The Press.
Josh sped down those stairs in a rather frantic manner, he didn’t even have his hair up, just let it fall to his shoulders as he raced down those stairs.
He got what he was looking for the second he stepped foot in the basement, hands already reaching for the light. The light filled the room with an eerie white, illuminating the man chained to the wall by his wrist. Chris McLean.
Josh sighed heavily and took a fast step forward before approaching Chris in three quick strides and dropping to his knees t he at face level. He clicked his tongue before speaking, gaze trained heavy on the man’s face.
“Where is he?,” He said, gaze never wavering and voice steady despite the fact that he was seething internally. “Where’s the bastard?”
Chris didn’t answer for a hot second, glassy eyes still focusing now that he could see. He glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings again just like the first time he had been put here. He shifted slightly, leaning towards a criss-cross applesauce position before speaking. When he did, his voice was small and shaky, nothing like the narcissistic host whose voice boomed across rooms and stages like he was a God.
“He’s not down here…” He took a moment before speaking again, tired and dull eyes finally meeting those blue ones filled with silent fury. “He went upstairs a while ago…said he was making me dinner..”
“Making you-..” Josh scoffed before pushing himself up and running a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath in and out and ran his hands over his suit to neaten it down. He took a step back without another word then turned on his heel, heading back up the stairs. Left the light on.
Chris groaned, pulling his knees up and together before burying his face against them with his arms cradling his head. He didn’t like the light on. It burned too bright when he was so used to darkness. It also illuminated what a sad place he was in. Four gray walls with nothing but a bottle he peed in and a training potty for babies when he needed to shit. Caged like a dog.
Upstairs, Josh found Don after going through nearly every room in the house. Don was in his son’s room, Topher. Don was dressed in his white long sleeved undershirt and blue pants, barefoot. His hair was all disheveled and his eyes had evident bags underneath them. He was mid sentence when Josh stormed in, catching the man by surprise.
Don gave a grunt in response instead of finishing what he was gonna say to his confused looking son. Topher was about to open his mouth before Josh’s voice cut through the room, sharp and obviously trying to keep it together.
“Donavan!,” He took two steps forward and ran another hand through his hair, it obviously messed with him because it wasn’t put up. Topher kept his mouth shut, knew better than to interrupt these conversations. “You were supposed to be on stage a hour ago! What are you doing?”
Don rolled his green eyes and pushed himself up to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and opening his mouth in that stupid bigass yawn he always did to piss people off. Then he set his arms back down and crossed them over his chest, glaring over at Josh and making his way out of the room before snarling.
“I’ve been talking to my son.”
“Try talking to the press next time,” Josh cut in, following suit after Don with animated irritated gestures. “Everyone was waiting for you to come on stage and give both your statement and the whole speech about how you’re grieving Chris as well! They’re gonna catch the fuck on if you don’t start showing more sorrow, Don!”
Don scoffed again, heading to his own room to get dressed.
“Josh, if I show up late and look like I’ve been crying over th guy, scared to come out on TV and shit, don’t you think that’s gonna sell the deal more?”
He sat down on his bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he did so.
Josh followed and stood in the doorway of his room with his arms crossed, watching every movement Don made. He raised an eyebrow.
“Hate to admit it, but you’ve got a point.”
“I’m always right, Josh,” He smirked up at him, calloused hands moving to tie his shoes that now covered his feet. Brown boots. Heavy-duty. The same boots that helped him walk in mud and sticks to drag Chris in.
“Sure.”
