Synesthesia - Chapter Eleven
Oct. 17th, 2011 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: In keeping accord with my new post often policy, here's another chapter of Synesthesia. This... this here is a hard chapter. Use caution.
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
His apartment felt empty and cold. Ethan couldn't shake the urge to peer constantly over his shoulder and through the peephole. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe he was just wisely cautious. He couldn't be sure of either.
Ethan cut on the television, for once wanting a distracting background noise, and turned the thermostat up. This apartment still felt new and unoccupied to him. It didn't feel like his yet; it didn't feel like home.
He popped a Hungry Man into the microwave and grabbed his phone – corded since his newer cordless phone was still in the sealed apartment. Digging around in one of his many unpacked boxes, Ethan located an old list of numbers and called Dray's house.
Thomas answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Thomas,” Ethan said, trying to inject cheer into his voice. “Is Dray home?”
Thomas sighed, long and gusty, and Ethan pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, not yet, Ethan. Have you tried his cell phone?”
“Still off,” Ethan answered, gut twisting uncomfortably. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “I guess he's... busy.”
There was a snort of barely disguised annoyance. “Busy. Right,” Thomas said. “I'll tell him to call you when he gets in.”
“Thanks. Good night.”
“Good night, Ethan.”
The phone clicked and Ethan hung up the receiver, letting out a long whoosh of air. Thomas didn't sound concerned. Dray was known to wander home at all hours of the night after all. But Thomas didn't know the whole story. He didn't know about the fire-wielding maniac trying to kill Ethan, or the serial killer who knew that Ethan had seen her.
Ethan couldn't explain it. There was a jarring threnody in the air, like the iconic violin screech from the movie Psycho. It wreaked havoc on Ethan's nerves, leaving him an anxious bundle. He didn't want to overreact but Dray still wasn't answering his phone. All it did was ring
until it went to voice mail. Ethan didn't bother to leave a message; three repeated phone calls were enough.
Ethan told himself he was paranoid. He ate his TV dinner while watching a bad sci-fi movie and pointedly avoiding the nightly news. Mention of the Valda Bomber would only put him further on edge.
He crawled into an unfamiliar bed and stared at his unfamiliar ceiling, willing sleep to come. But his mind wouldn't stop churning, conjuring images of Dray in a all manner of trouble. Held at gun point. Handcuffed to a bed (again). Broken and bleeding by the side of the road.
It was a long time before sleep claimed him.
And even then, sleep was fruitless. He tossed and turned, brain wracked with nightmares, and when he woke the next morning, he didn't feel at all rested.
The first thing he did was grab his phone and call Dray's cell. No answer. He called Dray's house, and a groggy Thomas informed him that Dray had yet to return. By nine, Dray hadn't shown up for his scheduled shift and their grouchy boss tried to call Ethan in to cover it.
He had to be in class, so he couldn't.
By noon, Ethan was quite convinced something was wrong. So was Thomas. When Ethan called after his mandatory Economics class, Thomas had no good news. In fact, he had already filed a missing persons report on Dray, but as a teenager of a certain age, the police weren't concerned. It was a small town and Dray had never been Valda's golden child, despite being Thomas' son. The sheriff was probably convinced that Dray had run off with a girl or something.
Ethan paced back and forth in his new living room, his phone clutched in his fingers. So much for his enviable ability. It couldn't even help him find his best friend.
His thumb hit redial, trying Dray's cell phone number again. To his utter amazement, it rang as opposed to sending him straight to voicemail. The phone droned three times before Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of someone answering. Breathing and a bit of background noise. Ethan's heart pounded in his chest.
“Dray?”
There was no answer, only an uncertain silence that made Ethan's belly twist. More audible breathing echoed through the receiver.
“Dray?”
A dark chuckle oozed out of the speaker. “Not quite,” someone whispered and Ethan couldn't tell if it were a woman or a man.
Anger and fear clashed, making a nauseating collision of emotions. “Where's Adrayan?” Ethan demanded, feeling helpless. “Who is this?”
There was a long moment of silence, and the sound of breathing. Something clattered in the background, liking moving around those foldable, cheap, metal chairs.
“I told you I knew who you were,” the voice taunted,and the call abruptly ended with the phone's cheerful chime of a completed call.
Ethan's insides turned to ice. Was it the serial killer? Did she have Dray? Why? To keep Ethan silent? Wouldn't it have been simpler to just kill Ethan? Then why would he want Ethan to know?
What the hell was going on?
He lowered the phone, wondering he should do now, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Go to the police?
Yeah, right. That would work. Detective Stanton was already suspicious of him. He would probably assume Ethan was involved somehow. He'd wonder why Ethan hadn't come to them sooner. He'd wonder why Ethan never talked about seeing the serial killer once before. He'd want to know about Ethan's abilities, too. He'd realize Ethan wasn't telling the whole story.
No, the police wouldn't be a good idea at all. Ethan started pacing again.
Ethan couldn't afford to sit in a jail cell, awaiting questioning. He needed to be out there, looking for Dray. And he should have started yesterday.
There was no one else to tell. Dray was Ethan's closest friend. His only friend, truth be told, as pathetic as that sounded. Ethan would have to do this on his own.
But where to start?
Ethan wished he knew someone with some kind of tech experience. They could trace the call, lead him straight to Dray's cell. But this wasn't the movies. He needed a concrete plan, something a bit more plausible.
His pacing grew more frantic. Fuck! He didn't know where to begin!
Ding dong.
Ethan whirled toward the door, heart leaping into his throat. He opened his senses, trying to guess what sort of person might be standing on the other side of the door. There was nothing. No sound, no emotion. Either a ghost had rung the bell, or a Kinetic had come calling. The latter didn't necessarily reassure him.
Taylor was a Kinetic after all. And Ethan was fairly certain that Valda's serial killer was one as well.
Ethan pressed an eye to the peephole, hoping that the action didn't prove to be a mistake. To his surprise, there were not just one but two Kinetics on the other side. Jaiden looked thoroughly annoyed, his arms crossed over his chest. Mel was next to him, waving cheerfully toward the peephole.
Ethan bit back a groan and unlocked the door, greeting them with a scowl. “What do you want?”
“To help,” Jaiden answered.
“We're done fighting,” Mel added with a thumbs up and a wink. “We can't help if we're at each other's throats, right?”
Ethan felt an unbelievable wave of fatigue as he leaned against the door frame. “Why?”
The two Kinetics exchanged a glance.
“Should we really be talking about this in the hallway?” Melanie asked.
Ethan shoved the door open and stepped aside, a silent invitation for them to come in. “Somehow, I think I'm going to regret this,” he muttered.
Melanie whistled as she bounced past him, into the new apartment. “Nice place you have here. Though it doesn't much look like a college boy's flat.”
“You should have seen my last apartment. Before Taylor set it on fire,” Ethan retorted.
“You know, we're not the enemy,” Jaiden said as he entered the apartment as well, and Ethan closed the door behind him, locking it for extra measure.
“I don't know that,” Ethan said with a frown. He watched as Mel clasped her hands behind her back, sticking her nose into all the corners of his living room. Jaiden hovered by the couch, leaning against the back of it.
Melanie turned around, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You really think we're working together in order to plan something nefarious?”
“No,” Ethan admitted. “But you still haven't answered my earlier question. Why?”
“Haven't we said so before?” Mel asked, raising her brows. “We want to get on your good side. We both came here to recruit you.”
Ethan was not convinced. “And working together is going to accomplish that?”
“We like you better alive,” Mel said cheekily.
“Look,” Jaiden said, cutting through Mel's obnoxious optimism. “You want to find your friend. We can help you. Take it or leave it.”
Half-turning away, Ethan rubbed at his temple, a sizable headache beginning to form. “How?”
“Tell us what you know and we'll work from there,” Mel answered, adjusting her glasses with the tip of her finger. “Trust us, Ethan. We just want to help.”
That was the problem. Ethan didn't trust them. They had their own agenda, their own reasons for being here. But the fact of the matter remained that Ethan didn't have a choice. He couldn't go to the police. He needed Jaiden and Mel's help. They were the only ones who could help him find Dray.
They couldn't make things any worse. “Fine,” he said, dropping down onto his couch, balancing his elbows on his knees. “What do you need from me?” It wasn't like they could make things any worse.
Mel grinned, smacking noisily on her bubblegum. “Details. Give us something to work off.”
Ethan told them what he little he knew, such as the last time he'd seen Dray and when his best friend must have gone missing. He told them about his conversations with Sheila and Thomas.
“I see,” Mel said, fingers pressed to her chin as she paced circles around Ethan's squat coffee table, like she couldn't stand to be still. “Any chance of finding the chick who picked Adrayan up?”
Ethan frowned. “Maybe. Sheila didn't recognize her, which means we'd have to wander around campus asking everyone. Someone might remember something.”
“That sounds like a long shot,” Jaiden muttered, brow drawn tight and wrinkled.
“Yeah, well, it might be the only lead we have,” Mel retorted, and she spun, tapping her chin rhythmically. “What about his cell phone?”
“He has it,” Ethan said. “For awhile, it sent me to voicemail, but the last time...” He paused, hands clasping together. “Someone answered.”
Melanie practically leapt on that detail. “Who?”
“I don't know.”
“It doesn't matter,” Jaiden said. “Because that's how we're going to find him.”
Ethan gave them a blank stare. “I don't follow.”
Melanie blinked. “We – well, not us, someone in our association – can determine the cell phone's location based on where it was when the last call was made. It might not lead us straight to Adrayan, but it'll give us somewhere to start.”
“I thought that was just Hollywood bullshit,” Ethan replied as Jaiden whipped out his own cell phone, hitting a number for speed dial.
“Charlotte?” Ethan heard him say as he turned away, focusing on the phone. “Pass me on to Phil. It's Code Blue.”
Melanie smacked her gum. “For once, Hollywood's not lying. Though we can't be as precise as all those super spies. It's a matter of triangulation.” She winked.
“What's the number?” Jaiden asked as Ethan tried to process this overload of information.
Ethan rattled off Dray's cell phone, which Jaiden then relayed to Charlotte or Phil. Ethan couldn't believe it was this easy. His mind whirled.
“What do you mean triangulation?” he asked, just to give himself something to think about, to focus on the hope that dared rear it's head.
Melanie lifted a hand, the bracelets around her wrist jingling cheerily. “Well, from what I understand, when a cell phone is used, it sends and receives a signal from a tower, right?”
Ethan nodded, following along so far.
“If we just focus on one tower, though, all that gives us is a radius to look through. However, if we use more than one tower, we can have certain sections that overlap, giving us a smaller section to search,” Mel continued, and then grinned as though satisfied with her explanation. “Though bear in mind I'm not a communications expert.”
It was good enough for him. He was starting to think that this might actually work.
“I have a location,” Jaiden suddenly announced, clamping his cell phone shut.
Ethan leapt to his feet. “Where?”
“Anton Avenue.”
Ethan frowned, the address familiar to him. But there was only one thing on that street. “You mean the old Greenleaf mill?”
Jaiden shrugged. “You tell me. This is your town.”
“Why would Dray go there? It's half-demolished. Pieces of it fall off all the time,” Ethan wondered aloud.
“For precisely that reason,” Mel answered, wandering back into the main room after her perusal of his kitchen. She was shamelessly munching on his Cooler Ranch Doritos. “It's out of the way. Abandoned. No one pays much attention to it.”
“And no one would hear you scream,” Jaiden murmured.
Ethan shot him a hard look. “It's too early to think the worst.”
“And time is too short to stand around here chewing the fat. Let's go before it gets too dark,” Melanie said around a mouthful of Doritos.
Ethan agreed and told the both of them to meet him by his car. He snagged his chips from Melanie as she passed, ignoring her cry of disappointment. Ethan just needed a moment, and he spent it hunting down a flashlight or something similar.
He didn't know what to expect, though he hoped for the best. He didn't dare put any more thought into it.
o0o0o
Ethan had lived in Valda all his life. He knew the ins and outs of it, the side streets and the story behind every old, abandoned building. When he was younger, Dray used to dare him to go into every so-called haunted house.
The old Greenleaf mill was no exception. Ethan had done it, because of all things, he wasn't afraid of ghosts. He was more worried about the potential for getting crushed by falling debris. But he had still done it, and in the process, won Dray's approval.
Since then, very little had changed. A few more walls had crumbled. Scavengers had made off with pounds more of brick. And nature was slowly but surely reclaiming the land. In the dim of approaching evening, however, the remaining tower and its unmoving clock seemed all the more ominous. The latter was fixed at 3:12.
Ethan cut off the ignition, and left his car, staring up at the hulking remains of a once-thriving business. It felt like the shadows had eyes that were watching him. He couldn't hear anything, not movement nor emotion. And the rapidly descending sun made visibility near zero.
Mel whistled, tucking her hands into her pockets. “It certainly looks like an evil-doer's hideout.”
“We should split up. Cover more ground,” Ethan suggested, heading for the weed-strewn path.
In an instant, Jaiden appeared at his left, grabbing his arm, and Mel appeared at his right. “That suggestion is re-jec-ted.” She sang at him. “You're far too valuable to wander around unprotected.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ethan growled.
“Not against an elemental Kinetic,” Jaiden retorted. “We go together.”
Annoyed, Ethan resigned himself to having two bodyguards. He pushed ahead of them, pulling out his flashlight. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just don't get in my way.” It seemed like a moot point, but he had to say something. He felt like a damned damsel in distress and he didn't like it.
Mel and Jaiden exchanged glances, but said nothing. All the better.
Ethan flicked on the flashlight and started forward, carefully finding his footing through the tall grass and scattered masonry. Luckily, Ethan knew that there were only a few intact rooms left in the mill. He wouldn't have to search much of the huge place.
“Dray?” he called out, stepping past the first crumbled wall, feet crunching over bits of rock. His voice echoed through the shadows, flashlight executing a broad sweep.
“You really don't know the meaning of stealth, do you?” Melanie asked in a low, amused voice.
“If the serial killer's around, then it doesn't matter anyway,” Ethan retorted smartly, his flashlight illuminating more broken bits of brick and some splintered wood. “She knows I'm coming.”
He turned to where parts of the main building remained standing. Three rooms were still relatively intact. Delinquents used them to hide. Drug deals were made in their shadowy recesses. On occasion, they even served as a shelter for Valda's infrequent homeless. If the serial killer or Dray were anywhere, they would be in those rooms.
“Still,” Mel muttered. “That's pretty ballsy for a guy who can't protect himself.”
Ethan clenched his jaw. His flashlight beam discovered a creaking door, glass shattered and missing – their entrance to the three rooms. Ethan couldn't see any other lights or movement, but he wasn't banking on anything. Not even his senses, which were blind to Kinetics.
“Can you hear anything?” Ethan asked.
“Can you?” Mel sounded defensive. Well, she had mentioned that she only had minor abilities.
“The air is too still here,” Jaiden said, and the tension surrounding him was nearly palpable. “I don't like it.”
Ethan was inclined to agree. Swallowing thickly, he approached the rotten door and pulled it open, old wood creaking on rusty hinges. He paused in the doorway, letting his flashlight sweep over what used to be an office of some sort, judging by the decrepit desk. Cardboard littered the floor, as did empty food wrappers. Two doors were visible in the far wall, but otherwise, the room was empty.
“I don't think anyone's here, Ethan,” Mel said, her voice quavering.
“I'm not leaving until I've searched it all,” Ethan said through gritted teeth, and headed for the nearest door, one that was in marginally better shape than the other.
“Look.” Jaiden's voice made Ethan pause.
He turned, finding that the aerokinetic had pointed his flashlight at the floor. Footsteps were clearly visible in the thick dust, newly lain as they'd yet to receive a layer of filth.
“Someone was here,” Jaiden murmured.
Ethan hadn't needed the proof; he was already starting to catch echoes. Emotions heard like music through the thin walls of an apartment. Anger and amusement and fear, so ripe they jangled in his ears. They were louder through the far door, so that was where Ethan went, heart hammering in his chest. They were echoes. In other words, a latent sound of past emotions. Was he too late?
“Guys, I really don't like this,” Mel said.
Ethan ignored her, pulling open the door and stepping into another room. It felt more open to him, less crowded and contained, like a warehouse space. There was a stronger odor overlying the dry taste of dust – something bitter and thick, like copper on his tongue. The echoes were louder here, like a ringing in his ears.
“Dray?”
No answer. Ethan's flashlight tracked over the trash-strewn floor. He heard a faint creaking like old wood, and the sound of something dripping in uneven intervals.
The echoes seemed to resonate in his ears. Ripe with lingering amusement and jangling fear and sick arousal. Ethan's head started to pound, his stomach churning. He thought he was going to be ill.
Jaiden and Melanie spread out behind him, searching to the left and right respectively. Moonlight peeked in through the busted boards over the windows. But Ethan didn't find anything until he nearly slipped in a wet stain on the floor. He recoiled by a firm step, shoe squelching stickily.
He aimed the flashlight downward at the dampness, which was too dark to be mere water. He didn't have to touch it, only watched as another thin drop dripped down, and joined the widening puddle right in front of him. Breath caught in his throat, Ethan looked up with his flashlight, knowing and fearing what he would find.
Something lukewarm splashed on his hand, bright crimson, and light glistened off wet flesh. He saw a flash of blond hair and open empty eyes – a familiar shade of blue.
Ethan stumbled away, managed two steps, and dropped to his knees, flashlight clattering away, the beam of it spinning round and round. Mind in a whirl, Ethan vomited, his meager dinner splashing to the floor as he retched. His own horror quickly drowned out the echoes of someone else's terror.
No. Not someone else's. Not a stranger's.
It was Dray's. Dray's terror.
“Ethan?”
“Shit.”
Their reaction was only a dim blip on Ethan's senses.
Too late. He was too late.
Hands landed on his shoulders, too delicate to be Jaiden, and the sudden, overwhelming silence was more painful to bear than the echoing fright. Ethan jerked away from flashes of horror and concern, swinging an arm behind him, smacking something solid.
“Don't touch me,” he rasped, and tried to swallow down the bile climbing into his throat. The bitter smell was thick in the air, making the rolls of nausea all the worse.
Mel wisely backed off. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I truly am.”
Ethan ignored her, closing his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure. It kept slipping through his fingers at each flash of the truth. Of Dray dead, his eyes dark, his body glistening with blood and... other things.
Dray was dead.
Dray was dead and someone had killed him. No. Not someone. That woman, that serial killer, it had to be her. Didn't it?
Ethan swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, turning away from the mess he'd made on the floor. He couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not here. He was too late to save Dray, but he could find Dray's killer and make her pay. He could do that.
Ethan sucked in several breaths, and a long minute passed before he rose shakily to his feet. He looked at a boarded up window, something clenching inside him. He felt cold... numb. Where had he dropped his flashlight?
“Ethan?”
That was Jaiden, voice carefully neutral with no fake sympathy. It made Ethan oddly grateful.
“We have to...” He swallowed thickly. “We have to cut him down.”
Mel made a noise in her throat. “I don't think--”
“I don't care,” Ethan snapped, hands clenching and unclenching. “He deserves some dignity, damn it.”
“I understand,” Jaiden said, like a good soldier, obeying without question.
There was a rattle of chains, a prickle across his skin, and the sound of grunting. Something snapped, Jaiden cursed, but Ethan didn't turn around until he was sure Dray was down. Only then did he retrieve his flashlight, and turn toward Jaiden and Mel.
The aerokinetic had laid Dray on his back, politely arranging his limbs in a mimicry of repose. Ethan tried to be clinical, to distance himself, but he was no professional. He was kneeling beside the body of his best friend. His composure hovered on a razor's edge.
Dray hadn't... he wasn't... he didn't at all resemble the mess that Ethan remembered the nameless victim he witnessed. He'd obviously been tortured by knife and fire – were those burn marks? But for all that, he was still recognizable. The killer hadn't touched Dray's face as though wanting to ensure Ethan would recognize him.
Bile rose up again. Ethan didn't think he had anything left to spew; it was only guilt twisted in his belly. Ethan should have protected him, should have warned him, should have done something.
He wanted to apologize but the words caught in his throat. Ethan closed his eyes, breathed in and out, but the grief would not leave him.
“We have to call the police,” he said, and surprised himself with how even his voice was. “I'm not leaving him here to become a faceless victim.”
Melanie winced. “Ethan, you said it yourself. The police already suspect you.”
“I didn't say I was going to be here when they arrived. I'm not a moron.” Ethan chewed on his bottom lip, feeling like the worst kind of friend. “I'll place the call from a pay phone. There are still a few in Valda.”
Bile crept in his throat, betrayal a harsher sting. What kind of friend was he? Abandoning Dray to this darkness, not sticking around to show he cared. Leave him here in this dirty, empty warehouse as though he were another piece of discarded equipment.
Ethan's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palm. But... he couldn't find the murderer behind bars. He couldn't do anything if he were locked up.
It was the logical step, to leave. Ethan didn't want to. He had to. He didn't have a choice, did he?
He had to find the killer. For Dray. He had to find her... and end her.
* * *
a/n: ... Poor Ethan. Poor Dray. That's really all I can say.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
[Next Chapter]
Title: Synesthesia
Rating: T (for violence and language and some gore)
Description: Ethan has lived with his gift -- hearing emotions as music -- his entire life. And he's learned to cope with it. But when a serial killer makes a home in his town, and he's contacted by different groups all wanting to make use of his ability, he finds himself dragged into the thick of things. And all he wants to do is be left alone.
[Back to the Beginning] [Previous Chapter]
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Chapter Eleven
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Chapter Eleven
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His apartment felt empty and cold. Ethan couldn't shake the urge to peer constantly over his shoulder and through the peephole. Maybe he was paranoid. Maybe he was just wisely cautious. He couldn't be sure of either.
Ethan cut on the television, for once wanting a distracting background noise, and turned the thermostat up. This apartment still felt new and unoccupied to him. It didn't feel like his yet; it didn't feel like home.
He popped a Hungry Man into the microwave and grabbed his phone – corded since his newer cordless phone was still in the sealed apartment. Digging around in one of his many unpacked boxes, Ethan located an old list of numbers and called Dray's house.
Thomas answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Thomas,” Ethan said, trying to inject cheer into his voice. “Is Dray home?”
Thomas sighed, long and gusty, and Ethan pictured him pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, not yet, Ethan. Have you tried his cell phone?”
“Still off,” Ethan answered, gut twisting uncomfortably. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “I guess he's... busy.”
There was a snort of barely disguised annoyance. “Busy. Right,” Thomas said. “I'll tell him to call you when he gets in.”
“Thanks. Good night.”
“Good night, Ethan.”
The phone clicked and Ethan hung up the receiver, letting out a long whoosh of air. Thomas didn't sound concerned. Dray was known to wander home at all hours of the night after all. But Thomas didn't know the whole story. He didn't know about the fire-wielding maniac trying to kill Ethan, or the serial killer who knew that Ethan had seen her.
Ethan couldn't explain it. There was a jarring threnody in the air, like the iconic violin screech from the movie Psycho. It wreaked havoc on Ethan's nerves, leaving him an anxious bundle. He didn't want to overreact but Dray still wasn't answering his phone. All it did was ring
until it went to voice mail. Ethan didn't bother to leave a message; three repeated phone calls were enough.
Ethan told himself he was paranoid. He ate his TV dinner while watching a bad sci-fi movie and pointedly avoiding the nightly news. Mention of the Valda Bomber would only put him further on edge.
He crawled into an unfamiliar bed and stared at his unfamiliar ceiling, willing sleep to come. But his mind wouldn't stop churning, conjuring images of Dray in a all manner of trouble. Held at gun point. Handcuffed to a bed (again). Broken and bleeding by the side of the road.
It was a long time before sleep claimed him.
And even then, sleep was fruitless. He tossed and turned, brain wracked with nightmares, and when he woke the next morning, he didn't feel at all rested.
The first thing he did was grab his phone and call Dray's cell. No answer. He called Dray's house, and a groggy Thomas informed him that Dray had yet to return. By nine, Dray hadn't shown up for his scheduled shift and their grouchy boss tried to call Ethan in to cover it.
He had to be in class, so he couldn't.
By noon, Ethan was quite convinced something was wrong. So was Thomas. When Ethan called after his mandatory Economics class, Thomas had no good news. In fact, he had already filed a missing persons report on Dray, but as a teenager of a certain age, the police weren't concerned. It was a small town and Dray had never been Valda's golden child, despite being Thomas' son. The sheriff was probably convinced that Dray had run off with a girl or something.
Ethan paced back and forth in his new living room, his phone clutched in his fingers. So much for his enviable ability. It couldn't even help him find his best friend.
His thumb hit redial, trying Dray's cell phone number again. To his utter amazement, it rang as opposed to sending him straight to voicemail. The phone droned three times before Ethan heard the unmistakable sound of someone answering. Breathing and a bit of background noise. Ethan's heart pounded in his chest.
“Dray?”
There was no answer, only an uncertain silence that made Ethan's belly twist. More audible breathing echoed through the receiver.
“Dray?”
A dark chuckle oozed out of the speaker. “Not quite,” someone whispered and Ethan couldn't tell if it were a woman or a man.
Anger and fear clashed, making a nauseating collision of emotions. “Where's Adrayan?” Ethan demanded, feeling helpless. “Who is this?”
There was a long moment of silence, and the sound of breathing. Something clattered in the background, liking moving around those foldable, cheap, metal chairs.
“I told you I knew who you were,” the voice taunted,and the call abruptly ended with the phone's cheerful chime of a completed call.
Ethan's insides turned to ice. Was it the serial killer? Did she have Dray? Why? To keep Ethan silent? Wouldn't it have been simpler to just kill Ethan? Then why would he want Ethan to know?
What the hell was going on?
He lowered the phone, wondering he should do now, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Go to the police?
Yeah, right. That would work. Detective Stanton was already suspicious of him. He would probably assume Ethan was involved somehow. He'd wonder why Ethan hadn't come to them sooner. He'd wonder why Ethan never talked about seeing the serial killer once before. He'd want to know about Ethan's abilities, too. He'd realize Ethan wasn't telling the whole story.
No, the police wouldn't be a good idea at all. Ethan started pacing again.
Ethan couldn't afford to sit in a jail cell, awaiting questioning. He needed to be out there, looking for Dray. And he should have started yesterday.
There was no one else to tell. Dray was Ethan's closest friend. His only friend, truth be told, as pathetic as that sounded. Ethan would have to do this on his own.
But where to start?
Ethan wished he knew someone with some kind of tech experience. They could trace the call, lead him straight to Dray's cell. But this wasn't the movies. He needed a concrete plan, something a bit more plausible.
His pacing grew more frantic. Fuck! He didn't know where to begin!
Ding dong.
Ethan whirled toward the door, heart leaping into his throat. He opened his senses, trying to guess what sort of person might be standing on the other side of the door. There was nothing. No sound, no emotion. Either a ghost had rung the bell, or a Kinetic had come calling. The latter didn't necessarily reassure him.
Taylor was a Kinetic after all. And Ethan was fairly certain that Valda's serial killer was one as well.
Ethan pressed an eye to the peephole, hoping that the action didn't prove to be a mistake. To his surprise, there were not just one but two Kinetics on the other side. Jaiden looked thoroughly annoyed, his arms crossed over his chest. Mel was next to him, waving cheerfully toward the peephole.
Ethan bit back a groan and unlocked the door, greeting them with a scowl. “What do you want?”
“To help,” Jaiden answered.
“We're done fighting,” Mel added with a thumbs up and a wink. “We can't help if we're at each other's throats, right?”
Ethan felt an unbelievable wave of fatigue as he leaned against the door frame. “Why?”
The two Kinetics exchanged a glance.
“Should we really be talking about this in the hallway?” Melanie asked.
Ethan shoved the door open and stepped aside, a silent invitation for them to come in. “Somehow, I think I'm going to regret this,” he muttered.
Melanie whistled as she bounced past him, into the new apartment. “Nice place you have here. Though it doesn't much look like a college boy's flat.”
“You should have seen my last apartment. Before Taylor set it on fire,” Ethan retorted.
“You know, we're not the enemy,” Jaiden said as he entered the apartment as well, and Ethan closed the door behind him, locking it for extra measure.
“I don't know that,” Ethan said with a frown. He watched as Mel clasped her hands behind her back, sticking her nose into all the corners of his living room. Jaiden hovered by the couch, leaning against the back of it.
Melanie turned around, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You really think we're working together in order to plan something nefarious?”
“No,” Ethan admitted. “But you still haven't answered my earlier question. Why?”
“Haven't we said so before?” Mel asked, raising her brows. “We want to get on your good side. We both came here to recruit you.”
Ethan was not convinced. “And working together is going to accomplish that?”
“We like you better alive,” Mel said cheekily.
“Look,” Jaiden said, cutting through Mel's obnoxious optimism. “You want to find your friend. We can help you. Take it or leave it.”
Half-turning away, Ethan rubbed at his temple, a sizable headache beginning to form. “How?”
“Tell us what you know and we'll work from there,” Mel answered, adjusting her glasses with the tip of her finger. “Trust us, Ethan. We just want to help.”
That was the problem. Ethan didn't trust them. They had their own agenda, their own reasons for being here. But the fact of the matter remained that Ethan didn't have a choice. He couldn't go to the police. He needed Jaiden and Mel's help. They were the only ones who could help him find Dray.
They couldn't make things any worse. “Fine,” he said, dropping down onto his couch, balancing his elbows on his knees. “What do you need from me?” It wasn't like they could make things any worse.
Mel grinned, smacking noisily on her bubblegum. “Details. Give us something to work off.”
Ethan told them what he little he knew, such as the last time he'd seen Dray and when his best friend must have gone missing. He told them about his conversations with Sheila and Thomas.
“I see,” Mel said, fingers pressed to her chin as she paced circles around Ethan's squat coffee table, like she couldn't stand to be still. “Any chance of finding the chick who picked Adrayan up?”
Ethan frowned. “Maybe. Sheila didn't recognize her, which means we'd have to wander around campus asking everyone. Someone might remember something.”
“That sounds like a long shot,” Jaiden muttered, brow drawn tight and wrinkled.
“Yeah, well, it might be the only lead we have,” Mel retorted, and she spun, tapping her chin rhythmically. “What about his cell phone?”
“He has it,” Ethan said. “For awhile, it sent me to voicemail, but the last time...” He paused, hands clasping together. “Someone answered.”
Melanie practically leapt on that detail. “Who?”
“I don't know.”
“It doesn't matter,” Jaiden said. “Because that's how we're going to find him.”
Ethan gave them a blank stare. “I don't follow.”
Melanie blinked. “We – well, not us, someone in our association – can determine the cell phone's location based on where it was when the last call was made. It might not lead us straight to Adrayan, but it'll give us somewhere to start.”
“I thought that was just Hollywood bullshit,” Ethan replied as Jaiden whipped out his own cell phone, hitting a number for speed dial.
“Charlotte?” Ethan heard him say as he turned away, focusing on the phone. “Pass me on to Phil. It's Code Blue.”
Melanie smacked her gum. “For once, Hollywood's not lying. Though we can't be as precise as all those super spies. It's a matter of triangulation.” She winked.
“What's the number?” Jaiden asked as Ethan tried to process this overload of information.
Ethan rattled off Dray's cell phone, which Jaiden then relayed to Charlotte or Phil. Ethan couldn't believe it was this easy. His mind whirled.
“What do you mean triangulation?” he asked, just to give himself something to think about, to focus on the hope that dared rear it's head.
Melanie lifted a hand, the bracelets around her wrist jingling cheerily. “Well, from what I understand, when a cell phone is used, it sends and receives a signal from a tower, right?”
Ethan nodded, following along so far.
“If we just focus on one tower, though, all that gives us is a radius to look through. However, if we use more than one tower, we can have certain sections that overlap, giving us a smaller section to search,” Mel continued, and then grinned as though satisfied with her explanation. “Though bear in mind I'm not a communications expert.”
It was good enough for him. He was starting to think that this might actually work.
“I have a location,” Jaiden suddenly announced, clamping his cell phone shut.
Ethan leapt to his feet. “Where?”
“Anton Avenue.”
Ethan frowned, the address familiar to him. But there was only one thing on that street. “You mean the old Greenleaf mill?”
Jaiden shrugged. “You tell me. This is your town.”
“Why would Dray go there? It's half-demolished. Pieces of it fall off all the time,” Ethan wondered aloud.
“For precisely that reason,” Mel answered, wandering back into the main room after her perusal of his kitchen. She was shamelessly munching on his Cooler Ranch Doritos. “It's out of the way. Abandoned. No one pays much attention to it.”
“And no one would hear you scream,” Jaiden murmured.
Ethan shot him a hard look. “It's too early to think the worst.”
“And time is too short to stand around here chewing the fat. Let's go before it gets too dark,” Melanie said around a mouthful of Doritos.
Ethan agreed and told the both of them to meet him by his car. He snagged his chips from Melanie as she passed, ignoring her cry of disappointment. Ethan just needed a moment, and he spent it hunting down a flashlight or something similar.
He didn't know what to expect, though he hoped for the best. He didn't dare put any more thought into it.
Ethan had lived in Valda all his life. He knew the ins and outs of it, the side streets and the story behind every old, abandoned building. When he was younger, Dray used to dare him to go into every so-called haunted house.
The old Greenleaf mill was no exception. Ethan had done it, because of all things, he wasn't afraid of ghosts. He was more worried about the potential for getting crushed by falling debris. But he had still done it, and in the process, won Dray's approval.
Since then, very little had changed. A few more walls had crumbled. Scavengers had made off with pounds more of brick. And nature was slowly but surely reclaiming the land. In the dim of approaching evening, however, the remaining tower and its unmoving clock seemed all the more ominous. The latter was fixed at 3:12.
Ethan cut off the ignition, and left his car, staring up at the hulking remains of a once-thriving business. It felt like the shadows had eyes that were watching him. He couldn't hear anything, not movement nor emotion. And the rapidly descending sun made visibility near zero.
Mel whistled, tucking her hands into her pockets. “It certainly looks like an evil-doer's hideout.”
“We should split up. Cover more ground,” Ethan suggested, heading for the weed-strewn path.
In an instant, Jaiden appeared at his left, grabbing his arm, and Mel appeared at his right. “That suggestion is re-jec-ted.” She sang at him. “You're far too valuable to wander around unprotected.”
“I can take care of myself,” Ethan growled.
“Not against an elemental Kinetic,” Jaiden retorted. “We go together.”
Annoyed, Ethan resigned himself to having two bodyguards. He pushed ahead of them, pulling out his flashlight. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just don't get in my way.” It seemed like a moot point, but he had to say something. He felt like a damned damsel in distress and he didn't like it.
Mel and Jaiden exchanged glances, but said nothing. All the better.
Ethan flicked on the flashlight and started forward, carefully finding his footing through the tall grass and scattered masonry. Luckily, Ethan knew that there were only a few intact rooms left in the mill. He wouldn't have to search much of the huge place.
“Dray?” he called out, stepping past the first crumbled wall, feet crunching over bits of rock. His voice echoed through the shadows, flashlight executing a broad sweep.
“You really don't know the meaning of stealth, do you?” Melanie asked in a low, amused voice.
“If the serial killer's around, then it doesn't matter anyway,” Ethan retorted smartly, his flashlight illuminating more broken bits of brick and some splintered wood. “She knows I'm coming.”
He turned to where parts of the main building remained standing. Three rooms were still relatively intact. Delinquents used them to hide. Drug deals were made in their shadowy recesses. On occasion, they even served as a shelter for Valda's infrequent homeless. If the serial killer or Dray were anywhere, they would be in those rooms.
“Still,” Mel muttered. “That's pretty ballsy for a guy who can't protect himself.”
Ethan clenched his jaw. His flashlight beam discovered a creaking door, glass shattered and missing – their entrance to the three rooms. Ethan couldn't see any other lights or movement, but he wasn't banking on anything. Not even his senses, which were blind to Kinetics.
“Can you hear anything?” Ethan asked.
“Can you?” Mel sounded defensive. Well, she had mentioned that she only had minor abilities.
“The air is too still here,” Jaiden said, and the tension surrounding him was nearly palpable. “I don't like it.”
Ethan was inclined to agree. Swallowing thickly, he approached the rotten door and pulled it open, old wood creaking on rusty hinges. He paused in the doorway, letting his flashlight sweep over what used to be an office of some sort, judging by the decrepit desk. Cardboard littered the floor, as did empty food wrappers. Two doors were visible in the far wall, but otherwise, the room was empty.
“I don't think anyone's here, Ethan,” Mel said, her voice quavering.
“I'm not leaving until I've searched it all,” Ethan said through gritted teeth, and headed for the nearest door, one that was in marginally better shape than the other.
“Look.” Jaiden's voice made Ethan pause.
He turned, finding that the aerokinetic had pointed his flashlight at the floor. Footsteps were clearly visible in the thick dust, newly lain as they'd yet to receive a layer of filth.
“Someone was here,” Jaiden murmured.
Ethan hadn't needed the proof; he was already starting to catch echoes. Emotions heard like music through the thin walls of an apartment. Anger and amusement and fear, so ripe they jangled in his ears. They were louder through the far door, so that was where Ethan went, heart hammering in his chest. They were echoes. In other words, a latent sound of past emotions. Was he too late?
“Guys, I really don't like this,” Mel said.
Ethan ignored her, pulling open the door and stepping into another room. It felt more open to him, less crowded and contained, like a warehouse space. There was a stronger odor overlying the dry taste of dust – something bitter and thick, like copper on his tongue. The echoes were louder here, like a ringing in his ears.
“Dray?”
No answer. Ethan's flashlight tracked over the trash-strewn floor. He heard a faint creaking like old wood, and the sound of something dripping in uneven intervals.
The echoes seemed to resonate in his ears. Ripe with lingering amusement and jangling fear and sick arousal. Ethan's head started to pound, his stomach churning. He thought he was going to be ill.
Jaiden and Melanie spread out behind him, searching to the left and right respectively. Moonlight peeked in through the busted boards over the windows. But Ethan didn't find anything until he nearly slipped in a wet stain on the floor. He recoiled by a firm step, shoe squelching stickily.
He aimed the flashlight downward at the dampness, which was too dark to be mere water. He didn't have to touch it, only watched as another thin drop dripped down, and joined the widening puddle right in front of him. Breath caught in his throat, Ethan looked up with his flashlight, knowing and fearing what he would find.
Something lukewarm splashed on his hand, bright crimson, and light glistened off wet flesh. He saw a flash of blond hair and open empty eyes – a familiar shade of blue.
Ethan stumbled away, managed two steps, and dropped to his knees, flashlight clattering away, the beam of it spinning round and round. Mind in a whirl, Ethan vomited, his meager dinner splashing to the floor as he retched. His own horror quickly drowned out the echoes of someone else's terror.
No. Not someone else's. Not a stranger's.
It was Dray's. Dray's terror.
“Ethan?”
“Shit.”
Their reaction was only a dim blip on Ethan's senses.
Too late. He was too late.
Hands landed on his shoulders, too delicate to be Jaiden, and the sudden, overwhelming silence was more painful to bear than the echoing fright. Ethan jerked away from flashes of horror and concern, swinging an arm behind him, smacking something solid.
“Don't touch me,” he rasped, and tried to swallow down the bile climbing into his throat. The bitter smell was thick in the air, making the rolls of nausea all the worse.
Mel wisely backed off. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I truly am.”
Ethan ignored her, closing his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure. It kept slipping through his fingers at each flash of the truth. Of Dray dead, his eyes dark, his body glistening with blood and... other things.
Dray was dead.
Dray was dead and someone had killed him. No. Not someone. That woman, that serial killer, it had to be her. Didn't it?
Ethan swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, turning away from the mess he'd made on the floor. He couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not here. He was too late to save Dray, but he could find Dray's killer and make her pay. He could do that.
Ethan sucked in several breaths, and a long minute passed before he rose shakily to his feet. He looked at a boarded up window, something clenching inside him. He felt cold... numb. Where had he dropped his flashlight?
“Ethan?”
That was Jaiden, voice carefully neutral with no fake sympathy. It made Ethan oddly grateful.
“We have to...” He swallowed thickly. “We have to cut him down.”
Mel made a noise in her throat. “I don't think--”
“I don't care,” Ethan snapped, hands clenching and unclenching. “He deserves some dignity, damn it.”
“I understand,” Jaiden said, like a good soldier, obeying without question.
There was a rattle of chains, a prickle across his skin, and the sound of grunting. Something snapped, Jaiden cursed, but Ethan didn't turn around until he was sure Dray was down. Only then did he retrieve his flashlight, and turn toward Jaiden and Mel.
The aerokinetic had laid Dray on his back, politely arranging his limbs in a mimicry of repose. Ethan tried to be clinical, to distance himself, but he was no professional. He was kneeling beside the body of his best friend. His composure hovered on a razor's edge.
Dray hadn't... he wasn't... he didn't at all resemble the mess that Ethan remembered the nameless victim he witnessed. He'd obviously been tortured by knife and fire – were those burn marks? But for all that, he was still recognizable. The killer hadn't touched Dray's face as though wanting to ensure Ethan would recognize him.
Bile rose up again. Ethan didn't think he had anything left to spew; it was only guilt twisted in his belly. Ethan should have protected him, should have warned him, should have done something.
He wanted to apologize but the words caught in his throat. Ethan closed his eyes, breathed in and out, but the grief would not leave him.
“We have to call the police,” he said, and surprised himself with how even his voice was. “I'm not leaving him here to become a faceless victim.”
Melanie winced. “Ethan, you said it yourself. The police already suspect you.”
“I didn't say I was going to be here when they arrived. I'm not a moron.” Ethan chewed on his bottom lip, feeling like the worst kind of friend. “I'll place the call from a pay phone. There are still a few in Valda.”
Bile crept in his throat, betrayal a harsher sting. What kind of friend was he? Abandoning Dray to this darkness, not sticking around to show he cared. Leave him here in this dirty, empty warehouse as though he were another piece of discarded equipment.
Ethan's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palm. But... he couldn't find the murderer behind bars. He couldn't do anything if he were locked up.
It was the logical step, to leave. Ethan didn't want to. He had to. He didn't have a choice, did he?
He had to find the killer. For Dray. He had to find her... and end her.
a/n: ... Poor Ethan. Poor Dray. That's really all I can say.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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