I nodded – like I really needed to confirm that I was Megan – and kneeled around his thighs, reaching my arms around his neck to hold him in a deep hug. Unfortunately, it was one-sided, as Zander had kept his wrists bound and snug against the floor. He sighed my name, as if it gave him great comfort to just have me in his lap again.
But then his chest began to complain by making a horrible whining noise. “No… What did you have to do to get this time for us? Megan, I don’t want you doing anything for him. Let me be the one, please.”
I lifted and placed my forehead against his, gently swaying my head. “I didn’t,” I lied.
I sighed long and deep, my hands smoothly stroking up and down his bare arms. I never wanted to forget the strength of his arms, the visual of the black ink that wrapped around his upper bicep and extended partially up his shoulder, the way the heat of his bare chest always over-warmed me, the softness of his lips. I kissed him, but his lips were dry and cracked, like mine always were when I was imprisoned inside Charles’ basement. But I didn’t care. About that, about the way his mouth tasted stale from being closed for so long, or about how his tongue felt rough and bumpy. He was my Nick, who I had loved since I was sixteen. Four years. I loved him even when I didn’t remember him. And I knew that, because even with my forgotten memory, my subconscious was trying to get back to Portland, where he was waiting for me, looking for me. He was always looking for me. And it broke my heart, because I knew he’d never stop. Because he loved me that much.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Why are you crying?”
I leaned back, noticing that a few of my tears had jumped over to his cheeks.
“Because you’re going home,” I said quietly, trying to find the courage to look in his eyes, where I knew hurt and disbelief were probably taking over.
“What? No. Not without you.” He said it weakly, because he knew neither of us really had a say. But as it turned out, I got to have a huge say in the matter.
“You were never supposed to be here. Be glad he isn’t digging your grave.”
“Neither were you! No one should be here!” he cried.
I quietly shushed him. “Don’t. It won’t change anything. He’s only giving me a few minutes to say goodbye.”
It hit him hard – this was our last moment – and he yanked roughly against his binds. “Let me out,” he said forcefully. “I’ll take him right now.” More tears were fleeting, from both of us now. I put both palms against his cheeks to steady him, drawing his beautiful emeralds in with my muddy brown. I huffed. Those were the only two colors either one of us could see through our prison windows. How suiting. And odd, that I would focus on that in this moment.
Shaking my head, I told him, “I won’t let you die for me.”
“And I won’t let you be raped for me!”
“I’m here either way, Nick. He’s never going to let me go. But he will let you. We’re taking this. You’re going to go home and live the fucking life you were meant to have. Be a chef at a five star restaurant. Take care of your mom so she’s not completely alone in this world. You’re not going to be tied to a goddamn floor wasting away unconscious.”
He just stared at me, dumbstruck. “How in the hell am I supposed to do that, Megan? How do I just pretend not to know what’s happening to you? Go on with my life? There’s no moving forward without you. I was barely able to do it the last time and I had no proof you were even alive. Now I know you’re alive and I know what you’re going through. Fucking go on with my life? I might as well be dead. Tell the motherfucker to come in here and do what he threatened.”
I reached over and grabbed the clear-filled syringe. “Megan, don’t.”
I closed my eyes and bit my lip, trying to find the courage to officially say goodbye. It ached behind my eyes, burned inside my chest. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to be selfish and keep him with me forever. I wanted him to be mine and me to be his. Just his. I knew exactly how hard it would be for him to move forward alone, because I was going to have to do it, too. My heart was going to ache for our lost love until my dying breath. I already felt incomplete just being separated these past couple of weeks. But I was okay with giving him a chunk of my heart. I hoped it stayed with him forever, soothing him just enough to ease the pain.
Tears escaped my eyes long before I found the strength to open them. Everything was blurry. A quick blink made my vision way too sharp. Several more got me to focus on him perfectly. He’d given into tears too, silently watching me with a longing expression. It was like I was here for him right now, but I was already lost to him.
“I want you to know how much I love you. And that I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. Believe me I want to. But at the same time, you being here makes me die a little more each day.” His head was shaking with closed eyes, as if he could will this all away and make it untrue. “I’m sorry if you hate me for it…” His eyes shot wide. “…but I choose to save you. I can’t force you to live a certain way, though I hope you’ll find a way to be happy. For me, please find a way. It’s the only thing that’ll give me peace of mind. You have to promise me you’ll try to find a way.”
He stubbornly shook his head. “No. I’ll never give up hope for you. You’ll break free one day. And when you do, I’m going to be right there waiting to pick you up and bring you home. I won’t abandon you, so don’t you dare ask me to.”
Stubborn bastard. Still my lips curled reluctantly before I leaned over and kissed him again. This time he leaned in and deepened it, showing me with every movement of his lips, every touch of his tongue, how much he loved me. And he would never let go of us any more than I would. Reaching my arms behind him again, I uncapped the needle silently, stabbing him in the back of the shoulder, releasing the fluid into his body.
He gasped, his lips frozen against mine as I pulled it back out. I moved my mouth to his ear, appearing to hug him endearingly. “Don’t move,” I quickly whispered. “Don’t answer, just listen. You might have a tracker in you. Go see Carlos and Miguel. If you have one, they’ll know what to do. I have one. If they’re alike, maybe it can help you find me. And our house was bugged, so don’t make any phone calls there.”
I kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth one last time, then pressed our foreheads together. I tossed the syringe back on the bed and clasped his face with my hands, looking into his saddened eyes as he slowly faded away from me. “I love you, Nickolas Ellis. Forever and always.”
There was no more anger in his eyes, but I doubted he was mentally acceptive of this. There was always the chance he hadn’t been tagged. It was also possible the chance of finding one in him wouldn’t do anything to help find me. This could still very well be the end of us. On his last breath of consciousness, he whispered, “I love you too. And I will find you.”
My eyes didn’t want to really open. Light filtered in through the window, birds chirped outside. Everything was telling me it was time to get up, but I felt so tired. Stretching my arm out to the right, I felt the coldness between the sheets on her side of the bed. Great. Another night she probably wasn’t able to sleep. I thought she was going to at least do her reading in here from now on, so we could still in a sense be sharing the same bed.
I somewhat moaned and rolled to my back, my eyes taking several blinks to accept the brightness. I rarely ever slept in this late. I scratched the back of my head, my body feeling stiff and sore. As I listened for sounds inside the house, I heard nothing that told me where Megan was. Maybe she had a training session and didn’t want to wake me. What day was it anyway?
I jerked upright in bed, my hands frozen before me, my head feeling dizzy. Our room looked like it had been searched; dresser drawers pulled out and left open, our belongings on top scattered around in different positions, black powder stuck to surfaces here and there. “Megan?” I called out with worry. Throwing the sheets off, I jumped to the ground, immediately crashing my ass back down on the bed. My hand threw itself at my po
unding head. Sharp pains radiating down my neck and spine and intense pressure slammed against the back of my eyes. Why did everything fucking hurt so badly?
Images began flashing through my mind. Of Megan. Of me. Of a man I seethed over just picturing. No, no, no, no, no! I threw myself back onto my feet despite the pain, wobbling toward the door. But I saw two. Aiming for the right one, my shoulder slammed into the door frame. I cursed at the top of my lungs, then continued yelling for Megan. Please be here.
But she never answered. Because the images were memories. And she couldn’t answer. Because he still had her. The living room and kitchen also looked rummaged. Black powder coated everything, like they’d been fingerprinting a crime scene. Crime scene. I zigzagged my way to the front door. Yellow police tape lay over the welcome mat, like it had been ripped down to gain access to the house. Fuck me.
My phone. I stumbled through the house back to my bedside table. Gone. I made the journey back to the kitchen, but Megan’s bag wasn’t in the barstool like it should’ve been. But there was still the landline. We only had the one, just for emergencies. We kept it in the room we used as a study, though neither of us ever went in there. I lifted the phone from its cradle, expecting a dead line given my luck so far. I’d never been so relieved to hear such an obnoxious tone before.
I stared at the phone. Who was I going to call? Something was nipping at the edge of my thoughts, trying to tell me this was a bad idea. Why? I closed my eyes, trying to remember.
Megan. Saying goodbye. Against my wishes. Telling me…the house might still be bugged. I couldn’t make phone calls here. I returned the phone to its cradle, sitting on the ledge of the desk it sat on. She wanted me find those guys she was talking to. From some security store. Where was it? It was all she talked about our last night here, when she stayed in bed and fell asleep in my arms for the first time in weeks. Herrera Security Technologies. North Seattle.
I opened the left cabinet of the desk and reached in for the phone book. Normally I was quick to recycle these. I mean, really, who used them these days? But Megan pulled it right back out of the bin. Said if there was a power outage long term, our cell phone batteries could die and we’d have no way to find the numbers we needed. My smart-aleck response – information. 411. She wasn’t amused. Now more than ever I was thankful she vetoed my ass.
I scanned the business section and found the address I needed. I ripped the page clean from the book, then went back to the bedroom to find fresh clothes and shoes. Thankfully, both my keys and my SUV were right where I left them. It was the longest one hour drive of my life. Acid burned away at the lining of my stomach. I wasn’t sure if nerves or hunger was more responsible. I thought about stopping along the way and trying to find a number for Thea or her parents, but knew it would be too time-consuming since they were mostly off the grid. My mother would’ve had them, but… God, I wanted to talk to her. But not as much as I wanted to find Megan. Truth was, I was afraid to call anyone. To give them hope before I knew whether or not there was some.
I flipped on the radio, determined to drown away the guilt for keeping my freedom to myself right now. A few minutes into the broadcast, I realized it was Sunday morning. Fuck! I had a bad feeling this security store wouldn’t be open. Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front, surprised to see a car outside. The sign stickered to the door said they were only open from twelve to four today, and it was barely ten. I banged on the door, and kept going until someone headed toward me from the back. He was definitely annoyed, shouting, “We’re not open yet,” despite continuing my way.
“Are you Carlos? Or Miguel? I need to talk to you.”
He was just on the other side of the glass now, but he wasn’t opening the door. “I’m Carlos. Who’s asking?”
“You met a girl named Megan a few weeks back?” I reminded him. “Her trainer brought her by? I’m her boyfriend.”
Recognition filling his face, he unlocked the door between us. A second man appeared in the back, asking if everything was alright. Carlos ignored him, regretfully saying, “I heard she’s missing now.” A second later, he added quizzically, “I thought you were too.”
I was still technically outside, willing myself not to run him over to get inside and beg for his help. “He took us both but he released me. I think I might have a tracker inside me.”
His eyes widened, his head dipping down a bit. He finally nodded and waved me in, locking the door behind us. I followed him through the storefront. Even though he acknowledged the other guy, he kept right on walking toward the back, the two of us in his wake. “This is Miguel. Miguel, this is that girl Megan’s boyfriend. Seems he might have a tracker in him.”
“No shit?” he asked surprisingly.
“Megan told me right before I was released. She has one, so she thinks I might too.”
The back room was made up of two parts. A small warehouse to the left and an office to the right, connected by a hallway with a bathroom. The office was incredibly neat and organized. There were two computer stations set up at opposite desks that faced each other, and a sofa where I sat down, trying to come to grips with the past twelve hours. Fuck, the past two weeks. But I didn’t want to tackle that just yet.
Miguel had led me into the office since Carlos had disappeared into the warehouse. When he returned, he held some type of black wand in his hand. I’d seen those used in the movies. Guess I always figured Hollywood just made them up. “Stand up,” he said, even motioning me with the instrument.
“I thought that thing was used to find bugs in phones and such.”
“Yeah,” he said, making a sweep of my back. “I could really get into this, but the idea is to sweep for electronic devices that are transmitting a signal. Even though a GPS tracker would emit something, I’m not sure if this will pick up on it. Thought I’d try it though.”
We all stood with held breaths as Carlos continued scanning my body. My back – nothing. Neither arm either. He began scanning my right leg front and back. “Would my clothing keep the wand from working?”
“No,” he replied, “Frequencies won’t be stopped by that. If that were the case, they’d be useless inside the human body.”
My leg had nothing. Once he passed over the front of my last remaining limb, I succumbed to defeat. What if I didn’t have one?
Finally, a loud screech shrieked the air. I angled my head back and watched as Carlos went back and forth over my left ass cheek. Every time he waved the wand over it, that loud noise filled the air. “What? Is that it? Did you find it?”
“I found something. Unless your ass automatically gives off a frequency of its own naturally.”
Relief filled my bones. And then a little bit of fear. They could be tracking me right now. “Now what? How do we get it out?”
They looked to one another, lips pressed together. Something was said in the silence. Miguel shrugged. Carlos sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry, man. But if you want that thing out of you, someone’s going to have to cut into your ass.”
It wasn’t lost on me that I went all of my life without flashing my nudity in front of a man who was intentionally looking at it, and within the course of two weeks, the second and third guy was now getting to do so. It also wasn’t beyond my comprehension that when Megan called these two partners, she didn’t just mean in the business sense. Sexual preference aside, I was a hell of a lot more comfortable nude in front of them than I ever was with that Zander jerk. I’d immediately refused going to the police or hospital to go about removing it, so I was chugging down the bottle of rum they stored in their cabinet, trying to get as drunk as possible to dull the pain that was coming my way.
They’d already examined my skin, finding a pink line on my upper thigh, just an inch below my ass. Because it wasn’t a fresh cut, it was most likely inserted two weeks ago when I was first unconscious. Miguel went down the street to the pharmacy to find liquid stitches, and possibly something better than the selection of barbaric pocket knives the
y sold up front. He came back with both, but had to go to a kitchen-inspired store near the mall to get a small, fine knife to use.
Having my ass cut into by two guys I’d never met before this morning wasn’t my idea of a good time. In fact, it felt more like Vegas. Hopefully what happened in this office, stayed in this office. And even though I’d chugged way more alcohol than I should’ve, it still wasn’t enough to get my ass to pass out, or remain still when the knife cut deep. It took both of them to hold me as still as possible, my body winning the urge to kick and twist and flail as Carlos dug around with a pair of tweezers.
“Wait…” he said. “Nobody move. I think I found it.” I gritted my teeth and bit down the roar, the pain excruciating, like a red-hot poker was digging around inside me, singeing everything it skimmed. Finally, he pulled out of me and I panted as the pain began to lessen a bit.
“Holy fucking shit.” Carlos slapped Miguel’s arm. His voice got loud and excited. “I told you there was someone out there making this shit.”
He passed the tweezers over to Miguel so he could clean my thigh and squeeze liquid stitches over my cut. I could see it now, clamped between the two slivers of metal. It was cylindrical, tiny as hell and occasionally let off the tiniest blue blink.
Miguel held it closer to his eye. “I wonder what they used for a power source, and if it’s something they have to take out frequently to recharge.”
“Oh, man, that’s gotta be black market shit. I wonder if they’ve found a source that’ll last for at least a year yet. This is probably the kind of shit all the governments use.” Carlos bent over so I could see him. “They get all the good shit. Always stealing from other agencies and developers and manufacturing their own.”
NEARLY Trilogy Page 53