That was too much for Oliver, but instead of growing angry, the beast of a Scot experienced something unusual for him. The squiggling uncertainty that had been building over the last six hours came to a peak and the world openend up beneath his unsteady feet and he fell into chaos. Or at least, that's how it felt, as worry whipped him about like a rag doll and cinched his already delicate stomach. Oliver lost the air in his lungs and the footing beneath him and swayed on the spot, feverish with longing to hold his wife in his arms.
'Eddie? Eddie Carmichale?' he wheezed, eyes cross-crossing. That couldn't be right at all. It was just conjecture and that wasn't good enough. Oliver needed proof before he was going to believe some maniac had taken Verity; proof, or he was going to lose it entirely. 'That's- barmy!' he shouted. 'it could have been anyone - and we don't even know she has been- has... something else. Anything.'