Work Text:
Owen Strand couldn’t look away from the screen.
Only a few minutes prior, he’d received a link sent to his work email. The only reason he even opened it was because the subject line had TK’s full name, something that his son avoided using ever since moving to Austin. Curiosity piqued, he’d opened the email and immediately clicked the link, not even thinking of viruses or whatever could infect his computer.
Now he wished he’d waited until the rest of the team arrived for their shifts.
TK was still in his lounge clothes, wearing probably what he’d worn to bed at his and Carlos’ apartment the night before. He was tied to a plain looking wooden chair with what looked like duct tape, and what looked like cloth wrapped around his mouth, gagging him. A small trail of blood dripped down the side of his face, only centimeters from where he’d been pistol whipped only a few months prior.
Owen couldn’t make out any details of the room he was in, except that it looked large. The few sounds coming out of his speakers seemed to echo, making him think his son was in some sort of abandoned warehouse. The only light was pointed right at him, where he sat unconscious.
Not taking his eyes off the screen, Owen reached for his phone. He wasn’t the only person who would have been in that apartment.
The call rang once, twice, answer Reyes please, a third-
“Officer Reyes.”
Owen barely kept his sigh of relief from being let loose. “Carlos, it’s Owen. Something’s happened to TK.”
There was silence over the phone for a quick second, and then Carlos answered, “He hasn’t even started his shift yet. What trouble could he be in?” The almost sarcastic tone belayed the sound of worry that started to fill each word.
“I’m looking at a video of him in an empty room, duck taped to a chair.”
“... I’ll be at the 126 in five minutes.”
It only took Carlos three to arrive, meaning he was either in the area (possible) or he’d sped with his light and sirens (more probable). He ran inside ahead of Judd and Marjan, tearing straight up the stairs into Owen’s office.
“What do you know?” he said as soon as he walked in, not even taking a second to knock. He was slightly out of breath both from worry and taking the stairs two at a time, but his mind was as sharp as ever.
Owen shifted over so that Carlos could join in behind the desk. “Ten minutes ago, I received an email with TK’s full name in the subject matter. I opened it and this started playing.”
Carlos leaned a bit closer. “This isn't a video. This is a livestream.” With that declared, he was already dialing someone, not even giving them a chance to speak before ordering them to get to the 126. As soon as he hung up, he addressed Owen. “I have someone coming that might be able to trace this. There hasn’t been any movement or anything yet?”
Owen shook his head. “No, and TK hasn’t done more than breathe.”
As the words left his lips, they both heard something over the speakers. A low groan. To their immense relief, TK’s eyes flickered open. They weren’t focused (Owen immediately figured his son had another concussion, which wouldn’t be good in the long run) and were darting around, not resting on anything for more than a split second.
“Either his concussion is bad,” Carlos said, “Or he’s alone. Which is both good and bad.”
Owen agreed. “Good because no one is actively hurting or threatening him. Bad because we don’t have a clue where he’s being held, or who has him.”
They focused back on the screen, where TK seemed to be more aware of his surroundings. He was moving his face and jaw, trying to dislodge the cloth gagging him. He also kept his head on a swivel, eyes finally focused and paying attention. Both men breathed a sigh of relief. He may have been injured, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.
Just TK managed to make some headway on getting rid of the gag, he suddenly froze. Both men froze along with him. Whatever he was seeing or hearing was too far away for the camera to pick up on. But TK actually looked terrified.
“Owen, what could startle TK that badly?” Carlos asked, eyes locked onto TK’s. “I have no idea,” the captain whispered.
And then… a figure passed in front of the camera. Tall, thin, clothes almost hanging off of him. In one hand was a worn Bible. The man was muttering something, the names “Leviticus” and “Charon” sticking out just clear enough for Owen to make out.
It clicked.
Carlos saw Owen pale from the corner of his eye. “Captain Strand?”
It took a lot to startle Captain Strand, especially after surviving the nightmare that was September 11th. But seeing that man had startled him something awful.
“I don't know his name, but I know what the media dubbed him,” he muttered, hand scrambling to grab his discarded phone. He frantically was searching through his contacts for someone. “He was arrested a few years ago, after going on a murder spree in New York. But how is he here?”
He found the name he was looking for and called. A moment later, the call connected. “Detective Taylor, it’s Owen Strand. How is the Cabbie Killer out of custody and in Austin, Texas? Because he’s holding my son hostage right now.”