Buried: A Cainsville Story

Obtaining Answers

On the topic of torturing James Morgan, I was of two minds. I would very much like to turn him inside out. However, though Ricky appears to be settling in for the night, we do not have the luxury of taking our time.

"Ricky. A moment?"

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear my hidden, jittery, side demanding I hurry up. Olivia is dying somewhere. Yes, dying. Because that last phone call was not fear. It was certainty. She would never leave a message like that on my phone if she honestly believed she would be around later to deal with the fallout.

Find her! Help her finish whatever escape attempt she is undoubtedly working out and bring her home.

Home, the voice says. And it means this condo.

Unaware of my internal battles, Ricky releases the weasel and leans in to hear what I have to say.

"I believe I should handle this," I say. "We must be expedient. I have received a call from Olivia and she..." I can't finish my sentence. "We must find her sooner rather than later."

Ricky catches my eye, his expression starting as suspicious, but melting into panic. I try to remain stony and resolved, but I feel the expression begin to mirror his. The moment I look away, he steps aside.

With a faked smirk, he says, "Gabriel, he's all yours."

"No. No." The weasel tries to crab walk away from me, as Ricky has tied his hands behind his back.

"Oh yes." I am way too happy about this. "Do not be concerned. This is all going to be very simple."

Morgan almost looks hopeful.

I meet his eyes, try to maintain a cold, business-like demeanor. "Olivia is trapped somewhere with a head wound. She is trying to escape, and she is unaware of her location. She clearly believes herself to be in real, mortal, danger. If I am to assist her, I need to know where she is. Do you have any information that can assist me in that regard?" I wait a beat, and he says nothing. "Please."

Morgan's eyes narrow. "Jesus, you're in love with her."

I tug a long hunting knife, the one I had taken from my stash, from its holder on my belt and press its jagged tip to his nose. "You are straying from the topic at hand, and I am unfortunately pressed for time." The words have bite and any attempt at making this exchange seem business-like has fled. "Let us try this again. I am going to ask you a question. You will answer swiftly or I will cut out your tongue, hand you a pen and paper and start all over again. Ready?"

He swallows hard, but he doesn't say a word.

"Who gave you the idea for the heroin set up?"

He doesn't answer. Not right away. Not according to the rules I have set out for him.

"You already know how serious I am," I say, because if the cat is out of the bag, I might as well use it to our advantage. "Do you really want to test what lengths I would go to? You have already used up my last moment of forgiveness. Do not use up your last moment to hold onto your tongue. I am, as I am sure you understand, not joking."

Morgan takes a deep breath and then it all spills out. "I don't know why I did it. It's not like me. I don't stoop to depths like that. I mean...I hate you, but that seemed far too low. Still, once Tristan started talking...I just did it. I don't know why."

I glance at Rose and Ricky. Ricky watches me with a mixed expression of concern and surprise. Rose looks satisfied and smug.

"Tristan," I say. "The gentleman from the mental institution debacle."

Both nod.

"I'm sure you just couldn't help yourself," Ricky sneers. "What did he do? Control you?"

"Not as unlikely as you may believe," I say. "Once we recover Olivia, the four of us need to have a serious conversation. There are some things we've been holding back that may be essential knowledge." I returned my attention to Morgan. "What do you know about what happened to Olivia?"

"I don't know if it means anything." Suddenly, Morgan is not frightened. He is not angry. Remorse flies from him in waves. He had no problem harming me, but aligning himself with someone who would would harm her is a different animal. "I overheard him talking about it. He called me in for a meeting to discuss the next steps with...our project."

"Me, yes." I prod him forward.

"I overheard him on the phone. Something about holding Olivia near the gargoyle."

Now that was a mystery I could solve. "She's in Cainsville." I confirm for Ricky. "Did he say which?"

Morgan's face twists up, like he doesn't understand what he is about to say. "He said 'Gabriel's gargoyle'. I assume that means something to you."

Of course it does. And I am already grabbing my car keys and preparing to leave the minute the words leave his mouth.

"I'm coming with you," Ricky says.

"You can't."

"It's Olivia. I have to come." His jaw is set and he is standing in my way. I understand. This is the very thing I would have done if the shoe were on the other foot. I would have demanded to come if he was the one who had information on her whereabouts.

I feel for him. I hate it. I hate the fact that I have to trust him to accomplish things even more. It would almost be easier to bring him along. "Ricky, I understand. But I know where she is, we do not have time to argue, and someone needs to guard Rose in case Tristan decides to try a different tack and come at me through her."

"I can take care of myself," she says, but we both ignore her. This is someone who got the drop on me. Leaving her to fend for herself would be foolish.

"And someone needs to keep Mr. Morgan in check until I insure he has told us the truth and decide what else I intend to do with him." I hold out the keys to the condo, and it is like I have cut off my finger and handed it to him as an offering. "It is safe here. But if you have to leave for any reason, you will need these."

He still looks ill at ease, shifting his weight between his feet. "Yeah. I guess that makes sense." He takes the keys and I practically twitch with their loss. I have just entrusted my sanctuary to someone else. Except...this is not my fortress anymore.

My sense of safety is hidden in Cainsville near a gargoyle designed to look like me.

"You'll bring her back safely." It's a question, but not a question. He is afraid it might not be possible.

I do not promise anything. I am halfway through the door when I turn and grab both of Rose's forearms and look her in the eyes. Now, when someone is trying to attack me and the people I care for, is not the time to conceal emotions. "Stay safe."

She smiles. "Yes, sir." She opens her light jacket to reveal the handle of a gun sticking from her trousers.

I nod my approval.

The wait for and in the elevator is excruciating enough for me to wish I had taken the stairs. When I finally get to my car, I am relatively certain that the screech of my tires can be heard behind the heavy glass windows of my apartment.

It should be an hour drive to Cainsville. I am in the expanse of land behind the town hall building in twenty minutes. I stare up at the gargoyle that was built to look like me when I was ten as a reward for discovering all of the hidden gargoyles in Cainsville.

When my eyes catch it, I notice, this time, that it does not look like I did then. It does not look like a child. It looks like I do now.

How have I never noticed this before? Before I can reason out an answer, before I even begin to look for Olivia, my phone rings.