Land of Misfit Fics: Orphan #5 Future!fic Kidnapped
Title: Orphan #5: Kidnapped future!fic
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Suspense, Crime
Words: ~ 6k
Author's Note(s): Fifth fic that I've started and been unable to finish. Up for adoption upon approval.
Summary: Detective Noah Puckerman just thought his husband was avoiding his calls because of the fight they were in. Reality was so much worse.
~~**~~
"Babe," Puck said, grabbing his keys from the table next to the door. "We're leaving! See you tonight!" He waited for an answer, but Kurt was still sulking somewhere else in the house and said nothing. Great. You'd think a personal shopper, who was mostly a therapist in reality, would know better than to be this stubborn about a stupid fight.
So Puck had been too busy to call to say he'd be home late the night before. If Kurt would have called when he started to get worried, Puck would have realized he was late and apologized. Instead, he looked up from his pile of paperwork at nine o'clock and called only to find himself shunted to voicemail. When he got home at quarter after, he found a plate full of food drowning in the kitchen sink, a pile of his pajamas and bedding in the middle of the hallway, and the bedroom door locked.
It wasn't the first time.
Taking his son's hand the next morning, Puck led five-year-old Jason out of their apartment building and down the block to Georgia's. "Hey, sugar," he greeted the woman. "You cool driving this morning? Kurt's being a pill and I just got the patrol car…"
The woman, who was in her early forties and had a daughter, Kira, in Jason's class, gave Puck an understanding nod. "It was my day anyway, Noah. You be safe at work, okay?"
"Always," Puck promised with a laugh before dropping down to Jason's eye-level. "You be good at school today, alright, bud? I'll make sure Daddy comes and picks you up afterward. Okay?"
"Pop? Is Daddy mad at you?" Jason asked, and Puck could swear he was smirking with the knowledge that he wasn't the one in trouble this time.
"Yeah, baby, he is," Puck admitted before ruffling his son's hair. "But that's okay, because everyone gets mad sometimes, right?"
"Right," Jason nodded before giving Puck a tight hug and running into the house around Georgia's legs.
Puck waved goodbye to his friend and walked back to his car, texting Kurt on the way. "Love you, K. Sorry again. You'll get J and Kira after school?"
He was at the station and climbing out of his car when he got two responses. The first one said simply, "F U," and the second, which followed quickly, said, "Yeah, I got them."
Puck shook his head and laughed, vowing to bring home those little chocolates Kurt loved. Hey, bribery couldn't hurt his chances at being forgiven anytime in the next year, so he might as well.
~~**~~
Kurt was finishing getting ready for his ten o'clock appointment at the store when he heard the front door open and close and heavy shoes clomp all over the hardwood floor. Scoffing, Kurt called out, "If you want to be forgiven, taking the day off is a good start, but getting dirt all over my floor isn't helping."
Noah didn't respond.
"Did you hear me?" Kurt added, frowning as the steps continued. He went out into the main room, looking for his husband in order to scold him some more. Instead he found a man, heavy-set with thinning blond hair and a scar across the side of his face. The man looked Kurt straight in the eye and raised a gun, pointing it at Kurt's desperately pumping heart. "Who are you?"
"None of your fucking business," the man replied, throwing a pair of handcuffs at Kurt's feet. He noticed they were the same make as the ones Noah kept on his belt since he'd been issued them as a rookie. "Put those on or I'll shoot."
Kurt knew a few things about self-defense, mostly at Noah's insistence, but he also knew never to argue with a man holding a gun. Terrified and hoping the man was just going to rob them, Kurt stooped down and picked up the handcuffs, securing them loosely around his wrists in front of him. The man growled angrily and stepped forward, pressing the metal of the gun against Kurt's throat as he tightened each of the cuffs in turn. Kurt could barely breathe.
"Now move," the man ordered, pushing Kurt toward the door and making him stumble. "Let's go, Mr. Puckerman."
"It's Hummel, actually," Kurt said without thinking. The guy was here for Noah? Maybe Kurt still had a chance. "Kurt Hummel. You've got the wrong man."
"Nah, I'm here for you, Kurt," the man replied, pushing Kurt right and toward the staircase as they left the apartment. "Just figured you looked like the catcher, maybe you'd taken Noah's name when you got married."
"That's incredibly offensive, you know," Kurt snarled, allowing himself to be herded toward the stairs going down toward the basement parking garage.
The man laughed, pressing his gun into Kurt's back as they walked, "I don't give a shit."
Kurt mumbled to himself, "Clearly," and wondered if there was any way he could get his phone out of his front pocket without the man noticing. No, he was being watched very carefully. Kurt would just have to bide his time and try not to give into the fear. He was Kurt Hummel, he was strong. This man may have the upper hand at the moment, but as soon as that gun was put away, Kurt would call his husband. Noah would be able to find him. He had to.
And then this blonde man was going to pay.
~~**~~
At eleven-thirty, Noah was out on a case. Domestic. His absolute least favorite. He was a detective, he shouldn't have to put up with this beat-cop shit anymore, but he and his partner had got the call anyway.
Mrs. Putnam wanted her husband out of the house but Mr. Putnam's name was on the lease, too. There were no good solutions past getting both parties to calm down and work out some sort of compromise. He was just starting to make some headway with Mrs. Putnam, putting his best charm-smile to work, when he got a phone call.
Noticing that it was the department store calling, and hoping it was Kurt about to tell him all the ways he could get back into the bedroom, Puck excused himself and answered, "Hey."
"Mr. Puckerman? Noah?" a woman's voice asked, and no, it wasn't Kurt's woman-like voice. Puck got concerned right away.
"Yeah, that's me. Is Kurt okay?"
"I was hoping you could tell us," the woman replied. "This is Shelly, his supervisor. He hasn't come in yet, and we were expecting him at ten. I tried calling him, but he's not answering his phone."
"Okay," Puck sighed, really not encouraged by Shelly's words. Either Kurt was more pissed off than he'd ever been and was risking his job to show it, or something had happened to him. Knowing how much Kurt loved his job, Puck's mind instantly decided that his husband was in serious danger. "Thanks for calling, Shelly. I'll figure out what's wrong and get him to call you right away."
"Great," the woman replied. "Thank you, Noah. I'll see you at the Christmas party next month?"
Glad Kurt's job wasn't in so much danger that they'd been dis-invited from the company party, Puck replied, "Wouldn't miss it, Shelly. See you there."
After hanging up, Puck quickly checked on his partner, Martinez, before dialing again, "Dispatch? This is Puckerman. I've got a family emergency. Can you get someone to come cover me with this call I'm on? Martinez looks like she could use the help."
"Sure thing, Puck, darling," the dispatch officer, Marie, replied. "I've put in your early leave request and it's … approved. You'll be relieved of duty as soon as Cooper and Lennox get there."
"Thanks, girl," Puck sighed, feeling even more anxious as he hung up and dialed Kurt's phone again. He wasn't being routed to voice mail anymore. Kurt was just letting it ring and ring. Something was definitely wrong. After the beep, Puck muttered into the phone, "Please be just sleeping or something, babe. Don't be dead. If you're dead, I'll kill you, Hummel. I swear to god." He wanted to say more, something that would guilt Kurt into calling him back, but Martinez waved him over in a panic as the husband lunged for the wife.
God damned domestic calls.
~~**~~
Sometime between entering the parking garage and waking up somewhere dark and in motion, Kurt must have been knocked out. The back of his head ached like nothing else and he tried to bring his hands up to feel if he was bleeding or not, but they were still cuffed together and tied to something else. The air felt close and hot, which made Kurt realize he wasn't someplace dark. He was wearing some sort of black hood.
It was all he could do not to hyperventilate.
Kurt realized in a flash that he was probably never going to see his family again. He hoped Jason was okay and Noah would survive bath-times and bedtimes without him. He mourned for the little girl they were going to adopt once her teenage mother gave birth, which was supposed to be only six weeks away. Noah wanted to name her Skyler, Kurt had been vying for Rose. Oh god, if he didn't get out of this, that poor baby was going to be saddled with the worst name in history!
Trying to remember all those action movies Noah had made him watch, Kurt closed his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. He was in a car or a truck, he could tell that much. The ride was smooth, so he couldn't tell how fast they were going, but the car seemed to drive on and on forever without stopping or slowing down. Crap. He was on the interstate. Noah was never going to find him.
~~**~~
When Puck finally got away he drove home, knowing Martinez would get a ride with someone else. She was resourceful that way, more often than not playing off her good looks to get what she wanted. Puck was pretty sure Kurt suspected him of getting it on with his partner at least once, and that's why whenever he was forced to talk to her, Puck's husband kept all his phrases short and clipped. It wasn't true. Puck told Kurt that all the time, and was sure Kurt believed him most of the time, but after what Blaine had done, Kurt had a difficult time trusting anyone.
Puck's high-school reputation certainly hadn't helped things.
But Martinez was a classy lady. She wouldn't sleep with a married man, especially if he had kids. Plus, Puck was pretty sure she had a sugar daddy keeping her in expensive perfume and diamond earrings, even if she didn't want to talk about it. Ever.
Parking in his normal space in the garage, Puck saw that Kurt's car, child seat and all, was still where it belonged. What if Kurt was sick or something? What if he'd passed out? What if something worse had happened? Puck took the stairs up from the parking garage to the second floor, pulling out his gun as he ran. Nothing seemed amiss in the stairwell or in the corridor when he pushed through the fire door.
The second door on the left was them and Puck hurried toward the door, gun pointed down in case Kurt was just being bitchy, so Puck wouldn't shoot him accidentally on purpose. Usually Puck was cool with whatever mood Kurt wanted to throw down, but sometimes he knew he got this little voice in his head that just said, "The hell with it," and wanted to rain down fire like the death star. Puck usually got out of the house for a few minutes when that happened, and it had been working fairly well for their marriage so far.
But now Kurt was blowing off work, he wasn't answering his phone, save a pair of texts almost four hours ago, and if he was just soaking in the tub or something lame, Puck didn't know what he would do. For god's sake, they were trying to adopt a baby soon. This wasn't the time to lose sight of what mattered, like bringing home that paycheck and - wait, when did Puck become the responsible one in this relationship?
Shaking his head, Puck tried the door and found it unlocked. He entered the apartment carefully, following protocol to the letter so he wouldn't have any surprises at his back. Even if it was just Kurt wielding a slipper like he was wont to do when angry, Puck wanted to see that shit coming.
There was no one in the living room, no one in the kitchen, no one in the hallway. No one in Jason's room. No one in the nursery. No one in the hall bathroom, no one in the master bedroom. No one in that bathroom either.
No Kurt.
No one.
Kurt's bag was still sitting, half-packed on the bed, his keys were hanging next to the door, but his phone was missing. Even if Puck couldn't find a speck of blood anywhere, he knew this was all wrong. He wouldn't go further than the corner store without his man-purse and all the lotions and things he liked to keep in there. He wouldn't leave the house without his keys and every single pair of his shoes appeared to be where Puck had seen them last. Kurt hadn't left of his own free will.
Not knowing what else to do, Puck dialed dispatch and when he got an answer said, "Marie? Girl, I … Fuck, send someone to my place, alright? My husband's been kidnapped."
"Oh, no Puckerman!" the woman cried back and Puck could hear the urgent tapping of her fingers as she dialed in the order. "Are you sure? He didn't just step out for a minute?"
"He's gone," Puck insisted softly, hanging up and sitting down on the couch, wondering who the hell would want to take his husband. It wasn't like they were rich or anything. They made just enough money to adopt two kids and keep Kurt in a few designer outfits a year. It was comfortable, but nothing fancy. Hell, they couldn't even come up with the down payment to buy an apartment yet, not that and pay for Rose's adoption.
Oh, and now Kurt had him calling the baby Rose, too.
"God damn it, Kurt," Puck sighed, picking up his husband's scarf from the coffee table and holding it to his forehead like it would give him the answers he wanted. "Where are you?"
~~**~~
Eventually the truck or the van or whatever Kurt was in pulled off the interstate and slowed before coming to a stop. After a few more minutes of surface streets - stopping and going, barely accelerating before having to slow down to make a turn - the vehicle stopped for the last time and the engine sputtered to a stop. Someone, who Kurt expected was the man who had taken him from his home, pulled at the rope attached to Kurt's cuffs, making him scramble to either keep his footing or be dragged bodily from the truck.
"You know," Kurt said, loudly so the man could hear him through the heavy fabric of his hood, "you should really get your vehicle looked at. Your timing belt sounds about a thousand miles away from snapping and your spark plugs aren't firing very well."
The man laughed, but didn't reply, just shoving Kurt in front of him. The man pulled him up a short set of stairs onto what sounded like a wooden porch and then through a screen door that banged behind them. Then there were stairs down into a cold, damp place - probably a cellar - and the quiet whimpers of more than one person. Okay, Kurt had thought he was scared before. Now he was beyond scared, and his knees failed him.
"Up," the man ordered gruffly, pulling on Kurt's elbow and shoving him a few more feet away from the stairs. Then metal clanked against metal and a set of hinges groaned before Kurt was turned around and shoved backward a few steps. What felt like the barrel of that gun pressed against Kurt's temple again and he went rigid, not really wanting to give the man an excuse to shoot him.
Then, all of a sudden, Kurt's wrists were free, the hood was pulled away, and a steel-mesh door slammed in his face. Blinking in the suddenly bright light, Kurt was just able to see the hefty man's legs as he strode back up the stairs, leaving Kurt locked up down in his basement in a cage made of strong metal. Another whimpering noise made Kurt turn around sharply to see two women huddled together. A third stood apart from the other two, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed under her breasts and fire in her eyes.
Kurt liked her right away.
"I don't suppose," he began, meeting the third woman's eyes, "you know where we are?"
She shrugged, eying him up and down as one of the pair of women sputtered, "Hell. It has to be hell."
Kurt scoffed, "Like I would believe in hell. We're obviously in that man's basement. I want to know why."
"You really, really don't," the second woman spoke, hiding her face in her friend's shoulder.
"Hey, now, Stacy," the third woman said, standing up from her lean and taking a few steps toward Kurt, "maybe he's here for a different reason. He's the only man here. I don't think he'll get the same treatment."
Stacy's friend scoffed quietly, "Doesn't look like much of a man."
Kurt glared at her and straightened out his hair, standing up as straight as he could with the pain still pounding at the back of his head and something weird going on with his left foot, now that he thought about it. "What treatment?" he asked, turning back to look at the third woman, the one who might actually tell him the truth.
"He's been raping us," she said through gritted teeth, "when it gets dark. I've been here four nights and it's always the same. He takes one of us away, we scream so the others can hear it, and then we come back broken. He won't even let us shower."
"Oh my god," Kurt breathed, bringing a hand up to his mouth as his legs gave out and he crashed backward a few inches into the mesh wall of the cell they were in. "That's awful! We have to get out of here."
"Don't you think I've tried?" the third woman sighed, leaning back again and watching Kurt like he was something filthy on the bottom of her shoe. "There's no way out. Not without tools which we don't have, or some way to contact help."
"Shit," Kurt sighed, patting his pockets and realizing his phone was gone, taken away while he was unconscious. What else had the man done to him that Kurt couldn't remember? Sitting down on the (regretfully) dirt floor, he said, "I'm Kurt. What are your names?"
"Ginger," the third one said, and Kurt thought the name kind of ironic, since she had milk-and-tea colored skin and short, dark black hair. She pointed and said, "That's Stacy with the blonde hair and the busty brunette is Martha."
"Hello," Kurt waved weakly before resting his chin on his knees. "I would say it's nice to meet you, but it's really not under these circumstances."
The light streaming through a thin, barred window in one corner of the cellar, made it look like it was still mid morning. There was still time for Noah to find him before something awful happened, if Ginger was to be believed. God, it was selfish, but Kurt really hoped she was right and his kidnapper would leave Kurt alone just for the simple fact that he was a man. The thought wasn't very comforting. Only the thought of Noah and all the might of his police department and how quickly they would find him gave Kurt any comfort whatsoever.
Deciding to share that comfort, Kurt told the ladies, "My husband is a detective. He'll find us."
Ginger scoffed, "Mine's with the FBI and it's been four nights. Don't count on it, sweetheart."
"My boyfriend works at a prison," Martha offered, wiping her nose on the shoulder of her sleeve.
Stacy shrugged and said, "Jerry's a psychologist. He talks to bored housewives and manic executives all day."
"What have we gotten into?" Kurt asked quietly, looking up at the window again and willing time to stand still so the night would never come. Noah was going to be so heartbroken when he found out how Kurt died, especially given the way Kurt had been acting since last night. And how was Puck going to explain Kurt's death to Jason? This couldn't be happening.
~~**~~
When Puck called for help, he expected a few patrol officers, maybe another detective. He did not expect a tornado of badge-wielding FBI agents and crime scene techs. "What's going on?" he asked one of the agents, who introduced himself as Peter Moline. "Kurt hasn't even been gone twenty-four hours."
"We think your husband's kidnapping," the man began, pulling Puck out into the hallway and rubbing at his eyes like he was tired, "is the fifth in a string of similar kidnappings. Up until now it was all women, spouses of men involved in the criminal justice system."
"Why?" Puck asked, suddenly feeling the need to put his fist through the drywall. "Is this my work following me home? What's happening?"
Agent Moline wavered and Puck could tell he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure he should. And that wasn't just exhaustion in his eyes, was it? "Did he get yours?" Puck guessed, watching the man's face. "Your wife?"
"Yeah," Moline nodded, eyes down and hands on his hips. "My wife Ginger was taken from the parking lot of our grocery store five days ago. We haven't found her body yet."
"So you've found a body?" Puck guessed again, hating the fact that Moline's face said he was right. Fucking hell. "Who was it? What did you find?"
"Theresa Sands," the agent said, pushing his thinning hair back from his forehead. "Wife of Howard Sands, federal court judge. She was taken a week before she was killed. She'd been molested repeatedly before he strangled her." Moline choked up a little and turned away, one fist pressed to his mouth like that might help him get through this.
"Hey," Puck said, putting his hand on the guy's shoulder, "we're gonna find them. I've got your back, dude."
Moline shook his head, a serious federal look on his face. "No. This is a federal investigation. We're … we…"
"I'm helping, end of conversation," Puck insisted. "This douchebag has my husband. I'm not gonna let it slide. Besides, I know the area. We'll find them, Agent Moline. We have to."
Another agent came up to them, meeting Moline's eyes with a phone up to her ear. "Good news, sir," she said. "Now that Detective Puckerman's involved in the case, we've been able to narrow the pool of suspects down to two. I've sent you the specifics. We'll have him soon, sir."
"Thank you, Kutcher," Moline nodded, taking out his phone and pulling up the information. "Do you remember either of these men, Detective? Joshua Wilson, arrested by you six years ago for transporting a minor across state lines. My office took the case from there and Judge Sands was presiding when he was sentenced to five years."
Puck thought back and shook his head, "It doesn't ring a bell. I'd have to look up my own case file. Let me see what I can do."
"Alright," Agent Moline nodded. "The other is Thomas Gardner. You collared him ten years ago for drug possession and we connected him to a string of robberies across the Midwest. Got out on bail three weeks ago."
Thinking hard, Puck thought he might remember that name. Ten years ago he'd been a rookie. He hadn't even started dating Kurt yet. The first case he got called out on, and it was a big one. Drug raid at a crack house on the wrong side of Lima. "Thomas Gardner was the first man I arrested," Puck laughed a little humorlessly. "He was either drugged out of his skull or crazy. I've arrested maybe twenty just like him since then."
Moline nodded. "That's where we'll start. Let's get back to the branch office. My people are all set up there and we really could use your insight."
Puck smirked and followed the FBI guy out of the building, taking out his phone as he walked and calling Finn.
"What's up?" the guy answered. "I'm at work. Can't this wait?"
"No," Puck growled. "Need you to get Jay after school, alright? Don't freak out, but your brother's missing."
"Missing?" Finn cried, and Puck could tell he was freaking out despite Puck's orders. "What do you mean missing?"
"I mean kidnapped, you douche," Puck replied. "Now are you gonna pick up your nephew at three-fifteen or not?"
"Yeah," Finn agreed eagerly, now that the shock had worn off a little. "Yeah, sure."
"Thanks, bro," Puck sighed, making sure to tell him. "Don't worry. Me and the feds are all over this. We're gonna find him soon."
Finn sighed into the mic, "Sure, Noah. Good luck."
Puck grunted and hung up, dialing Georgia's number and telling her if she didn't want a strange six-foot-five giant picking her daughter up from school today, she'd probably rather do it herself. Before she could ask questions, Puck hung up and got into Agent Moline's car, whispering to himself, "I'm coming for you, baby."
~~**~~
As the hours ticked by, Kurt learned a few things. First, Ginger was stronger than any one person had a right to be, even in the face of all this horror. Second, Martha and Stacy seemed to cry in tandem. As soon as one of them started, the other would join and it would keep circling around on itself until one of them managed to calm down for a few minutes. The process repeated about four times an hour, by Kurt's estimation.
He found himself wishing he'd worn a watch that day, despite the way none of his watches matched his outfit. Not knowing how much longer until the man decided Kurt was acceptable, even if he was male, killed Kurt one second at a time. His whole life reduced to waiting, just like when his father had that heart attack or when they were waiting in the hospital for Jason to be born. Kurt hated it.
Needing to speak, he said softly, "I never made it to Broadway. I became a junior buyer for the department store instead. That morphed into personal shopping and now I tell rich old ladies what to buy. What do you girls do?"
"I'm a receptionist," Martha spoke up, clutching Stacy's hand tightly. "I work in a dentist's office."
"Stay-at-home mom," Stacy replied. "I was thinking of starting my own catering service."
"And you?" Kurt asked Ginger, sure she would say Navy Seal or something like that.
Instead she admitted, "Middle school teacher."
Kurt didn't know how to respond to that, though remembering back to middle school her immutable attitude started to make sense. She dealt with devils all day long, if you could count hormonal teens and preteens, which Kurt did. He was not looking forward to the day Jason realized his fathers were human, and thus knew absolutely nothing. He'd seen Tina and Mike go through it recently and it wasn't pretty. Kurt didn't have to worry about that, though, because he wasn't going to live long enough to see Jay grow up.
He had to get out of here somehow. He had to.
~~**~~
Puck had never been in the FBI before, but it wasn't too different from his precinct office on the edge of Cleveland proper. Kurt had been behind his move from the downtown precinct, insisting that it was safer out here in the suburbs. After responding to a few calls about drunkards waving guns and all the damn domestic cases, Puck begged to differ. At least he worked not very far from home and Jason got to live in a neighborhood with a park across the street and his school just a mile away.
Puck wondered briefly if he was about to become a single dad, but pushed the thought away. He'd come here to find Kurt alive, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Agent Moline had a group of four agents working for him, including Kutcher, and they'd set up a board in a conference room, detailing the lives of everyone who'd been taken.
Underneath Kurt's driver's license photo, it said, "Kurt Hummel, 29, spouse of Noah Puckerman, CPD." He was so much more than that, though. Kurt was the kid in glee club who would never take no for an answer. Kurt was the lost college student Puck had run into two years after high school graduation, drowning his troubles in a flask of peach schnapps. Kurt was the first man Puck had ever seriously dated, and Kurt was the warm body Puck wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life. "Spouse" didn't seem to cover it.
"So far," Agent Kutcher explained, "the only connections we've found between all the victims are the fact that their significant others work in law enforcement."
"Even this Dr. Gerald Sommers?" Puck asked, pointing to the name written under a picture of a pretty blonde woman.
"Yeah," Kutcher nodded. "Dr. Sommers consults for the FBI, acts as an expert witness when someone tries to plead insanity. His wife being taken, along with your husband, really narrowed down the list of possible suspects. We think whoever's been doing this has a grudge against anyone involved in putting him away, including one of the guards at the federal prison where both Wilson and Gardner, as well as most of the felons in this area of the country, were incarcerated."
"Shit," Puck sighed, scratching the short hair on the back of his head, like it would help him think. Kurt always got on his case about it, telling him excess touching of his hair would only make him go bald. Puck always said Kurt was the one with the family history of hair loss, so maybe he should think about that before nagging Puck. Secretly, he always kind of liked it when Kurt nagged him. It let Puck talk back and usually led to flirting and then sex. "How are we doing on tracking down Gardner?"
One of the other agents looked up from his computer and said, "And … we've got an address. Looks current, since he paid his electric bill last week. Let's go."
Puck patted the gun in its holster under his arm and followed the agent back out. He was going to be on the front lines of this thing, no matter what.
~~**~~
A few hours after Kurt was shoved into the cage, the man came back. Kurt now noticed that he was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, like something you'd wear for working in a shop, like Kurt's dad's, or a factory. He wore heavy work boots caked in mud and that scar across the side of his face was more than distracting. Wordlessly, the man opened the cage door and shoved a box in, closing and locking the door firmly behind it.
After the man had left, Kurt asked, "What's this?" while Ginger crouched down next to the box and started rifling through it.
"Lunch," she replied, tossing Kurt a bottle of water that still had its plastic seal around the mouthpiece. Kurt couldn't even think of eating, especially when Ginger tore into a twinkie like it was heaven on earth, but he decided if he was going to get out, he had to keep his strength up. Keeping that in mind, he opened his water bottle and took a few sips before approaching the box. It was full of sealed food items, which Kurt guessed was to make sure they trusted the food and actually ate. But why keep them fed? Wasn't the man just going to kill them, anyway?
Oh god, what if he wasn't? What if he was going to keep them here, torturing them forever?
No. Not him. Not Kurt Hummel. Deciding to forgo the junk food, Kurt searched the cell until he found a loose wire at the bottom of one of the mesh walls. He couldn't really bend it with his bare hands, but if he took a board from one of the crates they'd been given to sit on, maybe he could push out an escape hatch. It was worth trying, anyway.
Besides, Noah had made him endure hours upon hours of mullet-riddled reruns of MacGyver. Kurt might as well put some of that knowledge to use.
~~**~~
Gardner was a dead fucking end. They found him stoned out of his mind in his house, clearly involved in nothing more notorious than scamming little old ladies for drug money. A search of the place revealed no hostages, no evidence that Gardner was even capable of kidnapping, and absolutely no Kurt.
"What a fucking waste of time," Puck growled at Moline as they headed back to the guy's cruiser.
~~**~~
Please comment. With enough new ideas and cheerleading I may be able to continue. If you'd like to adopt this fic, send me a PM letting me know where you'd take the story.