Captive *Complete*

Chapter Four

Ethan Miller.

Ethan had drifted in and out for some time he couldn't measure. Sometimes painful things were being done to him. Sometimes voices talked to him, one of which was rather harsh and impatient. And sometimes, there was just peace broken only by mechanical-sounding clicks, whirs, and beeps.

And occasional soft whispers that were unfamiliar.

He had no idea how long he'd been out of it, and he was a bit fuzzy on the events that occurred before he had lost consciousness.

I was in my hockey practice. I was getting violent and shoved Tom harshly. . .Because I was dumb thinking that his best friend would not retaliate. I got hit with something sharp, and then. . .my heart constricted in my chest. I was carried on a stretcher? Long way to. . .a Hospital. I think. What then? I don't remember.

When he finally forced open his eyes, the first thing he realized was that a kid was lying beside him on the bed; a hospital bed. The kid was mostly alongside his legs with his small head on his lap.

He moved his hand, finding just enough energy to lift it and place it on the silky chocolate brown short hair that belonged to the evidently sleeping kid, by how his chest rose in rhythmic and calm breaths; soft snores could be heard coming from him.

"Hey,"

The little kid stirred in his sleep before letting out a cute yawn then turning his stunned gaze to Ethan.

"Thank god!" The kid gasped. "I thought that you'll never wake up."

Ethan didn't recognize the kid, and he was astonished by how beautiful he looked; long thick eyelashes that complemented his big, crystal blueish eyes, freckled cheeks that beautified his sun-kissed skin. Rosy pulp lips that were creased, revealing deep dimples.

Then, there was that contagious and addicting giggle when the kid saw the confusion on Ethan’s face. He looked goofy but in a cute way. And as a teenage, straight kid, Ethan was well aware that he shouldn't find another boy adorable, nor should he stare in admiration, savoring the stranger kid's good looks.

"I am sorry. I know that you don't know me, but. . .we kind of have been roommates for two weeks now, and I didn't find someone else to talk to, so my mind got busy imagining how you'll sound when you speak. How great your laughter would be when you hear my silly jokes, and how long it'll take you to get annoyed by me."

He let out another giggle at the end that made Ethan chuckle at how adorable it was and how musical it sounded.

The kid looked younger than him. If he would have guessed his age, It'd be around seven to ten years old, which confused him even more. He was sure that he never met the kid, and he was definitely sure, he'd remember someone like him if he was in his school.

The giggle died, but the smile was still painted on the kid's face. He sat up and folded his legs under him.

"I am Janey." The boy said with a gleeful smile.

Janey? A girl?

There was no surprise there, you i***t.

Ethan brushed through the confusion and shook the hand that was outstretched for him to take. Janey laughed at how serious Ethan’s handshake was.

"Ethan."

He breathed out, wincing a bit at how harshly the vocalized words hurt his throat. Janey mumbled an 'Oh' before swiftly standing up and reaching for a water bottle that was placed on a table.

Ethan took in the room he was in, waiting for the nourishing liquid that would quench his thirst and ease the words out of his mouth. He saw the IV drip taped to his hand and frowned a little, his gaze following the tubing up to a bag of clear liquid.

"Here you go." Said the cheerful and bubbly voice.

Ethan turned his head and saw Janey sitting on a chair that was conveniently placed near the bed. Her face was calm, but. . .haggard. Weary.

"Thanks." He said with a curt nod in appreciation and couldn't help but flush a bit when she flashed him that adorable smile.

"So, Ethan. . . Do you mind not calling the nurse right away?" She sounded nervous, nibbling on her bottom lip with a teary gaze. Ethan’s eyebrow lifting in a mute question.

The little girl's stance grew dim and dark. She tried to keep the smile, but Ethan could sense how anxious and. . .frightened? she felt.

"They were waiting for you to get stabilized to do the operation. . .but I don't want to-"

"So, you're finally back with us. Don't you ever scare me like that again."

The stern and familiar voice cut her off. He observed how she cowered and jumped on the other bed, pulling the cover over her body.

Ethan turned his gaze towards his father, who was wearing his lab coat. He looked tired and probably didn't sleep much by the clear dark circles under his eyes. He had a relieved smile plastered on his face. Ethan returned the smile but somehow felt uneasy about why the girl didn't want him to call the nurse in. By why she didn't want anyone to know that he was finally awake.

"I see that you met Janey." His father ruffled his hair, and Ethan nodded before averting his gaze to the girl that looked so pale. No more cheerful and playful aura around her. No goofier smile nor the shiny and full of life blue eyes. She looked pale and dull. She looked sick as she should've looked when he first saw her.

"I was out for two weeks,"

Ethan stated, demanding clarification about what happened to him, and why he's been out for this long in the hospital.

His father sighed and sat by his side. He took his hand in his, letting out a hefty breath.

"You collapsed in the hockey rink. Everybody thought that it was from the hit to your head caused by that boy, Jordan? I guess that was his name."

He brushed the hair away from Ethan’s forehead and touched a spot on his temple, which made the latter realize that a bandage was covering that part.

Ethan brushed his slim fingers on the same spot and remembered how that hit was so fast that he could've missed it. If it wasn't for the shocking pain that surged through his head, sending electric charges to his brain blocking all his other senses, he would have thought that it was just a glimpse of his imagination.

I thought that near-death experience should be in slow motion, but that hockey stick was on my face before I could even blink.

"But it wasn't the cause." His father clarified. "It was a heart condition that you were born with. The blow you got to your head made the blood pump faster than normal and affected your heart, revealing its flaw. . .If it weren't for it, we might've never found out and probably would've been too late to save you. So, in a way, I am thankful for that kid's short temper."

The fatherly grin on his father's face showed how much love and care he had for him. He smiled back, happy with the fact of being loved and for being alive to stay by his father's side. He couldn't imagine how devastating it would be for his dad if he lost him as well. The latter was never the same after his mother's sudden death.

Ethan’s eyes seemed to shift a lot to that girl, whose expression grew gloomier than before. She grimaced when she heard what his father said next.

"You'll need an operation, and since you have a rare blood type, we couldn't find the perfect donor. . .But now, we do."

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, meeting a wooden ceiling, reliving the weird dream he just had. It must've been a memory. It seemed more vivid than a dream.

He could remember having some heart problems when he was just twelve years old. He remembered the slow recovering period after the operation. But that girl. . .The girl's face that he now didn't seem to be able to wipe out from his head, he couldn't remember her.

His nose caught the addicting aroma of strong coffee, and he hummed pleased. For a moment, he forgot where he was and what happened. But when he tried to move and sit up, the pain that shot up his spine, made him realize how far gone from home he was. How screwed, evidently, he was.

Now, it wasn't only the left leg that was in pain, but the right one as well. He was sure that the pain was more intense than what he was feeling right now, and by how dazed and blurry his vision was. Wyatt must have given him something for the pain.

He mentally winced when he remembered the bear trap that clawed around his foot. He scolded himself for being this inattentive and stupid to get caught by such a trap. Maybe now he even wasted a day or two sleeping his ass off while he could've been away from the sicko.

The search parties that were probably sent to find him, must've given up by now. His car must've been covered with snow for anyone to notice.

He faced the fact that no one would be coming to rescue and find him, and that he must rely on his wits and strength as he usually did all these many past years. One guy wouldn't be a bigger challenge against him. He just needed to get his health and strength back.

Maybe if these freaking legs decide to work, then I could take him. I could run away.

Ethan pushed himself back up and leaned on the bed headboard. He winced when he dragged his injured foot on the smooth silky sheet. He took a deep breath before uncovering his body to assess the damage. Once fully uncovered, he couldn't make out how badly injured his foot. It was wrapped in a practical way; a makeshift cast, impressively well-done.

This killer has some amazing skills, he must admit.

Ethan chuckled bitterly and noticed how something shifted near the closed door. Now that he had noticed, he was in the bedroom that was unlocked before. He stared amused at how his captor has left a glass of water and two pills on the nightstand for him to take.

This killer confused his mind. Why was he keeping him alive? Why now that Ethan was already aware of who he was? Why was he treating him so nicely? Why wasn't he tied up right now?

Whatever was on this killer's mind, Ethan would keep his guard up. He wouldn't let his behavior affect him. There was for sure a motive behind all of this, and Ethan wasn't looking forward to finding out. Yes, he was curious about why he was acting this way, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't be pleasant once he'd find out.

The slight movement again caught his eyes and brought him back to reality. He moved his head a bit to the right and spotted the white fur coat of no one else but Wyatt’s wolf. He had the same dangerous and watchful gaze he always fixated on him. The wolf didn't even lift his head from its rest.

He looked unthreatened by Ethan and indifferent about what was on his mind. As if he knew that Ethan was no match to his strength, which made him gulp loudly, thinking about how painful his canine would feel if he snapped and bit him. The intense stare made him freeze in place and get wary about each move he tried to make.

He reached for the water bottle and drank half of it, satisfying his thirst. He stared at the pills and debated whether he should risk and take them. For all he knew, they could make him sleepy again, and by now, he hated how much Wyatt had control over him whenever he was drugged. Not to forget that he was now, again, only in some boxers that didn't look that they were his. This killer had seen him in his most vulnerable state.

He saw him naked, and only God knew what he’d done to his unconscious body. He violated his privacy and his rights. He was now under the mercy of a notorious killer who was probably planning to toy with him before getting bored and sending him to his demise.

Ethan wondered if the little bit he learned about Wyatt was the truth. If somehow the killer trusted him with some personal information. He wasn't trying to flatter himself and think that he befriended the man. No, he only thought about it because if those few things were true then the killer for sure would kill him sooner than later. The captor would always share personal stuff with his captive before killing them, indulging in that feeling of all his secrets were shared with someone that will take them to the grave, Literally.

A voice roared from outside the room, sending a chilling shiver up his spine. The voice didn't sound friendly at all, and by what he was saying, Ethan kind of wished to hear Wyatt’s voice instead. His wishful mind wasn't disappointed when he heard the calm tone of his captor.

"You don't understand, man. He's different. . .and I just. . ." Wyatt's voice trailed off. There was uncertainty and guilt in his tone.

"Wyatt, I'm just looking after you, bro. That guy, who's lying on that bed, caused you nothing but pain."

The man paused, giving a moment for Ethan to contemplate, confused, about what the other man was talking about. The angry man for sure was talking about him, but he didn't remember doing anything bad to anyone that would lead him to this.

He heard the man heavily sigh, which only indicated that they were standing behind the door.

"Just finish what you started, Wyatt. You deserve some peace, man. You deserve to move on."

"I know. . .I just can't. I know he's different, and I don't know how to explain it, Luke. He's acting the same way as her, and. . ." His voice seeped with sadness, and when it cracked, something inside Ethan’s heart cracked as well. His chest tightened, and he felt the need to jump from the bed and open the door to hug him.

He tried to figure out why he was feeling this way. He was always cautious and indifferent when it'd come to strangers, but with Wyatt, everything seemed different.

Ethan shook his head furiously.

No, I've read about this. This is one of the first stages of Stockholm Syndrome; sympathizing with the captor.

He heard shuffling and contact of fabrics before the other voice that now Ethan knew belonged to that Luke guy, broke the silence in a muffled tone.

"He's not her, and he will never be. I understand that it's hard for you, Wyatt, and you can take as much time as you like."

The gears in Ethan’s mind kept turning, trying to remember if he ever had a bad encounter with a female before. Burning his brain cells to bring back memories of him doing something terrible that would result in him being here. The only memory that struck him was the one when he was fifteen, and he used to steal apples from the old woman's orchard whenever he visited his grandparents' place.

Stealing apples wouldn't cause pain to people, right?

"You worked hard in tracking him down, and I want you to end it. Either you let him go or kill him. I'll buy you as much time as possible. Alright, friend?"

Luke's voice was clear and stern. Ethan hated the guy even without seeing him.

He didn't hear Wyatt speak, which only meant that he nodded, then everything grew silent again.

Did he just say that I was tracked down?

Ethan sat there confused. He was the one who tracked Wyatt down and found him.

Were the arrest and the escape all an elaborate plan to get him here? And why him? What had he done to go through this?

He scratched his head and groaned in annoyance when he couldn't come up with anything. He leaned back down on the soft pillow and sighed. His curiosity would kill him, and as much as he didn't want to probe in detail with the killer, he needed to find out the reason why he was here.

He heard the front door close, and after a few minutes of heavily breathing awaiting his captor's appearance, he heard the roaring of a car that drove away.

That must be Luke's car.

Seconds later, the door opened, and a well-composed Wyatt walked in. He had a food tray in his hand. Ethan sat up and carefully watched the way he moved. His expression didn't help determine how mad he was since he had that annoying stoic face. Wyatt placed the food tray on Ethan’s lap and sat on a nearby chair.

He averted his eyes from Wyatt and stared at the delicious breakfast plated for him. Eggs and bacon, toasts, and a fruit salad. A cup of delicious hot coffee was taunting him to take a sip.

"Eat," Wyatt’s voice commanded. "It's not poisoned if that's what you're concerned about." He added flatly.

He mistook Ethan’s admiration in silence and surprise for the food as a mistrust. To be honest, when it came to food, Ethan could never resist. Poisoned or not, he'd eat it just to satisfy his hunger. And this delicious and nutritious breakfast was making it hard for him to resist.

He didn't need to be told twice and started ravishing the food and savoring every bite. If it wasn't for Wyatt’s presence in the room, he would've moaned with each bite.

He ate in silence and noticed how his captor's gaze was at the window. He had a faraway look, and from time to time, he furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Ethan stared at the slight pout on his lips and couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

"What do you want to know?" His voice startled Ethan a bit. He was so concentrated on his lips that he didn't notice Wyatt was staring back at him. He didn't seem to care about him staring, though, or maybe he didn't want to point it out. Ethan was grateful for it because he wouldn't be able to explain why he was gawking at him. He, himself, didn't know why.

He lifted the tray and placed it on the table near the bed. He opened his mouth to speak but got cut off by Wyatt.

"Don't ask me why you are alive 'cause, I, myself, don't know why."

He sounded torn, and it made Ethan’s glare soften. He could tell there was more behind this guy's motives. Something deep that made him who he was right now, but whatever the cause, it shouldn't make you kill people just to satisfy whatever thirst you have.

Ethan reminded himself that he was dealing with a killer. A serial killer and he shouldn't feel sorry for him. Maybe he should use his uncertainty in his interest. Gain his trust and make him believe that he complied and submitted to the fact of staying by his side, then run away once the chance would present itself.

"Here." Wyatt was holding a glass with a straw in front of him. A shiver traveled through Ethan’s body, almost making his heart stop. The same scene reminded him of his dream or memory of the little girl.

"Some medicine." He elaborated. "You probably started feeling the pain from the injury." The caring tone made Ethan realize something.

Wyatt was the male version of Janey.