Where There is Wailing and Gnashing of Teeth

Chapter 8: The Eyes of the Damned

“Thank you, Mr. Landers, we'll be in touch if we have any more questions.” Juliet pulled her hand away from the door jam just in time to preserve her manicure as the irritated man slammed it shut. Landers had been a dead end. Not only was his alibi solid, but he had an employer who could corroborate that he'd been out of town for the last two weeks transporting office chairs to locations through most of the western states. If that wasn't enough, the weigh stations could prove, conclusively, that he and his rig had made every stop on his run.

“So that's it?” Gus kept step with her as they headed back to her car. She could relate to his agitation but didn't have the same freedom to indulge it. Lassiter and Mr. Spencer had one suspect at the station while Dobson and Bellamy were tracking the other one down in Ventura. They hadn't run out of leads yet.

“Not by a long shot.” She pulled out her keys and hit the button on the fob. Gus slid into the car a moment before her – both of them snapping into their seat belts before she pulled away from the curb.

“So what do we do now?”

Juliet tightened her hands on the wheel.

“We head back to the station.” And with any luck, her partner would have gotten some answers. She saw Gus nod in her peripheral, his chin jutted slightly forward as he stared ahead. She'd seen that expression on him before. Last fall actually – after Shawn had been shot. Of all the times she would have expected him to cave in, it was when his best friend was in danger that he seemed at his strongest. She'd seen glimpses of his tenacity before. Every now and then, a spark of self-reliance, a steel determination that would have been overlooked by those who knew him less. It gave her a much deeper understanding of the friendship he shared with Shawn.

“We'll find him, Gus.” His eyes only widened a little as he turned towards her – her assertion met with a slowly breaking smile that abruptly folded into a cocky head tilt.

“I know!” Pitched high and delivered as solidly as her promise, she couldn't help but smile back.

There was no fist bump, but what hung between them sealed the deal just the same. They would do whatever it took – they'd break down every door – and they'd bring Shawn home.

-~-~-

Tiny hadn't returned.

His sense of time, without the activity forced on him, was shot. Anything from hours to days could have gone by since his dramatic upchucking and there would be no way to tell. Every time he passed out, another giant chunk of that reality was lost. He felt filthy and was realizing the small comfort the frozen showers had actually given him. Now, after going without, he could feel the sticky cling attaching to his body and leaving him itchy and raw where his flesh rubbed. Adding to the wallow he couldn't escape, he'd also been forced to relieve himself against the wall again – grateful for the slope that carried the trickle away from his body. Unfortunately, emptying his bladder only left him with that much less fluid in his tissues. He never had enough even when his captor was generous. Now, once more offended by his pet, the big man appeared to be denying even the most basic comforts. Including his company.