Adrian's investigative work from before, along with insights from Cassidy and Charles, had allowed him to narrow down Damien and the other captives' shipment dates as well as the location they were being sent.
Then, everything went downhill from there. He hopes he can still amend his mistakes. Dylan's attack calls for appropriate restitution - and that, he is willing to do anything to give.
The sky is dark now. No more traces of blue or pink—no more sun to shine down upon them. Some people are switching lampposts on, and buildings start to light up in the distance.
The area surrounding the pier is relatively empty. There are empty lots between empty houses - with a few run-down stores here and there. There are also several well-kept businesses like seaside restaurants and tourist inns where they offer free island hopping services.
About a kilometer away from these shops lies the pier - small, degraded, hidden.
Perfect for illegal shipments.
Irish drives the car into a parking lot of a motel some blocks away. Adrian steps out first before he goes around the vehicle and opens the trunk to retrieve some weapons - only to jump in surprise at what he ends up finding there.
"What the?!"
Anthony tumbles out of the trunk all of the sudden.
He lands on a heap on the sidewalk, attempting to turn this way and that way to stretch out his sore muscles. The two of them can only stare at him, expressions nonplussed.
"What a long drive, huh...?" Anthony quipped sheepishly, looking up at them both from his temporary seat of cement.
"I was afraid those guns were going to shoot right through me on their own."
"First, Aira. Now, you..." Adrian sighed in exhaustion, his shoulders slagging.
"I miss the days when everyone listened to me."
"I don't..." Irish said with a bitter smile before turning to their companion.
"You okay, Anthony?"
"I'm fine. Thank you, Ma'am. I'm not going to apologize for coming, though. I don't intend to put myself in danger."
Anthony steels his gaze on Adrian. In all seriousness, he then goes on to say, "I understand clearly the consequences of foolish bravery, but I can hold on to the transmitter. At least then, if we need help or the others do, we'll be there, and we'll be ready."
"Reasonable enough..." Irish chimed in, pulling the transmitter from her pocket.
"I trust you. You know what to do, don't you?"
"Of course, Ma'am. Hope against hope."
He beams at her, and she beams back in return.
His smile dims down a little when his gaze shifts over to Adrian. He's regarding Anthony contemplatively, seemingly not as easily convinced as Irish.
"You won't hold this against me, will you, President?"
"What can I do now that you're here? Follow us. Don't let yourself be seen."
Adrian looks up at the night sky. There, he finds an inky blue fade into the horizon, a blanket of stars yet to cover. With a solemn expression, he continues, "We're wasting time. Let's go."
He walks forward with Irish and Anthony following behind him. Bryan will be arriving soon along with some back-ups. Ray has already informed the police as well.
For a long time, there is only the sound of their footsteps on the gravel beneath their feet, and for a long time, he does not look back.
The pier is bustling with noise and movements. There's a guard by the gate, half a cigarette held between his fingers. He snarks at them in displeasure but otherwise doesn't fulfill his job.
Some pungent scent punctuates the air, and bursts of boisterous laughter invade their ears - the source of which a merry group of men who have a week's worth of beer in their stomachs. Women dressed as barmaids are going around and serving drinks, though not much else. Off to some side, a group of fishermen haul their latest catch into wagons - presumably to take back to town.
"This doesn't seem like a pier," Irish commented, having caught up to Adrian.
"It's not. It hasn't been for a long time."
They walk around the edge of the docks where a few ships are floating on the water, closed and seemingly unoccupied. Fishermen's boats line the rest of the pier. The excitement at the entrance has dimmed somewhat, and the rough sounds of the ocean tide are beginning to get louder and louder. Soon, they all find themselves walking down a deserted road where no one will see them cause a commotion - or disappear.
At the end of that line, a lone light shines through a boarded window.
"He doesn't know..." Adrian guessed.
"You two, on my mark."
What happens next happens quickly and quietly - the door is struck down, and they enter hell.
Hell doesn't look like much, though.
It's a wooden room - the walls of which stacked with numerous crates. The stairs to the second-floor of the building are blocked, and the floors are rotten. Termites feast on the establishment.
Then, there is he.
The devil sits on a desk a few feet away from them, a receptionist of some sorts, ready to pen their names down into his record book permanently.
Grisham grins.
A familiar grin.
"My grandson...!" he greeted disturbingly.
"How wonderful of you to come see your grandfather. You've been very naughty these last few years. Knew I should've kept you on a better leash."
"Knew I should've kept you in a better prison..." Adrian shot back with a scowl and a glare.
"Grisham Donovan."
"Same wit as always. To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you want to personally hand in that wife of yours? Quite a catch that woman."
"Cut the small talk, Grandfather..." Irish interrupted, taking a few steps in.
"Adrian's offer still stands even though you've already broken it once. This is one last chance for you. We allowed you to recover even when you were reluctant at first. Yet now that you're healthy again, you dared go against us once more. It's because of you that even Mother has gone insane."
"Right, right. Should've known he'd bring you along. Couldn't do much without your big sis here to help you, huh, Adrian?"
"Grandfather-"
"Oh, let him speak, Irish. Since when have you been this protective? Never expected that from you. You used to never care about one another before."
"Grandfather-"
"Can't imagine he'd side with you lot when I'm the one who raised him all those years. What an ungrateful grandson."
Grisham sneers.
By that point, Adrian is sure - he'll kill him this time for sure.
It doesn't matter that they're related by blood. If he knew he wouldn't rot in jail, he'd just let him die from his illness. Now, he's pouncing and biting back again. He even went as far as cooperating with Keith who broke him out of prison, though he didn't know that he's working together with Dylan.
He knows that they're going to use Grisham against them, and he knows that they're going to kill him as soon as they're finished - a perfect way to take revenge, indeed.
"You didn't raise me..." Adrian muttered, furious.
"You beat me into what you thought would be the perfect apprentice."
"Someone had to..." Grisham replied smugly.
"I was actually feeling quite proud about how you turned out. Too bad you were corrupted long before you could reach your full potential."
Adrian's investigative work from before, along with insights from Cassidy and Charles, had allowed him to narrow down Damien and the other captives' shipment dates as well as the location they were being sent.
Then, everything went downhill from there. He hopes he can still amend his mistakes. Dylan's attack calls for appropriate restitution - and that, he is willing to do anything to give.
The sky is dark now. No more traces of blue or pink—no more sun to shine down upon them. Some people are switching lampposts on, and buildings start to light up in the distance.
The area surrounding the pier is relatively empty. There are empty lots between empty houses - with a few run-down stores here and there. There are also several well-kept businesses like seaside restaurants and tourist inns where they offer free island hopping services.
About a kilometer away from these shops lies the pier - small, degraded, hidden.
Perfect for illegal shipments.
Irish drives the car into a parking lot of a motel some blocks away. Adrian steps out first before he goes around the vehicle and opens the trunk to retrieve some weapons - only to jump in surprise at what he ends up finding there.
"What the?!"
Anthony tumbles out of the trunk all of the sudden.
He lands on a heap on the sidewalk, attempting to turn this way and that way to stretch out his sore muscles. The two of them can only stare at him, expressions nonplussed.
"What a long drive, huh...?" Anthony quipped sheepishly, looking up at them both from his temporary seat of cement.
"I was afraid those guns were going to shoot right through me on their own."
"First, Aira. Now, you..." Adrian sighed in exhaustion, his shoulders slagging.
"I miss the days when everyone listened to me."
"I don't..." Irish said with a bitter smile before turning to their companion.
"You okay, Anthony?"
"I'm fine. Thank you, Ma'am. I'm not going to apologize for coming, though. I don't intend to put myself in danger."
Anthony steels his gaze on Adrian. In all seriousness, he then goes on to say, "I understand clearly the consequences of foolish bravery, but I can hold on to the transmitter. At least then, if we need help or the others do, we'll be there, and we'll be ready."
"Reasonable enough..." Irish chimed in, pulling the transmitter from her pocket.
"I trust you. You know what to do, don't you?"
"Of course, Ma'am. Hope against hope."
He beams at her, and she beams back in return.
His smile dims down a little when his gaze shifts over to Adrian. He's regarding Anthony contemplatively, seemingly not as easily convinced as Irish.
"You won't hold this against me, will you, President?"
"What can I do now that you're here? Follow us. Don't let yourself be seen."
Adrian looks up at the night sky. There, he finds an inky blue fade into the horizon, a blanket of stars yet to cover. With a solemn expression, he continues, "We're wasting time. Let's go."
He walks forward with Irish and Anthony following behind him. Bryan will be arriving soon along with some back-ups. Ray has already informed the police as well.
For a long time, there is only the sound of their footsteps on the gravel beneath their feet, and for a long time, he does not look back.
The pier is bustling with noise and movements. There's a guard by the gate, half a cigarette held between his fingers. He snarks at them in displeasure but otherwise doesn't fulfill his job.
Some pungent scent punctuates the air, and bursts of boisterous laughter invade their ears - the source of which a merry group of men who have a week's worth of beer in their stomachs. Women dressed as barmaids are going around and serving drinks, though not much else. Off to some side, a group of fishermen haul their latest catch into wagons - presumably to take back to town.
"This doesn't seem like a pier," Irish commented, having caught up to Adrian.
"It's not. It hasn't been for a long time."
They walk around the edge of the docks where a few ships are floating on the water, closed and seemingly unoccupied. Fishermen's boats line the rest of the pier. The excitement at the entrance has dimmed somewhat, and the rough sounds of the ocean tide are beginning to get louder and louder. Soon, they all find themselves walking down a deserted road where no one will see them cause a commotion - or disappear.
At the end of that line, a lone light shines through a boarded window.
"He doesn't know..." Adrian guessed.
"You two, on my mark."
What happens next happens quickly and quietly - the door is struck down, and they enter hell.
Hell doesn't look like much, though.
It's a wooden room - the walls of which stacked with numerous crates. The stairs to the second-floor of the building are blocked, and the floors are rotten. Termites feast on the establishment.
Then, there is he.
The devil sits on a desk a few feet away from them, a receptionist of some sorts, ready to pen their names down into his record book permanently.
Grisham grins.
A familiar grin.
"My grandson...!" he greeted disturbingly.
"How wonderful of you to come see your grandfather. You've been very naughty these last few years. Knew I should've kept you on a better leash."
"Knew I should've kept you in a better prison..." Adrian shot back with a scowl and a glare.
"Grisham Donovan."
"Same wit as always. To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you want to personally hand in that wife of yours? Quite a catch that woman."
"Cut the small talk, Grandfather..." Irish interrupted, taking a few steps in.
"Adrian's offer still stands even though you've already broken it once. This is one last chance for you. We allowed you to recover even when you were reluctant at first. Yet now that you're healthy again, you dared go against us once more. It's because of you that even Mother has gone insane."
"Right, right. Should've known he'd bring you along. Couldn't do much without your big sis here to help you, huh, Adrian?"
"Grandfather-"
"Oh, let him speak, Irish. Since when have you been this protective? Never expected that from you. You used to never care about one another before."
"Grandfather-"
"Can't imagine he'd side with you lot when I'm the one who raised him all those years. What an ungrateful grandson."
Grisham sneers.
By that point, Adrian is sure - he'll kill him this time for sure.
It doesn't matter that they're related by blood. If he knew he wouldn't rot in jail, he'd just let him die from his illness. Now, he's pouncing and biting back again. He even went as far as cooperating with Keith who broke him out of prison, though he didn't know that he's working together with Dylan.
He knows that they're going to use Grisham against them, and he knows that they're going to kill him as soon as they're finished - a perfect way to take revenge, indeed.
"You didn't raise me..." Adrian muttered, furious.
"You beat me into what you thought would be the perfect apprentice."
"Someone had to..." Grisham replied smugly.
"I was actually feeling quite proud about how you turned out. Too bad you were corrupted long before you could reach your full potential."
