Forty-Nine
After watching the bodies of two more of Sonny's men enter the fiery furnace, Jason's captor cleared his throat. The sound caught Jason's attention and broke the spell of numbness that the hit man felt himself under. “There are quite a few more of these to watch,” he informed Jason, tapping on the monitor. “But perhaps you would prefer to see what's happening on the other screens.”
Just as before, the guard toggled a switch and the static on the second monitor cleared. A vibrant color image of four-year-old Michael Morgan popped into view.
Michael was the son of Carly Benson and Jason's older brother A.J. Quartermaine. A.J. had never been allowed to be a part of the little boy's life, but for a while Michael had been the child of Jason's heart. Seeing the little boy sitting in the midst of an empty room with his hands bound together before him and his eyes securely taped shut cut Jason like a knife.
Jason instinctively jerked forward. His numerous injuries, temporarily forgotten, quickly made themselves known and Jason could not help emitting a sharp cry of pain.
Anthony Sorrell's watchful guard made no move to assist his captive. “You should be more careful, Mr. Morgan.” The man let his finger hover over a button on the panel. “Would you like to speak to young Mister Quartermaine?”
Jason glared at the guard, who met his gaze without flinching. He was not sure if the man was amusing himself at Jason's expense or if the offer to speak to Michael was a true one.
The guard depressed and held the button. Jason decided that his need to reassure Michael was more important than any loss of face that might occur if the man was simply making fun of him. “Michael?” Jason's voice was a bit unsteady.
The little boy's body stiffened to attention. His head swiveled from side to side trying to ascertain where Jason's voice had come from. “Uncle Jason!”
“It's alright, Michael.”
“Uncle Jason!” Michael tried to struggle to his feet. With his hands bound and his eyes covered, his desperation made the attempt even more difficult. “Uncle Jason!” The little boy continued to frantically call out as he staggered blindly about the room.
Jason realized that the little boy could not hear his reassurances. The guard had long removed his finger from the button that allowed Jason's voice to be heard in the room where Michael was being held. Ignoring his injuries, Jason levered himself up on the bed. The pain was excruciating, but Jason's only focus was Michael. “You bastard,” Jason rasped. He sat bent over, fighting for breath.
“Tsk, tsk,” the guard sarcastically rebuked Jason. “Such manners. If you aren't more polite,” the man taunted, “then you will miss out on this.”
Against his will, Jason's gaze swung to the third monitor. And immediately understood why he had been kept alive.
