Page 162 of The Sound of Him

The group of men in the office with me all stiffen at once when the rest of the screens flash on, each showing a different perspective. My ear piece is quiet. It’ll only kick on if something goes wrong or Keaton needs to say something to me specifically.

Then I step back, stuffing my hands in my pockets to hide that they’re shaking, and wait.

The cameras start to show activity in a wave. First, the body cameras as the agents of vehicles drive onto the tarmac to box the plane in. Then the airport camera catching the SUVs movements. Then the dash cams when the vehicles are put in park.

And then I watch that center screen as Keaton exits the passenger side of an SUV, falling in behind the leader of the taskforce team. Other agents are swarming a man who came out to try to stop them, two of them breaking off when they catch sight of Pasternak on the stairs of the plane.

I catch Travis looking over at me. When he has my attention, he gestures toward the monitors before giving his ear a tap. I had been holding out hope that they wouldn’t want audio, but knew it was a long shot.

I lean over and single out the lead’s audio in resignation. If they notice the audio doesn’t match the main screen where it’sactually Keaton’s body camera being displayed, I’ll tell them it was a mistake. They know damn well that I’m tired, even if they don’t know the extent of it. A simple mistake like that is something they’d forgive.

The first sound we hear is the harsh, heavy thumps of the boots on pavement, then on the metal stairs. Then the lead agent is pointing a gun at Pasternak and we hear the man roar in heavily accented English, “You have no right to do this! This is a private-”

Keaton says something, so low it’s hard to hear it on the leader’s audio. I make out the wordclearjust before the lead grabs Pasternak by the collar and literally hauls him out of the way. He’s released, sent stumbling until Keaton catches him. He covers the body camera for a second as he fights before the body camera’s view is cleared as he shoves Pasternak toward the steps. Another camera view shows Pasternak falling on the stairs. I barely look at it before focusing on where Keaton is coming up behind the lead agent again, covering his six as the agent faces off with the man we know to be Pasternak’s security guard.

The man who is holding Elliot by his hair, letting him dangle from his grip, bruised and broken body swaying as he tries to get a balanced enough position with his kobbly knees just skimming the floor.

He isn’t fighting the man, not trying to get away, he’s just trying to be good and still and not cause problems. Gravity is working against him.

I know he’s preparing for the punishment already. His owner won’t care about gravity. The owner will only care that he was an energetic little brat who couldn’t hold still.

I try to look at the other cameras, try to see what’s going on outside the plane. I even have the excuse that I want to make sure Keaton isn’t about to be ambushed from behind.

My eyes betray me, straying right back to the main screen and the little boy displayed on it.

The lead agent is trying to talk the man down and doing a poor job of it. They’re just shouting orders, practically flashing their cock sizes at each other.

Keaton speaks up then, his voice shaped into the southern drawl that he always used when we played cowboys in Kellan’s yard. It used to make me laugh and laugh.

It’s strange, out of body almost, to hear him use that voice to calmly tell the man, “We know the boy was bought and used by Borris Pasternak. He’s not yours. You’re just a grunt. You can walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. Just give us the boy.”

It won’t work - not in the way it sounds like Keaton wants it to. It never works that way.

But I’ve watched this kind of thing enough times, even if it’s never been with a kid on the screen before, to know the exact moment it works the way Keaton actually wants. The man scoffs and shifts his body.

Keaton sinks a bullet dead-center in the man’s forehead. He drops back hard.

The sound Elliot makes is…God, I know that sound.

I’ve heard that sharp, terrified sound so many times before. I’ve heard it echoing in a dark closet, vibrating against the walls of the bedroom where bad things are kept, filling the first room that was ever mine as I jerked awake from nightmares.

My knees buckle.

Crumbling.

So close to turning to dust.

So fucking close.

An agent with a long blonde pony tail and a gentle smile gently takes Elliot in her arms as I brace myself against the corner of my desk. I watch someone else’s body camera as Keaton wrapsa blanket around his slim shoulders. It’s a shock blanket, crinkly and uncomfortable, but I know he’ll be given a softer one soon.

Keaton uses his cowboy voice to tell him, “You’re safe now. You’re okay. We’re going to bring you to your mom.”

Elliot’s eyes fall closed, tears falling down his rounded cheeks. “I don’t like that game,” he tells them, the words drunken and slow. “C-can we play a different one?”

Vomit rushes up my throat. I stumble back a step before choking it down, forcing my body to hold perfectly still so I don’t start to heave. It doesn’t work entirely. I’m trembling. I can’t stop trembling.

Carter and Casey are on the floor now, the men who love them focused entirely on them. They’re sobbing. The sound of relief and devastation and anger and sorrow bounce around the tiny haven that was once my office. Beneath it, I hear my ear piece buzz and click. Then Keaton, clearly not alone because of his accent, simply says, “Safe and sound.”