Fourth to Run

by Carys Jones

  “Just try and keep it on the paper,” Aiden advised with a smile, glancing down at his multi-colored shirt which was adorned with handprints and splashes. But he didn’t care. It was worth it to get to spend some much-needed quality time with his daughter. He was still smiling when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Reaching for it he considered dismissing the call until he saw it was coming from his own home.

  “I’ll be one minute.” Aiden raised an apologetic hand to his wife and daughter and stepped away from the table.

  He walked several paces through the living area until he was near the bathroom door before answering.

  “Hey, baby,” he said tenderly, his voice low. “How are you?”

  “I’m just peachy, muffin cup,” came a terse old man’s voice. Aiden straightened, his cheeks turning the shade of Meegan’s paint.

  “Buck.” Aiden exhaled stiffly. “Why are you calling me from my house phone?”

  “Because I went to check in on blondie like you asked.”

  “And?” Aiden felt something cold slide down his spine. Placing a hand on the back of his head he told himself he had nothing to worry about. Buck was there, at his house, Brandy must be fine.

  “She’s not here.” Buck stated sharply.

  “She’s not there,” Aiden repeated, his shoulders tensing. “Then how are you there?”

  “What did Andre Caulerone say to you exactly?” Buck suddenly asked, ignoring Aiden’s question.

  “Did he tell you specifically he was going to hurt your daughter?”

  “Umm, no.” Aiden closed his eyes as he recalled the sinister call he’d received. “He said he was going to hurt the person I loved most.”

  “And you assumed he meant your daughter?”

  “Well, yes.” Aiden nodded. “I do love Meegan most.”

  “You love her so much that you let her and her mother head back to the city so that you could stay in Avalon and play house with blondie.”

  “Excuse me?” Aiden didn’t like the sheriff’s tone.

  “You like football, Connelly?”

  “What, yes, sure.” Aiden was struggling to follow the sheriff’s strange line of questioning. It was almost like trying to communicate with the old man’s stream of consciousness.

  “What does football have to do with anything?” Aiden demanded.

  “In football they use diversion tactics,” Buck explained, his voice level and calm. “Make the players look one way so that they can steal the ball off in the other.”

  “Buck,” Aiden sighed in frustration, “what are you getting at?”

  “Caulerone knew that you’d think he was referring to your daughter. You’re a noble man, Connelly, at least you try to be. But the person you love most is the one you risked everything for. And while you ran off to Chicago you left her here all alone, ripe for the taking.”

  Aiden felt his knees buckle beneath him. He leaned against a nearby wall, breathing hard.

  “Don’t fuck with me, where is Brandy?” He raised his voice slightly which caused Isla to glance over in his direction but Meegan’s continued squeals of glee prevented her from hearing what he was saying.

  “She isn’t here,” Buck explained. “It looks like someone forced their way in last night. The patio door has been jimmied open and there’s some food turned over in the lounge. But Brandy isn’t here.”

  “Oh my God.” Aiden pressed his hand against his eyes. “They’ve taken her, haven’t they?” he asked, willing the sheriff to disagree, to say that he was just yanking Aiden’s chain and that Brandy was fine and still in town.

  “I’m not a gambling man, but if I were, I’d stake everything I have that she’s currently headed south of the border.”

  “Jesus.” Aiden could feel anxious sweat collecting on his brow. “What do I do?”

  He felt completely and utterly helpless. It was such a horrid feeling that he wanted to peel off his own skin just to avoid the sensation.

  “You get back to Avalon as fast as you can.”

  “Buck, what do I—” Aiden heard the dense drone of the dial tone in his ear. He’d hung up. Shaking, Aiden straightened and stood up. He felt as though he’d suddenly stumbled from a dream into a nightmare and nothing felt real.

  “Aid, is everything alright?” Isla left the table and came over to him. She placed a caring hand on his back and gazed expectantly into his eyes.

  Aiden blinked back tears as he looked at her. What was he doing playing happy families with his estranged wife in Chicago? Buck was right, Aiden did love Brandy the most. He’d fallen for her the moment he laid eyes on her. But back then, as he now, he refused to accept just how great a hold she had over his heart.

  “Jesus, you’re shaking!” Isla commented with a start.

  “Something…something has happened back home. I have to get back.” When Aiden spoke it felt like a stranger speaking. He kept thinking about Brandy, about how she was now in the hands of monsters. Were they going to kill her? Had they done so already? How could he have left her in danger like that?

  Guilt climbed up Aiden’s throat. He pushed past Isla and ran over to the kitchen sink where he promptly vomited.

  Behind him Isla recoiled, holding a hand over her mouth.

  “Daddy!” Meegan wailed, her painting now forgotten. Her big eyes sparkled with tears as she watched her father retch several more times.

  “Aid, are you sick?” Isla came and stood beside him though she refrained from touching him.

  “I have to get back to Avalon,” Aiden stated urgently as he ran water from the faucet and splashed it over his face.

  “You’re in a state,” Isla whispered sternly, looking back at Meegan who was on the brink of a full-on tantrum. Her little chest was heaving as she watched her father be sick.

  “I’ll be fine,” Aiden declared tersely. Isla loitered beside him a moment longer before having to attend to their daughter.

  “I’ll be fine,” Aiden repeated again, relishing the refreshing cool of the water against his face. But it wasn’t himself he was concerned about.

  *

  Not knowing what else to do, Buck radioed in to the station about the apparent break-in at Aiden’s home. He leaned into his patrol car as he spoke and also gave a brief description of what Brandy looked like, not that he needed to. Everyone in town knew her. If she was still about, she’d be spotted within the hour.

  “Is she a missing person?” the female voice at the station crackled back to him. Buck pondered for a moment. He thought of the scene in Aiden’s living room; the forced entry through the patio, the discarded popcorn. Thankfully he hadn’t seen any blood, he knew from experience that no blood was a good sign. It meant that Brandy had been taken from the home relatively unharmed. But to what end? Why not just kill her there and then?

  A lump gathered in Buck’s throat, as hard and unwanted as a plum stone. He coughed several times in an attempt to clear it.

  Many years ago, Buck had dealt with the Caulerone brothers. They were as ruthless as they were cruel. He’d had the support of his brother then and, more importantly, his brother’s money. They’d paid the brothers to move on, to leave their little town be. But in his brief dealings with them he’d learned of their malice and of the unpleasant lengths they’d go to in order to get their own way.

  For men like the Caulerone brothers there was only two ways to communicate; through blood and through money. Now that Samuel was gone and his fortune left to Deena Fern, Buck was unable to access any sort of money. Which left only one troubling alternative.

  Perhaps the brothers wrongly believed that they could still extort money from the residents of Avalon.

  Buck wiped a hand over his clammy forehead.

  “Sheriff, is she a missing person?” the voice from the station asked again, the frequency slightly clearer so that the question no longer crackled through the radio.

  “Yes,” Buck sighed in declaration. “Brandy Whi— Cotton, is now officially a missing person.”

&nb
sp; “Thanks, Sheriff, I’ll get right on it.”

  Buck ended the call and leaned back against his car, looking over at Aiden’s home and wishing for what felt like the millionth time that the young lawyer from out of town wasn’t so adept at causing trouble.

  *

  Aiden felt numb as he stood in the doorway to his home. He dropped his bag to the floor and tentatively stepped inside. It was deathly silent inside as though the house were holding its breath. Aiden’s jaw clenched as he walked over the dark stain leading towards the front door. He moved into the living room and looked around, praying that Brandy would be there wearing a welcoming smile, that Buck had been wrong. She’d run over into his arms and nuzzle against him as Aiden breathed in her sweet, comforting scent of peaches and vanilla.

  But the living room was empty. The patio doors were now closed. The sun burned brightly against the glass, relentless in its pursuit to be allowed inside.

  “Shit!” Aiden gasped as he tilted his neck back to try and fight against the growing tide of tears welling up within him. With his home empty it felt like Brandy being there had only ever been a wonderful dream, that she was actually back in Chicago and had never shown up on his doorstep, had never accepted his offer to be together.

  As Aiden slowly lowered his head, his gaze settled on the piano. Her piano. Despite her apprehension about making his home her own, he could feel her presence everywhere. Tears fell as Aiden remembered how beautifully she played, how it relaxed him down to his very core to listen to her.

  “Dammit!” Aiden’s sorrow exploded into rage. He lunged for the nearest item he could find. He grabbed a footrest and threw it haphazardly across the room but it still wasn’t enough. He moved towards the patio doors and grabbed at the curtains hanging either side of them. Roughly he tore them down, wanting the chaos in his heart to spread out into his home. With red, tear-stained cheeks, Aiden turned over the couch and threw several pictures from the walls, some of them landing with a satisfying crack as glass splintered and shattered.

  Aiden’s hands found her piano. They rested on top of it as he panted heavily, his shoulders quaking. He wanted to rip it away from the wall, to hear the awkward din of sour notes as it came crashing to the ground. But the piano was something he could never destroy. With his breath beginning to even out, Aiden lifted his hands and stepped back from the piano.

  “I’ll find you,” he promised the emptiness around him. “I’ll find you and I’ll save you.” Clenching his fists, Aiden committed every inch of himself to the promise. He’d either save Brandy or he’d die trying.

  *

  A strained breath escaped through Brandy’s sore lips. Her entire mouth felt brittle and unbearably dry, as though she had been swallowing sand for the past few hours. Taking another uneasy breath she tried to open her eyes. Her lids felt unusually leaden and it took her several attempts to actually get them to lift. As they did, she noticed that something didn’t feel right in her eyes, her eyelids felt like they no longer fit her face. Were they swollen? Brandy instinctively raised a hand to check them but she didn’t get very far. Her right wrist was obstructed seconds after she moved it.

  Jerking her wrist again she felt the cool of the handcuff holding her hand in place.

  “Ah,” Brandy winced as waves of pain suddenly washed over her body. There was almost too much for her body to register. She felt sharp, savage pain in her chest, dense burning pain in her legs and her entire face felt like it had been smothered with hot coals. What was happening?

  Closing her eyes Brandy willed herself to focus. The last thing she remembered was being back in Aiden’s home. She’d been watching a movie, everything had been fine. Then someone had burst in through the patio doors and…

  “Ah!” Brandy gasped as unbearable pain spread out from her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of her own blood spreading out into her clothes. She’d been shot. The thunder snap of sound still echoed in her ears. She had been shot and then shortly after she’d passed out. And now she was…here.

  Brandy blinked uneasily into the darkness. She had no idea where “here” was. She was in a dark room which seemed to lack any natural light. A bare bulb lingered overhead providing a small amount of light. The air smelled of damp and decay. Each breath she took made her lungs tremble as they filled up with something awful. Wherever Brandy was, she knew she was a long way from Avalon.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” a nearby voice declared with mock pleasantness. Brandy turned her head in the direction of the sound, grimacing in pain.

  A man with a thick black mustache was sat against a far wall watching her. He held a sawn-off shotgun across his rotund stomach and his face was slick with sweat. Was the room warm? Brandy felt frozen, shivering in her restraints as her body fought against her multiple wounds.

  A sharp glance downwards showed Brandy that she was sat at a small table. Her hands were placed on the top, crudely handcuffed together and then chained to the table. She was clearly someone’s prisoner.

  Panic began to creep up her spine. She’d been a prisoner before, held in Eastham Prison for a crime she didn’t commit but this felt different. In Eastham she wasn’t beaten or tortured. This was clearly no ordinary prison.

  “Where am I?” Brandy managed to croak the question, doubtful that she’d even get an answer.

  “You’re in San Migeno,” the mustached man informed her brightly.

  “Where?”

  “You’re in Mexico, bitch,” he concluded sharply as the door to the room was suddenly flung open.

  Brandy sensed the mustache man become subdued as the door opened. A tall, slender man with cruel eyes came in, puffing out a trail of cigarette smoke as he moved. He came and stood on the other side of the table, looking down at Brandy. For a moment he said nothing, he just took a few more drags on his cigarette before stubbing it out upon the table and letting the butt fall to the floor.

  “What am I doing here?” Brandy asked, each word burning against her sore mouth as she uttered the question.

  The tall man smirked at her as if she’d said something amusing.

  “Do I look like I’m here to answer questions?” he asked rhetorically. His sharp gaze flicked over to the mustached man and they conversed briefly in Spanish. Brandy tried to decipher some of what they said but failed miserably. When they stopped talking, the tall man looked back down at Brandy as the mustached man stood up.

  “You’re going to send your friend, Aiden, a little message,” the tall man told her, his eyes sparkling with malice.

  Brandy desperately glanced between the two men, fearful of what was expected of her. The mustached man pulled a set of rusted pliers from his pocket and handed them to the tall man. Brandy’s eyes widened as she regarded them and she started to fight against her restraints. She recognized the expectant look in their eyes, the hunger and the cruelty. They meant her harm.

  Desperately Brandy tried to break free but her feet were also shackled.

  “You can’t run, little one,” the tall man laughed. “All you can do is sit here and let us have our fun with you.”

  Without warning his eyes darkened as the mustached man approached the table and roughly grabbed at Brandy’s left hand. He held it down with all his force as the tall man began opening and closing the pliers he was holding, smiling with delight each time they snapped shut with force.

  “No,” Brandy pleaded. “No, please no.”

  “Like I said, you’re going to send Aiden a little message,” the tall man repeated as he brought the pliers down towards the table and Brandy’s pinned hand. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to lose herself in the darkness. She tried to fill her head with the melodic sounds of her beloved piano but soon all her thoughts were drowned out by the sounds of her own agonized screams as the two men laughed and stepped away from the table.

  *

  Aiden was surveying the damage he’d done to his own home when behind him the doorbell rang. He jumped at the sound, his heart instantly hammering in hi
s chest. Taking a moment to collect himself, he moved back through the lounge, across the stained carpet towards his front door.

  Fear made his movements sluggish. His mind was frantically creating scenarios for who could be on the other side of the door. Ignoring his harassed thoughts, Aiden opened the door with shaking hands.

  A uniformed delivery guy was standing on the doorstep holding a small cardboard box and an electronic signing device which he extended towards Aiden.

  “I’ve got a delivery. Are you Connelly?” the delivery guy asked. Aiden could only nod and numbly sign his own name.

  “Okay then, here you are,” the delivery guy took back the signing device and gave Aiden the box. Aiden looked down at it, seeing his own name and address neatly typed onto the packaging.

  “Have a good day,” the delivery guy tipped his green cap politely and then headed back to his van which was idling by the curb. Bemused, Aiden stepped back inside holding the box. Had he ordered something? If he had he’d forgotten about it. He walked into the kitchen and placed the box down on the table. Retrieving a kitchen knife he set about opening it.

  Aiden ripped the taped edges of the box with the knife and then parted the lid. He leaned forward to look inside the box and his mouth became dry and his stomach knotted. He saw the contents of the box and moved back from the table in horror, sending his chair skittering across the floor.

  “No!” Aiden gasped as he took a deep breath and looked back into the box for confirmation. There, placed in the center of the box was a slender index finger, the nail painted a serene shade of blue. The bloodied stub was a gruesome indication of where the finger had come from. Aiden felt as though he were on fire. His entire body was engulfed with sudden, unbearable pain. He recognized the dainty finger, the blue of the nail polish, it was Brandy’s.

  Aiden found his way over to the sink just as he started vomiting. He turned his back on the box and tried not to consider what else of Brandy’s he might soon be receiving via courier.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blood Brothers