Lesson Learned- Mission Report 1

by G J Stevens

“I don’t know. I think he’s going to see how the talk goes.”

  “Is he going to fire me?” I said, a genuine lack of concern rising through me.

  “He might.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’d miss you,” I said, raising a pout towards her.

  “I’d miss you too, but it might not come to that.”

  Moving toward me, she opened her arms and I turned, gripping her tight and taking in her comforting warmth. I couldn’t help but think how different it was to when I touched Ally.

  “So what’s been going on these last few weeks?” she said as she took a few paces back to lean against the counter.

  “What do you mean?” I replied.

  “You’ve changed, and I don’t mean in a bad way. You seem to be less about that,” she said, pointing at the washing, “and more about you,” with her finger toward my chest.

  I held myself back from my instinct to tell her everything. I wasn’t sure if I could say it out loud.

  Celina got there first. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” she said, her mouth in a wide, excited smile.

  I nodded and looked down to hide my grin.

  “I’m pleased for you. You might just be finding yourself at last.”

  “And so are they,” I replied, beaming back at her.

  I spent the rest of the morning on a run, then took the dog and watched number fifty-six. There was no sign of her, no sign of anyone.

  For the rest of the afternoon I mooched around the house whilst finding excuses to go up the stairs and look out of the window and across the lawn.

  I found reasons to go outside. I cleaned the windows, turning each moment to see if she headed my way. There was still no sign.

  She didn’t come at four o’clock, her sometimes normal time to take the dog for a walk. She wasn’t around before Lenart came home at eight for the talk.

  I could smell the alcohol on his breath. Celina was nowhere around. I had a vague memory she’d taken the children off somewhere, into town for a movie. He had me all to himself.

  I promised myself if he tried anything he’d end up with broken bones.

  He didn’t pour himself a glass of whiskey, despite my offer. He sat in the front room on the edge of the chair and held his hand out, motioning for me to sit opposite.

  “Do you want to be here?” he said, a hint of more than one whiskey on his voice.

  I paused with intent. “What do you mean?” I said. It felt like I thought I should have when I was a teenager; the emotions I’d never experienced. I’d gone through a lot, but I’d had no conversations like this with my parents. I’d been a good kid. Driven. I’d had no time to get into trouble.

  “Do you want to be here doing what you’re doing?”

  “No,” I said. “I think I’m too young to be looking after other people.”

  He nodded with a slow, solemn bow.

  “I have my own ideas,” I added.

  “I understand. I’ll speak with the agency and I’m sure they’ll reassign you.”

  “Okay,” I replied, not sure what the au pair agency would think of the request. “But let them know not to hurry. I might take some time off first.”

  His face flew into a picture of surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I think I’m going to get some space,” I said. “Before I go someplace else.”

  “But you know what that means, don’t you?” he said.

  “Of course I do,” I replied, but I really didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Look, you shouldn’t rush this. I’ll give you a week. Have a think. I tell you what, take time out. Stay here, don’t worry about us or the house. I won’t say anything until next week. Okay?” he said, leaning forward.

  “Okay,” I replied, dragging out the word, but I couldn’t help being concerned about why he was being so nice. Unless he wanted me to stay. Had I called his bluff?

  At least now I had a week to myself, something I hadn’t had for some time. I could do with some time to be me, time to do what I wanted to do, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it.

  I pulled my coat on and headed out of the door, leaving Lenart sat in front of the TV.

  It took a long time for the answer at the door, but the invite inside didn’t. In the living room I asked if Ally was around, but she wasn’t. I hoped I hid my disappointment.

  Lenara said she was on business with Frank. She’d gone because she spoke German and could drive. I wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince as she told me their usual interpreter had taken ill and Frank had drafted Alarica in at the last minute. No time to get a temp. No money for the extra expense.

  “When is she likely to be back?”

  “A week, I think?” she said, her voice vacant.

  I felt the blood drain from my face; tears built in the corner of my eyes.

  “Catarina, dear. I was going to ask anyway, but it was great you came around. Could you do me a favour and take the dog out for a walk? I know it’s dark, but you don’t seem to mind.”

  I nodded, barely hearing the words. I headed to the drawer underneath the table by the door and the dog came bounding after me as he heard the wood scraping under the table. As I clipped the lead on to his collar, Lenara met me at the door, handing over a bunch of keys.

  “I’m going to be out when you get back. I’m staying with friends tonight. I don’t like to be alone too much in this house. If you can just drop him back in and feed him. Keep the keys. If I’m not back can you do the same tomorrow?”

  I nodded in reply, not able to push the words through my disappointment. I might leave this place for good and I wouldn’t have a chance to find out if there was anything worth staying for.

  The dog pulled me between the houses, showing no regard for my mood, my head facing down with the weight of my gloom. We were both glad when I let him off the lead as we entered the darkness.

  We walked for what seemed like hours, and probably was, but I made no reference. I walked almost as far as the furthest I’d ever run, but my mood hadn’t lifted. The growing cold finally turned me back.

  Despite the chill, I walked slowly with my breath catching in the air as I emerged from the canopy. Darkness had fallen. Our driveway full; theirs empty. Only one car sat in the rest of the street, a few places down the road some way back. I’d never seen it before. Sometimes I wished I could turn off my senses.

  Arriving at the house, I pushed in the front door key, almost laughing to myself. I should have told Lenara I didn’t need another key, but then what would be the point of that?

  Inside the house I pushed on the lights, drying the dogs paws on the towel they kept hidden away by the front door just for the purpose. Setting the dog’s food in his bowl, I pushed the kitchen door closed to stop him from carrying food in his mouth and dropping it around the house.

  While I waited for him to finish, I leant against the hallway wall, catching a fleeting shadow moving at the front door. I stared, but there was nothing there. Then the shadow moved again. This time I already had my gaze set in the direction.

  Still, I jumped with a knock at the door. I stood frozen to the spot, a thought pulling into my mind that it might be Ally.

  No. She would have her own key.

  Despite my sense, I didn’t look through the spy glass. Didn’t push on the chain. Instead, I opened the door and watched as a tall, thin man stood there, his face wrapped with a brown unkempt beard only barely covering bald patches of missing growth.

  His mouth was full of black teeth smiling back and in his bandaged right hand he pushed forward a long, wide knife.

  29

  My training forced me not to lash out and disarm the guy, despite this being my best opportunity, taking him by surprise with a furious show of my abilities.

  The task flashed back into view. I remembered where I stood and who could be watching. This certainly was an interesting turn of events and the guy’s appearance dragged me out of my teenager’s mope, straight back
into the zone.

  In a flash I recalled the car down the road. I'd brushed it aside, almost uncaring.

  “Who are you?” he said, his voice high and instantly recognised as the same guy who’d been refused entry to the Bukia’s party.

  “Aren’t I meant to be the one asking?” I said, backing away down the corridor, trying to look scared.

  “But I’m the one with the knife,” he replied with his hand behind his back, pushing the door shut.

  “I suppose,” I replied. “I’m the girl next door. I mean, I live next door.”

  “Is there anyone else in? That girl they keep around?”

  “Their daughter?” I replied, despite knowing who he referred to.

  “No. The older one, the one that doesn’t seem to have any purpose,” he said, squinting in my direction as if he found it difficult to see.

  “I’m the only one here. I just came to walk the dog and now he’s eating,” I replied, looking towards the closed door of the kitchen.

  “Bad luck for you. Good luck for me,” he said, still stepping forward and forcing me to back away.

  I let my back slap hard against the closed door leading to the living room.

  “What do you want? I don’t know where they keep their money. It’s not my house.”

  “I don’t want money,” he spat. “You’re not trouble, are you?”

  “No,” I said, keeping my palms opened towards him.

  “Good. Now turn around and put your hands behind your back,” he hissed.

  It was the moment for a decision. I could take him ten times over. He was slow and weary, his left hand bruised and riddled with scars. I could pull so many weapons from the tall tables along the hall; a plant pot, a framed painting.

  I could grab the grandfather clock and push it down onto him. But his arrival was an opportunity I just couldn’t miss.

  Instead, I turned, watching the reflection in the framed picture’s glass as I pushed my hands behind my back. I almost laughed. This guy was so lame.

  He tucked the knife into his belt, almost cutting off a finger as he did.

  He pulled a pair of zip ties from his coat pocket and tied my hands at my back, one around each wrist, both interlinked whilst I tried to clench my hands and make my wrists as big as possible, squealing as I felt the first touch of the plastic so he wouldn’t pull any tighter.

  No sooner than he’d pushed the last one home, he raised my arms up together, forcing me to push my shoulders forward to limit the pain. Still, I could stop it all, but instead I exaggerated my groan as he pushed me along the hall whilst clearly enjoying the sounds of my discomfort.

  With confidence in his steps, he led me straight up the stairs, still forcing my torso forward.

  Arriving on the landing he seemed not to know the layout upstairs, dragging me backwards with a tight hold around my arm as he flung open each of the doors.

  He went to Ally’s room first and I caught her scent as we entered. He headed straight to the cupboard, raking the towels out from the shelf. Not finding what he sought, he dragged me out to the hallway.

  The main bathroom was next and he slapped bottles and potions from the shelves in the cupboards, then with more care, inspected the contents of the medicine cabinet, cursing each moment.

  The master bedroom came after and he threw me facedown to the bed, rushing to the cupboard but grabbing me again when he couldn’t find what he looked for.

  Finally we reached the study, dragging me through the doors, sending a bolt of pain up my shoulders with a reaction I didn’t need to exaggerate.

  Shoving me towards the bookcase, I stumbled, catching my shoulder hard against the floor and I cried out with real pain when he kicked my legs, forcing me to pull them closed. As he slapped the lights on, I cursed him under my breath. He was very lucky he was doing me a favour, despite not knowing it.

  “Stay in the corner and keep your fucking mouth shut. You better hope I find what I want or I’m having you as my compensation,” he spat.

  Without turning around, he ran to the back of the desk and wrenched open the drawers either side before tipping out the contents to the long blotter.

  As I watched, I shuffled my back into the corner. Leaning against the bookcase I tried to let my shoulders relax while I busied my hands and within a few seconds I had the right cuff slipped off. I slid it back in, trying not to let the cuff tighten whilst I watched his growing frustration as he swiped the contents of each drawer to the carpet.

  He’d run out of contents before he’d found what he searched for. Grumbling under his breath, he stepped around the desk to the wardrobe doors and pulled at the handles. They didn’t move and he turned to me as I cowered against the wall.

  “Where’s the fucking key?” he shouted through dark, gritted teeth, swapping his look between me and the hole in the wood.

  While he’d been searching, I’d examined the door in more detail.

  “I don’t live here. I have no idea,” I said, adding a quiver to my voice.

  I didn’t say that if I’d known then you’d be on the floor with your hands around your back and your face covered in bruises.

  He returned to the desk, rifling once more through the strewn contents of the drawers, pushing the debris of everyday office life to the floor with his face growing redder with each alternating sweep of his hands. He knocked a heavy paperweight to the floor, a lump of glass which seemed to have some creature suspended inside, bouncing from the carpet to hit my shin.

  Huffing in pain, I forced down the reaction so not to draw his attention. I needn’t have worried because moments later a dark, toothy grin told me he’d uncovered something to prick his interest.

  Pulling the key from the pile, he glanced in my direction.

  I wouldn’t let him down prematurely. He’d realise soon enough that the key, albeit the right size, wouldn’t pass into the dark keyhole.

  As he found out, he threw the key down at his back. It glanced off the wall close to my face as he banged his fists on the doors, grabbing at the ornate contours of the wooden detailing as if he’d pluck it right off its hinges with brute force alone. Only when he looked like he would explode with rage did he stop moving, stepping to the side to peer down at the low centre panel which slipped to reveal a digital keypad in the middle.

  The buttons were like from a phone with numbers from one to three across the top, then three more rows with the rest. Each number, except for nine, also represented a set of three letters. He twisted a glance in my direction and I shrugged back, raising my eyebrows. What was he expecting from me?

  He turned back to the door and jabbed his fingers at the first four buttons in sequence. After waiting a moment when nothing happened, he carried on punching in the digits of the linear sequence, leaving an expectant pause between each. After the seventh digit, a low bass alert came from somewhere in the panel and a small red LED lit above the keypad.

  Peering closer, I could see another two unlit in the line.

  Twisting toward me, I shrugged once more in reply. He’d at least figured out he’d tapped in the wrong answer, but did he really think I knew the sequence?

  I did. As soon as I’d heard the tone on the seventh number, the answer became obvious.

  He punched in another set, this time appearing to jab in sequence and on the seventh press the tone repeated and the second light turned red. Scowling at me, he soon snapped back with his finger hovering with indecision over each of the numbers.

  Was he expecting divine intervention?

  Moving his finger, he seemed as if he would try one last shot. Before he could, I whispered the numbers just loud enough for him to hear.

  Two. Five. Two. Seven. Four. Two. Two.

  They spelled Alarica.

  I gave another shrugged reply when he squinted back.

  “If this goes red, then you’re going to have a much worse day.”

  Facing the doors and with care, he punched in the numbers. Each of the LEDs turned green, an
d the doors released, opening outward of their own accord with light pouring from behind to cast him in silhouette.

  “What the fuck?” he whispered under his breath, then slipping the cuff again and rising silently to my feet, I smashed the paperweight into the back of his head.

  30

  He fell to the floor like a sack of shit, or as an unconscious body does when it no longer receives any messages from the brain, the knife clattering forward to the floor ahead.

  Rubbing my wrists, I leaned over him, pulling his head up and slipping up each eyelid with a finger. He gave no signs of consciousness and I let his head bump to the carpet, knowing I didn’t have to worry about him for a little while.

  Picking up the knife, I turned my attention forward and the hole where the light streamed up from; the space where the floor of the wardrobe should have been.

  Taking tentative steps, I saw raw concrete walls finished only with what appeared to be a coat of magnolia. Before I went any further, I examined the door frame, catching sight of the tiny sensor contacts telling of an alarm ringing somewhere.

  Speeding my steps, I let the knife fall through the missing floor as I watched its downward path past the metal ladder and bright lights fixed to the shaft wall. With a great clatter, it came to rest with a sharp echo.

  I turned to the man as good as dead for the next few minutes, then looked down to the knife and let my foot settle on the top rung. Guessing I had such little time, I rushed down the steps until my feet hit the floor.

  I landed in a room with its walls finished the same as the shaft; raw concrete painted the same not cream, not white colour, but somewhere in between. In the room stood a wide dark-wooden desk, not unlike the one above; behind it sat a large leather arm chair with an over-stuffed couch to the side filling the length of the wall.

  My gaze fell to the desk again and my heart jumped as I saw my underwear from that night, dispelling any doubt at his involvement. With time against me and despite the race of my mind, I forced myself to continue turning on the spot to face a glass door, through which I saw a long, brightly lit tunnel reaching out to vanish to a point in the distance.