FicWad

The nurse turned at the end of the corridor and descended the stairs. The paint on walls was cracked and peeling. Many of the light fittings hung precariously from wires or were smashed. With the exception of Gerard’s room and the corridor beyond it, the whole building looked as though it had seen better days. Heading towards a room near the staircase; a strip of light shining from within, the nurse reached for the handle. The man looked up as the door opened, his hand closing over the gun. Thin faced and wiry with narrow dark eyes, he rested the gun back down as the nurse entered then drew on the cigarette in his mouth before stubbing it out on the table.

“So?” he asked abruptly.
“The drug worked,” the woman in the nurse’s uniform announced. “He doesn’t remember being taken.”
Sitting down with a sigh, she reached for a cigarette from the packet lying open on the table and lit it.
“Good,” he nodded, “and he’s accepted the rehab idea?”
The nurse laughed scornfully. “Of course not! Would you? His memory isn’t totally shot you know!”
“So what then? He’s stopped screaming.”
She nodded as she took the cigarette from her lips. “I sedated him.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Kay, we can’t keep him unconscious the whole time he’s here, we’ll end up killing him.”
“I told him he was disturbing the other patients,” Kay snapped. “Look, Marty, this is why we're here," she paused to indicate their surroundings, "in this old, abandoned hospital. We have roles to play to make it seem real. This way, we keep him under control and not trying to fight us or escape.” She laughed. “Even if he spoke to his brother, chances are he’d still not realise he’d been kidnapped!”
Marty grinned; the idea was highly plausible.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “You won’t let him though?”
“I’m not a fool, Marty,” she scolded.
“I know, Kay, I know.”
“Next time he wakes, it’s your turn. After all, you’re his ‘doctor’.”
Marty nodded. “I expect they’ve found the note by now.” He checked his watch. “Our next message should be arriving soon.”

*

Mikey turned a chair upright and sat down as he waited. There had clearly been a struggle, but, he noted, no sign of blood. He wanted to assume that it meant that he was relatively unhurt when they took him but he knew he couldn’t be certain. He read the note again:

“We have Gerard. Follow our instructions to the letter and you’ll get him back alive.
Do not contact the police or the press. We will be in touch.”

Mikey let the paper slip to the floor as he slumped forward cradling his head in his hands. He had been here when they took him, sleeping upstairs. How had he not heard all the commotion? The room looked as though it had been ransacked. Gerard had clearly put up quite a fight against his kidnappers. How had he slept through it all? He blamed himself; how could it not be his fault? He tried not to think about how he had slept peacefully while Gerard had fought with his attackers. While the furniture was upended. While objects appeared to have been thrown and smashed. While his terrified brother was dragged from the house in the middle of the night. Hearing the doorbell, he looked up from his wretched state, his dampened lashes blurring his vision. As it rang again, Mikey quickly grabbed a tissue and pushed it to his eyes to absorb the welling tears as he headed for the door.

Opening the door, he had expected to see one or more of the band members, but instead a courier stood on the doorstep with a letter in his hand.

“I need you to sign here,” he said as he handed over a clipboard and pen.
Automatically, Mikey took the board and glanced down at the sheet of paper looking for where to sign. No sooner had he taken his eyes off the courier than he was pushed forcefully backwards. Dropping the clipboard, Mikey snapped his head back up, eyes wide as the courier followed him in to the house, closing the door behind him.
“What do you want?”
“I have a message for you, of course,” the man sneered in reply, pulling a small wooden bat from his pocket.
At first, Mikey could only stare in return. The man stood between him and the front door. Broad-shouldered and tall, the man towered over Mikey. Added to that he was armed. Taking a step backwards, Mikey was torn. Part of him wanted to run, to escape, but part of him wanted news of Gerard and he knew this man might have it.
“Have you got Gerard?” he asked nervously.
“I’m just delivering a message,” he replied as his left hand shot out grabbing Mikey’s right wrist.

The scared bassist cried out in surprise as he pulled back but to no avail. The man swung the bat hard across the side of Mikey’s head catching a blow to his temple and neck as he pulled the bat down for another swing. He felt all resistance fall away as the second blow connected and Mikey crumpled to the floor, his head bleeding above his left eye. Throwing the envelope on top of the unconscious Mikey, the man left; his job done.