FicWad

Pete looked up as the door to his cell opened, his eyes widening as Ashlee was pushed inside. Matthew laughed harshly as Pete managed a muffled scream from behind the gag, which was still firmly in place.

“Pete!” Ashlee cried as she ran to him, kneeling at his side and caressing his cheek, brushing away a lone tear with her thumb.
“Touching,” Matthew sneered. “I’ll let you settle in then I’ll be back for the information I need.”

Pete watched with bitterness in his eyes as the door closed, while Ashlee worked on the knotted cloth tied at his neck. As it fell away, she frowned as she realised she would have to pull the tape from his mouth and the newly formed stubble.

“I’m sorry, Pete, I think this is going to hurt. I’ll do it quick.”

Pete nodded his understanding as Ashlee pulled back a corner. As she held it tightly, Pete could feel her hand trembling against his cheek. Protective of his family, he vowed that he would never forgive Patrick for causing Ashlee to be so frightened. Never! Wincing, his eyes watering, Pete gasped as the tape was ripped from his mouth.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he cried, as she pulled him into her arms.
“What for?” she whispered holding back tears. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was so angry with you for not coming home last night and all the time you were here!”
“The therapy appointment, it was a set up. Patrick arranged it. He wasn’t there, just his lackeys, they drugged me and I woke up here.”
“Why is he doing this?” Ashlee asked hoping Pete could supply the missing answer.
“I don’t know,” Pete choked out. “I really don’t. But I recognise the voice of one of the men working for him. I just can’t place him.”
“It’s him! The stalker.” Ashlee nodded. “Connor Houseman, he’s got Bronx.”

Pete’s face drained of all colour and his mouth fell open. Struggling furiously as he grew increasingly incensed, Pete screamed as the rope around his wrists prevented him from lashing out at the wall.

“I’ll kill him! All of them! I’ll fucking kill all of them!” Glaring up at the security camera, Pete screamed with all the venom he could muster. “I hope you’re listening to this, Patrick, because I swear, I’m gonna fucking kill you for this!”

From the old security room in the warehouse, Matthew watched with a satisfied expression, as Pete vowed vengeance. The bassist’s promise to kill his brother, for crimes he wasn’t even aware of, made him smile maliciously. His loathing for his brother knew no bounds and his plan was already working remarkably well. Wentz would, one way or another, be deprived of his wife and child – be that as him jailed as Patrick’s killer or simply that they would never be released. Patrick would either be dead at Pete’s hands or be arrested for the Wentz family kidnapping. But there was so much more to come, so many more possibilities. Patrick would be damned by everyone. This was only the beginning of his revenge.

*

Patrick sighed and looked at his watch again. It was nearly midday and he Joe and Andy had waited for almost two hours in the studio for their bassist.

“You’re sure he got the message?” asked Andy.
“Well,” Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t speak to Pete, he wasn’t answering his phone. I spoke to Ash, she said she’d give him the message. She’s usually pretty good.”
“Well, have you tried him today?” the drummer pressed.
“Only about half a dozen times,” Patrick sighed.
Andy dropped his sticks into the tubular metal stick holder attached to his hi-hat stand. “Well, there’s no point sitting here all day if we’re not going to do anything.”
“I’ll send him a text message, let him know we’re packing up and ask him to get in touch with me.”

Joe frowned as he unhooked his guitar and placed it in the open hard case on the floor. As he arranged the strap so as not to disturb the finish or the strings, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Fishing out the cell phone buried deep inside his jeans, Joe’s eyebrows raised as he saw a message from Pete’s phone with the preview message displaying the words, ‘Don’t say it’s me!’. Opening the message, Joe was surprised to see a mysterious message from Pete asking him to stay behind as he had to speak to him alone.

“Uh… you guys go on, I’m gonna stay for a while and re-string my guitar.”
“Oh, okay, Joe, I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Pete.”
“Sure,” he nodded picking his guitar up again and rifling through one of the interior pockets for a packet of strings.

He wasn’t really going to do it, he’d not long re-strung it and it was always a nightmare. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, but new strings on a guitar always took a good few days to settle down and would continually go out of tune until they did. It was the last thing he needed, but was the first excuse he could think of. Waving as Andy and Patrick left the studio, Joe pushed the packet of strings back in the pocket and nestled his guitar back in the velvet-lined case. Pulling his phone out again, he returned the text message saying that he was alone and asking what was going on?

“I know you’re alone,” came a voice behind him.

Joe turned sharply, startled by the sound of Patrick’s return and that he knew about the message he had sent to Pete only seconds earlier.

“Trick? Who’s this?” Joe asked, referring to the tattooed man alongside him.

Matthew raised an eyebrow, smiling at the cutesy nickname for his brother. It was only when Joe spoke again that he realised he had forgotten one crucial element.

“You got changed?” Joe frowned. Patrick had left only a minute or two earlier, yet here he was in a completely different set of clothes. It just wasn’t possible.
Signalling to the man standing next to him, Matthew smiled. “Shawn, as we discussed.”

The tattooed man stepped forward. Perhaps there was a menacing aspect to his advance, but somehow, Joe knew that something was very wrong. Scrambling backwards, Joe found himself backed up against Andy’s drum kit. Turning his head, to look for an escape route, Joe was too late. Guessing his next move, Shawn grabbed him as Joe tried to dart past. Kicking behind his knees, he forced Joe to the floor and pinned him down. Even though Joe understood the sheer futility of yelling for help in the soundproof and empty studio, it didn’t stop him. As he lay, with the big man sitting astride him, Joe fought as he pulled the guitarists hands behind his back and Matthew bound them with duct tape before securing his ankles with another strip of tape. Finally, Joe was turned onto his back, staring up in shock as Matthew lit up a cigarette in front of him.

“Pa…” Joe hesitated. The difference in clothes, the violence, the smoking – it could only mean one thing, but it didn’t mean he understood. “You’re not Patrick.”
“Bright boy,” Matthew smirked as he took a long draw on his cigarette. “You know I thought Pete would be the first to realise. Funny how you can be wrong about people, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got Pete!” Joe’s eyes widened. Of course he had him, it explained his absence and the mysterious message.
“He’s a little distracted though, wondering what I’m going to do to his wife and brat,” Matthew grinned at the look of horror on Joe’s face as he took another draw on the cigarette. “Shame though, you won’t be able to tell anyone. Shawn.”

Joe looked up in muted terror as Shawn produced a pre-filled syringe and roughly pushed up Joe’s sleeve.

“What’s that?” he cried as the needle was forced into a vein and the plunger depressed.
“It’s cocaine,” Matthew shrugged, “or more accurately, it’s an overdose of cocaine. They’ll find you here tomorrow, you’ll be dead of course and the message from Pete will be on your phone to condemn him as your killer. I would say that’s three down, and one to go.”

Turning, Matthew and Shawn left the terrified guitarist trying desperately to calm his drug-induced rapidly rising heartbeat.