They Will Come

Author’s note: Um. Sorry about the delay. Some evil person decided that we have to go to lectures and practicals, despite the fact that everyone knows you only go to university to have fun. I’m feeling extremely jealous of all those people who have four hours a week. I have that many hours in practicals, not to mention tutorials and fourteen hours of lectures.

Anyway, the next chapter shouldn’t take nearly so long to get up.

***

The police detective, Ashborn, had taken the note and wanted Scott to tell him about Alan. Scott explained about the incident when they were kids, when he’d promised his baby brother he’d always come for him.

“He told me he had no memory of a time before he was held prisoner in that complex,” Ashborn told him.

“It seems he remembers enough to hate me,” Scott said. To an outward observer, he might have appeared calm. He’d stopped the tears and was able to speak without his voice shaking. Inside though, he was a mess. It took all the years of practice he’d had in order to keep himself together he answer the detective’s questions.

“How did you know that he was your brother?”

“Our home’s fairly remote, so we have a radio in case of an emergency. We picked up a signal from Seabury on exactly the same frequency that we use. There were no words, just an empty transmission. The man we heard about on the news fitted Alan’s description, so it seemed the best thing to do was check it out.”

“Your radio must be very powerful to pick up a signal over all this distance.” Ashborn sounded distinctly sceptical.

“When I say remote,” Scott said, “I mean an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. We can get pretty bad storms at times, so we need to have the power for a strong signal.” That was actually true, so Ashborn would be able to check out their address and come to the conclusion that Scott was being honest.

“How do you suppose he ended up a prisoner?” Ashborn asked.

“He went out, a couple of years ago, in one of the family planes and never came back. We managed to track down the plane. It was badly damaged, just off the coast a way north from here. It looked like one of the systems had blown. Literally. We found no sign of Alan at all.”

“Did he eject?”

“That was the conclusion we came to. We tried to find him.” His control cracked a little and he forced back a sob. “We tried so hard.” Ashborn put a hand on Scott’s shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture.

“I’ve got the force out searching the town for him now. Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.”

What Scott didn’t understand was why Alan had run. If he’d sent the signal, he must have wanted them to come. Why leave? And the note. It was obvious that Alan wanted Scott to know that he was angry, but Scott thought that perhaps he was meant to see something else in it. What was Alan trying to tell him?

Ashborn left then, and Scott sat alone in Alan’s hospital room. He heaved a deep sigh, then turned his attention to his watch. The comm. indicator had been flashing through most of Scott’s conversation, but he hadn’t dared answer. If it had been a real emergency, the red light would have flashed as well. Scott was meant to be here undercover and using an International Rescue communication device might be a bit of a giveaway.

“Scott here,” he said, finally answering the signal.

“Have you found him?” Father asked, without any preliminary greetings.

“He was here,” Scott answered, “but he left the hospital.”

“I think I know where he went. We got a phonecall a few minutes ago. Audio only, but it was Alan’s voice.”

“What did he say?”

“’Scott, why didn’t you come for me?’”

“He left a note,” Scott said, “saying exactly the same.”

“The phonecall came from somewhere a little inland from the town. I had John trace it. He was calling from the estate where the prisoners were held.”

“I’m going there.”

“I’ve sent Virgil to join you. He’s taken the Ladybird, so it’ll be a few hours before he reaches you. You might want to wait for him.”

“Whatever he’s been through, he’ll still be Alan. I’ll be alright. He wouldn’t have sent the message if he didn’t want me here.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Scott out.” He switched off the comm. and made his way out of the hospital.

The building was easy enough to find. It was surrounded by acres of its own land, which allowed it the security to run the organisation. The rich and morally deficient could come and pay to abuse youths who were held there against their will. Like Alan.

The front gates had police tape across them and a heavy padlock, but there was no sign of any officers. Scott decided that breaking the padlock would be a bit extreme, so he climbed over the gates instead. The path, walled by dense foliage, wound away towards the main building. The trees were evergreens so, even in winter, the building would be concealed from any but the closest inspection. By that time, those in the building could send out guards to prevent unwanted guests escaping with any evidence of the activities here. Scott wondered how the police even found out this was anything but the house of an eccentric billionaire, let alone get enough evidence for a search warrant.

The house, at first glance, appeared to be a normal one, at least taking into account thalthalth of the owner. The ground floor had a large dining room, lounges, kitchens and what could be mistaken for a ballroom if it weren’t for the dark stains around the centre of the floor. Someone who knew less than Scott might not notice the stains, or might suppose that they were simply made by someone spilling wine. Scott, however, had no doubt that they’d been made by blood.

He found a door, hidden in the wooden panelling of the room, which led down to lower levels that were anything but normal. Dank corridors stank of blood, semen and other filth. The only light came from dim strip lighting in the ceiling. He passed closed doors and side passages, but followed the only way that was lit. Scott felt physically sick that he’d left his brother in such an awful place. He could only imagine the conditions that Alan had been kept him, the things he’d been put through.
He came to the open door, lit by a single, dim bulb. He stepped inside, struggling not to retch at the sight of the dark stains, clearly recent, that coated the floor beneath red-stained cuffs.

A sharp pain in his arm caused him to spin round, the motion deyingying his balance and sending him to his knees, suddenly disorientated. The young man, eyes still wet from crying, looked down on Scott with anger and pain. The syringe he held in his hands was empty.

Scott looked down at the red dot on his arm. Drugs? It was only seconds before he hit the ground.