***
Brian hadn't slept since the last phone call with Alice. The way she tried to reassure him was incredible. Such a young kid, such a scary situation; and she tried to console him. The last thing he heard was a jumble of discriptions, he wondered what she was talking about.
There was a new police squad posted on guard and in investigative mode every day. His house was in constant occupancy by strangers; detectives, CSI and police who tried to help. Body guards were summoned by some of his friends to make sure that at least Brian remained. No kidnappers would get him too. Although the threats still came through.
It's been two days since she's been lost. All Brian wanted to do was go crazy. It was maddening.
He couldn't eat. And without sleep, his thinking became disturbed. He cried constantly from the pain in his head and the spread of guilt that strangled him.
The busy investigators tried to ignore him when he cried. But there was nothing more uncomfortable than a grown man crying and hitting his head on a wall. Screaming like a dying dog.
Four times in these two days the body guards had held him down on the couch in the front room and told him to sleep. Stay calm. But sitting down had become painful. It was too comfortable. To worthless. He needed to be active in searching for Alice. At least he was in pain like she most likely was. No one let him out of his own house.
Caged.
The phone rang.
The police assumed the position. They handed the reciever to Brian and turned on the machine that supposedly tracked down calls. They listened out of the bug. Brian cleared his throat. He didn't remember how one composed a conversation on a telephone. He picked it up. His mind blank. He did nothing.
"Mr. Warner. . .say something." said one officer impatiently.
Brian squinted. He remembered one of the most simple words in his native language.
"Hello?"
"Your three days are almost up, Manson." The voice on the other end was warped. It was deep, like a bullfrog. A voice like that used to be welcome to Brian, back in the old days. In his music, experiments with different sounding voices was just another practice. . . here it was a weapon. It was terrifying. "Have you come up with the ransom?"
"Ransom?"
"You don't expect the little bitch to be turned loose without a price? One Hundred Grand. I was going to mention that last night, but the girl threw a fit. Your loss. You could've known ahead of time. One hundred grand by tomorrow, Manson. Three days. Or she dies."
"Don't. . . " his mind blanked.
"You'll be next. One hundred grand. Or you're next."
"Where?"
"Leave it on the Noth loading dock in the old O'kelly pier. Midnight. No funny business."
"What about her?"
There was a pause. The bug that the police held made sounds like a idling record player. . .waiting. .
"She's a little tongue tied at the moment. Hurry before she chokes."
They hung up.
Brian didn't know what to do next. His brain was fried. The phone was in his hand and against his ear for another minute before someone slipped it out of his hand and put it away properly. He sat there, stunned. The police resumed their investigative work.
