Redemption Chapter 16
Jensen heaved an irritated sigh and shook the cuff encircling his wrist, rattling the metal circlet attached to the leg of Milo’s desk at the other end. “Don’t y’all think this is a bit extreme?” He glowered at the sheriff through the open door of his office. Jones only snorted, eyes focused on the stack of paperwork in front of him.
Jensen turned beseeching eyes toward Chris. “C’mon, man! Really?” He shook the cuffs again for emphasis.
Chris leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. He’d agreed to come in and babysit his best friend while Tom and Mike did their patrols, their route paying special attention to a stretch of Murphy Road that just happened to run by the Old McIntyre farm. Chris turned the page of his car magazine. “He warned you that if you didn’t stop pacing…”
“I didn’t think he’d seriously cuff me to the desk!” Jensen exclaimed. “Chris, I gotta go back. He threatened Jared. He’s going to hurt him. I know it. He’s put Jared in the hospital for a lot less. Please! If that bastard hurts my family, I’ll never forgive myself…or you.”
Chris dropped his feet and sat forward in his chair, the air of nonchalance he’d cloaked his real feelings in to try to keep Jensen calm faltering, “Jensen…”
“Listen, Sprout,” the sheriff interrupted and Jensen bristled at his childhood nickname, the one his Papaw had given him when he was young. Jones was now standing in the doorway to his office, leaning against the jamb. His face was sympathetic, but Jensen had known the man long enough to see the frustration hardening the lines around the Sheriff’s eyes and mouth. “Nobody wants anything to happen to Jared or the twins but our hands are tied. I tried to get Jared to tell me, but I can only lead a horse to the water.”
“He’s scared,” Jensen defended then added quietly, “I’m scared. You don’t know the things that Timothy has done to him…the scars…” He dropped heavily into Milo’s chair, his free arm propped on the desktop and supporting his aching head. There was a picture of Sandy near the phone and Jensen closed his eyes to her smiling face, unable to bear any semblance of joy when he felt like his heart was dying. He didn’t know how, but in his gut there was this certainty that this time Timothy would go too far, would kill Jared. He tugged the cuff again, jaw tightening.
A warm hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know, Sprout.”
“No, you don’t,” Jensen snapped back, eyes opening to glare at his presumptuous mentor.
“I know,” Jones repeated, voice calm and brows raised, the significant look on his face clearly telegraphing his meaning.
Jensen’s mouth went slack with sudden realization. “You - you read Jared’s medical files? How?”
“I’ve made it my business to read about quite a few things in the last two weeks. You whippersnappers aren’t the only one with friends in high places.” At Jensen and Chris’s impressed and questioning gazes, the corner of his lips twitched up in a smile. “I helped out the US Marshalls back in the nineties with a manhunt for a Chicago doctor. Turned out he didn’t do what they thought he’d done, but they were grateful for the assistance none- the- less.”
“Then you understand why I need to go back,” Jensen looked up with pleading eyes.
“I understand,” Jones agreed. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you. Legally there is nothing we can do and Timothy can make things so much worse for you. Especially until Jake gets those trumped up charges dropped. He said it could take a few days to get everything cleared, right?”
“I don’t give a damn about the fucking case!” Jensen yelled. “All I care about is keeping my family safe.”
“I’ve got Tom and Mike doing nothing but going up and down that patch of road in front of Jared’s house. They’ve been told if the wind so much as blows wrong, they’re to go in.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Chris added.
“It’s not enough,” Jensen shook off Jones’s hand still clasping his shoulder. “Even if they realized something was wrong, by the time they get there Jared could be dead and Timothy would be long gone. I need to get Jared and the boys out before that happens.”
“You can’t protect them if you’re in jail,” Chris reasoned.
“He can’t press charges if he’s dead,” Jensen growled back.
“First off, we didn’t hear that and, second, if you go back all that will happen…” Chris was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone. Exchanging a momentarily confused look, all three of their heads turned in unison toward Danneel’s desk where Jensen had set his phone during his earlier pacing.
Unthinking, Jensen jumped up, cursing when the handcuff caught and jerked him back down by the wrist. “Off, off, off,” he grit out, pushing at the metal in an attempt to force it over his hand, the skin at the base of his palm reddening from the effort. “Chris! Answer it before it goes to voicemail. It might be Jared.”
Chris lurched to his feet and hurried to the phone. Seeing Jared’s name on the display, he opened it. “Jared?”
Jensen pulled wildly on the cuffs, the desk noisily shifting a few inches with each tug. “Give it to me!”
Chris’s brow furrowed at the chaotic noise echoing over the line. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the display then replaced it. “Jared? What’s going on?”
“Give. It. To. Me!” Jensen yanked the desk with each word, moving it a few more inches. Chris came closer slowly, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, but mind too preoccupied trying to understand what he was hearing. His face was still contorted in a mask of confusion and Jensen stilled, his feelings matching his friend’s. “Is he -“ Jensen listened closer to the noise coming across the phone, “Is he laughing?”
Chris shook his head, his expression unsure. The voice was talking too fast and the words were garbled. Finally, he made out ‘Papa’ and his face paled. “Benji? Benji, is that you?”
“Papa!”
His name, the one that the boys had given him, echoed loudly over the line and Jensen’s heart stopped. Chris pulled the phone away at the exclamation and for the first time Jensen could really hear the voices on the other end. His boys weren’t laughing, they were crying…hysterically. Benji and Teddy didn’t cry. Timothy had taught them that lesson long ago, so for them to be so uncontrollable something bad must have happened. Anger surged through him - at Sheriff Jones for not believing him, for cuffing him; Chris for not getting his fucking ass over there with the phone; at what he imagined Timothy had done to make his boys so upset; and, most importantly, at himself for allowing any of this to happen. He grabbed the bottom of the desk and heaved, turning it over and slipping the cuff from around the leg. Jones jumped back, narrowly avoiding the up-ended furniture or the tumbling items that had once rested on top of it.
Jensen stepped on and over the spilled items - Milo’s coffee cup and the picture of Sandy lost under his boot tread - and snatched the phone from his best friend.
“Benji? It’s okay, buddy.” Tears stung Jensen’s eyes and his heart thundered against his ribcage. In the background, he could hear Teddy’s sobs and the image of Benji with his arm protectively around his brother sprang to mind. Jensen took a shaky breath. “It’s Papa. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Father hit him,” the words were stilted, coming out between great hiccupping heaves that told Jensen Benji’s cries had not just started. “Daddy didn’t…didn’t move. His eyes,” the sentence died into emotion choked sounds, whimpers and tears crackling down the line.
“Benji?” Jensen’s breath hitched. Daddy didn’t move. He swallowed and licked his lips, desperately trying to rein in his emotions. “Where are you, buddy?” The sound of anguish and fear was his only answer. “Benji! I need you to tell me where you are so I can come get you. Are you at home?” Benji sniffled and whined, his gasping breaths bordering on hyperventilation. “Benji, is Teddy there with you? Give the phone to Teddy.” Teddy had always been the shyer of the twins, drawing on Benji’s strength and confidence, but Jensen knew that the boy had reserves that rivaled his brother’s. Right now, Jensen was counting on that.
There was a rustling and then Jensen heard Teddy’s meek. “Papa?”
“Teddy?” Jensen breathed a sigh of relief at hearing the small boy’s voice. “Where are you at?”
“Daddy made us leave. He told us to run, but we didn’t want to. He made us, Papa! I swear!” Teddy’s words were rushed and jumbled, tumbling out of his mouth interspersed with wracking sobs.
“It’s okay, Teddy Bear,” Jensen soothed. “You did good, little man. Where did Daddy tell you to go? Where are you?” Jensen could barely hold back the panic. He remembered Jared telling him about the contingency plan he’d devised back in Atlanta if Timothy ever went too far - the boys were to go to Uncle Chad. Had Jared set up another escape plan for twins?
“Your house. Daddy said to go to you. He said to run and not look back.” Jensen could still hear Benji crying in the background and at Teddy’s whispered, “Daddy’s eyes were closed” the crying grew in volume.
“You’re at my house?” Jensen repeated and saw Jones rush to the phone on Welling’s desk. Swallowing, he tried to sound comforting. “You did so good, little man. You and your brother both. I need you to do something for me. Go into the shed where Papa parks the Impala and shut the doors. You think you can do that?”
Jones tapped him on the arm, “Welling and Rosenbaum are en route. ETA less than five.”
Jensen nodded, “Teddy?” He could hear the sound of the wind blowing over the receiver. “Are you going to the shed?”
“Yes, Papa,” Teddy answered.
“That’s my good boys. Listen, Uncle Mike and Uncle Tom will be there in a few minutes. Stay in the shed and don’t come out for anyone but them. Okay? They’ll take you to Papaw and Granny’s.” Jensen was tugging on his jacket, Chris and Sheriff Jones pulling theirs on as well.
“I want you,” Teddy whined, his sniffling beginning anew. “Why can’t you come get us?”
“I know, buddy. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I have to go help Daddy first. I’m gonna stay on the phone with you until Uncle Tom and Uncle Mike show up.” He walked toward the door, his hand out for the keys to his car.
Chris shook his head, ignoring the glower he received. “You talk, I’ll drive.”
*****
Tom and Mike had shown up to gather the twins just as Jensen, Chris and Sheriff Jones were turning into the driveway to Jared’s house. Jared’s new Escalade sat alone in the yard, Timothy’s Mercedes no longer parked beside it, and the house was dark save a dim light from the upstairs window to Jared’s room. The three men approached the house cautiously, Chris and Jones with their service weapons drawn and ready. The screen door banged in the cool night breeze and the front door stood open, heated air from inside warming the welcome mat. Jensen moved into the foyer, eyes and ears alert for anything in the darkness. “Jared?” He called out.
Chris followed him in and ran his hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. With a flick of the wrist, the space was suddenly illuminated and all the air in Jensen’s lungs left him in a gasp. The foyer was in shambles. The lamp that was providing the light was lying on the floor on its side, the ceramic base shattered and the shade bent. The answering machine was smashed, its internal components broken beyond repair and scattered across the floor. Everywhere Jensen looked there was dried blood. Drips were spattered over the hardwood and along the door casing to the kitchen, but the rug had taken the brunt. There were two large puddles and several parallel red streaks. Jensen crouched beside the rug and stared at the red lines, Chris coming over to join him.
“Downstairs is clear.” Chris followed his friend’s gaze and frowned. He stepped back and took in the rug as a whole. “He was trying to use the rug to crawl to the door.”
Jensen nodded his head, already having come to that conclusion. He squared his jaw, forcing himself to harden against the idea of Jared clawing his way across the floor. His stomach turned when he noticed that the red lines ended right before the smaller of the two puddles.
“Let’s check upstairs,” Jones moved toward the stairs, but stopped when he saw the wide smears of red on each step. He looked back at Jensen. “Maybe you should stay down here,” he suggested, raising his hand when Jensen’s mouth automatically opened to protest. “We have no idea what we’re going to find, Jensen.”
Jensen stared at his mentor in the eye. “Understood. Let’s go.” He pushed past the older man and began to ascend the stairs.
They moved up the stairs as a silent unit, honed from years of working as a team. They separated at the landing, checking the dark rooms for hidden danger. Signaling ‘all clear’, they came back together in front of the last room to be checked. Dull light peeked into the hall through the cracked open door of the master bedroom, but it was just as silent as the rest of the house. Jensen took a deep breath and carefully nudged the door open with the tips of his fingers. It swung on a slow arc and Jensen froze, needing to see what lay inside while at the same time afraid of what he’d find. His breath left him in a harsh rush.
The room hadn’t been spared Timothy’s redecorating wrath. The space that had once been his and Jared’s sanctuary - the place they could shut out everything and just be themselves; the place they’d spent Sunday mornings curled up with the twins like a pile of puppies watching cartoons - was unrecognizable. Gone were the antique pieces that screamed love and home; modern, sleek updates now stood in their spots. The framed evidence of the kids growing up, of their love, that Jared had lovingly selected to cover the walls and flat surfaces had been replaced with artistic, sterilized choices by an interior decorator that held no meaning to the inhabitants. The makeover; however, wasn’t what had Jensen’s heart thundering in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins.
The bed was an unruly mess, the ivory bedclothes disheveled and stained and the pillows scattered to the four corners of the room. The fitted sheet had pulled loose from one corner of the bed and showed a quarter of the large mattress underneath, bought new when Jared moved to Wowakan and now sporting spots of dark red-brown that hadn’t been there the last time Jensen’d help change the sheets. The top sheet spilled over the far edge in a satin waterfall, cream shot through with splotches of bright red. A harsh rattling sound filled the room and Jensen looked dumbly at the floor mounted heating register. Rounding the end of the bed, his eyes widened and his knees painfully hit the carpeted floor.
Jensen dimly heard voices swirling around him, pitched loud in worry. He walked forward on his aching knees, eyes riveted on the still form on the floor.
Jared was dead. Jensen had failed him. He’d come too late and now Jared was dead.
Jensen’s hands trembled as he reached out, needing to touch his love one last time. His fingers ghosted over Jared’s bruise mottled back, jumping back when they felt the skin shift under the sensitive pads.
“Jared?” It was little more than a croak and cut off abruptly on an exhale. Jensen’s eyes widened, finally seeing the slight and erratic rise and fall of Jared’s back, so easy to miss unless you were watching carefully. He blinked back tears as his hand extended again to gently roll the battered body over.
“Jared?” He repeated, fingers tenderly stroking down a blood crusted cheek to rest at the faint, fluttering at Jared’s neck. Jared’s eyes were swollen, the left completely shut and the right very nearly. A winding river of dried blood led from a jagged gash bisecting a lump on Jared’s forehead to mat his eyelashes. Bruises shadowed his jaw and neck, those around his throat suspiciously finger shaped. The rattling he’d mistaken as a loose heating vent was more of a gurgling now that he was closer, growing and decreasing in volume with each laboriously slow breath Jared took in.
Jensen gathered Jared in his arms, unconsciously rocking back and forth as he cooed soothing words. His hand lay gently against Jared’s chest, needing to feel the thrum of a heartbeat no matter how faint and the expansion of lungs despite the irregularity. Purple dotted with black completely obscured the normally tanned skin over Jared’s ribcage and Jensen gently ran his hands over the abused flesh, wondering if he would know what a broken rib would feel like by touch.
“Jensen?” Chris voice was low, close to his ear, and a hand rested on his shoulder. “The paramedics are on their way.”
Jensen nodded, sniffling he pulled the sheet up higher to cover Jared’s bare body. He couldn’t let them see Jared like this. Jared wouldn’t like others seeing him naked. He pressed kisses to blood and sweat matted hair. “It’s okay, Jared. I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen. Right here.” He refused to look at the damage, knowing there would be time for that later. All that mattered right now was Jared and ignoring the gurgling he could hear with each exhale.
An eternity later, gentle hands prodded him, urging him away from Jared and he tightened his hold. He shook his head, pressing his cheek to Jared’s temple and worrying at the coolness of his love’s skin.
“Sir, we need you to move,” a male voice encouraged, once again pulling carefully on the arms wrapped around the damaged man.
“No,” Jensen muttered in a voice he didn’t recognize, “he needs me.”
“Yes, he does,” he heard a woman say, a small hand lay comfortingly on his neck, “but, right now, he needs us more.” Jensen pulled his eyes from the sporadic up and down of Jared’s chest to see kind, concerned blue eyes on him. “Let us help?”
Jensen swallowed and nodded, uncurling his stiff arms from Jared’s body and pressing a kiss to Jared’s blue-tinged lips. “You be good for these people and do what they say, okay, Jared? I’ll see you real soon.” He slipped back and took a steadying breath as the uniformed personnel descended on Jared’s form, crowding around him and obscuring him from Jensen’s view.
He stepped forward, wanting, needing, to see Jared, but strong arms surrounded his chest. “Let them work,” Chris’s voice husked in his ear, emotions deepening the timber.
“Bag him,” the male paramedic barked at a younger man standing near a large duffel, the blue star of life emblazoned on the side.
“What?!” Jensen screamed, fighting against Chris’s hold. No, Jared couldn’t be dead. He was just alive. What happened? They did something to him, Jared was just alive in Jensen’s arms.
The female paramedic came over to him quickly, shooting a glare at her apologetic looking male partner. “Your friend isn’t breathing that well and we need to help. Nick is going to use a bag-valve mask to get him some air until we can put a tube in. That’s what Sean meant by ‘bag him’.” She tilted her head down until her eyes met Jensen’s. “I’m sorry he upset you.” When she didn’t get a response, she looked over at Chris. “You got him? I need to get back.”
Jensen felt movement by his shoulder and the blue eyes disappeared. “It’s okay” was whispered next to his ear and the arms around him tightened. “I’ve got you.” Jensen struggled half-heartedly before sinking back into his friend’s embrace, watching the three people work furiously over Jared.
*****
Jensen sat in a hard plastic chair and stared unseeingly at the far wall of the waiting room. His eyes were tired and dry, the red rims aching from the silent tears that had fallen on the way to the hospital. He’d been allowed to ride in the ambulance, but Jared’s condition had relegated him to the front seat so the paramedics had room to work in the back. He heard their urgent voices calling for medications and equipment, his body trembling with fear that Jared wouldn’t make the trip. The younger man, the EMT, gave him compassionate looks from the driver’s seat and tried to gently reassure him that his partners would do everything they could for Jared, but the consolation didn’t penetrate the haze of worry. At the hospital, he was ushered to the waiting room by an elderly candy-striper and there he’d been for the last hour. His mind was lost in a vicious cycle of ‘what if’ and ‘couldn’t be’ and ‘my fault’.
Chris and Sheriff Jones had shown up while Jensen was staring uncomprehendingly at a nurse in teddy bear scrubs trying to hand him a stack of paperwork that needed to be completed.
“Jensen?”
Jensen’s eyes slowly tracked over to his best friend and something Chris saw in them had him quietly taking the clipboard from the woman with promises to take care of the forms.
“All right, buddy,” Chris said softly, sitting next to Jensen and uncapping the pen provided. “Let’s just take it one line at a time.”
With some cajoling, Chris was able to get the papers finished, Jensen’s answers coming out flat and dull. He turned the clipboard back in, frowning as he sat next down next to his friend and eyed him warily. He managed a ghost of a smile when Steve bustled in, his boyfriend enveloping an unresponsive Jensen in a hug before treating Chris to the same. Chris took a steadying breath and tightened his embrace when he felt Steve shudder in his arms. Jared may be Jensen’s, but the young man had touched everyone.
Releasing him with a kiss to the neck, Chris sat back down as Steve made his way to the seat on Jensen’s other side. They pressed their shoulders against the hurting man between them, offering what little support they could.
Jensen stared at his hands resting on his thighs, one cupped loosely in the other. They were stained red the color dark in the whorls on his fingertips and in the creases of his palm and knuckles. He rubbed his thumb over the pad of the index finger on his other hand, movement becoming frantic when the dried blood didn’t seem to come off. Large hands covered his, stopping his efforts.
“Come on,” Steve gently pulled Jensen to his feet, one hand cradling his elbow to move the disturbingly pliant man. “Let’s get you cleaned up some. Can’t have your boy seeing you looking like an extra in a Tarrantino movie.” Steve guided him toward the bathroom, Jensen woodenly following.
Steve turned on the warm water and pumped a squirt of the liquid soap into his palm. Lowering Jensen’s hands under the stream, he vigorously lathered them, pointedly ignoring the pink bubbles the washing produced. “I talked to your Momma,” he said quietly, happy when Jensen’s eyes met his in the mirror. At least he knew his friend was in there somewhere. “She has the twins. They’re scared and cold, but they’re not hurt.” He examined Jensen’s hands and got some more soap, using his fingernails to get into the places his simple wiping had missed. “She’s gonna call Jared’s parents for you.”
Jensen’s reflection continued to stare at him as Steve rinsed away the remaining traces of Jared’s blood. He turned off the water and waved his hand in front of the towel dispenser, the motion activated sensor spitting out a pre-measured sheet. Patting Jensen’s hands dry, he startled at Jensen’s broken voice in the heavy silence.
“What if he dies? I - I can’t do this without him.”
Steve shivered at the childlike frailty of Jensen’s questions. “You could,” Steve assured, nodding when Jensen’s incredulous eyes came up to his own. “If you had to, you could.”
“I don’t want to,” Jensen whispered, gaze dropping to where Steve still held his hands wrapped in the damp paper towels.
Steve studied his friend’s face as tears he didn’t think Jensen even knew were falling silently tracked down his cheeks. “The twins are going to need you. You’ll find a way.” He balled up the paper towel and tossed it in the trash can. Taking Jensen’s hand, he led him back to his seat in the waiting room.
Chris stood as they approached, his arm coming around Jensen’s shoulders and sitting them down on the uncomfortable chairs. Jones was near the entrance talking animatedly into his cell phone and Steve raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“He’s on the phone with the Plymouth County Sheriff’s Department. They’re sending over personnel to help,” Chris explained.
“Timothy?” Steve asked, worried eyes flicking to Jensen.
“Gone,” Chris gritted out, his jaw clenched. Between them Jensen shuddered slightly and Chris rubbed his hand up and down his arm as Steve smoothed a thumb along the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Jen. We’re calling in reinforcements from all over to look for him. We’ll find him,” Chris promised, “We’ll find him and make him pay.”
Part B
{C}{C}{C}
Jensen turned beseeching eyes toward Chris. “C’mon, man! Really?” He shook the cuffs again for emphasis.
Chris leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. He’d agreed to come in and babysit his best friend while Tom and Mike did their patrols, their route paying special attention to a stretch of Murphy Road that just happened to run by the Old McIntyre farm. Chris turned the page of his car magazine. “He warned you that if you didn’t stop pacing…”
“I didn’t think he’d seriously cuff me to the desk!” Jensen exclaimed. “Chris, I gotta go back. He threatened Jared. He’s going to hurt him. I know it. He’s put Jared in the hospital for a lot less. Please! If that bastard hurts my family, I’ll never forgive myself…or you.”
Chris dropped his feet and sat forward in his chair, the air of nonchalance he’d cloaked his real feelings in to try to keep Jensen calm faltering, “Jensen…”
“Listen, Sprout,” the sheriff interrupted and Jensen bristled at his childhood nickname, the one his Papaw had given him when he was young. Jones was now standing in the doorway to his office, leaning against the jamb. His face was sympathetic, but Jensen had known the man long enough to see the frustration hardening the lines around the Sheriff’s eyes and mouth. “Nobody wants anything to happen to Jared or the twins but our hands are tied. I tried to get Jared to tell me, but I can only lead a horse to the water.”
“He’s scared,” Jensen defended then added quietly, “I’m scared. You don’t know the things that Timothy has done to him…the scars…” He dropped heavily into Milo’s chair, his free arm propped on the desktop and supporting his aching head. There was a picture of Sandy near the phone and Jensen closed his eyes to her smiling face, unable to bear any semblance of joy when he felt like his heart was dying. He didn’t know how, but in his gut there was this certainty that this time Timothy would go too far, would kill Jared. He tugged the cuff again, jaw tightening.
A warm hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know, Sprout.”
“No, you don’t,” Jensen snapped back, eyes opening to glare at his presumptuous mentor.
“I know,” Jones repeated, voice calm and brows raised, the significant look on his face clearly telegraphing his meaning.
Jensen’s mouth went slack with sudden realization. “You - you read Jared’s medical files? How?”
“I’ve made it my business to read about quite a few things in the last two weeks. You whippersnappers aren’t the only one with friends in high places.” At Jensen and Chris’s impressed and questioning gazes, the corner of his lips twitched up in a smile. “I helped out the US Marshalls back in the nineties with a manhunt for a Chicago doctor. Turned out he didn’t do what they thought he’d done, but they were grateful for the assistance none- the- less.”
“Then you understand why I need to go back,” Jensen looked up with pleading eyes.
“I understand,” Jones agreed. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you. Legally there is nothing we can do and Timothy can make things so much worse for you. Especially until Jake gets those trumped up charges dropped. He said it could take a few days to get everything cleared, right?”
“I don’t give a damn about the fucking case!” Jensen yelled. “All I care about is keeping my family safe.”
“I’ve got Tom and Mike doing nothing but going up and down that patch of road in front of Jared’s house. They’ve been told if the wind so much as blows wrong, they’re to go in.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” Chris added.
“It’s not enough,” Jensen shook off Jones’s hand still clasping his shoulder. “Even if they realized something was wrong, by the time they get there Jared could be dead and Timothy would be long gone. I need to get Jared and the boys out before that happens.”
“You can’t protect them if you’re in jail,” Chris reasoned.
“He can’t press charges if he’s dead,” Jensen growled back.
“First off, we didn’t hear that and, second, if you go back all that will happen…” Chris was cut off by the sound of a ringing phone. Exchanging a momentarily confused look, all three of their heads turned in unison toward Danneel’s desk where Jensen had set his phone during his earlier pacing.
Unthinking, Jensen jumped up, cursing when the handcuff caught and jerked him back down by the wrist. “Off, off, off,” he grit out, pushing at the metal in an attempt to force it over his hand, the skin at the base of his palm reddening from the effort. “Chris! Answer it before it goes to voicemail. It might be Jared.”
Chris lurched to his feet and hurried to the phone. Seeing Jared’s name on the display, he opened it. “Jared?”
Jensen pulled wildly on the cuffs, the desk noisily shifting a few inches with each tug. “Give it to me!”
Chris’s brow furrowed at the chaotic noise echoing over the line. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the display then replaced it. “Jared? What’s going on?”
“Give. It. To. Me!” Jensen yanked the desk with each word, moving it a few more inches. Chris came closer slowly, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, but mind too preoccupied trying to understand what he was hearing. His face was still contorted in a mask of confusion and Jensen stilled, his feelings matching his friend’s. “Is he -“ Jensen listened closer to the noise coming across the phone, “Is he laughing?”
Chris shook his head, his expression unsure. The voice was talking too fast and the words were garbled. Finally, he made out ‘Papa’ and his face paled. “Benji? Benji, is that you?”
“Papa!”
His name, the one that the boys had given him, echoed loudly over the line and Jensen’s heart stopped. Chris pulled the phone away at the exclamation and for the first time Jensen could really hear the voices on the other end. His boys weren’t laughing, they were crying…hysterically. Benji and Teddy didn’t cry. Timothy had taught them that lesson long ago, so for them to be so uncontrollable something bad must have happened. Anger surged through him - at Sheriff Jones for not believing him, for cuffing him; Chris for not getting his fucking ass over there with the phone; at what he imagined Timothy had done to make his boys so upset; and, most importantly, at himself for allowing any of this to happen. He grabbed the bottom of the desk and heaved, turning it over and slipping the cuff from around the leg. Jones jumped back, narrowly avoiding the up-ended furniture or the tumbling items that had once rested on top of it.
Jensen stepped on and over the spilled items - Milo’s coffee cup and the picture of Sandy lost under his boot tread - and snatched the phone from his best friend.
“Benji? It’s okay, buddy.” Tears stung Jensen’s eyes and his heart thundered against his ribcage. In the background, he could hear Teddy’s sobs and the image of Benji with his arm protectively around his brother sprang to mind. Jensen took a shaky breath. “It’s Papa. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Father hit him,” the words were stilted, coming out between great hiccupping heaves that told Jensen Benji’s cries had not just started. “Daddy didn’t…didn’t move. His eyes,” the sentence died into emotion choked sounds, whimpers and tears crackling down the line.
“Benji?” Jensen’s breath hitched. Daddy didn’t move. He swallowed and licked his lips, desperately trying to rein in his emotions. “Where are you, buddy?” The sound of anguish and fear was his only answer. “Benji! I need you to tell me where you are so I can come get you. Are you at home?” Benji sniffled and whined, his gasping breaths bordering on hyperventilation. “Benji, is Teddy there with you? Give the phone to Teddy.” Teddy had always been the shyer of the twins, drawing on Benji’s strength and confidence, but Jensen knew that the boy had reserves that rivaled his brother’s. Right now, Jensen was counting on that.
There was a rustling and then Jensen heard Teddy’s meek. “Papa?”
“Teddy?” Jensen breathed a sigh of relief at hearing the small boy’s voice. “Where are you at?”
“Daddy made us leave. He told us to run, but we didn’t want to. He made us, Papa! I swear!” Teddy’s words were rushed and jumbled, tumbling out of his mouth interspersed with wracking sobs.
“It’s okay, Teddy Bear,” Jensen soothed. “You did good, little man. Where did Daddy tell you to go? Where are you?” Jensen could barely hold back the panic. He remembered Jared telling him about the contingency plan he’d devised back in Atlanta if Timothy ever went too far - the boys were to go to Uncle Chad. Had Jared set up another escape plan for twins?
“Your house. Daddy said to go to you. He said to run and not look back.” Jensen could still hear Benji crying in the background and at Teddy’s whispered, “Daddy’s eyes were closed” the crying grew in volume.
“You’re at my house?” Jensen repeated and saw Jones rush to the phone on Welling’s desk. Swallowing, he tried to sound comforting. “You did so good, little man. You and your brother both. I need you to do something for me. Go into the shed where Papa parks the Impala and shut the doors. You think you can do that?”
Jones tapped him on the arm, “Welling and Rosenbaum are en route. ETA less than five.”
Jensen nodded, “Teddy?” He could hear the sound of the wind blowing over the receiver. “Are you going to the shed?”
“Yes, Papa,” Teddy answered.
“That’s my good boys. Listen, Uncle Mike and Uncle Tom will be there in a few minutes. Stay in the shed and don’t come out for anyone but them. Okay? They’ll take you to Papaw and Granny’s.” Jensen was tugging on his jacket, Chris and Sheriff Jones pulling theirs on as well.
“I want you,” Teddy whined, his sniffling beginning anew. “Why can’t you come get us?”
“I know, buddy. I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I have to go help Daddy first. I’m gonna stay on the phone with you until Uncle Tom and Uncle Mike show up.” He walked toward the door, his hand out for the keys to his car.
Chris shook his head, ignoring the glower he received. “You talk, I’ll drive.”
*****
Tom and Mike had shown up to gather the twins just as Jensen, Chris and Sheriff Jones were turning into the driveway to Jared’s house. Jared’s new Escalade sat alone in the yard, Timothy’s Mercedes no longer parked beside it, and the house was dark save a dim light from the upstairs window to Jared’s room. The three men approached the house cautiously, Chris and Jones with their service weapons drawn and ready. The screen door banged in the cool night breeze and the front door stood open, heated air from inside warming the welcome mat. Jensen moved into the foyer, eyes and ears alert for anything in the darkness. “Jared?” He called out.
Chris followed him in and ran his hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. With a flick of the wrist, the space was suddenly illuminated and all the air in Jensen’s lungs left him in a gasp. The foyer was in shambles. The lamp that was providing the light was lying on the floor on its side, the ceramic base shattered and the shade bent. The answering machine was smashed, its internal components broken beyond repair and scattered across the floor. Everywhere Jensen looked there was dried blood. Drips were spattered over the hardwood and along the door casing to the kitchen, but the rug had taken the brunt. There were two large puddles and several parallel red streaks. Jensen crouched beside the rug and stared at the red lines, Chris coming over to join him.
“Downstairs is clear.” Chris followed his friend’s gaze and frowned. He stepped back and took in the rug as a whole. “He was trying to use the rug to crawl to the door.”
Jensen nodded his head, already having come to that conclusion. He squared his jaw, forcing himself to harden against the idea of Jared clawing his way across the floor. His stomach turned when he noticed that the red lines ended right before the smaller of the two puddles.
“Let’s check upstairs,” Jones moved toward the stairs, but stopped when he saw the wide smears of red on each step. He looked back at Jensen. “Maybe you should stay down here,” he suggested, raising his hand when Jensen’s mouth automatically opened to protest. “We have no idea what we’re going to find, Jensen.”
Jensen stared at his mentor in the eye. “Understood. Let’s go.” He pushed past the older man and began to ascend the stairs.
They moved up the stairs as a silent unit, honed from years of working as a team. They separated at the landing, checking the dark rooms for hidden danger. Signaling ‘all clear’, they came back together in front of the last room to be checked. Dull light peeked into the hall through the cracked open door of the master bedroom, but it was just as silent as the rest of the house. Jensen took a deep breath and carefully nudged the door open with the tips of his fingers. It swung on a slow arc and Jensen froze, needing to see what lay inside while at the same time afraid of what he’d find. His breath left him in a harsh rush.
The room hadn’t been spared Timothy’s redecorating wrath. The space that had once been his and Jared’s sanctuary - the place they could shut out everything and just be themselves; the place they’d spent Sunday mornings curled up with the twins like a pile of puppies watching cartoons - was unrecognizable. Gone were the antique pieces that screamed love and home; modern, sleek updates now stood in their spots. The framed evidence of the kids growing up, of their love, that Jared had lovingly selected to cover the walls and flat surfaces had been replaced with artistic, sterilized choices by an interior decorator that held no meaning to the inhabitants. The makeover; however, wasn’t what had Jensen’s heart thundering in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins.
The bed was an unruly mess, the ivory bedclothes disheveled and stained and the pillows scattered to the four corners of the room. The fitted sheet had pulled loose from one corner of the bed and showed a quarter of the large mattress underneath, bought new when Jared moved to Wowakan and now sporting spots of dark red-brown that hadn’t been there the last time Jensen’d help change the sheets. The top sheet spilled over the far edge in a satin waterfall, cream shot through with splotches of bright red. A harsh rattling sound filled the room and Jensen looked dumbly at the floor mounted heating register. Rounding the end of the bed, his eyes widened and his knees painfully hit the carpeted floor.
Jensen dimly heard voices swirling around him, pitched loud in worry. He walked forward on his aching knees, eyes riveted on the still form on the floor.
Jared was dead. Jensen had failed him. He’d come too late and now Jared was dead.
Jensen’s hands trembled as he reached out, needing to touch his love one last time. His fingers ghosted over Jared’s bruise mottled back, jumping back when they felt the skin shift under the sensitive pads.
“Jared?” It was little more than a croak and cut off abruptly on an exhale. Jensen’s eyes widened, finally seeing the slight and erratic rise and fall of Jared’s back, so easy to miss unless you were watching carefully. He blinked back tears as his hand extended again to gently roll the battered body over.
“Jared?” He repeated, fingers tenderly stroking down a blood crusted cheek to rest at the faint, fluttering at Jared’s neck. Jared’s eyes were swollen, the left completely shut and the right very nearly. A winding river of dried blood led from a jagged gash bisecting a lump on Jared’s forehead to mat his eyelashes. Bruises shadowed his jaw and neck, those around his throat suspiciously finger shaped. The rattling he’d mistaken as a loose heating vent was more of a gurgling now that he was closer, growing and decreasing in volume with each laboriously slow breath Jared took in.
Jensen gathered Jared in his arms, unconsciously rocking back and forth as he cooed soothing words. His hand lay gently against Jared’s chest, needing to feel the thrum of a heartbeat no matter how faint and the expansion of lungs despite the irregularity. Purple dotted with black completely obscured the normally tanned skin over Jared’s ribcage and Jensen gently ran his hands over the abused flesh, wondering if he would know what a broken rib would feel like by touch.
“Jensen?” Chris voice was low, close to his ear, and a hand rested on his shoulder. “The paramedics are on their way.”
Jensen nodded, sniffling he pulled the sheet up higher to cover Jared’s bare body. He couldn’t let them see Jared like this. Jared wouldn’t like others seeing him naked. He pressed kisses to blood and sweat matted hair. “It’s okay, Jared. I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen. Right here.” He refused to look at the damage, knowing there would be time for that later. All that mattered right now was Jared and ignoring the gurgling he could hear with each exhale.
An eternity later, gentle hands prodded him, urging him away from Jared and he tightened his hold. He shook his head, pressing his cheek to Jared’s temple and worrying at the coolness of his love’s skin.
“Sir, we need you to move,” a male voice encouraged, once again pulling carefully on the arms wrapped around the damaged man.
“No,” Jensen muttered in a voice he didn’t recognize, “he needs me.”
“Yes, he does,” he heard a woman say, a small hand lay comfortingly on his neck, “but, right now, he needs us more.” Jensen pulled his eyes from the sporadic up and down of Jared’s chest to see kind, concerned blue eyes on him. “Let us help?”
Jensen swallowed and nodded, uncurling his stiff arms from Jared’s body and pressing a kiss to Jared’s blue-tinged lips. “You be good for these people and do what they say, okay, Jared? I’ll see you real soon.” He slipped back and took a steadying breath as the uniformed personnel descended on Jared’s form, crowding around him and obscuring him from Jensen’s view.
He stepped forward, wanting, needing, to see Jared, but strong arms surrounded his chest. “Let them work,” Chris’s voice husked in his ear, emotions deepening the timber.
“Bag him,” the male paramedic barked at a younger man standing near a large duffel, the blue star of life emblazoned on the side.
“What?!” Jensen screamed, fighting against Chris’s hold. No, Jared couldn’t be dead. He was just alive. What happened? They did something to him, Jared was just alive in Jensen’s arms.
The female paramedic came over to him quickly, shooting a glare at her apologetic looking male partner. “Your friend isn’t breathing that well and we need to help. Nick is going to use a bag-valve mask to get him some air until we can put a tube in. That’s what Sean meant by ‘bag him’.” She tilted her head down until her eyes met Jensen’s. “I’m sorry he upset you.” When she didn’t get a response, she looked over at Chris. “You got him? I need to get back.”
Jensen felt movement by his shoulder and the blue eyes disappeared. “It’s okay” was whispered next to his ear and the arms around him tightened. “I’ve got you.” Jensen struggled half-heartedly before sinking back into his friend’s embrace, watching the three people work furiously over Jared.
*****
Jensen sat in a hard plastic chair and stared unseeingly at the far wall of the waiting room. His eyes were tired and dry, the red rims aching from the silent tears that had fallen on the way to the hospital. He’d been allowed to ride in the ambulance, but Jared’s condition had relegated him to the front seat so the paramedics had room to work in the back. He heard their urgent voices calling for medications and equipment, his body trembling with fear that Jared wouldn’t make the trip. The younger man, the EMT, gave him compassionate looks from the driver’s seat and tried to gently reassure him that his partners would do everything they could for Jared, but the consolation didn’t penetrate the haze of worry. At the hospital, he was ushered to the waiting room by an elderly candy-striper and there he’d been for the last hour. His mind was lost in a vicious cycle of ‘what if’ and ‘couldn’t be’ and ‘my fault’.
Chris and Sheriff Jones had shown up while Jensen was staring uncomprehendingly at a nurse in teddy bear scrubs trying to hand him a stack of paperwork that needed to be completed.
“Jensen?”
Jensen’s eyes slowly tracked over to his best friend and something Chris saw in them had him quietly taking the clipboard from the woman with promises to take care of the forms.
“All right, buddy,” Chris said softly, sitting next to Jensen and uncapping the pen provided. “Let’s just take it one line at a time.”
With some cajoling, Chris was able to get the papers finished, Jensen’s answers coming out flat and dull. He turned the clipboard back in, frowning as he sat next down next to his friend and eyed him warily. He managed a ghost of a smile when Steve bustled in, his boyfriend enveloping an unresponsive Jensen in a hug before treating Chris to the same. Chris took a steadying breath and tightened his embrace when he felt Steve shudder in his arms. Jared may be Jensen’s, but the young man had touched everyone.
Releasing him with a kiss to the neck, Chris sat back down as Steve made his way to the seat on Jensen’s other side. They pressed their shoulders against the hurting man between them, offering what little support they could.
Jensen stared at his hands resting on his thighs, one cupped loosely in the other. They were stained red the color dark in the whorls on his fingertips and in the creases of his palm and knuckles. He rubbed his thumb over the pad of the index finger on his other hand, movement becoming frantic when the dried blood didn’t seem to come off. Large hands covered his, stopping his efforts.
“Come on,” Steve gently pulled Jensen to his feet, one hand cradling his elbow to move the disturbingly pliant man. “Let’s get you cleaned up some. Can’t have your boy seeing you looking like an extra in a Tarrantino movie.” Steve guided him toward the bathroom, Jensen woodenly following.
Steve turned on the warm water and pumped a squirt of the liquid soap into his palm. Lowering Jensen’s hands under the stream, he vigorously lathered them, pointedly ignoring the pink bubbles the washing produced. “I talked to your Momma,” he said quietly, happy when Jensen’s eyes met his in the mirror. At least he knew his friend was in there somewhere. “She has the twins. They’re scared and cold, but they’re not hurt.” He examined Jensen’s hands and got some more soap, using his fingernails to get into the places his simple wiping had missed. “She’s gonna call Jared’s parents for you.”
Jensen’s reflection continued to stare at him as Steve rinsed away the remaining traces of Jared’s blood. He turned off the water and waved his hand in front of the towel dispenser, the motion activated sensor spitting out a pre-measured sheet. Patting Jensen’s hands dry, he startled at Jensen’s broken voice in the heavy silence.
“What if he dies? I - I can’t do this without him.”
Steve shivered at the childlike frailty of Jensen’s questions. “You could,” Steve assured, nodding when Jensen’s incredulous eyes came up to his own. “If you had to, you could.”
“I don’t want to,” Jensen whispered, gaze dropping to where Steve still held his hands wrapped in the damp paper towels.
Steve studied his friend’s face as tears he didn’t think Jensen even knew were falling silently tracked down his cheeks. “The twins are going to need you. You’ll find a way.” He balled up the paper towel and tossed it in the trash can. Taking Jensen’s hand, he led him back to his seat in the waiting room.
Chris stood as they approached, his arm coming around Jensen’s shoulders and sitting them down on the uncomfortable chairs. Jones was near the entrance talking animatedly into his cell phone and Steve raised an eyebrow in his direction.
“He’s on the phone with the Plymouth County Sheriff’s Department. They’re sending over personnel to help,” Chris explained.
“Timothy?” Steve asked, worried eyes flicking to Jensen.
“Gone,” Chris gritted out, his jaw clenched. Between them Jensen shuddered slightly and Chris rubbed his hand up and down his arm as Steve smoothed a thumb along the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Jen. We’re calling in reinforcements from all over to look for him. We’ll find him,” Chris promised, “We’ll find him and make him pay.”
Part B
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