They Will Come

Virgil could never be quite sure how he managed to pull himself together enough to call the police. An ambulance came too, though it seemed to him that it was just a stupid waste. After all, what could paramedics do now? He’d tried again and again to find some faint heartbeat, but there was nothing.

It couldn’t be Alan. There was no way Alan, no matter what had been done to him, was capable of murdering anyone, let alone his brother.

It wasn’t long before sirens sounded outside and men in uniform used fancy equipment to discover what Virgil hadn’t already found. Still, though he knew it was hopeless, he prayed he was wrong. He prayed that their technology would find the heartbeat that had somehow eluded him. He prayed that Scott was still alive.

He’d seen it before, out on missions. The survivors of a disaster would cling to those who hadn’t been so lucky, refusing to leave them behind because leaving them behind would mean admitting they were gone.

Virgil stood, shaking and desperate, as trained men tried resuscitation techniques that hadn’t a chance of working. He knew that, but still he clung to that frail thread of hope. Moments dragged on and he waited because any moment now that machine would blip that they’d have a heartbeat. Any moment now.

His gaze was pulled away from Scott when a black man touched his shoulder for attention. The smart suit wasn’t what showed he was in charge here, it was his eyes. Virgil had seen that expression before. This was a man who, no matter what he saw, wouldn’t let it affect him yet. He would be strong and help others stay strong through situations that would scare the hell out of anyone else. And only when it was over, when things were secure again, would let himself feel the terror and the anger and the grief. Virgil knew what that expression was like from the other side.

That spurred him to pull himself together. He flew a Thunderbird, he shouldn’t be acting like this. They’d find Alan, they’d get home safely, and then he would break down. It’s what Scott would do. It’s what he would have to do.

“I’m Detective Ashborn,” the man said, “can I ask you what happened here?” Virgil took a deep breath, partly to calm himself and partly to give him a moment to work out what to say. Mentioning the watch and the fact they were in International Rescue probably wasn’t the best option.

“We got a phone call from Alan, from this place, but he didn’t give us a chance to talk to him.”

“What did he say?” Ashborn asked.

“’Scott, why didn’t you come for me?’” Virgil answered. The man nodded. “I came over to help Scott find Alan, then home got another call, this time from Scott’s mobile, but he didn’t say anything. There was just an open signal for us to trace.”

“You traced the phone call?” Ashborn sounded surprised, and Virgil didn’t blame him. He just hoped he wouldn’t ask why they’d have to equipment for tracing calls.

“John’s very good with computers and, as far as he’d concerned at least, tracing a mobile is quite easy. I came here and found Scott chained to the wall.”

“Whoever did this wanted him to be found?” Virgil nodded.

“How do you know this man?”

“I’m their brother. The middle brother. Scott’s,” he made himself make the correction, forcing the acknowledgement his mind was still trying to deny, “Scott was the eldest. Alan’s the baby.” This man, if he was even half decent at his job, had probably already run a check on the names Scott had given him and would already have a family background.

“How did he die?” This was addressed to the paramedics, who were already packing up their equipment. Virgil leaned back against the wall. The cold stone was real. He could feel it, rough against his back coming through the fabric of his shirt. It gave him something solid to focus on. As long as his mind was concentrating on his body, on these sensations, it wasn’t going to be thinking about the fact that the paramedics had given up. That Scott was gone.

“It looks like poison, sir.”

“Would one of these do it?” Ashborn nodded to the collection of drugs and equipment that had been raided from the hospital.

“Most drugs can kill in large enough doses.”

“If you were going to just give a fatal dose, would you be careful about measuring it out?” He was looking at the pipettes, measuring cylinders and syringes that were among the stolen gear. Virgil caught on to those doubting words like a drowning man clinging to the last piece of floating wreckage. He bent down to look at the jars and bottles abandoned in the corner of the cell.

“Sir,” a uniformed officer ran into the cell, “Sir, we’ve got him cornered.”

Virgil hurried out with Ashborn and the others. It was better than staying here. It meant he could at least be useful in getting Alan back, even if he couldn’t do a damn thing about anything else. Ashborn was trying to get details on his radio, but that bastards who built this place didn’t design it for good clear transmissions and most of what was coming through was interference. As they got clear of the structure, it became apparent that Alan was trapped in a warehouse. No one seemed to question the fact that Virgil was going with them as they raced towards the location.

The police car, siren’s blazing, tore through the streets to get there, but for Virgil it couldn’t go fast enough. Alan was at the other end and the pieces were just beginning to fit together in Virgil’s mind.

“Sir, he managed to take down one of our officers and get his gun,” the guy apparently in charge informed Ashborn. He’s been shooting at anyone who gets close but no one’s been hit yet. Good thing for us he’s a crap shot.”

“He’s an excellent shot,” Virgil said, as much to himself as to the others. The pieces of the jigsaw were starting to form a clear picture now.

“What?” Ashborn asked, and Virgil explained.

“Alan’s an excellent shot. Even out of practice, he’d be accurate enough to seriously hurt anyone he was meaning to hit.”

“You think he’s deliberately missing?” Virgil nodded. It made sense. Damn it! It made far too much sense.

“Let me go in there and talk to him,” Virgil asked. Ashborn shook his head.

“It’s too risky.”

“If you go in there, there’ll be shooting and someone will get hurt, probably killed. Let me go in and talk him out.”

“Sir,” the other police officer put in, “if we just wait and let him keep taking pot shots, he’ll be running out of ammo real soon.”

“And what if he gets lucky?”

“Let me go in. I know Alan, I know what’s going on in his head. I can talk him out and no one’ll get hurt.” Ashborn hesitated, then nodded. Virgil walked through the lines of blue uniforms, aware of the guns on all sides, aimed at the doors and windows of the building that had his little brother trapped inside.

The old warehouse was clearly deserted. Dust was thick on the ground, scuffed in a few places where Alan had crossed the floor, his tracks showing clearly. Old crates and boxes formed a makeshift shield in a shadowed corner, and a pair of desperate eyes gazed along the line of the gun towards Virgil.

“Alan, put the gun down.” Virgil said quietly. For it was Alan, there could be no doubt about that. His hair was longer, his eyes red from tears shed and hopes shattered. The hand that held the gun was steady, but Virgil knew Alan wouldn’t use it. Even so, he waited a short distance away, not wanting to frighten Alan further.

“Alan, please put the gun down. Then we can go home.” Alan just shook his head.

“I can’t go back.”

“Yes, you can, Alan.” He took a step forward, slowly.

“Don’t come any closer!”

“I know why you’re doing this, Alan, and it’s not going to work. You’re not going to make us shoot you.” He took another step.

“Don’t come any closer! I’ll shoot!”

“No you won’t. If you were going to shoot me, you would have shot those men outside. You wanted them to think you were willing to kill so that they’d come in guns blazing. You want them to think you’re a dangerous murderer because you want to die. But you’re not. If you were willing to kill, you would have killed Scott.”

“Scott’s dead!” His shout was angry and upset, shaking with tears and restrained emotion.

“No he’s not.”

***

Author's note: Confused? Good. I'll try and write the next part quickly.