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Howie kept watching the clock as he and the others waited for word on Nick. With each minute that crawled by, he couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere else in the emergency department, a doctor was pronouncing Nick’s death. It was a morbid thought, but once it crept into his mind, it wouldn’t go away.

“God, when is someone gonna give us an update?” stewed Kevin, breaking the stunned silence, as he stalked back and forth across the tiled floor like a caged lion.

“They must still be working on him,” Leighanne said softly. Casting an anxious glance at Lauren, she added, “That’s a good thing. It means they’re not giving up.”

Lauren nodded, hugging herself tightly. To Howie, it looked like she was literally trying to hold herself together. He wished he could offer Nick’s wife some words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. He settled for wrapping his arm around her and rubbing her shoulder, hoping it would help her some.

Desperate as he was for news, Howie almost dreaded seeing a doctor walk through the door of the private waiting room where they were sitting - or, in Kevin’s case, pacing. Like Leighanne had implied, as long as they were left there to wait and wonder, they could continue to hope and pray that Nick would pull through. But in a matter of seconds - and with only a few words - someone could come in and crush their hopes forever.

When the closed door finally opened, Howie’s heart dropped. The woman who entered the room wore a white coat, green scrubs, and a grim expression. “I’m Dr. Oussoren,” she introduced herself, closing the door behind her. “I’ve been taking care of Mr. Carter.”

“You can call him Nick,” said Lauren hoarsely, looking up. “I’m his wife. How is my husband?”

“He’s alive,” the doctor answered, “but in critical condition.”

Howie felt his heart lift when he heard the first two words, the heavy sense of dread that had been weighing him down slowly dissipating. The latter part didn’t worry him as much as it probably should have. In his mind, it didn’t matter how badly Nick had been hurt - as long as he was alive, they would be able to help him… heal him. As long as he was alive, there was still hope.

“Nick was in cardiac arrest when he came in,” Dr. Oussoren went on, “but we were able to get his heart beating again.”

“Thank you,” whispered Lauren, as tears of gratitude streamed down her face. Howie tightened his grip around her, hugging her to his side. “Thank you for saving him.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor warned. “We don’t know how long his brain was deprived of oxygen before CPR was started. He could have significant neurological damage.”

Howie’s heart sank.

“We need to run some tests to assess his condition and find out what caused his heart to stop,” Dr. Oussoren continued. “I’ve consulted with one of our cardiologists, Dr. Gravel, who’s going to take over Nick’s care. In the meantime, I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Carter, so we can find out more about your husband’s medical history.”

“Of course,” Lauren agreed with a nod, wiping her tears away. “Whatever you need to know.”

“Well, for starters, how long has Nick had his ICD?”

“His what?” asked Lauren, giving her a blank look.

“ICD - implantable cardioverter-defibrillator.” When Lauren continued to look confused, the doctor added, “Or maybe you’ve been calling it a pacemaker? It has that function, too.”

Frowning, Lauren shook her head. “Nick doesn’t have a pacemaker.”

An awkward pause followed, in which Dr. Oussoren just stared at her. Finally, the doctor replied, “I don’t mean to contradict you, ma’am, but he does have an ICD. I saw the outline of it myself on the chest X-ray we took just a few minutes ago.

“I don’t understand…” Lauren looked around at Howie and the others, as if asking if they knew something she didn’t. But Howie felt just as confused. Could Nick have had a pacemaker put in at some point and not told anyone? After being diagnosed with cardiomyopathy over a decade ago, Nick had kept his heart condition to himself for a couple of months, needing to deal with it on his own before he confided in the other guys, but Howie couldn’t imagine him hiding something like that from them now. These days, Nick was an open book. It didn’t make any sense.

“Those people must have done it,” growled AJ, speaking for the first time. Seven pairs of eyes suddenly focused on him, all widening with surprise.

“What people?” asked Dr. Oussoren, her brow knitting in bewilderment.

“The people who kidnapped him: fucking Frat Boy Chad - or Dr. Robin whatever the hell his real name is - and his fucked-up wife!” There was a hatred burning in his brown eyes that Howie had never seen there before. “Pardon my French,” AJ muttered, but if the doctor was offended by his profanity, she didn’t let it show.

“You believe the ICD was implanted against Nick’s will?” she asked incredulously.

Feeling his stomach drop, Howie looked from AJ to Detective Overton, wondering what she would think of his theory. Was it possible for a doctor who was no longer practicing medicine to put in a pacemaker? Howie supposed it was possible, provided he had the necessary equipment - and judging from the videos posted on their website, the Henaults had plenty of medical equipment.

“Doctor, do you have any indication of how long this device has been in Nick’s body?” Detective Overton asked. “There must be some sort of scar.”

Dr. Oussoren nodded. “The incision hasn’t fully healed yet, so it hasn’t been there long - less than a month, I would guess, but it’s hard to say for sure. That’s why I was asking.”

“Oh my god!” gasped Lauren, her mouth dropping in horror. “What the fuck is wrong with these people?! Why would they do something like that?”

Kevin shook his head, his hands balling into fists as his brow furrowed. “They’re freaks - that’s why.”

The doctor frowned, looking more and more disturbed by what she was hearing. “If the ICD was implanted in anything less than sterile conditions, it could have caused a serious infection,” she said.

Howie swallowed hard as he looked around at the others. They all seemed just as stunned as he was.

Dr. Oussoren cleared her throat. “There’s something else I wanted to ask you about,” she continued. “Did Nick suffer a fall or sustain any injuries just before his disappearance?”

Lauren shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but I wouldn’t necessarily know if he had.” Her face reddened as she went on to explain, “We were separated, living on opposite sides of the country.”

“I talked to Nick a few times before he went missing,” Howie added. “He never mentioned anything about getting hurt. Why?”

“Well, the chest X-ray also showed a series of rib fractures,” said Dr. Oussoren, shifting her weight awkwardly. “Some of them may be the result of the mechanical CPR device that was used on him, but others had to have been sustained prior to today - they appeared to be partially healed already.” She hesitated before adding, “I also noticed some old bruises on his chest. It looks like he may have been beaten by his captors.”

“Oh god,” murmured Lauren again, as fresh tears filled her eyes.

Leighanne shook her head, her own eyes wide with horror. “Poor Nick,” she said softly. Howie knew she wasn’t just thinking of Nick, but of her own husband, too. Brian was still out there somewhere, possibly being abused by the same people… or worse.

***


The inside of the car’s trunk was dark and stuffy. Beads of sweat dripped down Brian’s body as he lay on his side in the cramped space, curled into the fetal position with his knees wedged against his chest.

Besides being uncomfortable, Brian felt utterly defeated. He couldn’t believe how quickly he had been recaptured by Patrick. He should have been able to outrun the overweight man, but in his weakened state, Patrick had caught up to him and overpowered him easily. Brian’s head pounded from hitting the pavement when Patrick had wrestled him to the ground. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash near his right temple. His brief taste of freedom had turned bitter on his tongue.

It had only been a couple of minutes, but already, it was getting hard to breathe inside the hot trunk. Brian tried to take slow, deep breaths through the trach tube, knowing he needed to conserve what little oxygen he had within the confined space, but he struggled to get enough air. As panic set in, he began to hyperventilate.

Calm down, he told himself, his body sliding painfully across the carpeted bottom as the car took a corner too fast. He’s probably just taking you back to the funeral home. At least you’ll be out of the trunk in a few more minutes. But the thought brought him no consolation. He would rather suffocate inside this trunk than be drugged and imprisoned in the hospital bed he had worked so hard to escape.

I have to fight back, he decided. I’ll die before I let him do that to me again. Determined, he managed to roll over onto his left side so that he was facing the front of the trunk. He felt around for an escape latch, but couldn’t find one. Scooting as far back as he could, he tried to peel up part of the carpeting to search for a tire iron or jack hidden with the spare underneath, any sort of tool he could use to either pry open the trunk lid or hit Patrick over the head.

Before he had gotten very far, Brian felt the car slow to a stop. His mind raced, knowing he had only seconds to plan his next move before Patrick popped the trunk. He had to be ready. He pictured himself springing out of the trunk with his fists flying, planting his foot into Patrick’s face with a roundhouse kick like Bruce Lee. It wasn’t very practical, considering the condition he was in, but just imagining it gave him a grim sense of satisfaction.

Minutes went by without anything happening. The car wasn’t moving, but neither was Patrick. Brian hadn’t felt the car rock as he climbed out of the driver’s seat or heard the door close - not that he could hear much from inside the trunk except the sound of his own labored breathing. Maybe Patrick was planning to leave him there until he passed out from lack of oxygen. Once Brian was unconscious, Patrick would have no problem bringing him back to his bed and administering more of the medication to paralyze him so he would never be able to leave it again.

Panic-stricken once more, Brian started banging on the trunk. Let me out! he tried to scream, but no sound came out. The trach tube in his throat prevented him from being able to speak. He doubted anyone would hear him anyway, but he had to try to make as much noise as possible in hopes of attracting the attention of someone who could help him. He rocked his body back and forth, using his weight to make the trunk bounce. He smacked the lid with his hands and kicked the side with his feet.

When the trunk suddenly popped open, Brian’s heart leapt into his throat. As the lid lifted, he looked up, expecting to see Patrick leering down at him, and prepared himself to start punching and kicking. But to his astonishment, the man standing behind the trunk was wearing a dark blue police uniform. Brian blinked as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, hardly able to believe what he was seeing.

“Holy shit,” he heard the officer swear under his breath, his eyes widening as he stared down at Brian. Behind him, Brian saw a squad car with its lights flashing. Suddenly, the officer’s eyes shifted to the left, and he shouted, “Hold it right there! Don’t move!” as he reached for the handgun holstered at his hip.

Brian froze, but he realized the officer wasn’t talking to him when he took off running, drawing his firearm as he disappeared from Brian’s sight. Brian sat up, his stiff muscles protesting every moment he made as he hauled himself painfully out of the trunk. He was afraid his cramped legs were going to give out on him when he stood up, leaning heavily against the back of the car. He could see the police officer chasing Patrick up the street on which he had pulled him over.

For a fat guy, Patrick was faster than Brian would have thought possible, his arms pumping at his sides as he ran at full speed. Still, the policeman caught up to him quickly. After a brief struggle, Patrick fell forward, faceplanting on the pavement. The officer pinned him to the ground and handcuffed his wrists behind his back. His knees weak with relief, Brian sank to the curb before he collapsed.

A second police car pulled up to the scene less than a minute later, its lights flashing and sirens blaring. A female officer jumped out. She ran ahead to assist her colleague before she came back to check on Brian. “Are you all right, Mr. Littrell?” she asked, as she knelt on the pavement in front of him. “Are you hurt?”

Brian usually hated being recognized in public, but for once, he was relieved that she already knew who he was. It would save him some time trying to explain what had happened. He shook his head in response to her question, then pointed to his trach tube, trying to convey that he couldn’t talk. He held up his left hand and pretended to write on his palm with his right, hoping she would understand what he wanted. His miming must have made sense to the officer, who brought over a notepad and pen. As quickly as he could, Brian scrawled across the paper, “That guy Patrick & 3 others (Elizabeth, Rob, Dani) have been holding me & Nick hostage at Gravel Funeral Home.” His hand was shaking so hard, he didn’t know if the officer would be able to read his writing, but to his relief, she nodded.

“Mr. Carter was located a couple of hours ago and taken to the hospital, where he’s currently being treated. You’re both safe now,” she assured him.

Brian felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Thank you, God, he thought. He didn’t know what Dani had done with Nick, but as long as he was away from her, he would be all right. He had to be. “Is he OK?” Brian wrote on the notepad.

The officer hesitated. “I’m sorry; I don’t know his condition,” she answered, but Brian couldn’t help but notice the way she was suddenly avoiding his eyes. He knew then that Nick was not okay.

***