Chapter Text
The problem, Shane realizes sometime around day eight, is that he has stopped thinking about anything except Ilya.
Practice happens around him. Meetings happen around him. Interviews happen around him. None of it feels real anymore. The only thing that feels real is the fact that Ilya is still missing. Hayden notices. His teammates notice. Even Shane notices. He just doesn't care.
He spends hours staring at his phone waiting for messages that never come. He rereads the ransom texts until he has them memorized. He checks the news every few minutes. He barely sleeps. Every time his phone vibrates his heart jumps into his throat. Every time it isn't about Ilya he feels sick.
Eventually he texts Marlow again.
Shane: Any updates?
Marlow: No.
Shane: That's impossible.
Marlow: Unfortunately not
Shane: They have to be somewhere.
Marlow: That's how locations work
Shane: This isn't funny.
Several minutes pass.
Marlow: I know
Shane: I keep thinking about the video.
Marlow: Stop watching it
Shane: Too late.
Marlow: Hollander, I’m beginning to think you might be obsessed
Shane: What if they're hurting him?
Marlow: We don't know that
Shane: We do.
A longer pause.
Marlow: The police are working the case
Shane: It's been over a week.
Marlow: I know
Shane: I’m not waiting, they could kill him. I’m doing something. I’m paying the ransom.
The typing indicator appears immediately.
Marlow: No
Shane: Yes.
Marlow: Absolutely not
Shane: Somebody has to.
Marlow: That's not you
Shane: Why not?
Marlow: Because this isn't normal
Shane stares at the message.
Marlow: None of this is normal
Marlow: The way you're acting isn't normal
Marlow: The way you talk about him isn't normal
Shane's fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then:
Shane: He's important to me.
The message sits there.
A minute passes.
Two.
Then:
Marlow: Yeah. I know
Nothing else. Which somehow feels worse.
--
The next morning, the older man unlocks the door and finds Ilya lying on the bed staring at the ceiling.
"Come on."
Ilya immediately sits up, "Where?"
"Shower."
Ilya blinks, "A real shower?"
"Yes."
"Not a bucket?"
The older man sighs, "A real shower."
Ilya is on his feet before the sentence is finished.
The shower room is tiny, ugly, and somehow the greatest thing he has seen in days. The hot water nearly makes him emotional, which is embarrassing enough that he refuses to acknowledge it. Afterwards, they hand him clean clothes. Then lunch arrives. Actual lunch. A hot meal instead of another sandwich.
Ilya immediately becomes suspicious, "This feels ominous."
The older man sits down, "Why?"
"Because you're being nice."
"We've always been nice."
"You beat me."
"Details."
Ilya narrows his eyes, "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
Ilya looks from the food to the older man and back again, "Am I being executed?"
"No."
"Good."
A pause. "Can I watch the game?"
The older man raises an eyebrow. "The game?"
"Bears versus Centaurs, it is happening this afternoon, no? Unless I am counting days wrong."
The older man gives a laugh, "Why?"
"Because I'm bored."
"You want to watch hockey while kidnapped?"
"I want to watch literally anything. You leave me in that room all day with nothing to do."
The older man considers it for a moment, then shrugs. "Fine."
Two hours later Ilya is sitting in front of a television upstairs. It might genuinely be the happiest moment of his captivity. The older man and another kidnapper are watching too. The game starts and immediately Ilya regrets asking.
The Bears look furious, not distracted, not shaken. Furious. Like they are playing in Ilya’s honor. The kind of furious that usually ends with somebody getting crushed.
The first Bears goal arrives.
Then the second.
Then the third.
By the middle of the second period, the outcome is obvious. By the third period, it's embarrassing. The Centaurs never really have a chance.
"Well," Ilya says.
Nobody answers. Another Bears goal. Ilya bites back a smile.
"Interesting strategy." Ilya bites despite his instincts saying not to.
The older man glares. "Shut up."
"You kidnapped the wrong player."
"Shut up."
"The Bears seem focused."
"Shut up."
Ilya grins, a grin that seems suicidal, "They're winning because of me."
The older man looks like he wants to throw something.
The final horn sounds. The Bears win comfortably. The bet is dead. Completely dead.
For several seconds, nobody says anything. The rom feels different. Heavier. The older man's expression has gone flat. Dangerously flat.
Ilya's smile slowly disappears."Oh."
The older man stands. Nobody laughs this time. Nobody jokes. For the first time in days, Ilya feels genuinely uneasy.
The older man looks down at him. "We'll talk later." He grunts, grabbing Ilya roughly by his arm and leading him back downstairs to the basement. The door closes behind them. The lock clicks. Silence settles over the room.
Ilya sits on the bed, unease growing steadily in his stomach. Because whatever happens next, it won't be about hockey anymore. Somewhere else in the building something crashes hard enough to echo down the hallway.
A few minutes later the door opens again. Not the older man. One of the others. The impatient one. The angry one. The one Ilya has spent the last week carefully avoiding antagonizing.
The man's expression is furious. Ilya immediately sits up straighter.
"Hey," he says carefully.
The man doesn't answer. The door closes behind him, he is holding a long wooden stick. Ilya can’t even move before it cracks down on him for the first time, driving all the air out of his lungs, the man hits him again and again. It is much like his first beating, but worse because he is already injured and the stick can hit even harder. He tries to retreat inside himself, knowing there is nothing in the world he could do to stop this short of killing this man and making his situation that much worse.
Blow after blow numbs his body to the pain until he doesn’t even know if he feels it anymore, as he is hurt beyond what he has ever been hurt before.
Much later the room is quiet again. The door is locked. The lights are off. Ilya lies curled carefully onto his side, staring at the wall and trying not to move more than necessary. For the first time since being taken, he finds himself wishing Shane had somehow succeeded in paying the ransom.
Which is a ridiculous thought. Almost as ridiculous as Shane himself. Almost.