Chapter Text
Hey youngblood. Doesn't it feel like our time is running out?
"Saturday, where these open doors are open ended. Saturday! Saturday!"
The fans screamed. The stage went dark. Nothing like a crowd favorite to end the show. The lights came back on but only for a moment, as the boys waved and thanked the audience.
"You guys rock!" Patrick shouted into the mic before the lights were off again.
The four of them, through the din of the applauding audience, quickly navigated their way off stage, around countless loose wires and sound equipment, through the dark; Pete first, followed by Patrick, then Andy, with Joe right behind him. Backstage was almost blindingly bright in contrast to the pitch black stage. The four of them squinted and blinked in the sudden light. As they headed towards the dressing room, they were met with choruses of ‘good show!’s and ‘great tour’s and ‘congrats guys! It's over!’s from the crew guys. It was the last show of their tour. They'd been on the road for two months and were finally going to be able to get some time to themselves. Three of them took it all in stride and smiled and chatted with the crew, returning congratulations and all that, but Patrick seemed oddly distracted. He didn't say anything or acknowledge anyone until they got to their dressing room. He was sitting in his chair staring vacantly into a mirror when Pete called him out on it.
"Dude, are you okay?" He asked, leaning his bass again the wall.
"What?"
"You're being super quiet." Joe told him, flicking his long curly hair out of his eyes.
"Oh." Patrick looked at them through the mirror. He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, i have. Sorry. I'm just...thinking."
"Yeah, well, you've been ‘just...thinking’ for the entire show." Pete told him. "You've been off. Is everything alright?"
"What are you thinking about?" Andy asked.
Patrick bit his lip before turning his chair to face them. He adjusted his fedora to fix how it had slipped during the show and grabbed his glasses off of the desk. There was a nervous excitement gleaming in his eyes.
"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you guys, but i think i'm just going to show you."
"What?"
"Before we go back to the bus. Just follow me."
"Patrick, what are you-" Pete started to ask, but Patrick was already out of his chair and opening the door.
"Fans are waiting outside." He reminded them. "Great job everyone! That's a wrap!" He shouted smiling as the door fell closed behind him.
The three boys looked at each other, concerned. But one by one they followed Patrick out to the screaming fans standing en masse outside the arena. They spent a long time out there that night, signing things, talking to fans. Patrick was acting like himself again, chatting smiling, taking pictures. Hopefully that was all over, just a one time thing.
They reached the end of the crowd. A chauffeur was waiting for them in a long black car. They all climbed in.
"Could we go to the place we discussed, please?" Patrick asked their driver. He nodded, revved the engine and pulled away from the arena.
"So...where are we going?" Joe prodded, not expecting him to answer.
Surprisingly, he did. "There's an empty warehouse up the road a ways." He told them.
"Oh of course." Joe nodded. "And why are we going to an empty warehouse?"
This time, Patrick didn't answer. He took a deep breath and let it out shakily as he turned to look out the heavily tinted window. Joe turned to Andy who shrugged, and Pete who's eyebrows were furrowed with concern. The night was dark. The lights from the city dotted the horizon. The sky was clear, even through the windows you could see stars.
They reached their destination within minutes. It was a tall empty-looking building with a dim yellow light on the second floor. It seemed on the verge of collapse. The night air was cool as the boys got out of the car and stared at the building in apprehension.
"We'll only be a moment. Thanks for getting us here." Patrick told the driver. He looked up towards the second floor. "C'mon," he exhaled. He walked ahead of the others and they followed close behind. He was holding a strange silver metal briefcase with a 4-digit lock none of the others had seen before.
"What is that?" Andy whispered.
"Prob'ly what he's gonna show us." Joe answered, raising an eyebrow.
They walked into the building and up the stairs without saying a word. There was paint peeling off the walls. Chunks of ceiling were missing. A few of the steps had caved it or were crumbling. It was littered with cobwebs. This place had clearly not been used in a very long time. No one really knew how to react. This was not a situation like any of them had been in before. Patrick just didn't...act like this.
They reached the second floor, through the brightly lit hall and into a dark room off the side. The only light source was the yellow light from just outside. In the room, there was a small table were Patrick set down the briefcase. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and set them next to it. Lights flickered on.
"Sorry about all this." He apologized. "I didn't want to open this somewhere where people could get hurt."
"Get hurt?" Pete repeated. "Patrick what is in that thing?"
He grinned suddenly. "You guys are gonna like this."
He entered the code on the side and the briefcase opened.
"Oh my god." Pete put his hands behind his head. As they fell, he glanced at Patrick, grinning. Patrick looked at him, smiling. Andy shook his head and grinned, rubbing his hands together. Joe nodded, smiling, mouth hanging slightly open.
"You found it."
They stared at the contents for another moment before glancing back at each other.
"What do we do now?" Joe asked.
Patrick held up the handcuffs and glanced at his wrist. "We can't lose it."
"Woah, dude doesn't that seem a bit extreme?" Pete warned.
"We can't leave it alone." Patrick insisted. "We don't want anyone to get to this. Joe, help me out please."
Joe hesitated, but locked one cuff around the handle of the briefcase and the other around Patrick's wrist. The cuff was mostly covered by his jacket sleeve. Besides the link now connecting him to the briefcase, only a bit of metal was visible, peeking out beneath his small tattoo. It was a trapezoid with a crown on top and three dots. They looked at each other grimly before nodding and returning to the faithfully waiting chauffeur.
The bus made it back to Chicago by midnight. Patrick went straight home. Joe, Pete and Andy stayed out with the crew for a while before calling it a night. They tried to act normal but it was hard. Once they got over the initial excitement of finding it, they were uneasy. Something foul hung in the air. Something was coming.
-
Patrick woke up early. He had not been able to sleep. It probably had something to do with the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. He wouldn't take it off. He hadn't even been able to get undressed; he was still wearing what he had been during the show, straight down to the leather jacket. He sat up and stared at the case. It hadn't been easy to get. There were some people who would do anything for it. After a moment he put his glasses and fedora and walked outside. He was starving, and there was not much food in his house; he'd been gone for two months. There was a pancake house just up the road. It wasn't a long walk. His neighborhood was pretty average looking. Most of the houses were pretty simple. The lawns were green and well manicured. The occasional car drove by. Patrick was walking fast. His mind was elsewhere. His feet carried him subconsciously in a sort of zigzagging pattern along the sidewalk. He was constantly looking around left and right, checking over his shoulder. As he reached the end of the block, a young boy on a bicycle turned the corner in front of him. They stopped and looked at each other. The boy had a white tank top on with a black beanie over his curly brown hair. Patrick started to smile at him and the boy smiled back. Suddenly, he felt a jolt on his neck, like an arc of lightning. He fell to the ground, passed out cold. A brunette in a balaclava and black heels slipped the tazer-like device back in her pocket and dragged him away.
He came back to his senses as a dirty sack was being ripped off his head. The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was a suffocating musty smell, like this room hadn't been used in a while. He choked on his breath. The air was damp and sticky. His hat and glasses had disappeared, but even that wasn't helping. He hadn't moved and there was sweat dripping own his forehead. His hair dangled loosely over his eyes. What even was this room? He opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by a bright light shining in them from a tall lamp. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds while they adjusted. He realized quickly that this light would be no help for seeing the room. He looked around, but everything out of the circle of light from the lamp was dark. It was hard to make out specific shapes. Probably a cellar of some kind. It was really cluttered, all the tables and shelves were covered in things. In the middle of the room there was a long wooden table, just as cluttered as the rest of the room, but with a light shining on it, similar to the intense one he was under. The only other light source was a tall window covered loosely by a ripped tarp that cast the room in a dim, eerie light and extended shadows in unnatural ways. Next to him was a small wooden table, an end table, that was clear except for a small silver tray with somethings on it. The fact that the table was empty in a room like this was enough to peak his interest, but at the angle he was at, and in the dim light, he couldn't see what was on the tray. Something was blocking his view. He started to move towards it and that's when he realized: that something was his hand. He was tied to a chair. His waist was roped to the back, his feet to the legs, one of his hands to the arm, the other attached to the table by a thick leather strap. His eyes immediately searched for the briefcase. It was still hanging from his wrist, the one on the table, dangling over the side of it. This made him nervous. He was able to quickly deduce what was happening. People wanted what was in this briefcase, and badly. It was only a matter of time before on of them got to him. Patrick strained against the ropes, trying to loosen them, to get out, and someone laughed. He stopped. His eyes slowly had adjusted to the light glaring onto his face, and he was able to make out the shapes of two women leaning against the wall, staring at him with raised eyebrows. They were both scantily clad in black leather with high ponytails and sharp, tall stilettos. One had black hair, one had brown. He stared back at them and his breathing shallowed. There was something terrifyingly intimidating about them. He gulped.
"Doesn't seem like much, does he?" One girl quipped to the other. Her voice was low and melodious. The two of them stood up straight and slowly began walking towards him.
"We'll see how he holds up." The brunette responded quietly. Their faces were sharp and angular with heavy, dark makeup.
He squirmed as they reached his little circle of light. One of them walked around behind him, but the brunette sat on his lap with her legs on either side of his. Sweat beaded on his forehead causing his hair to lie flat, sticking to it.
"Patrick." She whispered into his ear, pushing his hair back. Her voice was huskier than her friend's. She was leaning uncomfortably close to him, her body pressing against him as she put her face close to his, with her hands holding tightly to the back of his head and neck. She flicked her tongue between her teeth, before dragging it slowly over the edge of his ear.
Patrick flinched away, causing the girl's nails to dig a bit into his neck. Brushing her hair back, she looked at him, smirking at the mixture of fear and disgust on his face.
"You know you liked it." She said before forcing his mouth onto hers. Her lips were soft and wet and they were all over his. He tried to get away, but her hands were firmly holding him still. The ferocity with which she kissed him both frightened and aroused him.
She was a good kisser. Patrick wanted to hit himself as soon as he thought it, but it was too late. The thought had taken seed in his mind and it was all he could think about. His mind was fogging over, sluggish. ‘I mean, why not?’ His mind asked him. ‘She started it.’ Slowly, he felt himself leaning forward onto her. He didn't know how it happened, but he was suddenly rivaling her ferocity, his face pressed against hers, their lips locked tightly together.
She hadn't stopped, but he felt one hand leave the back of his head and reach over his arm, into the silver tray. Suddenly he remembered what was happening, were he was. He stopped immediately and tried to turned his face away from her. He had no idea what had come over him, but he was mortified. Now he had a sinking suspicion about what was on that tray. The other girl was laughing behind them. The brunette was smiling cruelly, her forehead resting on his, breathing hard.
"There are two ways we can do this." She hissed at him. "You see, you have something we want. Badly." She held up a sharp blade next to his face. The reflection of it glinted in his eyes. He should have known. "Now i am going to use this. The question is, do i start before or after you give it to us?"
He gulped. "Preferably not at all?" He managed.
"Sorry, sweetheart, but that's not an option." She kissed his cheek.
"Then after." He said, trying to lean away from her as she moved down to his neck.
"Where is the key to those handcuffs?" She mumbled through kisses.
He hesitated. "I can't tell you that."
She sighed and stopped, slowly getting to her feet. "Fine. Before it is."
Before he had time to react, the girl behind him shoved a gag into his mouth and the brunette raised her knife.
-
Pete woke late. The sun had already risen. Soft shadows danced around his room. It was quiet, except for his breathing. There was a blonde girl lying across from him. She had a round face and soft lips. She was beautiful. He felt bad that he could not remember her name at all. With a soft exhale, her long eyelashes parted and she opened her deep eyes. She smiled at him.
"Morning." Her voice was soft and melodious. He smiled back at her.
"Morning." He leaned over and gave her a light kiss. He realized that while he had a muscle shirt on, she had never bothered to put on a shirt after last night. She had the sheets scrunched up against her chest. He smiled again. He wasn't really sure what to say. "Do you want something to eat?" Pete asked politely, starting to get up. "I'm not sure what i have, but i you want something i can-"
"No," she laid her hand on his arm to stop him. "Why don't you stay with me a little longer."
He tried hard not to grin. "Okay." He lay back down, half under the sheet and staring into her deep eyes.
"You know, you were really drunk last night." She told him, smiling slightly.
"Yeah, i'm staring to feel it." He laughed. But it was true. His head hurt like a bitch.
"Was all last night just a side effect of that?" She asked, smirking.
"Hey now, i may not remember all of it, but it was definitely not all because of the alcohol." He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "You're beautiful, you know that?"
She swatted his hand away, laughing. "You're still drunk, aren't you."
"Unfortunately not."
She laughed. "You're in a band right?" She asked after a moment.
"Yeah."
"Singer?"
"Bass guitar."
"Ooh. Sexy."
"Yeah, well, i try." He winked. She giggled.
"What about you?"
"I work up at an office downtown." She shrugged. "Just filing mostly."
"You're kidding." Pete marveled. "Filing?"
"What? Didn't think i would get that high up in the world?" She grinned.
"You just don't strike me as-"
The doorbell rang, interrupting them. It echoed through his mostly empty house like a scream in a canyon. Pete peered over his shoulder down the hallway. He shivered and swallowed deeply.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah." He nodded, distracted. "I'll go see who it is. Be right back."
He got up and started down the hall. A sense of dread was settling over him and he didn't know why. He reached the stairs. He thought about the briefcase. He tried not to. It was the first he had thought about it since he had met that girl. What if someone were to come looking for it? What would happen to them? There were probably all sorts of folks looking to get their hands on this thing. He remembered why he drank so much last night.
Pete got to the bottom of the stairs and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Over reacting. He was over reacting. Just nerves. It was probably just a sales guy or something. He was psyching himself out. He looked out the window. A kid on a bike with curly hair peeking out from under a beanie was riding fast down the street. He didn't see anyone else. He reached his front door. After taking a slow, deep breath, he opened it.
No one was there. He looked up and down the street. No one. Not even that kid was visible anymore. The air was still and silent. He could hear his shaky breath just barely over the sound of his heavily beating heart. He looked down. Hanging on the doorknob was a white plastic bag. He grabbed it and opened it cautiously. Probably just a newspaper, right? Nothing to psych himself out about. He took a shaky breath. Inside was
A bloody hand.
And not only that. A bloody hand with Patrick's tattoo on it.
Pete closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Dammit." He muttered, through a strained voice before stepping back inside and slamming the door behind him. "Dammit." He said again, much louder. He kicked the wall.
This was bad. Really bad. Just really fucking bad. He caught his reflection in the mirror hanging from his wall. His face was gaunt and pale. His eyes looked sunken in, his face stuck in an expression of horror. He ran into the bathroom and ran cold water through his fingers and wiped his hands on his face.
"Dammit," he repeated again, staring into the mirror. "I told him." He promised his reflection. "I fucking told him. I swear i-"
He stopped. He should have known this would happen. Why did he let Patrick go off on his own? Why the hell didn't he check on him? He should have stuck with him. What had he been thinking? Who knew if he was even alive? No. No. He was alive. They'd be able to get him back. They had to. Patrick couldn't be-... No. He pushed the thought out of his mind.
He still had the bag in his hand. He couldn't bring himself to look at it. Shaking, he shoved it in the shelf under the sink. Later. He wasn't sure what he would do with it, but his breath was already steadying now that he couldn't see it. Pete began pacing frantically back and forth across the small room. He had no idea what to do. His best friend's hand was just cut off. His best friend...Dammit. And that meant who ever had him had the briefcase. They had the briefcase! It was his fault he should have... He was powerless in this and they, who ever they were, knew it.
He needed to call Joe and Andy. Most likely, they would have no idea what was happening. He ran to the phone hanging on the wall in the hallway and dialed Joe's number. A dead tone. The line had been cut. "Shit." He slammed it back on the wall. He reached in his pocket for his phone. It was not there. Maybe he left it in the bedroom. Rushing up the stairs, his heart racing, Pete tried to think of where he could have left it. His nightstand? His jacket? His other pants? Maybe that girl had seen it.
Oh shit. The girl. The girl! He'd just left her. He sped up. But when he got to the room though, she was gone. The room was empty. A soft breeze blew through the previously unopened window. He shivered and walked across the room to close it. As his perspective changed, he noticed something black lying on his bed. Small black pieces of... His heart sank. His phone was smashed to bits, as if someone had taken a hammer to it, though how he didn't hear that was beyond him. He scooped the pieces into his hand and stared at them for a moment.
"Dammit." He muttered aloud for the fourth time, before throwing the pieces onto the floor. The little black pieces hit the ground and scattered, mirroring the girl's black leather clothing that had been strewn across his floor the night before.
-
Andy couldn't find his car. It wasn't that he'd lost it, or misplaced it, exactly, but he couldn't find it. Before the tour, he'd left it in a parking lot. But that had been months ago and now there were a bunch of new cars. He paced, irritated, up and down the rows. Every car looked the same. He'd been doing it for what seemed like hours, but had probably been only about ten minutes. He'd come to the lot immediately after the breakfast he'd eaten just a bit earlier that morning. He'd slept in later than usual. It had been a long night out on the town, so to speak.
The cry of a bird pierced the air. Andy looked up. Was that... It looked like Pete's falcon. But that couldn't be right. Pete didn't just have his falcon fly around the city. He honestly wasn't sure why Pete had gotten a falcon in the first place. It wasn't really practical in a big city and when they were on tour. Nevertheless, Pete had bought a falcon. Maybe he knew he'd see it and wanted him to go talk to him. Why would he want to though? And why send that bird? They had just seen each other last night. He thought of the briefcase. What if something had happened to Patrick? But then again, why wouldn't Pete just call him?
He squinted his eyes behind his shades. The bird was haloed by sunlight. Was it even really Pete's?
A big black van pulled up in front of him. The side door was sliding open. By the time his stopped looking at the bird to react, someone was pushing him into the van. He felt her nails dig into his back as he was shoved roughly forward. He toppled over into the back of the car, the girl on top of him. He caught a glimpse of her blond hair before the door slammed shut and they were encased in total darkness. He gasped for breath. Around him, he could hear the breathing of at least two girls. He started to scream for help, but something heavy hit him on the back of his head and he passed out cold.
-
Joe's car was out of gas. Like, it was completely running on empty. He had been driven home late last night and had immediately just crashed. When he had woken up in the morning his car had 15 miles left. He could have sworn he had filled it up before the tour, but he must have left it running, or something. He had just enough gas to get him to the gas station. Upon getting out of his car, he snatched up a cigarette. It was hard to smoke as a performer, but he was managing. After all, he wasn't Patrick. He didn't have to have the voice of an angel. He lit the cigarette.
‘Why are gas prices so high?’ he wondered to himself and he grabbed the nozzle. He was the only person at the station. Even the little store looked empty. He shivered and exhaled a puff of smoke. The more he thought about it, the more sure he was his tank had been full when he had left. Why was empty now? If the car had been running for two months, the battery would be dead, but that was working fine. Someone must have done something, tampered with his car somehow. Joe started to fill the valve. Maybe he was over reacting. He'd probably just left the compartment open, or some stupid shit like that.
Though, it did seem strange that he had had just barely enough to get to the closest gas station.
Something moved out of the corner of his eye. Taking the nozzle with him, he turned and looked up at the sky. His cigarette fell out of his loose lips. What the hell? Was that Pete's falcon? It certainly looked like it. He thought of the briefcase and started to back up. Pete wouldn't send the bird out if it weren't-
A hand reached from behind him and shoved a cloth in front of his face. She tackled him to the ground. He tried to cry out but the girl's hand and the cloth covered his mouth. He started to struggle, but he was already beginning to feel drowsy. The cloth must have been laced with something. He tried to keep his eyes open, but he just couldn't. The nozzle fell limply from his fingers. It hit the asphalt as the girl dragged him away towards a black van.
-
The city was beautiful. There was no denying it. The way the building stretched towards the sky. It cut such a striking image. And the weather was perfect. There were hardly any clouds in the sky and the air was crisp and clean.
Pete was able to take all of this in. He was trying to clear his head. He had time on the roof waiting for his falcon to return. Yes, okay, he had sent a falcon to find his friends, and maybe that was sort of extreme, but he was desperate. None of his phones were working and he had made a hasty decision. As he waited for the bird to return he had time to reflect on this choice. Maybe it had been a kind of stupid thing for him to do.
He saw it returning on the horizon. It's wings were spread in a majestic arch. He held out his arm, fully equipped with his falconry glove for the fowl to land on. He was confused when it didn't. He watched as the bird landed on a telephone wire. He stared at it. Why wasn't-
He heard the sharp click of heels behind him. He began to turn around when her arm wrapped around his front and plunged a syringe deep into his neck. Immediately he could feel his eyelids drooping. She lowered him to the floor. Before he passed out completely, he caught a glimpse of his attacker. She had dark eye make up and lipstick and long wavy blond hair. He thought he must have been crazy, but it looked just like the missing filing girl from that morning.