When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  I’m waking up yet again with the world out of focus. There’s a searing pain in my head, and I have no idea where I am. If this were a movie, I’d tell the writer to get a new trope.

  Wherever I am is bitter cold and pitch black. I don’t see anything, not even stars. From the smell and the way my eyes are itching and swelling, I’m guessing I’m on a farm, possibly inside a barn. Hay and I do not get along.

  I’m tied to a chair, the ropes over the cuts and bruises on my wrist. Warm blood trickles down my hand, as every time I move, the ropes reopen the still-fresh cuts.

  “Oh, good. You’re up!” Charlie’s disembodied voice says with enthusiasm. He’s not shy about showing how much he’s enjoying having caught me.

  “Seriously, Charlie. You had to take me to the one place I’m deathly allergic to? Killing me with hives is taking the pussy way out, don’t you think?”

  “The name’s not Charlie, babe. And I don’t give a shit about your allergies. I’m done playing with you. I’ve got a job to do, and we’re going to finish it. Together.” He turns on a small lantern.

  Even though the light is minimal, it still takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. My suspicions had been correct. We’re in a barn. But other than that, I can’t make out anything in the weak lantern’s glow.

  “My employer wants to know where your husband hid his money,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to tell me. Nod if you understand.”

  “Listen, Not Charlie. I get that they want their money. I’d love to give them their money. I don’t know where it is. I know you’ve checked all of the places I’ve checked. I don’t know anywhere else to look. Tell Pablo Escobar I’ll be happy to do a payment plan to pay back whatever Ash stole. I’ve got good credit. Maybe we can work out a good interest rate?”

  Something crackles, a sound like someone dropping a whole box of pop rocks. Before I can figure out what it is, a searing jolt of pain hits me. It’s like the exact opposite of an orgasm. While my whole body is lost in its wake, instead of feeling ecstasy, there’s only sheer, blinding agony. When the wave of pain dissipates, I ask, “What the fuck was that?”

  He waves a long pole in front of me that I guess must be a cattle prod. “Playtime’s over. We tried this the nice way, where I pretended to be the doting admirer. You were supposed to tell me the information without a fuss. That didn’t work. So now, I ask, and you answer. If you don’t, then I use the cattle prod again.”

  “Thank God you only need one arm to work that thing since I dislocated your other one. Did you get that looked at, by the way? I do worry about you, Not Charlie.”

  He zaps me again. The surge of pain is worse than before. He must have cranked up the juice. I see stars, and there’s a ringing in my ears. Eventually, the raw pain settles into an ache, but my body still tingles as though the electricity is still coursing through my veins. I’ve really got to learn to stop poking the bear.

  “Okay, Not Charlie. I get it. But I still don’t have anything to tell you. Ash was a lying, cheating, corrupt asshole. Had they done their due diligence beforehand, they would have figured that out. Seriously, do they not do any sort of background checks on the people they get into bed with? They blindly trusted him with five million dollars, and that’s on them. Let’s call it a bad investment. How this has become my problem is still a bit hazy to me.”

  Not Charlie paces behind me. With the way his voice carries in the barn, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where he is, which is disorienting. Obviously his intent. “You think you’re so clever. But your smart mouth isn’t going to talk you out of this one. They don’t care about you. They won’t be impressed by you. They won’t care if you flirt with them and bat your pretty eyes. They get their money, or they kill you. There’s a beauty in the simplicity of it. I’m going to let you sit here for a while and think about it. Maybe you’ll have an epiphany about the money’s location by the time I get back. It’s below freezing tonight, so think fast.”

  He storms out of the barn, taking the lantern with him. I’m now freezing, alone, and in the pitch black again. I cannot think of a single way to get out of this. I’m tied too tightly to wriggle free. No matter how hard I struggle against the ropes, they don’t budge.

  There’s nothing for me to tell him. No leverage, no bargaining chip. This is foreign territory for me. I’ve never been in a situation I can’t talk my way out of.

  Goddamn you, Ashton.

  Not Charlie may have left the barn, but I hear his voice faintly in the distance. He’s yelling at someone, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying. After what feels like forever, he storms back in.

  He sets the lantern down on a small bench. “Apparently, someone doesn’t want the pretty girl’s corpse to be too bloody, so it’s time for plan B.”

  “Oh? I thought they didn’t care about my pretty eyes,” I sneer.

  “Don’t push me. If I send you back to them in pieces, they’ll get over it.”

  A big smile spreads across my face. I may not be able to fight him off, but I won’t give him the pleasure of knowing how scared I really am. “Well, if I’m going to die anyway, I might as well go out pissing you off.”

  He picks up a knife and a whetstone. He sharpens the knife as he walks toward me. “You really don’t quit, do you? You know, I’ve been doing this sort of work for a while. Never, in all these years, has a client been so off about a mark before. They said, ‘She’s a mousy doormat whose husband ran around on her.’ Clearly, you’re not the same girl.”

  “Oh, I’m the same girl. I was just in hibernation. You’re a sociopath. I’m sure you can relate. You know all about adapting to your surroundings, don’t you, Not Charlie? You seem to have gotten over your fear of blood!” I have no idea what or who has saved me from more physical torture, but I’m thankful.

  He chuckles. Behind me now, I hear him opening cases and shuffling things around. I focus all my energy on trying to picture what he’s doing, but it could be anything. He must be wearing heavy boots because every step he takes reminds me of a pouting toddler. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Those stomps are now headed my way.

  I feel his presence behind me. My whole body tenses, waiting for a blow or a zap. Instead, he pushes my hair off my neck and blows gently on the exposed skin. I would rather he punched me. Physical abuse would be so much better than being touched by this sicko. He softly kisses my neck and moves his way down to my collar bone, each kiss a bit more intense than the last. His hand glides across my body to massage my breast. He pulls the neck of my sweater aside and then runs his tongue from my shoulder to my ear in one long, disgusting lick. “We’re going to have a good time tonight, Lily. I’m going to put that sassy mouth of yours to work.”

  I bite down on my lip to muffle my scream so hard that I draw blood.

  Suddenly, I feel a pinch and a painful burning in my neck.

  “I can make your last few moments in this world as excruciatingly painful as possible, or I can be merciful. Don’t forget that. I’m in control here, and you will obey me.”

  Shivers overtake me when I think about what he could do to me if he really wanted. I have no idea what he has just given me, but I could soon be in for a world of hurt.

  He walks away and says rather cheerfully, “Now, onto Plan B. Since I can’t beat the truth out of you, I’m left with a less elegant method. A confession elixir—my own personal blend of cocaine, MDMA, and some other secret ingredients. When you work for drug dealers, you score brownie points for using their products in fun new ways. I think this combination has great potential. I’m working on a name. I like Verity. Good, right? Nice little play on words there.”

  “Branding a big factor in your line of work, is it?” I ask. “Sociopaths won’t buy just any truth serum. It has to have a catchy name like ‘Can’t Shut Up Cocktail.’ Do you trademark something like that? Do you start a website? How does all that work anyway? Do hit men have a Facebook group? Marketing’s a bitch, you know. You should think about that b
efore you launch this poison on the market.”

  He groans. “I sure hope I don’t have to listen to hours of your crap. I’ve already had to suffer through so much of it playing your secret admirer. You’re not as charming as you think you are.” He pulls the knife out of his back pocket and grabs my chin. “What I wouldn’t give to cut out your tongue.”

  Despite being so scared that I’m worried I might pee my pants, I already feel the drugs starting to take effect. While ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, I’d avoided drugs, I’m not a drug virgin by any stretch. After spending four years at a school that sends more kids to rehab than grad school, I’ve gotten glimpses of what I might be in for. But I think I can try to fight the high. Your high is as bad as you let it become. If I stay focused, I can buy myself some time. My goal is to distract him as much as possible until I can figure out a plan.

  He forces my eyes wide open. “Ah, your eyes are giving you away. You’re starting to feel it already, eh?”

  “‘Eh?’ What are you, Canadian?”

  He claps and looks up to the roof in frustration. “And the bitch is still here! Is there anything that makes you less infuriating?”

  “Tequila,” I retort. “But that wasn’t in your special blend.”

  He slaps me hard across the face. “One more love tap for good measure won’t hurt anyone.” He wipes the blood away from my lip and kisses me gently. It takes all I have not to vomit on him.

  Standing tall, he shifts the bulge in his pants, causing me to gag. “Tell me about Ash’s money.”

  I take my time and think about my words carefully. “He never had money of his own. Ash always mooched off everyone else. His father, his friends, his mistresses. Mexican drug lords. He was an equal opportunity scumbag.”

  “Where did it all go?” he asks.

  “Up his nose. Paid for hookers and strippers. Where do you think it went? If your damn bosses had only asked me for a reference, I would have told them Ash should be nowhere near the drug trade. I’ve watched The Wire. I’ve listened to Biggie. What’s the first rule? ‘Don’t get high on your own supply.’ Ash never had the self-control to follow that.”

  He taps his chin and circles behind me again.

  While he’s rummaging around, I say, “Tell me something. How’d the total get up to five mil? After he didn’t give back the first four they thought it was a good idea to give him more?”

  He laughs, but doesn’t answer my question. I’m about to say something else, but the returning crackle of cattle prod stops me. “Keep talking Lily. Where did your husband put the money?”

  “Late husband, thank you very much,” I deflect.

  He stands in front of me again with the prod in his hand. “Whatever. Where’s the money?”

  “If you were any good at your job, you’d know that we’ve had nothing to do with each other for the last five years. I’m the last person who would know. You should have one of his girlfriends tied up here.”

  “I did that already. She didn’t know anything.” He caresses my cheek. “She was a wild ride, but I think you’re going to be so much sweeter.” His hand travels down the length of my body. “Oh, I love my job.”

  I want to scream. To spit in his face. But I don’t have the luxury of getting emotional. I have to stay calm and keep stalling. “I’m so pleased you have such job satisfaction, Not Charlie. Most people don’t get up in the morning excited to go to work. Clearly, you do. You’ve found that the secret to a happy life is bringing others to their deaths. Your mom must be proud.”

  I may sound tough, but it’s all an act. I remember Crystal’s story. She OD’ed on this asshole’s private reserve. I saw pictures of her body. I know what he’s capable of.

  “Where did your husband hide the money, Lily,” he says calmly.

  “Late husband! Dammit, Not Charlie. If you’re going to kill me anyway, can you at least stop calling him my husband? I hate him very much right now, and thinking that I’m still tied to him makes me very angry! If you really think this is going to go anywhere, you’d best knock it off.”

  “Or else what?” he laughs.

  I look at him through narrowed eyes. “You think you’re in control here, Not Charlie. But you’re not. The drug is. Well, I am, really. I can talk about what you want me to talk about or I can ramble on about anything. You let go of control once you shot me up. Sure, it’s probably going to make me OD soon, just like Crystal. I can spend time talking about Ash or about how I’m still mad that little Erik Miller didn’t do the hokey pokey with me in the third grade. Your choice.”

  He pulls a syringe from his back pocket. “Maybe you just need more?”

  “Maybe your product just sucks.”

  He punches me in the gut for that one.

  I cough and try to catch my breath. Damn, that hurt. Once I’ve regained my composure, I go right back at him. “You know, Not Charlie, I saw you coming a mile away. You know what gave you away? No man, and I mean no man, stays for female problem chats. For future reference, real human boys, not monsters like yourself, run for the hills when a girl’s period is mentioned. You stayed through the flow and cramps convo all the way to the yeast infection! No man does that. I knew you were fucking nuts right then and there.”

  He looks at the syringe in the light and adjusts the dosage. He’s going to give me more. I better think faster. “Thanks for the notes. I’ll work on that with my acting coach for my next gig,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me about Ashton.”

  I’m struggling to keep some control of my thoughts and where they go. I use whatever focus I have to think of random things about Ash. “He used to get the clap so often the girls at the doctor’s office would call him The Clapper! I’d long since stayed away from him and his penis at that point. Yuck! I got texts from them almost twice a month. ‘The Clapper is back!’”

  “Tell me about his money,” he growls.

  I’ve got to slow down again. If I don’t try to keep it together, this is where I could screw it up. “He used to only snort coke with hundreds, because he thought they were handled less and thus cleaner. Hello! You’re putting a toxic chemical straight into your brain, and you’re worried about catching the flu? I never understood that.”

  He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Stop trying my patience.”

  I look up and away, defying him. “You’re going to kill me. These are my last moments on earth, and I’m going to talk about what I want to. Sorry, my friend. You’ve lost all control here, so spare me your Dexter act. What’re you going to do? Hit me again? Ohhh, scary! Now, where was I? Oh, money. Right. He used to leave money everywhere. He put money in his sock drawer, in his glove compartment, in the toilet, under the sink, in the hot tub filter. But all those places burned to the ground. Maybe your money did too. Did anyone think of that?”

  Not Charlie has lost his cool, picking up and throwing whatever’s within reach around the barn. I’m getting to him. My plan is working, so I keep pushing harder.

  “Let me guess. You use this drug mostly with men, right? Women are a very different kind of chatty than men. Men may ramble about sports, sex, or whatever. But a woman can go on and on about all sorts of subjects. Especially when you get me all touchy feeling from the MDMA-coke combo. That’s really your flaw there. You want me to talk about my ex, and all I want to do is tell you how I feel when you furrow your brows like that. You should really stop that by the way. You’ll get wrinkles.”

  He rushes back over to me and yanks down hard on my hair. “Where. Is. The. Fucking. Money.”

  “I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.” I say, purposefully spitting when I talk.

  In a rage, he hits me with all he’s got, punching me with his full strength. He picks up the chair I’m in and throws me. I think he expects the toss to hurt me, but all it does is break the chair—and give me my window of opportunity.

  With the chair in pieces, the ropes have loosened, and I’m able to wiggle out of them before he notices. I
stay lying down, feigning injury.

  After trashing the barn a bit more, he walks over to me. “I can toss you around this barn like a sack of potatoes. Who’s in control now, bitch?”

  I punch him square in the balls. While he’s doubled over in pain, I untie my legs. Once I’m standing, I wail on him in a way I’ve only seen in the movies. By the time I’m too exhausted to throw another punch, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any teeth left, most of his ribs are broken, and he has heavy internal bleeding. Not Charlie won’t be hurting anyone else anytime soon. Even if he does wake up, I think I’ve destroyed his chances for procreation.

  Just as I’m about to make a run for it, the barn door opens. My heart stops. A man in black points a gun in my direction. Looks like I’ve gained a two-second reprieve only to be back in the crosshairs.

  Twenty-Eight

  I hold up my hands and slowly back away from Not Charlie. The shotgun follows my movements, but in the dark, it’s impossible to read the man holding it. Without dropping my head, I glance around the barn floor at my weapon options. Nothing that would allow me to get to him before his shotgun got to me. The crunching of hay draws my attention to the space behind the gunman. We have another guest.

  “This was not the scene I was expecting to come upon.” I recognize Lorenzo’s voice instantly. He stands in the doorway. Even through the shadows, this man, whom I’d thought unflappable, looks flapped.

  I put my arms down as the man with the gun lowers his weapon. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “If it isn’t my knight in polyester pants. I couldn’t be happier to see you.”

  He looks around the barn as he walks toward me. “Do I want to know what has happened here?”

  “Probably not.”

  He looks me up and down. When he reaches out to touch me, I flinch. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  I shrug. “He zapped me a few times, and he’s loaded me up with a drug that’s supposed to make me give up my dirty secrets.”