by A. S. French
No, not home. Being with them was never a home. But would she go back to Britain? That thought lurked in her head until it pressed against her skull. She’d wavered, but these messages from Courtney would force her to return to England.
Even so, she waited.
She put the phone to the side and examined her surroundings. The town was built on a steep hillside with houses and apartments piled on top of each other along narrow roads. Streetlights flickered like fireflies as she scanned the area and registered the silent cars sitting outside the residences.
Astrid checked the address Phoenix had supplied against the GPS directions on her phone. The interlude with the Sawyer family had delayed her longer than she’d wanted, but she hoped Medusa was home. She drove a further five hundred yards, parked a block from the building and read the information Phoenix had sent: Medusa, real name Samuel James Morrison, twenty-eight years old, living at apartment 22b Parkland House, Parkland Street.
The night embraced her as she got out of the car. Stars twinkled in the sky, their flickering illumination serenading her as the jukebox in her head spun through numerous songs about nocturnal activities until she settled on her favourite Patti Smith tune. The noise helped her focus on her task, pushing the worries about Olivia into the far corners of her mind. They’d return soon enough, but for now, she relaxed and controlled the tension in her body.
The streets hummed as she stuck to the shadows and weaved towards Morrison’s apartment building. Stray dogs chased each other on the street, jumping over homeless people and avoiding the odd hustler coming their way. It was the wrong side of the tracks, and she was glad of that. The more danger there was, the less chance she’d see the police, and the likelihood was reduced there would be any witnesses if anything got messy.
The more she thought about it, the less reason she saw for a connection between Caitlin Cruz and the human trafficking website. But those numbers in her and her children’s mouths were the URL for that site, so there had to be a link somewhere. Hopefully, Morrison would have the answer.
She stood across the road and scrutinised the building; nothing appeared out of place. No lights flickered in the apartments, and no one peered from the windows to see her approach. She checked the rest of the street before crossing over, creeping up the steps and hoping the door was open. For once, she got lucky, pushing her way inside. The aroma of pizza and unwashed armpits lingered.
Her footsteps echoed through the empty entrance hall. A trembling overhead light cast a long, twisted shadow across the floor. Water dripped somewhere, creating a hollow oozing noise impossible for her to ignore. She assessed her surroundings, her eyes shifting past the graffiti on the walls and the abandoned needles near her feet. Everywhere was quiet apart from the liquid leaking on to the ground and the beating of her heart matching the music inside her skull.
There was an elevator in the far corner, but she ignored that and headed into the stairway. She pushed her way in, her eyes adjusting to the gloom and deciding no threats waited for her. She crept up to the second floor and through the door; 22b was the first apartment on her right. She reached into her pocket to find something to pick the lock before realising she didn’t need it: the door was ajar. Astrid placed her hand on the faded wood and gave it a shove.
The lights were off, the small space only illuminated by the blinking street light outside the window. She twisted her head from side to side, scanning to see if anyone was there. She saw the bathroom and a bedroom, but her vision fixed on the person sitting in the chair at the far end: an unmoving body slumped forward as if asleep.
‘Morrison, are you awake?’
Astrid didn’t need to take more than two steps forward to realise he was dead. The smell of fresh blood hit her before she saw the mark on his neck. Somebody had cut across his throat and sawed through it. His head hung by a thread, eyes bulging from their sockets, the screen of his laptop flickering red and green as she stared at his corpse.
Bits of computer equipment littered the desk, with his blood staining the keyboard and mouse. She was about to search the apartment when she saw something impossible. Sitting in front of the dead man was the murder weapon, a piece of immaculate steel she’d seen before: the large kitchen knife she’d used to slice the apple in Campbell’s house. And there it was, covered in blood and presumably her fingerprints.
She didn’t hesitate, turning and heading into the bathroom. Astrid stuck the plug in the basin and switched on the tap. Then she grabbed a towel and returned to the dead man. She picked up the knife in the cloth and was back in the bathroom as the water reached halfway. She dropped the blade into the sink and turned the tap off using the cloth, making sure she wiped her fingerprints off the metal first. The blood seeped into the water as the sound of sirens drifted into the apartment from outside. The question now was whether to leave the knife there or take it with her.
Could it be traced back to the Campbells? It was possible, but if she took it with her and the police stopped her, it wouldn’t look good. At least her fingerprints weren’t on it anymore.
What if there are other things here with my prints or DNA on them?
She left the blade and returned to the living room. The sirens grew closer as she looked over the apartment; there was no time to check now. She opened the door and closed it with her foot, striding down the stairs and out of the building as the sirens advanced. She was around the corner and heading to the car when she realised what Sawyer had been doing with his little diversion and offer of a fake job.
He needed me at his vape factory, so he had time to kill Morrison and set this up. The job offer was nothing but a lie. But how did he know I was on to Medusa and was coming here?
And why was Benedict Sawyer trying to frame her for another murder?
The sirens were reaching a crescendo when it came to her: someone must have bugged Campbell’s laptop. That was the only way they could have known. But how did they get the knife from the house? It was a crime scene when she left, and both Campbell and Moore were there with a forensic team.
She thought of the attack at Moore’s place, then the one at Campbell’s. Were they also in danger?
Astrid was contemplating the question as a baseball bat flew towards her head. She saw it just in time to duck, and it bounced off the wall behind her. When she lifted her head, she wasn’t surprised to see the two idiot cowboys from the diner grinning at her; one held another bat, the other clutched a long knife in his hands.
They didn’t follow me here; I would have seen them. They’ve been waiting for me.
The one in the white hat pushed the blade towards her.
‘We hoped you’d make it back to the car.’
She glanced behind them. To her left was a large fire hydrant; on the right, a bicycle chained to metal railings. Would they attack together, or had they learnt a lesson from what happened in Bakerstown?
White Hat answered that by peeling from his friend and circling Astrid to stand between her and the kerb. Now there was one behind and one in front of her.
‘You don’t need to do this, boys.’ She monitored the swinging bat and the pointed dagger. ‘Whatever Benedict Sawyer is paying won’t cover the costs for your stay in hospital.’ Black Hat twirled the club above his head. ‘If only you Yanks had proper medical insurance.’
They came at her together, the bat crashing towards her head as the knife thrust for her guts. She swivelled to the side and dodged their clumsy attempts, moving to the kerb as the cowboys stumbled into each other. They swore loudly enough to cut through the air as they bumped their legs and hit the pavement hard. She could have run then and made it to the car, but she needed information from them.
Why would Sawyer send two incompetents like this after me? Perhaps they murdered Morrison and left the knife to frame me, but they’re hardly the brightest bulbs in the socket.
And what had she done to upset the man who allegedly owned Bakerstown?
They whispered something to each oth
er and got up. The one with the blade laughed at her.
‘You can dance all you want, girlie, but you can’t dodge us forever.’
As they regrouped side by side, she stepped up and on to the fire hydrant, precariously balanced as they grinned at her like circus clowns.
‘I’m not trying to dodge you, boys.’
White Hat smirked at her. ‘What are you doing up there, missy? There’s nowhere for you to go.’
‘I wondered if you looked as stupid from up here as you do down there.’
She studied their movements, analysed each facial tic and curl of the lip, deciding Black Hat was the slower of them. In the instant she made that decision, they attacked with the bat and knife aimed at her. But she was quicker, kicking out with her leg to catch White Hat in the jaw and shatter his teeth, blood splattering the road like a Jackson Pollock painting. Black Hat’s slower reflexes meant he missed her as she landed on the ground. She spun behind him and kicked into the gap between the back of his right knee. He bounced off the fire hydrant and hit the pavement.
Astrid watched them groan together as a small crowd gathered nearby, seemingly excited by the free entertainment on offer. Above her, nervous eyes peered through windows, and curtains twitched in the houses and apartments. The cowboys lay crumpled on the ground, scowling at her as she moved towards them. The baseball bat had rolled over to the side of the road, but the knife lay close to White Hat’s trembling hand. She let him crawl for it.
‘You touch that blade and I’ll break your fingers, mate.’
He gazed into her eyes, and she imagined the cogs spinning slowly inside his head. He made his choice and pulled his hand from the blade.
‘You’ll pay for this, girlie.’
She sighed and towered over the two of them.
‘Why are you here?’
Neither of them spoke, but someone behind her did.
‘Kick him in the balls.’
Astrid glanced to her side to see there were more than a dozen onlookers. She didn’t know who’d spoken, but it was a woman’s voice. She turned back to her attackers.
‘Who sent you after me?’
White Hat grinned through gritted teeth. ‘Nobody sent us. We owe you for what you did outside the bar.’
She didn’t believe it. White Hat was spitting blood on to the ground when she placed her foot on his ankle.
‘You didn’t come here because of what happened in Bakerstown.’ They groaned in stereo. ‘So why did Sawyer send two incompetents like you after me?’
Were they only delaying tactics sent there to stop her from getting back to town?
Why is he so afraid of me? Is this to do with Caitlin Cruz?
He’d called Cruz an irritating woman. Why was that?
Black Hat growled at her. ‘You’ll get your answer soon enough, girl.’
She was going to hit him again just for calling her a girl.
‘And what would that be?’
The answer came from behind her before she’d finished speaking. Ringed knuckles smashed into her cheekbone, and she staggered forward and fell over Black Hat’s legs. She lurched to the ground, her damaged hand no protection against the sharp thud of the cold concrete. Before she could lift herself, her new attacker kicked her twice in the stomach.
‘That’s because they were only the distraction, Limey.’
Jimmy Sawyer jerked his foot into her head before she could speak. His laugh was the last thing she heard as the darkness engulfed her.
16 Grimly Fiendish
Astrid woke strapped to a chair. Some tiny malevolent creature was stamping on her face while her stomach rippled with bruises. Sitting across from her was Jimmy Sawyer. The two cowboys leant on their baseball bats in obvious pain. To their side was a table covered with hammers, knives and other tools. She recognised a makeshift torture kit when she saw one.
Sawyer rubbed at the silver skulls adorning his hand.
‘Before the government sent Pop to Vietnam, he spent some time in England. It was well before he met our mom, and he had a fling with some British whore.’ He leered at her. ‘I think that’s why he’s taking a fancy to you, girl. Or perhaps it’s her he likes.’
He took a phone from his pocket and stuck it in her face. His aftershave made her gag, but it wasn’t that which caught the bile in her throat. The image on the screen was a photo of Olivia. Not recent, maybe something off her sister’s ridiculous Facebook page.
Astrid bit into her bottom lip and tasted blood. A mixture of fire and ice raced through her veins.
‘Where did you get that?’
Sawyer pulled the phone close to him and ran a finger over it.
‘I think Pop wants to bring her here, rescue the kid from the squalor you Brits live in.’ His smirk threatened to consume Astrid. ‘She’s a pretty chatty girl, though. She’ll do well in the mansion.’
A creeping horror engulfed every inch of her.
‘You’ve been sending Olivia messages online?’
Is this what Courtney contacted me about?
He wriggled the phone in front of her bulging eyes. ‘Don’t they teach kids to be careful online in your shithole of a country?’ The dumb brothers cackled behind him. ‘How old is she, six or seven? We can get her ready for me in a few years.’ He turned from her to look at the two goons. ‘What do you think, boys? We could get ourselves a Jerry Lee Lewis thing going on.’ He twisted his arms and shoulders in a macabre impersonation of dancing.
Astrid chewed on her tongue, using the movement to explore the delicate parts of her mouth; it was pretty uncomfortable.
‘He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?’
He flashed those perfect white teeth at her. ‘Of course he does, girl; Pop plans ahead for everything. He sent me here to check what happened to you in that geek’s flat. I know he didn’t want the cops to find you there. It was to stall you while he did what needs doing in town. We won’t kill you, Snow. The old man wants you to come back and see him, but we’ll have some fun with you first, won’t we, boys?’
Sawyer kept the phone in his hand, moving it as he twisted his hips and legs. His body moved with a perverse purpose, like an eel squirming in jelly. He jerked around in front of her, performing an unnerving dance straight from a manic marionette’s dancefloor. If that wasn’t bad enough, what came next was even worse. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and attempted something he must have believed was singing, but sounded as if a dozen cats were screaming their last. He continued dancing and placed his cell near the collection of torture tools, flicking through the screen.
Black Hat clapped his hands and spoke to his leader.
‘Play some Rascal Flatts.’
She didn’t know who that was, but guessed it wouldn’t be palatable to her ears. Sawyer took the request and found the music. A weepy generic country ballad squirmed out of his phone and assaulted her body even more than Sawyer had done when he attacked her from behind. White Hat couldn’t laugh through his broken jaw, but twisted perversion glistened in his eyes. Black Hat hobbled on one leg and pulled at the belt around his trousers. She observed them like an anthropological study.
‘What’s happening in Bakerstown while you’re wasting time here?’
Jimmy Sawyer flexed his fingers in front of her, and she realised the rings he wore weren’t all adorned with skulls. Only one set was; the others had small crosses on them. He held both hands out to her.
‘God’s love is being dispensed in town, girl. You’ll get to feel it soon enough.’ He pushed the skulls so close to her face, she smelt the dried blood on them. ‘Hate and love, two sides to the story of the world. Sometimes we have to use hate to punish those who offend love, and your friend Campbell has sorely offended in the eyes of the Lord.’
Astrid strained against her bonds, hearing the sound of the wood creaking.
‘What’s your father doing to Officer Campbell?’
Sawyer grinned. ‘God will punish the sinner for her many crimes.’
He stopped his manic dance and slid towards her.
‘She sinned with you and others.’
He reached out to her, running his fingers across her cheek and down to her lips. She knew he wanted her to flinch, recognised this was him desperate for a reaction from her. Astrid didn’t move, more offended by the terrible music than his touch.
‘There’s no bigger sin than that shit coming from your phone, Jimmy. Have you got any John Grant?’
He pulled his hand away before bringing it back with a hard slap, cutting across her face.
‘Her sin is yours, English. Like with you, hers will be cut from her as she recants and begs for forgiveness. There’s nothing to stop that. All we have to decide now is how to correct you of your evil ways, sinner.’ Sawyer pushed the crosses up to her eyes. ‘We’ll have to force God’s love into you from our bodies.’
She leant forward and ran her tongue across the silver of the rings, the taste of cold metal sparking her synapses.
‘Caitlin told me you have a small dick.’
He flinched back and into the bench containing the torture weapons. Sawyer reached out, and his hand clattered into a large screwdriver.
‘What did you say?’
‘She kissed me in that bar. When she jumped from you and bumped into me, do you remember that?’
His eyes glared red like an atomic bomb.
‘I saw the two of you, squeezed together and planning your sinful ways.’
She watched the control slipping from him as she flexed her body against the restraints.
‘Caitlin begged me to take her away from you, said she wanted to know what it was like to experience pleasure, because you’re so small she couldn’t feel anything.’
The two goons hooted behind him as his face turned a delicate shade of purple.
‘You’re a lying bitch, and I’m going to gut you.’ He squeezed the screwdriver in his fingers.
‘Your sister told me the same thing about your dick, said she thought you were another girl the first time she saw you naked. Rosie told me all your father’s men call you Tiny behind your back.’