August’s cheeks lifted again, revealing he was evidently a smiley type of fellow, and he pointed at Kuellen, now unnaturally bent double at the waist, broken in half with his legs already bound to his torso. August mimed lifting something heavy and pointed to Owen, then upstairs.
“You need me to go upstairs and find a bag?” August shook his head, tipping his chin towards the outside of the house. “You have one in your vehicle?” That earned him a nod, and he grinned, hoping August could see it in his eyes. “How about if I get the kid out of here, and you deal with our friend?” August gave a decisive nod. “Okay. We can meet up later to debrief.” August blanked him on that, neither giving affirmative or negative reactions. “No, for real. We should meet later to discuss.” August looked straight at him for a long beat, then slowly dipped his chin. “Deal. Alace has my address if you don’t already have it. Literally a block and a half from here.”
August pointed at the door and made a shooing motion.
“Yeah, yeah. I am going.” He turned, then looked back. “Appreciate this. Gratitude, man.” Back in the main room, he saw Rodney hadn’t moved. Audibly, he said, “You ready to go, Rodney?”
“Doc is primed, Owen. How will you keep him from knowing where you live?”
Switching to subaudible, he told her, “I will tell him to get in back and lie down, then I will drive around for half an hour.”
“Copy that, relaying the delay to Doc.”
“Rodney, let’s go upstairs and see if we can find a pair of shorts for you to wear, then we’ll go to my friend’s house.” He walked past where Rodney sat, then turned and bent, offering a hand to help the boy rise to his feet, blanket clutched around his body, held in place with bone-thin fingers.
“Door at the top is unlocked.”
“Thanks.” He masked his unthinking audible response with a cough. “Nearly there, Rodney. You’re doin’ great.” At the top, he swung the door wide, glancing back to see Rodney’s eyes wide, as if he were taking in the house for the first time. Probably is. Owen aimed them towards Kuellen’s bedroom, sickened by the idea of the boy wearing clothing belonging to his tormentor but more motivated by the idea of giving the boy back some of his dignity. Social mores required clothing, and Kuellen had taken that from Rodney. Owen would give it back, much as he’d done with the kids in the compound around Warrant’s cabin. “Here we go.”
Once in the darkened room, Owen saw a dresser along the inside wall. In the top drawer, he found a pair of briefs, and in the bottom, both a T-shirt and a pair of drawstring sweatpants. Handing them to Rodney, he went to the doorway and stood with his back to the boy, giving him privacy to dress.
Sounds of hopping, then the soft shurring of fabric being pulled into place were the only noises Owen could hear. “Help me?” The boy’s slurred request for assistance made him look over his shoulder. Rodney was fumbling with the string of the pants. “I can’t.” In his mind, he saw Doc with Shiloh, patiently showing her the bunny ears process of tying her own shoes.
“Sure you can, buddy.” He moved slowly, pleased when Rodney didn’t flinch away. “Over, under first. Then make two bunny ears with the string, and loop one over, bring it through the bunny hole.” Seven years in this hell. My God. He was only seven when he was taken. “Easy peasy, buddy.” He pulled the loops tight and stepped back. “There you go.” He held out his hand, pleased when Rodney took it right away.
“Where’s your car, Owen?”
He stutter-stepped at Alace’s question, then started walking again. Using the subaudible mic, he asked, “Can you have Doc move the car to the curb?”
Alace laughed and sighed. “Only for you, Owen. Only for you.” He heard her shuffling something around; then she said, “He’s on his way to you, but he needs the car parked on the curb. He probably doesn’t have keys, either, so if you could leave them on top of the front tire on the driver side, that would be appreciated.”
“Almost there.” Rodney was stumbling in his exhaustion, no doubt malnutrition exacerbated by the attack he’d been withstanding from Kuellen combined with the unexpected activity of passing out, climbing the stairs, and getting dressed for the first time in who knew how long. “We’ll go as slow as you need. The car’s right up the street.”
Rodney’s grip dragged on his hand and halted their forward progress. Owen turned to find him slumped against the hallway wall, head hanging loosely from his bowed neck. “I’m tired.”
“I can carry you if that’s okay.” Rodney nodded, his head wobbling with the movement. “Okay, then. I’ve got you.” Owen repeated what he’d first told the boy. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” Scooping the thin child into his arms, he winced as the boy’s hips and elbows dug sharply into him. “Just about there.”
Owen navigated their way out of the house and to the quiet street, passing a darkened car parked halfway between Ashworth’s house and his own. Probably August’s ride. Another minute slipped by, and he stopped next to the car Doc had backed out of the garage. He looked down and realized Rodney had passed out, either overcome as he had been earlier or simply asleep. Either way, what he’d hoped to accomplish was effectively done, because the boy would never know if they’d driven away or not.
Using the throat mic, he told Alace, “Tell Doc I am walking up the sidewalk. Meet me at the front door. I am afraid the garage opener would wake the boy.” Within seconds, the front door swept wide, the room behind Doc darkened so he didn’t stand out as a target silhouette. Doc moved back as Owen approached, closed the door behind him, and led the way to the treatment room. Faint light coming from the kitchen illuminated enough to see Doc had on a medical mask, as requested.
“Owen, I’m switching you to a different channel. I can focus on August better that way.” His earpiece buzzed, then she said, “Clear your throat if you can hear me.” Doc cleared his throat in sync with Owen, who stared at the man’s back.
Subaudibly, he asked, “Can Doc hear me?”
Doc nodded, cleared his throat, then nodded again, the uncertain movements telegraphing his nerves.
“Got it. Here is what I know. Rodney Faust, fourteen years old. Probably repeatedly sodomized. Had fingers and a toe amputated, those wounds are long healed, the newest about a year old. His tongue has been split and amputated about halfway back. The tongue is healed but looks irritated and was bleeding recently. Exhausted, underweight, I estimate he is about ninety pounds, probably should be one fifty given bone structure. Taken from family in Georgia seven years ago.” Doc made a choked sound as he turned into the treatment room. He stood to one side as Owen walked past, closing the door behind him.
“He’s lucid?” As he’d done when first meeting their kids, Doc crouched several feet away, putting himself in a lower position than Rodney would be when he awoke.
“Lucid and aware.” Owen paused, knowing this next bit would be telling. “Compliant, not complaining, even when he was too exhausted to take another step. He has been pleasing people for a long time, Doc.”
“I hate that for him. You said his name is Rodney? Did he tell you that?”