“Done.” Her response came at the same instant the red light died, and he smiled behind the bandana. She’d waited for him, for his request, giving him control for this. “The boy’s stirring.”
Looking down, Owen saw less blood on his torso than he’d expected, Kuellen’s inability to take a real breath having restricted the amount of blowback he’d coughed onto Owen’s clothes. “On my way.” He tossed the tape to August. “Close him up.” Binding his mouth closed would help keep from leaving a massive trail of DNA wherever they wound up taking the dead pervert. “I’m checking on the kid.”
Back out in the main room, he realized the noise from the servers had changed, lessening until the only sounds he could identify were the whistling of the HVAC exchange vents. Angling to where he’d left the boy, Owen found him awake, blanket strategically wrapped around him to allow freedom of movement. Subvocally, he asked Alace, “Can you make it warmer in here?” To the boy, he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. No one here can hurt you, ever again.” He couldn’t promise the boy wouldn’t ever be hurt, because he didn’t plan on being around the kid that long. From the boy’s skeptical expression, Owen knew the kid didn’t think he’d keep even that tiny promise. “The man who was keeping you—” Owen hesitated over which word to use, and the boy filled in the blank.
“Prisoner. I’m a prisoner.” Soft consonants ran together, giving little distinction between phrases. Without the ability to use his tongue to shape the words, they were slurred and scarcely intelligible.
“Yeah, he was keeping you a prisoner. He’s a bad guy. You’re a good guy. I get it.” Owen wanted to reach out and physically reassure the boy but remembered how long it had taken his kids to accept that overtures from Owen were always going to be positive ones. He didn’t want to scare this boy, not when the kid wasn’t afraid of him. Not yet, anyway. “What’s your name?” He briefly considered giving the boy his in advance but wanted to wait. There’s more than me at stake now.
“Wobme. I’m Wobme.”
It took an instant and another repetition of the set of sounds, but Owen finally recognized what the boy was saying. “Your name is Rodney.” The boy—Rodney—nodded frantically, eyes widening at hearing his name spoken aloud. “Rodney, you’re safe now. I have a friend who’s a doctor. I want to take you to see him, and then we’ll get you to the authorities.” Taking the kid to the cops would be a huge gamble. Owen could take measures to restrict the boy’s knowledge of his location. Assuming Kuellen had brought him in unconscious or incapacitated, Owen’s house, even just a few doors down, would be safe. If he could get Doc to wear a mask, even a surgical one, and use nitrile gloves, there’d be nothing tying them to the boy. “Can I do that? Take you to my friend?”
“He won’t hurt me?” This came through clearer, and Owen wondered if he was already developing an ear for the boy’s vocalization efforts.
“No, Rodney.” Owen considered how Warrant had stripped Kelly and Shiloh’s individual personalities away, and wanted to start the process back to normalcy for Rodney now by reaffirming his name every chance he got. “My friend’s a good guy, like you.”
The boy’s jaw worked as he tried to frame a response, the stump of his tongue retracting towards the back of his throat, the movement so alien Owen had a hard time not flinching.
“Owen, August needs you back in the room. Keep the kid outside.” Alace’s voice was as calm and composed as she always was, and Owen appreciated it a lot in this moment. When nothing else around him was normal, Alace remained dependable.
“I have to go back into the room, Rodney. I have a friend with me here, a different friend but still a good guy. He’s going to help me get you out of here.” Better to position their mission around the boy in his mind, give Rodney a little faith maybe someone had missed him and sent rescuers. Rodney’s fingers dug deep furrows in the blanket, pulling and twisting the fabric in his agitation as he tried to speak. Owen pushed, “Rodney, can you stay out here for me? Right here by the stairs. Those lead up to the rest of the house. In a few minutes, we’ll go up them and through the door. I’ll unlock it, and we’ll go out, and then we’ll get you to my doctor friend.” Emphasizing the rescue aspect, he struggled to find a tone that would reassure the boy—Rodney’s attempts at talking grew more difficult to watch as he became agitated.
Reaching a breaking point, the boy threw his head back and screamed, the same keening shriek from before. Head still angled backwards, he said in a slurred rush, “Aldo will hurt you. I’m scared. Aldo will kill you.” The sounds of tape ripping came from the room behind him, and Owen ignored whatever August was doing, remaining focused on the boy.
“No, Rodney.” Owen took a chance and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, bringing his arched frame upright so he could lock their gazes. “Aldo won’t hurt anyone else, ever again. I promise you that.”
Fear fought with another emotion across Rodney’s face, finally settling into something Owen recognized as relief. “He’s dead. He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s real dead.” Owen didn’t respond, didn’t react, but kept his gaze steady on Rodney’s face as the boy crumpled into tears. “Thank God. Thank God. I prayed he’d die.” He lifted his hand, showing Owen a stump where his little finger had been. “I’ve been here three years. I prayed. I prayed.” Rodney shoved at the blanket to free his lower extremities and pointed to his feet in succession, indicating the missing little toe on each. He held up his other hand, all five digits. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow was four years.”
“He’s never hurting you, or anyone, ever again.”
“Okay. Okay. Never again. I prayed for you.” Rodney nodded as he sat up, shifting so his back leaned against the wall. “I’ll wait here.” Fingers fussily plucking at the blanket, he arranged it around him. “Right here.”
“Owen.” Alace’s tone warned him, and he stiffened his spine as he waited for her to finish her thought. “I found him. Rodney Faust, age fourteen. He’s been missing for seven years. Against all odds, his parents are still looking for him. Oldest of three kids, he was taken from a birthday party at a park in Georgia. Seven years, Owen. He’s special needs, but there’s no real detail, the file simply says cognitive delays.”
“Perfect, Rodney. Thank you, buddy. Stay right here.” Owen scooched back before rising to his feet, not wanting to loom over the boy. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Owen couldn’t let himself focus on the nightmare Rodney’s parents had been living. Are still living. Seven years. God. Dialing in on the little he knew, he recited the pertinent details to Alace. “No ligature marks on wrists or ankles, he has been restrained differently, probably in cages or locked rooms, like here. Is he on our list from the auctions?” Owen stepped through the doorway, noting the wedge August had placed on the hinge side, keeping the door from shutting completely, protecting them from being locked inside. Continuing with the subvocal, he nodded at August. “I know you are keeping your voice from being heard. Smart. Show me what you need.”