All The Ways We Touch [BxB]

sixty-nine - old haunts - pt. two

There were a couple of sightings of him from people in Southern California and at the border. They'd thought he'd fled to Mexico and disappeared in a country full of the very people his militia had been desperate to kill. It disgusted him to think about Jamison associating himself with them. Timothy felt even more foolish when he found out the truth, and that he'd wasted precious church money searching for him in Mexico on multiple occasions. Even going so far as to pay for Mexican detectives. Worse, however, was that he didn't discover his whereabouts for himself.

"By any means necessary," he said, and turned around to look at Sarah, who had gone eerily quiet, only to find that she was gone. Darting out the door, he found that his truck was, too. "That bitch," he grunted, quickly dialing her cell phone, about ready to blow a gasket.

It'd taken him longer to notice she was gone than she felt was acceptable, but when Timothy's number popped up on her phone screen, she immediately picked up. While she had her schemes, she knew that running off with his truck unannounced was probably punishable by skinning. Fortunately, she already had a plan. "Hey, babycakes," she said, pitching her voice up and doing her best to sound reasonably upset.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I had to go to the store," she said, sniffling softly. The vitriol polluted his voice, giving her goosebumps.

"And why's that?"

"My period started early," she whined, "and I'm wearing the new panties you like an—"

Nearly retching, Timothy interrupted her. "Just hurry up. I need your help." Hanging up, he spat on the ground and rubbed his face. He couldn't enter the facility without his keys, or he'd go check and see if Jamison was awake. Like Elliot, he'd given him too much of the sedative, but he wanted Jamison to wake organically. At least now he'd get a chance to talk with Elliot a little more before their reunion, as eager as he was.

While Timothy was outside, Elliot had worked as hard as he could to escape the cuffs or break the bed, but was no closer by the time he stopped than when he'd started. After that, he looked around the room for details that might be useful to him. Written plans, a phone, or weapons—even the identity of the woman; anything that could help give him an advantage.

"Sorry about that," Timothy said, surprised to see how calm Elliot seemed. He'd half expected to find him trying to kick a hole in the wall. "So, I'd love to hear about your relationship with your father."

That seemed odd unless there was a ransom component. Timothy must've been lying about that part. Strange that he wouldn't admit it and take his money. Maybe he thought it was tainted or something else equally absurd because he was gay. It seemed Timothy didn't yet know that his father didn't exactly like him. "We have our ups and downs like most fathers and sons," he said, "but we always come out the other side, and that's what's important, right?" Though not this time, he was sure.

Timothy gave him a long look before nodding slowly. "Sure," he said, trying to figure out why he was lying. "Fortunately, I'm not like most," he said. "My pop was my best friend from day one. He helped me become the man I am today, and I know he'd be proud of me if he were still here. Hell, he'd be here helping. Grandpappy, too!"

'So he was born into white supremacy. Great.' Going over his options, he decided to try a classic method of escape. He didn't want to leave Jamison, but if he couldn't find him, he could at least go get help. Or find a weapon to fight back. "Sorry, but can I use the bathroom?"

"No bathroom breaks, but you can use that bucket if you need to go," Timothy said, pointing at a large orange bucket positioned next to the bed. "I'll get it situated for you."