The Woman Trapped in the Dark

by J. D. Mason

  She took solace in knowing that her baby was as close to her as it would ever get and that even as she fought she’d protect this little bugger with her last breath. Abby would not lose like some wispy, weak, helpless woman screaming and begging for her life. That bastard would be back and the next time she’d be ready for his ass.

  “‘Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.”’ Abby softly repeated the quote from poet Rabindranath Tagore that had always resonated deeply to her. Now it seemed brutal. But still, faith was all she had. Abby might surprise him and her and somehow find a way out of here. That was faith. She might land one, good clean blow to his nuts. That surely was faith.

  She was exhausted, but Abby was resigned now to her fate. She had absolutely nothing to lose, because she’d lost it all, except for her dignity. Her pride. Her whole life people had underestimated her, and she’d come through time and time again to prove them wrong. The odds were not in her favor that she’d live through this, but she’d never needed odds on her side before.

  Like a Poor Man Looking for Gold

  “SENATOR ADDISON’S ASSISTANT said that he’d be flying to D.C. tomorrow,” Jordan’s assistant, Phyl, said, sitting across from him in his office.

  Jordan was convinced that Addison’s leaving on Friday was no coincidence.

  “I didn’t find any relation between Crown Distributors and the pipeline project at all,” she continued. “However”—Phyl glanced up at him—“I did find a connection between the senator and Variant.”

  “Connection?” Jordan asked

  “It wasn’t easy, because I don’t think he wanted anyone to know, seeing as how he’s a public servant and this would probably violate all the lines of conflict of interest. I mean, politicians can’t opt into stuff like that. Can they? Since it’s all political and stuff now.”

  “What’d you find?” he asked impatiently.

  She sighed. “His nephew, well, actually a step-nephew, is a vice president at Variant over their production division. Again, it’s weird considering that they’re all about alternative fuels and saving the environment, why invest in an oil pipeline? We can’t be the only two people who are asking that question. Right?”

  “How much has Variant put into the project?”

  “A couple of million, which is pretty low compared to most of the others.”

  “What’s the largest investment?”

  “Big oil,” she said, shrugging. “Alforma has nearly ninety million tied up in the deal.”

  The people behind extorting Jordan and Abby’s abduction wanted to make Jordan the controlling investor in name and in money, but without the power or profits, if there ever were any.

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Abby, Jordan,” Phyl continued, concerned. “I’ve left her several messages but she hasn’t returned my calls, which isn’t like her. Not to get too personal, but is everything okay?”

  Jordan’s first instinct, without even thinking, was to lie and say yes. All he could do, though, was stare back at Phyl without uttering a word.

  Her eyes widened, and she seemed to understand, as much as it was possible for her to without him revealing more.

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, with tears filling her eyes.

  Of all the people he knew, at this moment, Phyl was the only one he felt that he could trust.

  “You’re doing it.”

  The two sat in silence for several moments before his executive assistant, Jennifer, appeared in the doorway.

  “Jordan,” she said, smiling, “you’ve got a meeting in five downstairs in the Birch II conference room.”

  Phyl cleared her throat and gathered her things. “That’s my cue to go.”

  Jordan stood up too and both walked toward the door.

  Phyl stopped short, causing Jordan to nearly bump into her. “If you need anything else, let me know. Please?”

  He nodded, genuinely touched by her concern. “I need to see the senator. Today.”

  Phyl nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

  * * *

  Jordan sat in on the second meeting of an already busy day, pretending to be engrossed in the project schedule on the screen, constantly checking his phone for news from Wells. Jordan had sent several texts and left one voice mail for the man already and it wasn’t even noon. Phyl had sent him a text that Addison had agreed to meet with Jordan at Addison’s home later this afternoon.

  At the end of the meeting, as Jordan was making his way back to his office, his phone rang. It was Wells.

  “Do you need me to order lunch, Jordan?” Jennifer asked.

  “No.”

  Jordan closed the door behind him.

  “Tell me you’ve found her,” he demanded, panic sitting in his gut like a brick.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Jordan slumped down in his chair. Wells was a waste of fucking time. Without saying another word, Jordan hung up. Addison was the key. He knew it. Too many arrows pointed back at the man for Jordan to ignore. It was about money. That’s all. Jordan had briefly entertained the idea that someone had had a personal vendetta against him, but no. This was greed, pure and simple.

  Addison wanted controlling interest in the pipeline project. A hundred million would give him that. Jordan didn’t know how, but he figured that the man must’ve had a way of taking what Jordan paid and somehow clipping it to Variant’s investment, giving them more shares than anyone else.

  Jordan rubbed his burning eyes. Tomorrow. Friday. They’d told him he’d be receiving that contract for him to sign, with instructions on transferring funds, and then he’d be told where to find Abby. But would they keep up their end of the bargain?

  His phone vibrated, alerting him to a new text message from a number he didn’t recognize, with an attachment. He stared at the photograph of Abby and his heart broke. She sat on a nearly bare floor, with both hands raised defensively in front of her face, but there was no denying the look of fear and confusion in her eyes.

  Jordan swallowed the fist-size lump in his throat, took a deep breath to quell the rage surging through his veins. His phone rang. It was the woman.

  “You have your proof of life, Mr. Gatewood. We will not speak again.” She hung up.

  Abby had to know that he was searching for her and that he wouldn’t stop until he found her. If it was money they fuckin’ wanted and his name on a contract, then so be it, but they’d better give her back to him in one solid beautiful piece.

  Phyl had sent Jordan Addison’s address, and half an hour later, he drove like a man possessed, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to crush the damn thing.

  He had to calm the fuck down. Jordan couldn’t go into this meeting enraged, or he’d blow it. Addison couldn’t know that Jordan was on to him, but Jordan had to somehow get him to reveal Abby’s location or give him some hint of it before leaving town. This was his last and only chance to save her.

  When he arrived, he was let into Addison’s Fort Worth home by the housekeeper, who led him through the expansive house to the backyard, where he found Addison standing on a small putting green.

  The man glanced at him before taking his next shot.

  “Two visits from the great Mr. Gatewood in two days,” he said sarcastically. “I’m starting to believe that you might actually like me.” He chuckled.

  Focus. Jordan had to pull that shit from the bottoms of his feet and hold on to it with everything he had. He had to force himself not to wrap that putter around that sonofabitch’s neck.

  “I hear you’re heading back to D.C. tomorrow.”

  Addison eyed Jordan suspiciously. “Well, it’s about time I get back there to do the job the good people of this state elected me to do.”

  Jordan had to be careful. This man might hold Abby’s life in his hands.

  “I’m glad I caught up with you before you left,” he said casually. “I, um, came across some interesting information,” Jordan carefully stated, “by
chance, of course.”

  The senator continued lining up his shot. “Information?”

  “About Variant.”

  The man took his shot, and missed, then turned his attention to Jordan.

  “Why would you be interested in a little guy like Variant?” he casually asked.

  Addison studied Jordan with the same intensity that Jordan studied him with. He hated this man and had from the first moment he laid eyes on him.

  “I found it curious that a company like that would be interested in the Dakota Pipeline. I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t know what their interests are in the project. Can’t say that I’ve given it much thought. Why would I? Why would you?”

  Jordan had one small ace in this hole. It wasn’t much, but it could net the senator an inquiry by some political board questioning his relationship with Variant in a highly charged social and political issue. Weak? Yes. But that depended on how uncomfortable Addison didn’t mind being.

  Jordan was out of time. “Where is she?”

  Addison furrowed his brow and stared back quizzically at Jordan. “I’m sorry. Who are we talking about?”

  That smug sonofabitch was playing dumb, and Jordan was all out of patience for this shit.

  “Where the fuck is she?” he said, taking a step toward Addison.

  The man slowly shook his head. “I have no idea what or whom you’re talking about, son, but I don’t think I like your tone. Maybe you need to leave.”

  Fuck what this sonofabitch thought about his tone. Nothing mattered but answers. Nothing mattered but Abby. Anger burned like fire in his veins and everything around him faded to black except for Addison—his face, puffing and sweating, his lips bloated and purple.

  A woman’s voice. “No! Stop it! Don’t!”

  Her hands clawing at Jordan.

  “Where is she?” It was his voice, begging the question over and over again, coming from someplace far away.

  Jordan was out of time. Abby was out of time.

  “Get—the—fuck off me!” Addison managed to say, spitting back in Jordan’s face.

  “I’m calling the police!” The woman screamed.

  “Fuck— Jordan!” Addison’s eyes bulged in desperation. “You’re—killing—”

  All of a sudden, it dawned on Jordan that he’d gone too far. He released the grip he’d had on the man’s throat, and stumbled back, realizing that it wasn’t Addison who’d just killed Abby. It was Jordan. He’d just sealed her fate.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  The woman rushed over to Addison, who was coughing and gasping for air.

  “Get out of here!” she repeated to Jordan.

  He’d gone too far. Oh, God! Abby.

  Feet Fail Me Not

  DJ RECONCILED WITH THIS shit he was doing every time he sat down with his family at night to eat, kissed one of his kids, or made love to Nia. The woman they held was no worse for wear, and by tomorrow night she’d be back at home, safe in her man’s arms and picking up where they left off. Maybe she’d need a little therapy or something, but she’d get on with her life soon enough. She was cool, even though she didn’t know it. But he knew it, and because he knew it, DJ could sleep at night.

  It wasn’t like he’d gone to Craigslist searching for an ad that said, “Looking for some dude to kidnap a woman, hold her for five days, and get paid more money than you’ll probably ever see in your life.” That woman found him. Called him, like she knew that he needed the money and bad, too.

  DJ had never laid eyes on her. When he saw that number come up on his cell, he didn’t answer it the first two times because he thought it was another bill collector, but on that third call she finally left a message that got his attention.

  “Answer my call and I promise to get you the money you need.”

  That was all she said, and at first he thought it was some crazy trick for a collector to get him on the phone. DJ’s money was jacked up. His check was being garnished for Nia’s medical bills from having the baby and his hours had been cut because he’d shown up late a few times, which was fucked-up because it wasn’t his fault that he’d gotten stuck in snow crossing Colorado.

  “You need money,” the woman on the phone had said as soon as he answered.

  “Who are you?”

  “I can get you money, more than enough to help you resolve your financial issues.”

  She sounded white. He started to hang up, but DJ was curious about how this woman had found him and why.

  “You have a young family, DJ.” She said his name.

  “How the hell do you know my name?”

  “What if I told you that you could make two million dollars in less than a week?”

  This was some bullshit. “I don’t run drugs, lady.”

  “It’s about a woman.”

  “And I don’t run people neither, so you can take your fake-ass millions and prank-call somebody else’s ass.”

  “And what happens when you lose your job?” she asked. “How long do you think it will take you to pay off that thirty-five-thousand-dollar medical bill without that pathetic paycheck of yours? Who’s going to pay you the kind of money you really need when all you have is a GED?”

  How the hell did she know all this? This shit freaked him the fuck out, but DJ wasn’t going to let her know it.

  “Better to be fired than in prison.”

  “Is it better to be fired than to have millions in the bank? Is it better to be fired than to be able to provide the kind of life for your family that you’ve been dreaming of?”

  Despite his better judgment, DJ stayed on the call. Yeah, he needed money, and that kind of money was crazy. But he had no idea who this woman was or how she knew so much about him. He didn’t want any part of transporting human cargo across state lines. In his line of work, trafficking was huge and it was ugly. DJ wanted no part of it.

  “There’s a woman,” she continued. “The woman of a wealthy man. All you’d need to do is take her someplace, keep her hidden and safe for a week, maybe less, and then let her go,” she explained as casually as if she were telling him where to drop off her laundry for dry-cleaning.

  “That’s kidnapping.”

  “It is,” she concurred. “But no one will be hurt. We’ll get what we need from him, and she’ll be set free. Then you get your money.”

  How in the hell could she make something like that sound so easy? “Why me?” he asked. “How’d you find me?”

  “Research.”

  “What made you think I’d buy into some shit like this?” he asked, clenching his jaws.

  Even he found it crazy that he would even consider kidnapping. Especially when he was too damn righteous to run drugs or traffic people.

  “You need this,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  No, he didn’t need this. He needed funds, but he didn’t need to commit no felonies. “What’s to stop me from going to the po-po and telling them what you’re asking me to do?”

  “I found you because I saw that you were in trouble.”

  “You can’t just know something like that,” he retorted.

  She paused. “Everything I know about you is true. You’re getting desperate and you hate that you can’t do more for the people who depend on you, who look up to you. I’m offering you a chance to provide the kind of life you want for them and for yourself.”

  It was like she’d read his mind or something. Like she’d been watching him.

  “You’re a good man, DJ. A good husband and father. I’m not asking you to hurt anyone. The plan is simple. She won’t hurt and in a week, you’ll have everything you need for your family.”

  She told him to think it over and that she’d call him back the next day. Of course DJ couldn’t and wouldn’t get involved in no shit like that. He was broke and his family needed the money, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to prison over some dumb shit.

  The next day, he went to work. DJ was scheduled to pick
up a haul in Chicago.

  “Sorry, DJ,” his supervisor told him. “Gave that one to Carl. He promised to get it back here by tomorrow night—early.”

  “What the hell time did he leave?” DJ asked, incredulous.

  “He left at four this morning.”

  “You told me I didn’t need to head out until eight.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? Carl said he could leave earlier and get it back earlier.”

  DJ felt sick to his stomach at the thought of having to tell Nia that he’d lost out on another route. The last thing he wanted was for her to have to work any more overtime. Nia had gone back to work right after she’d had the baby, and it had been hard for her. Too damn hard. He was her man. DJ had promised to take care of her, and lately it seemed like it was the other way around.

  DJ sat on the sofa, smoking a joint. Half an hour after he’d gotten home, his phone rang, again with an unknown number, but he knew who it was.

  The woman started talking right after he said his name, and told him what she wanted him to do. While she spoke, DJ couldn’t help but wonder if she had anything to do with him losing that job this morning. After she finished giving him the address of a house in Blink, letting him know that he’d have to watch it just in case that woman showed up, DJ finally responded.

  “I’ma need help,” he said after a long pause. “I can’t be going on with my normal life and watching a damn house just in case she shows up,” he ended sarcastically.

  She assured him that if she could pin down the time and day that the woman would arrive, she’d let him know. But DJ couldn’t do this by himself.

  “Someone you can trust,” she told him. “And you split the money.”

  He’d told James and Nay that they were all splitting up one and a half million dollars instead of two. And he didn’t feel bad about keeping more of the money. Half a mil was a ton of money for anybody. It was enough to get Nay and her kids away from that asshole she was married to and buy her a whole new life someplace else. And it was enough to keep James in weed and pussy until he was sick of the shit.

  DJ had already planned how he was going to spend the money he made from this. And that plan started with Nia.