Fic Post: Unraveling Chapter 1 [Shelter/Without a Trace Crossover]
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Title: Unraveling, Chapter 1
Author: dragontatt
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Neither Shelter nor Without a Trace belong to me. No profit is being made from this work of fiction, and no disrespect is intended.
Word Count: 1723
-10 a.m. Monday morning-
A dirty black pickup truck pulls into the parking lot of the Allesandro Elementary School in downtown Los Angeles. It slowly cruises the length of the strip and carefully negotiates the turns, occupants invisible behind the tinted windows. At the end of the lot it pauses, as if the driver is unsure whether he should exit onto the avenue. Instead it swings around and heads back down to the far end of the lot, where it reverses carefully into the small space beside the dumpster. The rear windows roll down a few deliberate inches and the engine cuts off. There is silence for a few moments, broken only by the condensation of the air conditioner dripping onto the asphalt. No one gets out.
Minutes later, the doors of the school fly open and a swarm of shrieking children run out onto the chain-link fence enclosed playground next to the parking lot. A group of teachers join them and take up strategic positions next to the bench and the swing set, watching out for fights or boo boos, all the while enjoying another cup of coffee and some innocent, idle gossip.
There is no apparent movement from the pickup, but if you were to walk past listening carefully, you might be able to hear low voices, rough with an undercurrent of tension or just plain anger. Minutes later, the conversation comes to a loud crescendo and then halts abruptly when one of the teachers blows a whistle and the children dutifully line up to go back inside, all the while chattering and laughing in the bright California sunshine.
The pickup engine roars angrily to life but before it can pull out of the space a GMC Jimmy swings into the parking lot and speeds around the curve, double parking as close as it can to the playground. The driver exits and jogs over to the fence, calling out to one of the children.
“Zach!” the child calls back, and after a few seconds of hurried consultation with one of the teachers, he rushes over to the fence. With a smile and a high-five, he accepts an Incredible Hulk lunchbox from the man before scurrying to join the line of students.
“I’ll pick you up at four, Codes,” the man calls as he climbs back into the driver’s seat.
“Okay, Uncle Zach,” the boy hollers as he heads back toward the building.
The pickup, which oddly enough has not moved in all this time even though the engine is still running, eases into first gear and slowly pulls up behind the Jimmy as it waits to turn left. A second’s worth of hesitation and the pickup turns left too, merging over a couple lanes to pull in behind the Jimmy.
The driver of the Jimmy flips open his cell phone at a red light and glances absently at the black pickup in his rear view mirror before continuing on to his destination. Throughout the entire trip, through neighborhoods, past businesses and then onto the Hollywood Freeway, all the way to the parking lot at CalArts, the black pickup is there behind him, sometimes close, sometimes back a few cars or in the other lane, but always right there, always within eyesight, lurking in the edges of the rearview mirror if the driver would only look.
-4:15 p.m. Monday afternoon-
Shaun leans back in his black leather office chair, small red rubber ball balanced precariously in the concavity between nose and forehead. He blinks a few times, eyes focusing on the red curve in the center of his vision as he struggles to maintain his balancing act. The phone on the desk rings and his feet slam abruptly to the floor from where they have been propped against the desk - the sudden movement sends the ball flying into space where it bounces off unseen before rolling into the corner of the room. (Shaun will find it six months later, while searching for a lost manuscript he feels sure has fallen behind the bookcase and the mere sight of it will bring the sharp tang of unexpected tears to his eyes.)
“Hello?” Shaun answers. He expects a telemarketer or maybe the mother of one of Cody’s friends, trying to arrange a play date and so he’s surprised when the voice on the other end says, “Mr. Andrews? This is Principal Weaver, from Allesandro Elementary. No one’s picked up Cody yet - can you come get him?”
In the background, Shaun hears Cody say “Where’s my Uncle Zach?” and for some unknown reason his heart clenches momentarily as an unfamiliar wave of sheer panic rushes over him. He blows out a quiet breath to calm himself and only then is he able to reply, “Yes, of course- tell Cody I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”
He’s up and out of the chair even as he’s hanging up the phone. He fumbles his feet into his old loafers - the ones that Zach laughed out loud about the first time he saw them - and is halfway out of the apartment before he even thinks to pull out his phone. He locks the front door absently and jogs down the ramp to the parking lot before pressing two buttons on his cell. The phone rings in his ear as he opens the car door and slides inside. He turns the key as Zach says, a hint of laughter apparent in his voice, “I’m not here, dudes. But talk to me anyway.”
Shaun backs out of the space and guns it through the parking lot while leaving a curt message - Where are you, man? You forgot to pick up Cody - that belies the sick feeling in his stomach that hasn’t quite gone away yet. Ten minutes, and two calls later - one to the diner where Zach works the odd shift now and again, and another one that again goes to Zach’s voice mail - Shaun picks up a sort-of-confused-but-thankfully-not-too-upset Cody in the front office of his school.
Cody clambers into the back seat and waits impatiently for Shaun to strap him in. Shaun tosses his cell phone into the passenger seat with an annoyed grunt and forces himself to smile at Cody in his booster seat. “So, you wanna go for a ride, kiddo?”
He refuses to let himself dial the phone again, even though his fingers itch and ache to pick it up. Instead, he clenches the wheel tightly as he steers down the I-5 towards Valencia.
The parking lot at CalArts is mostly empty this time of day and with an audible huff of relieved breath Shaun heads for the far corner where Zach’s Jimmy is parked, half shaded by the gangly limbs of a somewhat stunted pine. But that strange sick feeling comes back with a vengeance when he pulls in a space away and sees Zach’s open backpack dropped casually on the asphalt - a spiral notebook lies nearby, halfway hidden behind the front tire.
Shaun cuts off the engine and looks in all directions, murmuring absent reassurances at Cody when he asks what’s going on. He doesn’t see Zach anywhere and with trembling fingers he picks up his cell phone to hit speed dial one more time. As he presses ‘send,’ he opens the car door and steps out, heart sinking as he hears a familiar ring tone coming from somewhere in the depths of the backpack.
“Uncle Shaun, what’s going on?” Cody asks for the third time, an edge of annoyed confusion creeping into his voice. “Where’s Zach?”
Shaun pulls his eyes away from the Jimmy and its obviously empty driver’s seat and finally looks at Cody. He smiles, and the curve of his mouth feels awkward and oddly shaped, and he says, “Stay here a minute, Cody. Let me see what’s up, okay?”
Cody smiles back slowly and watches as Shaun crosses over to Zach’s car. Shaun looks around, peers through all the windows and then uses his own keys to open the back gate.
Shaun straightens with an unconscious sigh of relief and closes the tailgate on the empty rear of the SUV before heading around to the passenger side. He presses his face to the glass, shading his eyes with his hands to see inside - there’s nothing on the front seat but some crumpled burger wrappers and a stack of CD cases, but as Shaun stands up his gaze flickers to the windshield and that’s when he sees it.
He practically runs to the other side of the car and he plucks the note from under the wiper in relief. But as he reads what he thinks is a note from Zach - a note he assumes will explain where Zach is and why he didn’t pick up Cody as planned - his jaw drops and he sinks slowly to the curb. He reads the note again and again, but the words don’t change. He stares for a long time into the distance before digging his cell phone out of his pocket and searching through his contacts for a rarely used number.
He speaks a few halting, painful words and the response is immediate and gratifying. He closes the phone and stands up, going over to let Cody out of the car. He sends him off to play on the big green lawn with a smile that tastes sour as he licks his suddenly dry lips before bending to sit under a towering oak tree. His back creaks in protest like an old man’s. He watches Cody closely as he twirls around the flagpole, and he tries hard not to imagine the flurry of activity he forced onto Larry of all people.
Minutes that seemed like hours later, his phone rings and even though he’s been expecting it, he jumps at the shrill tone coming from his shirt pocket. He plucks it out and flips the phone open with fingers that shake and holds it up to his ear.
“Hello?” His voice trembles and he closes his eyes and presses his lips together tightly to keep down the unexpected wave of nausea that makes his stomach roil. As the familiar voice on the other end says tiredly, “Shaun? It’s Martin,” an intense feeling of relief courses through his body and he thinks to himself ‘God, maybe everything will be all right.’