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Klavier never needed bodyguards or personal security when he wasn’t on tour. Even then, very few people were willing to risk attacking law enforcement. That said, Klavier was caught off guard when these kidnappers broke into his apartment. The ropes tied around his wrists chafe against the skin, and his shoulders strain under the weight his body hanging from the ceiling. In a situation like this, Klavier can only count his blessings. The kidnappers wore masks when they took him, blindfolded him when they arrived. He’s probably being ransomed, not killed.
Still, his blessings are scarce. Just the one, really. Everything else is quite miserable. He’s struggling to track the passage of time, disoriented after being drugged and moved to this dank room. Being moved to a secondary location, he knows, is never a good thing. It lowers his chances of rescue astronomically, but at least he’s only been moved the one time.
More than that, though, his body aches something fierce. Through the blindfold, he cannot see the worst of the damage, but the way pain flares up in his ribs every time he breathes makes him think they’re at least bruised, if not broken. His lip is cut and bloodied, and he’s pretty sure his cheek is, too. His jaw is sore from the gag biting into skin, soaked through with spit and drying out his mouth. He can only imagine the mottled bruises across his torso. His toes barely scrape the ground, and if this lasts much longer, his shoulders will probably slip out of socket.
With a bit of luck, he’ll be found soon. Who the kidnappers are trying to extort is anyone’s guess, really. With Kristoph in prison, the band broken up, and Klavier taking a lighter caseload at the behest of his boss, there are very few reasons to hold him captive at all. Perhaps they want money, or maybe they think he’s valuable enough to the Prosecutor’s Office that Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth will bend to their will. The thought almost makes Klavier smile. Edgeworth’s stubbornness is only outmatched by Phoenix Wright’s, from what he’s heard coming from Apollo, Trucy, and Ema Skye.
That’s another thought, then. Klavier has only a few friends left after everything went down with Kristoph’s first arrest, then conviction, then Daryan’s arrest and subsequent trial, then Kristoph’s second conviction. Two of the three remaining Gavinners left California altogether, the third moving further north to stay with family in San Francisco. Kristoph’s connections shunned Klavier, especially after the Misham case. Klavier was too awkward, embarrassed, and guilty to dare stepping foot in the Wright Anything Agency. Apollo and Trucy sticking around was a surprising, though not unwelcome, development. Ema’s slowly thawing heart of ice was also a pleasant turn of events.
The three of them would be worried sick, no doubt.
The door to the room creaks open. A few seconds later, the gag is removed. A glass of water is placed at his lips and tipped unceremoniously forward. Klavier struggles to lap up as much as he can, desperate to rid himself of the dry, cottony sensation in his mouth. Most of the water ends up dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. The gag is back in place before Klavier even thinks of crying out for help.
Then, an arm wraps around his waist, and two hands brush against the skin of his wrists. Are they untying him? Letting him go free? His arms sag as they are freed from whatever was holding him suspended from the ceiling. The sudden lack of tension is painful. To make matters worse, the support around his waist disappears as soon as his feet are flat on the ground. Klavier’s knees buckled embarrassingly quickly. He winds up in a heap on the floor, wrists still bound, head bouncing off the concrete.
Weak pounding in his head from dehydration and hunger spikes with the collision. A pathetic whine climbs up his throat, muffled by the rag in his mouth. A boot strikes his stomach, and Klavier curls in on himself. The kidnappers are saying something, but through the pain radiating out from his ribs, Klavier cannot be bothered to parse it. Too soon, a hand grips his hair, lifting his head and slamming it back down against the floor. Twice. Three times. Klavier whimpers, dizzy, disoriented. He doesn’t register the hands securing rope around his ankles and thighs. In a matter of moments, he’s hogtied on the ground.
Cold leaches up from the concrete through his clothes. He shivers. At least the cold feels good against his bruises, though the pressure on his ribs brings tears to his eyes.
How long he lies there, he doesn’t know. He loses track of time again. At some point, he dozes off, or he thinks he does, because next he knows, shouts and the stomping of boots sound off above him. He must be in a basement, then, he speculates passively. His ribs ache worse now than they did earlier, and the concrete under him is no longer blessedly cool against his skin, only hard and uncomfortable. The ropes must be cutting off blood flow, too, because he can no longer feel his hands or lower legs.
Heavy footsteps echo outside the room, then the door bursts open.
Klavier flinches away from the first brush of fingers against his cheeks. He takes in an unsteady breath through his nose, muscles tensed, anticipating rough hands and cruel touch.
It doesn’t come. The man starts talking. He doesn’t sound like any of the kidnappers.
“It’s alright, Mr. Gavin. We’re here to help.” The man’s voice is soft, steady. “I’m gonna untie that gag, now, okay? Can you nod if you’re ready?”
Klavier nods, squeezing his eyes shut behind the blindfold.
“Good, good. Alright, my hands are gonna touch the back of your head while I undo the knot.”
The brush of the man’s fingers, ever so gentle, brings tears to Klavier’s eyes. It feels familiar, like childhood, like home.
“I’m gonna pull the gag out, now, but don’t close your mouth too quickly.”
Klavier takes the advice to heart, mouth hanging open as the rag is pulled away from his lips, strings of drool trailing behind. The man keeps up his commentary, telling Klavier everything before he does it. The blindfold comes off, Klavier’s jaw eased shut. He blinks fiercely against the dim light, tears slipping down his cheeks.
The man brushes the tears away, and for a moment, Klavier is sure he is dreaming, that this is all one long, horrible nightmare, and his brother is still beside him.
His head is still clouded when paramedics rush down the stairs. He loses track of everything happening as they cut the ropes away, easing him onto his back, doing a cursory scan of his injuries.
Klavier’s head lolls to the side as his energy flags.
A hand taps firmly against his shoulder, forcing him to stir, though his eyes are still half-lidded, vision blurred. He wants to sleep. They don’t let him. Fingers comb through his hair. It feels like home. He flinches when they ghost over the wounds from earlier. The fingers pause, pull his hair to the side.
Someone mutters something about a possible concussion.
Another offers a comment about broken ribs.
A third voice chimes in, spouting a line about muscle strain.
The same voices repeat, listing off prognoses until they determine it’s safe to move him.
Klavier whimpers as they lift him onto a stretcher. He gets a pat on the shoulder for it, and a few words of reassurance. He works his jaw, trying to summon up anything other than the pitiful noises that keep escaping, wanting to ask for his brother. All he manages is a weak croak, a groan. No words to speak of. He gets another pat on the shoulder and finally manages to pry his eyes open wide enough to make contact with those of one of the paramedics. The man gives him a sideways smile, crooked with concern masked as reassurance. Klavier huffs a breath through his nose, even though it hurts his ribs, and closes his eyes.
He wants to ask, then, what happened to the kidnappers, how long it’s been since they took him from his home. He wants to know who discovered he was missing, how long it took for anyone to notice. He doesn’t want to know. What if it took days? He’s not been good, lately, at talking to people, making plans. It was a Friday evening that he went missing. He wasn’t supposed to see anyone until he went to work Monday morning.
Why did the kidnappers take him in the first place, though? For ransom? If that was it, his abduction would have been known almost immediately. But why would they ransom him? What did they want? Who did they want something out of?
Klavier’s lips tremble as they load him into the back of the ambulance.
A familiar shade of blond floats into Klavier’s vision, and a wretched sob finally breaks free. Slender fingers brush Klavier’s bangs away from his forehead.
With Kristoph there, everything will be okay.