. There was no reason to believe this was just a scare tactic. If anything, the heavy odor of the gasoline only proved he was planning to set it all on fire.

"I don’t want to think about that." Austin's voice was thick. "Besides—" he tried and failed to brighten his tone "—first, I have a meeting to look forward to."

Cam set down the bowl of soup. There was no fucking way he'd eat it. He felt sick to his stomach, and his body ached after these months of captivity and torture. "Do you think he'll take you and Tim at once? He only mentioned one 'meeting.' 'Cause if it is the both of you…" He was grasping at straws, but what else was he gonna do? "Maybe you can take him."

Austin's mouth twisted into a small grimace. "Didn’t work when
we
tried, Cam." He sighed. "I'm not going to give up an opportunity if it presents itself, but I'm not counting on it. He's been too meticulous. He drugged us to get us here, cuffed us to slow us down…he gives out food with only enough nutrition to keep us alive, and he has that gun, which he's used more than once." His eyes met Cam's as they both looked up. "I honestly don’t know how much physical strength I have left. I'm constantly tired, and…" He trailed off and averted his eyes. "I don’t know. I don’t think there's any hope left."

Cam forced a smile. "I'm not sure how to deal with this." As had been stated countless times before, he loathed showing weakness. But Austin had proved to be someone Cam didn’t have to hide for. Austin hadn't treated him any differently just because he knew of Cam's disorders. At least not much. Maybe he'd been a bit more patient and attentive, but he didn’t treat Cam like something fragile, and he still didn’t take his bullshit.

"I only have one suggestion." Austin put his food aside. Then he stood up and motioned for Cam to stand, too. They closed the distance between them and Austin moved his cuffed hands over Cam's head, then cupped his neck and rested their foreheads together. "I think it's time for empty promises."

Cam let out a soft breath and nodded in return, reveling in the sense of comfort all while his heart ached at the obvious surrender. Was this it? Had they come so far past believing in rescue that they had to lie to one another in order to cope and keep breathing?

"We'll m-make it out alive," he rasped. "You'll see your wife and daughter again, and I'll be under the hood of some vintage car." He smiled sadly, not really meaning for Austin to see, and tilted his head. "It'll be okay." His nose and lips brushed against the inside of Austin's forearm.

The tension crackled, both men desperate for any kind of closeness. The moment left them confused, but neither moved away for a long while.