135 Give Them Back

"GIVE ME BACK MY SONS!" The scream was shrill, enough to pierce people's eardrums. "GIVE THEM BACK, GIVE THEM BACK!"

Angela was yelling her lungs out in the living room, her voice growing hoarser by the second. Tears were ravaging her cheeks, and snot dripped from her nose; now, her face had nothing left of beautiful. Rather, it looked like a vengeful ghost's.

"It's your fault, your fault!" she repeated like a broken record, gripping her husband's shirt to shake him. "You should have just listened to their demands! If they send Tristan's eye next, what will we do!? What will we do…." She sniffled, then howled louder, "Just give up that damned route! You—"

"Calm down," Matthew said, the tone of his voice somewhat soothing. He hugged Angela, preventing her from ripping his collar, and sighed, "Alright, I'll comply with their demands. Shh, stop crying now."

"Just bring them back!" Angela buried her face in her husband's chest, her voice breaking as she repeated, "I want my sons back."

"And they will be back soon, I promise." Matthew placated his wife with gentle words, kissing the top of her head. "Shh, everything is going to be fine."

.

.

Standing a few meters away, Gabriel and Stephan coldly watched the scene unfold. They didn't make a sound, nor did they move. They were still to the point they resembled statues; it was as if they had become part of the background. And as such, the couple had momentarily forgotten them.

Not for long, of course, but long enough.

A dozen minutes ago or so, Gabriel had entered the house with the wooden box in his hands. He purposely gave it to his stepmother, who was more emotional than his cold-hearted father, and told her he had found it at the gate. Unlike a mail package, it didn't have a name or an address tag—simply put, it wasn't addressed to anyone. Regardless, he thought it was left for his parents, so he brought it inside.

Upon hearing these words, Angela's face paled. The next instant, she snatched the box from Gabriel's hands and opened it, then went into a frenzy after looking at its contents. Matthew, who stood by her side, could do nothing but bear his wife's wrath, trying to pacify her however he could. But Angela was blinded by anger, and whatever he said only added fuel to the fire.

After who knows how long, Matthew finally managed to calm his wife. Stroking his lover's back, he glanced at his son and Stephan, his emerald eyes appearing as detached from the world as always. It was as if what was happening had nothing to do with him.

"Could you go upstairs for a while? I'll deal with the situation at hand. I know you're worried about your brothers' safety, but don't call 911. The kidnappers were very clear on this. If they find out you contacted the police, they will kill the hostages right away."

Gabriel nodded, "I know. I won't put their lives in danger."

That being said, Gabriel and Stephan left the living room and climbed upstairs to Gabriel's bedroom. Once inside, Gabriel sat on the bed, his expression severe.

"Should we contact Misha's family…?" Stephan asked after a moment, appearing unsure of what to do now.

Back in the car, they hadn't called back Mrs. Brown after talking with the stranger on the phone because they didn't know what was going on. It wasn't like the man had stated his business clearly, and though Gabriel had a bad feeling, his intuition couldn't tell him what had actually happened. They had to figure out the situation first; only after could they think of telling Mrs. Brown what they knew.

"Better not. They won't stay calm and listen to what I say—you know how his family is. You also heard my father: the kidnappers will kill my brothers and Misha if someone gets in touch with the police. It doesn't matter who. As long as someone calls, they're dead."

"Matthew could have very well been lying! The kidnappers are not after a ransom but a route, like a smuggling route! Logically speaking, the probability of the police falling upon your father's side business while investigating the kidnapping is high—very high. And we both know that's something Matthew doesn't want to happen. "

Gabriel squinted his eyes, resting his chin on his hands. Earlier, Angela was too emotional and said too much, revealing things she normally wouldn't, like the route.

However, Matthew was still cool-headed and noticed things were getting out of control. So, he swiftly interrupted her before sending them upstairs, fearing his wife would disclose more sensitive information in front of the boys in her rage. Gabriel had always behaved like an idiot before his father, but even so, Matthew knew he wasn't completely brainless.

"Still, it's too risky. They sent Jake's eye not even a few hours after abducting him. They're ruthless and won't hesitate to kill."

"What do we do then?"

"What can we do? Without the help of the police, it's near impossible to find them. All we know is that they're a one-hour ride away from the house, but that doesn't tell us much."

On the surface, Gabriel appeared calm, but there was a storm brewing inside his mind. He didn't have enough information to act, aware that blindly assuming things wouldn't help. It could cause harm instead. If he wanted to make himself useful, he first had to learn more about what the kidnappers were after and who they were.

"For now, let's take the opportunity to search Jake's bedroom. If luck is on our side, we may find something of interest."

Gabriel knew it was a stretched idea, but what else could he do? He was at the end of his rope, and instead of doing nothing and pacing back and forth, it was better to investigate whatever would be investigated.

His father was a prudent man and kept his study locked, whereas his stepmother was as paranoid as one can get, destroying whatever could compromise her or her husband to nothingness. As a result, it was hard to probe and learn anything from them—even after years of hard work, Gabriel hadn't found much about his father and his stepmother's illegal business.

But it was different with Jake, who was overconfident and arrogant. Maybe, just maybe, he was dumb enough to leave incriminating things scattered in his room.

'Be safe, I'm begging you,' the thought crossed his mind as Gabriel left for his brother's room. 'I'll find you soon, so hang in there.'

***

The bandage wrapped around Jake's head was loose, and a few layers dangled on his cheek, brushing against his jaw. But regardless of how messy it appeared, it only swung a little when Jake tilted his head. It didn't fall off, nor did it loosen.

'Somehow, the bandage holds on,' Misha thought as he stared at his sloppy work, not knowing what to think. He did his best, and this messy thing was the result… It hurt his pride a little.

To make matters worse, he didn't know whether covering the gouged-out eye or not would help it heal—only a doctor could tell. Still, it eased his mind to see Jake wrapped up like a mummy. It gave off the illusion that his wound had been tended to and would get better in due time.

Hope springs eternal, as they say.

While Misha admired his work of art, Jake opened his mouth and asked with a voice rendered hoarse by the pain, "Is it I, or is bandaging other people's wounds not your forte? It feels like the bandage is going to fall off any second now."

"Oh shut up!" Misha grunted, pursing his lips. "Try to bandage someone's head with both of your hands tied, and then tell me how good you are at it!"

"Stop making excuses. Whatever you say, I'd probably do a better job."

"For fuck's sake, would it kill you to say thank you?"

"Yes, it would."

"You…!"

Seeing Misha's offended face, Jake couldn't help but let out a faint chuckle. He glanced at the teenager's puffed cheeks one more time before leaning against the cold wall, his head falling slightly backward. The next instant, he closed his remaining eye as if to rest.

God, his whole body hurt like hell.

It was his left eye that had been gouged out, so why did it feel like a car had run over him multiple times? Truly, it was a miracle he hadn't fainted until now, though he knew he wouldn't be able to hang on for much longer. His mind had grown too sluggish.

"The painkillers still haven't kicked in?" Misha asked tentatively after a short while, scrutinizing Jake's pale face. "You look like a ghost."

"No kidding," Jake snorted. "I'll feel better soon enough, so be a good boy and stop bothering me."

Misha's mouth twitched. Since when had Jake been so good at shutting him up? It was usually the other way around!

"You know, it feels like I've been talking to a stranger since a while back," Misha finally couldn't help but ask, suspiciously sizing up the man, "Were you switched with someone else? Better yet, are you possessed? Or have you been brainwashed? Or—"

"Who knows," Jake lazily interrupted, keeping his eye closed. "Will you shut your mouth now? You're loud, and I'd like to rest."

"…"

Well, once a jerk, forever a jerk.

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Edited by Clozed!

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