Vincent didn't sleep much that night, lacking the gift some had of pushing those worries he could do nothing about to the back of his mind. He was grateful for a couch to sleep on in a house where he wasn't the only thing breathing, and Neilson's wife and young son had been very friendly to him, but nothing could sweep him free of burdens, even for a few hours. The last conversation he'd shared with Elira kept coming back to him with all of the persistence of a boomeranging echo. He had told her with full assurance that she would be safe in the apartment, and then hadn't given her another thought for the rest of the evening. Now she was being held hostage in the Gold Saucer, and he was afraid to imagine what she and Pegatha might be facing right now. If only there was a way to get to them sooner. With a weary shudder, he stood from the couch and paced quietly around the house. No one else was up and he was glad for the solitude. He didn't want to be thinking and worrying, but if he couldn't help it he was happy enough that there was no one to witness it.
The hours passed slowly and eventually Vincent found himself sitting in front of an eastward window, watching for the sunrise. He'd been thinking of the last time he'd read to Pegatha before bed; she'd seemed so young, though it hadn't been so long ago, with the blankets pulled up to her chin and that small smile on her face. When had it changed from a smile of pure pleasure to an indulgent smile for a too-dutiful father? And when had been the last time he'd ruffled her curls without her pulling away? So many small things had changed between them. She'd trusted him once, whole-heartedly, accepted his secrets and his silences, taken his advice simply because she'd believed he knew what was best for her. Now, she was beginning to grow up and make her own decisions about things...even him. Would he stand up to her expectations if she really knew what he'd been, what he'd done?
Elira had once said that they needed to let her make her own mistakes, it was the only way she'd learn. He hoped she wasn't learning the hard way through this mistake. He hoped she'd live long enough to learn... Vincent clamped a restraint on this vein of thoughts and started pacing again.
Neilson woke before his wife and son to find Vincent walking the length of the living room. He stopped in the doorway, unnoticed for once, and watched the man. His shoulders were hunched and his face was set in a permanent grimace as he stalked the floor quietly, his mind almost visibly twirling. Neilson pursed his lips in sympathy but said nothing. Finally, he took another step into the room and Vincent glanced up at him.
"Rough night?" Neilson asked.
Vincent sighed and stopped pacing, moving to sit on the couch. "It's difficult to stop thinking."
Neilson nodded. "I can understand. But we're going to get them back. The organization wouldn't risk hurting the hostages when you're their real target." He idly tightened the sash of his robe and belatedly ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe North Corel hasn't seen anything like this organization before, but we've had hostage situations. One or two bank robberies gone wrong. They only ever start hurting people if they don't get their way. They want to keep them worth bargaining for." Vincent didn't reply and Neilson shrugged. "Well, anyway. Do you want some coffee?"
"How much coffee do you drink in a day, Inspector?"
"Oh, four or five cups when I'm not at work. Ten or twelve when I am." He grinned. "I know it's not good for me, but in the morning my health isn't the first thing on my mind. Come on and have some. It'll perk you up after a sleepless night."
After coffee, Neilson went to change into his uniform. He and Vincent were just about to walk out the door when Neilson's young son, Aven, bounded down the stairs and into his father's arms. "Daddy, do you hafta work today?"
Neilson smiled indulgently. "Yes, I'm going to help Mr. Valentine, remember?"
Aven popped a thumb into his mouth and looked their dark guest over, much as he had done the evening before. He had bright, intelligent eyes without fear or judgement in them, only an eager curiousity with which he probably viewed everything. Vincent couldn't help but remember Pegatha at that age and something within him ached suddenly. When had been the last time he'd held her, spoken to her without feeling the arguments between them, seen her gaze at him in love and faith? It hadn't been so long ago, three months maybe, but it felt like it had been years. Day in and day out, three months of watching her retreat more and more into her room, three months of increasingly finding himself without a place in her life, three months of seeing her become more and more comfortable with Arick, that boy whom he couldn't say he liked or trusted. If only they could turn time back to when things had been simple and keep it that way.
Vincent was brought out of his thoughts as Neilson's wife, Eva, came down the stairs after her son in her own robe. She was a petite woman, maybe an inch over five feet, and about ten years younger than Neilson. The Inspector smiled at her. "Got away from you, did he?" He placed his son on the floor from where he ran into his mother's arms.
Eva laughed. "Oh, you little rascal." She glanced up. "I hope he wasn't keeping you." The night before, she had been a little apprehensive about letting Vincent sleep on the couch, but after Neilson had told her about his wife and daughter she had warmed up to him. She smiled at him now and, after a moment, touched his sleeve gently. "I hope things go well today, and you get them back safely."
Vincent nodded his gratitude for her concern. "So do I."
"We will get them back," Neilson stated firmly. "Now, we'd better get going. We've still got some work to do before we're ready." He leaned forward to kiss his wife, and then he and Vincent were out the door.
It wasn't long before the others were arriving for work, and soon Vincent and his group, with Neilson attending, were seated in a conference room at the station, discussing the plan. Gunther looked dubious when Vincent finished explaining.
"How are we going to know where you are?" he asked. "If we're milling around upstairs, how are we supposed to get to you if you're in trouble?"
"We're going to have to give you a mic, Vincent," Neilson spoke up. "We can hide it under your clothes, or even in your hair if you think they might check for you for a wire." He turned to the three others in the room. "You guys should be able to hear him even if he whispers his location."
"Okay," Darby Innis said, distractedly tossing some of her dark hair over a shoulder, "I see what we have to do, but don't you think this'll be a little risky? So many things could go wrong."
Vincent lowered his eyes to the table. "That is true. But do we have any other option?"
"Yes," Gunther replied immediately. "We could go in as a group, cover your back, make sure they don't just kill you when they see you. What makes you trust them not to do that?"
Vincent glanced up at him. "I'm not sure what their motive is, but they don't want me dead, at least not yet. If they wanted that, they could've just waited at my home to kill me."
Gunther fell silent, thinking. Perry Warner took the opportunity to speak. "So, you'll go in and confront them, find out where your family is being held, convince them you'll do a switch, and then we come in to complete the bust?"
"Basically," Neilson said.
"How are you going to know where in the Gold Saucer they're waiting for you, though?" Hessy Marks asked. "I mean, it is a pretty big place."
"I'm sure that won't be my biggest problem," Vincent told her with the ghost of a wan smile.
"Yeah, the trick'll be getting back out," Warner said. "But, once we're in there, after you give us the signal, what do you want us to do? Make arrests? How many do you think there'll be?"
"I don't know," Vincent admitted, "but I don't think there will be many waiting for me. In this kind of an organization, I doubt the head tells anyone but his most trusted associates much of his business. There might be three or four with him, at most."
"So, worst case scenario, we'll probably be fairly evenly matched," Innis commented. "They won't let you keep a weapon no doubt, but if we take them by surprise we four should be enough."
Neilson nodded. "It should work out, if everything goes well."
"Let's just hope," Marks said.
Gunther had been silent up until now, but finally he lifted his head to look at Vincent. "And what if they have your wife and daughter there with them, at gun-point? What then?"
"Then," Vincent began, "I will turn myself over to them and your job will be to make sure my wife and daughter escape safely."
"And you?" Innis asked.
"I'll do my best to follow."
There were a few moments of silence before Neilson stood up from his chair. "Okay, well, if everyone's clear we should probably get started. You four will need to dress in some civilian clothing, and, Vincent, we need to get you bugged. Early afternoon is usually the Saucer's peak time, so we'll want to move out around oh-thirteen-hundred hours. Dismissed until twelve-hundred, when we'll meet back here."
Everyone stood and filed out of the room. Neilson took Vincent back to his office and then went to fetch a wire. Half an hour later, they were testing it.
"Inspector?" Vincent said quietly, stationed in a hallway on one side of the station.
"You're coming in loud and clear," Neilson stated over the tiny crackling speaker in his ear. "Does it feel comfortable?"
Vincent resisted the urge to fidget. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but its similarity to mics he'd worn while in the Turks touched distractingly upon some old memories. "It's fine," he said to Neilson.
"Good. All right, meet back at my office so I can issue you a weapon."
The gun Neilson gave him was a standard .38 caliber with a holster he could wear around his shoulders, under his coat. He also provided him with some extra bullets, though Vincent doubted he'd have the gun long enough to use up the ones already in the chambers. But it was better to have a weapon. If he didn't, it would make him seem too sure about his position, and that could arouse some suspicion.
Vincent put his coat back on and Neilson stood back to appraise him. "Well, you look natural enough. Hopefully the organization will think so, too, and won't search you too thoroughly. Now, it's after eleven. Did you want something to eat?"
Vincent shook his head. Neilson chuckled. "Me neither, actually. I'm nervous as hell, and I'm not even going with you. Wish I hadn't quit smoking, god I need a cigarette!"
Vincent was nearly coaxed to smile with that remark, reminded of another old chain-smoker whose wife had eventually made him quit. At the last reunion, Cid had probably spent more energy in trying to bum cigarettes off of strangers than in visiting.
"Well, we might as well relax for a few minutes. Oh, a vest! I almost forgot! You're going to want one." By the time Neilson found a size that wasn't too big on Vincent's tall but lean frame, and Vincent had suited up in it, it was nearly time to meet back in the conference room. Within fifteen minutes, everyone had arrived, Gunther and the others casually out of uniform, though no doubt they were also wearing kevlar under their clothing. From here, they reviewed the plan one more time before leaving in separate vehicles for the trams that led to the Gold Saucer.
Vincent ascended first in a car crowded with people. Neilson had been right about the afternoon being a peak time. The ride seemed to take ages, but soon enough the tram was slowing to a halt at their destination. Vincent exited gratefully and, wallet in hand, purchased a ticket from the vendor at the door.
He had no real idea where to start looking, but that problem was solved when he was approached by a faintly familiar man in a suit with sunglasses perched on his nose.
"Vincent Valentine?" he asked. When Vincent inclined his head, the man broke into a grin. "I'm your welcoming committee. Please, follow me." He pulled out a silver pistol and proceeded to light a cigarette procured from behind an ear. Vincent recognized him instantly.
The man led him to a locked elevator and waited until the doors had closed on them to search Vincent for his weapon. Deftly, he pulled the gun free of the holster and swung it around a finger before tucking it into his pants. "You don't need this toy," he said. "The boss just wants to have a chat with you. Then you can be on your way."
Vincent didn't answer and even refused to meet the man's eyes. The man chuckled softly. "Don't talk much, do you?"
The small talk was meant to put him off his guard, he remembered that tactic from the Turks, and he wasn't about to fall for it. Silently he waited for the elevator to stop, and then got out a step after his guide. Together, they headed across a circular room with doors at various intervals along the walls, though his guide was interested in one door particularly. Soon they had stepped through it into a maze of hallways and empty offices. Was the organization really stationed here, in a place so cluttered and disorganized? He found it hard to believe. The Turks would never have stood for anything like it.
Pegatha and Elira are here somewhere, he thought to himself. I'm coming. I'm sorry I got you involved. But I'm coming to make it right again.
Arick was walking the corridors of the third floor when he first heard the sound of muffled crying, distinctly female.
Since Pegatha had gone, he'd found himself less and less interested in the things that were going on. Most of the time, he was...thinking. And it was hard to concentrate on anything, even games, when your brain was occupied with something else.
She'd finally decided to go, but why hadn't she stuck around to say good-bye? He'd sort of been expecting to go with her, not to his own home, but to walk with her. Just to make sure she was safe and happy about her choice. Because, if it had been up to him, he would've kept her there at the Saucer. The best thing about the training had been them being partnered together, touching her hands, briefly having his arms around her, seeing her smile when she got something right. And her scent had become so familiar to him, like soap and flowers. They could've worked together against the gang, and then, when they'd earned some money doing it, he would've taken her to Cosmo Canyon to see Rory. And they could've lived there.
But it hadn't worked out that way, and he was starting to have his doubts about this. Yeah, sure, he wanted to help North Corel, but he was getting impatient for it. And what was the point in waiting anymore if Pegatha wasn't there to make it bearable?
The corridor was narrow and the sound carried along the linoleum floor and metal wall. With a small frown, he began to walk a little faster, glancing as he went through any open doors he could find. Who else would be wandering around the way he was? As far as he knew, everyone but Pegatha had gone up to the games at this time. There shouldn't have been anyone...
The sound got louder as he neared one door, left slightly ajar as if someone had recently exited. Not suspecting any mischief, he walked with confidence up to the room and opened the door wide, expecting to find one of the girl students inside, perhaps suffering from a bout of homesickness. It had happened before. At night, some of them cried.
But what was there in the room made him stop in his tracks.
With almost all of her face covered by a grubby piece of cloth and her hands and feet bound together behind her back, Arick didn't immediately recognized Pegatha. But those were her unmistakable black curls, a few locks still held up over her ear by a green butterfly clip, though its partner was missing from the other side of her head. And she was dressed in the same clothes he had seen her in last.
What was she doing here?
Confused by his discovery, Arick was momentarily stunned, unable to react. He hadn't exactly seen her leave, but her side of the room she'd shared with another girl had been emptied and no one had seen her since. How could she be here, and who had tied her up like this?
He was finally broken out of stasis when Pegatha gave another smothered sob, and he could see that the area of the cloth covering her eyes was stained wet with tears. Quickly, he ran into the room and crouched down beside her, his hands reaching for her and pulling back, not sure where to start. "Pegatha," he whispered to her. "Are you okay?"
She'd stiffened at the first sign that someone had entered the room, but at the sound of his voice she became suddenly animated. Somewhere between terror and relief, she tried to scream his name.
He pulled at the knots on the cloth that covered her face, but they'd been done up tightly and were wound in her hair. If only his mother hadn't confiscated that penknife he'd found about a month ago. He swore softly and pulled in vain at the knots. "Don't worry," he said as Pegatha began to struggle against the bonds on her hands and feet. "I'll get you out of this. Just hold tight."
Occupied as he was with trying to free the girl who had been steadily on his mind since last night, Arick didn't hear the approaching footsteps until it was almost too late. It was true that it might've been someone coming to help, but logic told him that the one person who would know how to find her the quickest would be the person who had put her there. The room was empty, but there was space enough behind the door. Without time to explain to Pegatha, he jumped up and scurried into his chosen hiding place.
The door opened a moment later, and Arick winced as it threatened to press into him. It stopped no more than an inch from his nose.
"C'mon. It's time to go, you little bitch."
Mr. Brescher's voice? But it couldn't be. Why would he have put Pegatha in here? Wasn't she his prize pupil?
There was the sound of rope being cut, and then Pegatha gave a stifled cry as she was presumably hauled to her feet.
"I told you you'd go places, didn't I?" Mr. Brescher's voice continued, nearly in a breathless chuckle. "This is going to be your shining moment. Don't screw it up for me now."
Arick heard something drag along the floor, but then there were two sets of footsteps, one firm and impatient, the other awkward and hesitant. In a few moments, he couldn't hear them anymore.
That had been Mr. Brescher, but what the hell was he doing? And what was he talking about, shining moment? Obviously nothing good if he'd had Pegatha tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Arick didn't understand what was going on, but he couldn't leave Pegatha to face it alone. Grimly determined, he came out of hiding and started in the direction their footsteps had taken, not walking fast enough to overtake them, but with a stride that would ensure he wouldn't lose them. He didn't know what he would be able to do by following, but it was the only thing he could think of to do. It wasn't like there was anyone here he could go to get help from. He was on his own, her only hope.
He hoped he wouldn't fail her.
Vincent followed his guide until they came clear of the corridors into a wide hallway. At the end was a set of double doors and Vincent had a feeling that whatever he was about to face lay beyond those doors.
"Hallway, third level, eastern side. Double doors ahead," he said under his breath, not loud enough for the man in front of him to hear.
"Roger," he heard in his ear, Innis' voice. "We bribed Dio with an easy sentence for harbouring criminals and he gave us a blueprint of the structure. We're tracing you. The room you're approaching looks like it has another door in the back. We'll see if we can come from that direction. Just give us the signal."
"Roger."
His guide opened the doors and let him in first, following close behind.
The room was huge, used for storage if the crates piled against the walls were any indication. As had been stated, there was another door at the other end of the room, painted the same creamed-corn colour as the walls. And directly in front of him, about twenty feet away, stood three people. Two of them were men, one recognizable as the man who had led the ambush where he'd been shot presumably to death, the other unknown. They were both carrying guns. The third person was heart-wrenchingly familiar, even when blindfolded and gagged and held tightly in the crook of an elbow with a muzzle pressed to her temple.
Peg...
His guide walked around him and headed off to join the two men. "He's clean. Got his piece right here." He held up the .38 triumphantly in one hand.
The man holding Pegatha smiled, and something tugged unexpectedly at Vincent's memory. There was something sort of familiar about him, that smile, the proud set of his jaw, the shape of the eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses.
"Good," the man said. "Now we can get down to some fair business." He looked straight at Vincent with a sneer, and, like a strengthening smell, the feeling of familiarity increased. "So here's the famed Phantom Vigilante. You don't look so impressive up close. But with you I know that appearances can be deceiving. Can't they?" He laughed suddenly, a stilted bitter chuckling, as if there was a painful private joke there in what he'd said. "Well, I have you caged now. I have some things you want, I think."
Vincent didn't say anything, his eyes fixed on Pegatha. She looked frightened and small, her clothes dusted with white from an unswept floor. She wasn't making a sound, but she was trembling and he recognized how hard she was trying not to cry. There were no bruises on the parts of her face he could see, or on her neck, nothing to indicate so far that they'd done anything to her beyond tying her up and, perhaps, starving her. Still, it was enough to send a wave of rage through him that he had trouble keeping out of his expression. "Let her go," he said quietly. "You have me. Let her go."
Pegatha had heard it when the door had opened, and when the man who had sometimes given her water told Mr. Brescher that the one he'd brought with him was clean, without a weapon. Still in the dark about what was going on, she stood in silence, pressed against Brescher's body with a gun to her head, and tried not to sob aloud out of fear. The last time had earned her a slap across her muffled mouth.
Brescher was talking, but only when he said 'Phantom Vigilante' did she come out of her foggy haze of terror to pay attention. Was he here? And not dead? Well, of course not dead, she told herself a moment later. And obviously not Mr. Brescher. She should've suspected that mere bullets wouldn't have been able to bring down the man who had kind of become her hero, the city's hero, in such a short amount of time. Was he here to rescue her? How had he even known she was here? Right now, she didn't care. Just as long as she got out of this nightmare where nothing made sense, where Mr. Brescher was the bad guy and Arick was there and suddenly not.
Mr. Brescher was still talking, something about appearances being deceiving and about having things the Vigilante wanted. She didn't understand what he meant, but she didn't dwell on it for long. Because then the Vigilante was talking in a voice so familiar it made every cell in her body ache.
A hundred memories of walking into her parents' bedroom after a bad dream and being picked up and put into a large warm bed by strong, invincible arms, one human and one made of metal and latex, flooded her and she positively ached to be there, snuggled against the one person in the world who could scare away the monsters under her bed. One word was screaming around in her head, almost without meaning but full to bursting with feeling, and eventually it took form and landed on her tongue. She shrieked it out, her mouth impotent with the gag.
"Dahhh-deeeeee!"