by Sean Davies
After almost a week and a half of making small talk and flirting liberally with drunken club-goers and shady individuals at pubs, and bribing low-level dealers with what was left of Anna’s stash, Genevieve had managed to piece something together. It wasn’t much, but she had come to learn that a moderately popular restaurant, named the Woodsholme Grill, was apparently owned by the leader of some organised crime gang. Genie wasn’t sure what she’d be able to dig up, but she talked her way into a job with relative ease. After a few shifts of gossiping she’d nailed down the date of a visit from the owner, and made sure that she would be working that night.
Genevieve headed to the bathroom, tied her plain hair up in a neat ponytail, and applied her make-up artistically. She wanted to look professional, but also enticing enough in case she’d need to resort to using her looks to dig up some info on Anna. Her hands were tied where her uniform was concerned, though. It was a smart, but bland looking, black and white waitress outfit. She looked in the mirror and wished she’d been blessed with Annabelle’s bust, so that she could have unfastened the first few buttons of her shirt to pull off some easy cleavage appeal at the least. Genevieve’s slim figure had curves but not enough to show off easily, especially in such an unflattering uniform. She wouldn’t have to worry herself with using flirtation if she discovered that the owner of the Woodsholme Grill had something to do with Anna’s disappearance, though. She was no killer, but she wouldn’t stop herself from resorting to bloodshed to find her friend’s whereabouts, or to avenge her death.
She carefully wiped the tears from her eyes to avoid ruining her mascara. As the days had passed by, Genevieve had forced herself to confront the harsh truth that Annabelle was most likely dead. People that went missing were seldom found, and if they were then they weren’t usually alive, or in one piece. One definitive fact that her investigation had unearthed was that the disappearance rate on the eastern side of Imperia was steadily on the rise, a detail that definitely hadn’t filled Genevieve with hope. However, every time her thoughts became overwhelming she would suppress them down to the depths of her mind. Her first priority had to be finding Annabelle, dead or alive, and only then would she give into her emotions. It worked well for her, except for when she tried to sleep, at which time Genie’s tears would flow until she eventually dozed off to be tormented by sweet dreams of her friend’s sensual emerald green eyes and soft painted lips.
Satisfied that she was looking as good as she possibly could in the bland waitress uniform, Genevieve grabbed her handbag, took a shot of rum for good measure, and left on foot for the Woodsholme Grill.
It was early in the evening but the sun had already long set, and the strong breeze sent a chill through Genevieve’s body, causing her to walk more briskly. As such, she made good time to the restaurant.
Through the building’s long windows she could see that the place was surprisingly full for a weekday night, and hoped that the busy atmosphere would only assist with her snooping.
She walked inside and towards the restaurant’s counter and bar, and received a hard slap on her butt from a macho young man with strange metallic gold hair that was gelled back into spikes. Genevieve forced a pleased smile, and the golden-haired man and his burly friends slapped the tables and roared with boisterous laughter.
Eryn, a fellow member of staff, was frantically emptying spirits into tall glasses. “Genie, thank the Goddesses you’re here! It’s a madhouse tonight!”
Genie stashed her handbag behind the bar and helped with the strong drinks. “Those hands-on guys ordered all this lot?” she asked, shocked.
“Yeah, my arse cheeks are already red raw thanks to the slap-happy pricks…” Eryn grumbled quietly, “But everyone else seems to be inhaling liquor tonight too, and some of them are even eating triple portions.”
Genevieve looked around the busy restaurant. She saw the macho men knocking back drinks like there was no tomorrow, in-between loud jokes and annoying laughter, and they even took swigs out of their own red and gold hip flasks to top themselves up. They were dressed in tight t-shirts that showed off their toned bodies, and were wearing far too much gold jewellery. Some even had ridiculous gold-plated fangs worn over their teeth.
On the other tables there were young couples and chatting friends, and even a mysteriously alluring lady who had waist length light blue hair with purple highlights, sitting opposite a hulk of a woman who was devouring four main courses at the same time.
“So,” Genie began, “is the owner here yet?”
“Big Dave?” Eryn shook her head. “Not yet, thankfully.” She skilfully arranged all the drinks on two metal serving trays and carried them around the counter. “I don’t want him seeing the place this disorganised, he might take away my supervisory status!”
Genevieve nodded half-heartedly but was secretly glad that she hadn’t missed out on any potential intel.
As Eryn was being man-handled by the golden-gang, two tall men in plain black suits walked through the entrance. Trailing behind them, and sweating profusely, was a chubby man in a black pinstriped suit.
Eryn pulled herself away from the boisterous table and greeted the owner enthusiastically. “Mr Regan, so good to see you! Can I get you and your aides some drinks, something to eat perhaps? Sorry, it’s a bit chaotic in here tonight, but we’re doing our best to keep it running like clockwork!”
‘Big Dave’ Regan wiped his sweaty brow and stormed towards the back area. “Nah hun, we’re good thanks. Don’t worry about the place being busy, busy is good!” he added.
Eryn nodded rapidly. “Well if you change your mind be sure to let me know, I’m here all night!”
“Will do, sugar. So, where’s Dane? He taking the night off, huh?” Dave asked, looking around at the interesting selection of clientele.
“Yes…” Eryn stuttered. Dane was the restaurant manager and one hell of a chef, but he often stayed home on the nights he thought would be boring. “He, erm… had a family issue,” she lied. “It’s normally quiet on this shift!” she added defensively.
Big Dave shrugged. “Well, as long as you’ve got it under control, that’s the main thing…”
Genie could tell that he was nervous about something, as his voice quavered and broke at random intervals, but he was trying to keep it well hidden beneath his bravado.
“Who’s this cutie?” Dave asked, gesturing to Genevieve.
“Genevieve Jameson,” Eryn babbled out. “She’s new, but very good at her job!”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Jameson,” Big Dave said, extending a sweaty hand out across the counter.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Genie replied seductively, trying not to focus on his hot, dripping wet palm.
Eryn shot her a shocked and repulsed look.
Dave chuckled, still with a nervous hiccup in his voice, and headed through the staff door. “I like this one,” he said to Eryn, who did not look impressed at all.
The two aides settled themselves either side of the staff area entrance and eyed the restaurant vigilantly. On closer inspection, Genie noticed that they were armed with large pistols, and took it as a sign that Big Dave was certainly more than just a business owner.
The rowdy table were messing around, pushing and shoving one another, and managed to shatter some glasses and plates.
“For fucks sake…” Eryn growled under her breath. “Genie, can you go out back and get some more spirits, please? I’ll go and sort that lot out.” She looked at the immobile guards. “I might need your help kicking these guys out, if you don’t mind?”
They shrugged nonchalantly, and escorted Eryn over to the problem table.
Before they went, one of them grabbed Genevieve by the arm gently, but with just enough force to make a point. “Don’t be long out there,” he’d warned sternly.
Genevieve nodded, and considered arming herself in the interim.
She hurried into the back entrance, passed by the spiral staircase to the manager’s office and rooms above, p
ast the secondary entrance to the kitchen, and into the well-stocked storeroom. Genie could hear the noise from the kitchen and the occasional loud curse word from the overworked chefs.
She grabbed a couple of bottles of alcohol, just in case someone came in, and made her way quietly towards a secure metal door at the far end of the cluttered room. Genie got down onto her knees and placed her eye towards the big old-fashioned keyhole.
Big Dave, along with four other well-dressed men, were sitting at a circular wooden table. Around them were drab bare brick walls, covered with tasteful yet enticing posters of wartime pinup girls and old-fashioned metal signs, and more armed guards. Genevieve assumed that there would be even more out of her line of sight.
All the men, besides one with a cleanly shaven head, looked as nervous and equally as flustered as Big Dave.
“…they’ve taken more fucking ground off us,” a man with a thinning ginger comb-over said angrily. “It’s about time we hit back!”
“Against them? Them?!” one of the other men whimpered. “That would be insane!”
“Better crazy than a bloody coward,” the ginger man spat back.
“Sorry, Red Rog,” Dave said ashamedly. “I’ve gotta agree with Garrant, we can’t fight them…”
“Then what the fuck are we doing here?” Rog sighed angrily. “Meeting up for a casual get-together, just to bitch and whine, while we let our gangs die out at the hands of a bunch of freaks?!”
A man with shoulder-length blonde hair shrugged. “Barely anyone wants the old stuff anymore, Roger. Cannabis is on the down and out, and this Dreamleaf shit is on the up, even the old war vets are starting to switch over.”
“Then we adapt our product like they have been, Nath,” Reg Rog pressed. “We know it’s got cannabis in it.”
“But no one knows where the other ingredients come from,” Garrant interjected. “Our guys have never been able to place ‘em.”
Roger shook his head in disgust. “What do we do then, gents? I’m all ears.”
The calm bald man, who had stayed quiet until that point, sat upright and steepled his fingers dramatically. “I thought that was obvious at this point… we make a deal.”
“Like you already have done, Carl?” Big Dave assumed shakily.
The bald man, Carl, nodded coolly. “Yes, with one of the two groups that have the biggest influence on the other side of the continent. They offered me an impressive sum to acquire my distribution force.”
“You sold out… what would your father say?! You bloody traitor!” Roger shouted.
“My father was a business man,” Carl replied calmly, “and he would’ve snapped up the same deal in a heartbeat. You have no idea how much money they’re packing.”
“How much did you get?” Dave asked greedily.
There was a series of loud thumping sounds from outside, and the gang leaders and their guards looked nervously towards the rear entrance of the building.
Genevieve could barely see where they were looking and shuffled around to try and get a better angle, but it was futile.
“How many guards we got out there?” Garrant asked, pulling out a pistol.
“Twelve in the alley,” Dave replied shakily, “two up front, and six outside.”
Carl was suddenly as frightened as his comrades. “It’s not enough… I need to use the phone, now. I can get us some back up from the club-”
Something strong snagged Genevieve’s hair, and before she could gasp in shock, her face was slammed into the secure metal door.
Her vision was awash with white sparkles, her head felt empty except for a deep throbbing pain, and every breath was an effort that slowly began to seem unnecessary. Genevieve could feel the warmth of her own blood pooling around her face.
“Aww, I wanted to take this one back, boss,” a thuggish voice said over the screams, shouts, and gunshots coming from within the back room.
“We’ve already got that other bitch, don’t get greedy,” another voice replied.
“No… he’s right,” a powerful voice echoed in Genie’s ears. “I wanted to play with her too, she’s much better looking… fuck it, I’m going to turn her before her lights go out for good.”
“Turn her? Why?! She’s a nobody… unless you’re starting to go soft, boss?”
The powerful voice chuckled. “A lil’ beauty like that shouldn’t go to waste, and unless you like corpses, this is the only way. Oh, and if you ever call me soft again it’ll be your ass on the choppin’ board, got it?!”
As Genie’s vision began fading to black, and her few thoughts drifted back and forth between Annabelle’s beautiful smile and the immense guilt of failing to find her, cold flesh touched her moaning lips. Cool fluid ran into her mouth and down her throat, and as it reached her stomach Genevieve’s entire body ignited into pure, unrefined agony.
Chapter 2
Starved, Screwed-Over… and Supernatural
Her veins felt as though they had been set aflame, and Genevieve tried to roar out in pain but no sound escaped her mouth. She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t move. Genie knew that she was dying and she wished for it to be over, but the suffering simply wouldn’t end. The relentless anguish grew so bad that all other thoughts vanished completely and were replaced with a deafening cacophony of agony.
She stirred from her slumber and wondered if the unbearable torment had all been a dream, but when Genevieve opened her eyes she couldn’t see properly. Genie tried to reach for her face but her arms were stuck in place, and she tried to move her legs but they too were restrained.
Genevieve’s mind snapped into focus, and she realised that her nose and mouth were covered with something uncomfortably tight. She couldn’t breathe in the slightest.
In a panic, Genie tugged at her restraints with all her might. Her body ached all over and the effort was incredibly painful, but nothing as bad as the horrible sensation that had preceded her awakening. She heard tearing and feared that it was her own muscles, but with a sudden sharp snap and the sound of cracking wood, Genevieve sat upright.
She fumbled at her mouth and felt thick strips of duct tape encasing the lower half of her face, and paper was flapping over her eyes. Scratching, scraping, and peeling frantically, she ripped every last strip from her face. Genevieve yelped as the duct tape tore away from her mouth and she was sure that she’d lost some skin. She took in deep panicked breaths and was surprised that she felt no better than when she was gagged.
Genevieve turned her attention to the top half of her face, and could feel some thick paper had been taped to her forehead. She carefully peeled it away to avoid losing any more skin.
When her eyes adjusted she was welcomed by the sight of her own bedroom, although her usually neat and tidy room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. The curtains were closed, and someone had slung thick blankets over the curtain rails to block the windows further. Barely any light crept inside her bedroom, but she could see everything as clear as day.
Genevieve let out a short sigh of relief, grateful to be in her home, although she still acknowledged the fact that she was in grave danger. She looked down at her arms which were deathly pale, and saw thick ropes had been woven around her wrists. Genevieve gasped when she realised that she’d snapped them with ease. Genie reached over and grabbed her leg restraints, for if someone came for her she wanted to be ready, and the strong rope tore under the lightest touch from her nails and was easily pulled to shreds in her firm grip.
“What the fuck is going on?” Genie whispered to herself, her voice raspy and dry. She desperately needed something to drink.
It was then Genevieve noticed that the paper which had been covering her face, which was an entire half of one of her notepads, had a message written on it in crude, brutish handwriting. With a crushing sense of dread, Genie read the note:
Good morning, Bitch –
If you’re reading this then you survived, kind of. If not… whoopsie!
Either way, we’ll be round to
deal with you in a night or two.
Till then, don’t go outside, don’t call anyone (we’ll know!) and keep those curtains shut!
If you stay put like a good little girl then we won’t have to go visit your parents Don and Betty, and their good neighbours Martha and Julian, over in Legentium.
We might even help you find your friend…
Genevieve dropped the note and let it fall slowly towards the floor. She had no idea what was happening to her, and the people responsible were threatening her and Anna’s family. However, the last bit of the message piqued her interest, and despite the nerve-wracking situation Genie was still determined to find the truth about Annabelle’s fate.
She climbed off the bed, forcing her weary limbs into action, and approached her bedroom door. Genevieve placed her ear against the painted wood and listened for any activity on the other side. She waited there for at least ten minutes and heard absolutely nothing.
Not wanting to chance anything, Genevieve decided to peek out of the window. Although she didn’t want to provoke the note’s writers, Genie couldn’t resist checking, and her room overlooked the front of the building. If anyone was keeping tabs on her then she might be able to see them, and just what she was up against.
Genevieve pulled the sheet and curtain aside a mere fraction of an inch at a time, and finally moved her head over enough to glance at the road below.
There was no one parked out front, and she couldn’t see anyone suspicious on the green opposite or the deep thick forest beyond that. Genie’s eyes were working remarkably well, and if she strained hard enough then distant objects came into focus with crystal clear clarity.
Children were playing ball games with their parents in the warm sun, and groups of older youths were hanging about, trying to look as cool and blasé as they possibly could to the opposite sex while they listened to Imperia’s latest musical hits on their massive portable radios. If Genevieve tried really hard, she could faintly make out the music being played.