Ford Security

by Clara Kendrick

  I take another step towards her and she does something unexpected.

  She takes an equally calculated step back. Her lips fold into a frown before she forces some kind of weightless smile. That's when I know I need to stop moving towards her because something is clearly wrong.

  "It's me." I cock my head sideways and smile at her. "It's Dominic."

  "I know." She forces another smile but this one is weighted down by sadness even more so than the last. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

  "I never stopped looking for you." My lips purse together, buckling underneath the weight of emotions I've been carrying with me for the last ten years. "I never stopped believing that I would find you." That's a little bit of a white lie considering just two weeks ago I had no more hope in me. But I'm telling her what she needs to hear right now and those are the words, "I love you, Shelby. And I miss you and it's time to come home."

  She nods slowly, her eyes shift to the floor.

  The one thing I've been dreaming about for years is suddenly turning into somewhat of a nightmare. I can't understand why she's not as excited to see me as I am to see her. I'm saving her from this place, saving her from whatever fate Christopher Lawson and his people have for her and have had for her for the last ten years.

  "Do you want to come home?" It's an ugly question but given her lack of enthusiasm for seeing me, it's one I have to ask. "What have these people done to you?"

  She runs a knuckle over her eyes, wiping away tears that I hadn't even noticed were there. "I'm ready," she cries out and with tears now pouring down her face. "I'm ready to go home."

  "Me too, sis." I step up to her and she fumbles against my chest, burying her head against me as she cries. My hand travels to the back of her head and I hold her in place as she lets out all of the emotions she's been holding the last ten years. "It's going to be all right."

  She sobs and she sniffles against my chest. And though she's obviously carrying so many emotions on her shoulders and crying them into my chest, I'm not going to lie and say this isn't the happiest moment in my life since she was taken away from me. Nothing in this world can bring me down now. And if there's anyone in this house who tries to stop me from leaving with my sister, I won't hesitate to send them to hell where they belong.

  She pulls back from the embrace slightly and hooks her eyes up to me. Her eyes are dark and heavy from the emotional reconciliation. Her eyes are a blood shot red too.

  But there's something passing over her face, some kind of emotion that's foreign to me. It's one I can't read.

  "I'm so sorry," she cries out as she takes one step back.

  "There's nothing to be sorry for—” That's when I look down just in time to see her thrusting a knife into my abdomen.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  KATIE

  I don't know what the hell has happened in the past eight years for us to be in this certain scenario. Both of us have our guns drawn on each other and though we always used to fight as children, I never could've imagined it would come to this.

  My hand is shaking as I hold the gun aimed at him. There's no way in hell I will ever pull this trigger but instead I'm hoping I can use it as leverage for him to tell me what the hell is going on. I'm on the verge of tears with wetness pooling at the corner of my eyes.

  He looks just like I imagined him to look after all of these years. He's still my younger brother by only a couple years and for the most part, he still looks mostly the same. There are creases in his forehead, natural signs of aging. His eyes hang heavy with bags underneath them. The one thing that's different about him is that he seems to be in much better shape than he used to be. The last time I saw him, he was still very much a couch potato. He was much more content to come home from work and sits on a couch playing video games than he ever was being an active person.

  Whatever kind of life he's been living for the past eight years, it's apparent that it's been an active one. He's not anywhere near as big or strong as Dominic but he’s still built much more athletically than he ever was before.

  I want to talk to him as his older sister. I want to know what he's been up to all of these years. But most importantly, right now anyways, I want to know why he's holding a gun in my face.

  "What the hell is going on, Victor?"

  "I don't know, sis." He shrugs with apathy. "Why don't you tell me?"

  "I'm here to rescue you." I grit my teeth and shake my head furiously. "Now it's your turn to answer my questions."

  "You want to know why this gun is pointed at you?" He wags his gun in the air, wags it right at me. "It's because I don't trust you."

  It's my worst nightmare come true. I'm sure after all of these years being held prisoner, he's probably heard so many different stories about me. Or maybe it's a case of Stockholm Syndrome where he’s pledged his total allegiance to the very people who kidnapped him.

  Whatever the case is, if this is nothing more than a question of trust, I know I can talk him down from the ledge. If I'm nothing else in this world, I'm a great speaker and I can manipulate the best of them. I drop my gun to clatter against my side as a gesture of goodwill, even though I shouldn't need to do such a thing when I'm trying to have a conversation with my own damn flesh and blood.

  "I don't know what bullshit these people have been feeding you—”

  He cuts me off with a scoff. "Don't bring these people into it. I know they're not good people but at least they’re honest with me. So why don't you try to be honest with me?” He steps forward with the gun still aimed squarely at me. "Why don't you tell me why you are here?”

  "I already told you!" I yell and just about consider raising my own gun again because he's starting to scare me. "I don't know why it's so difficult for you to believe that I came here to save you."

  "Because you came with that man."

  "Are you talking about Dominic?" I ask incredulously. "Because he came with me to find his sister and to hopefully find you."

  "Bullshit!" he screams at me and lunges forward. He's too fast for me to react, grabbing me by the waist and spinning me around so that he holds me with my back against him.

  And though I try to fight as hard as I can to escape his grip, I know it's no use. We've been down this road before and it didn't exactly end with my success. Just when I think he can't hold onto me any tighter, he does. He locks an arm around my throat and pulls me back against the exterior of the house.

  "Victor," I try to scream out as I claw against his arm, hoping he'll release me. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm going to get the truth out of you, once and for all." With his free hand, he raises the gun and pushes the barrel against my head. "Now tell me again, why are you with that man!"

  "I already told you," I cry out, realizing that no matter how hard I claw against his flesh, he's not going to let me go. It's time for me to face the fact that the Victor I once knew might be gone forever. "Let's go of me," I whimper. "You're hurting me."

  My pleas to him don’t seem to affect him at all. Instead, he just tightens his grip around my throat, threatening to cut off all of my oxygen supply.

  "I'm going to ask you one more time…" He cocks the gun and I force my eyes closed. Tears are now raining down my cheeks. In the worst of my nightmares since he was taken from me, I never imagined it would end like this. It never even crossed my mind. The last thing I'm ever going to see in this life is the face of the brother I lost. Except he’s so clearly not the same man he used to be. My heart is breaking, shattering into a million tiny little fragments. "Tell me," he grinds out between gritted teeth, "tell me what you're doing with the man that kidnapped me…"

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DOMINIC

  I instinctively reach for my gun, but even after she stabbed me, there's no way I could ever shoot my own sister. But still, I latch onto the gun but I don't hold it for very long before it clatters to the marble surface of the kitchen beneath me.

  She steps backwards as the knife shim
mers underneath the kitchen lights and my own blood begins to drip onto the floor from both my wound and the knife.

  I drop a hand to hold against the open wound in my abdomen. I've suffered enough injuries in my life to know that this doesn't have to be a fatal wound, not if I get to a doctor in time, anyways.

  But I have to wonder if this life is even worth living anymore knowing that I've lost my sister. There's no way she's the same girl she used to be. Because the girl I remember couldn't so much as hurt a fly. She most certainly would never stab her own brother under any circumstance.

  I crane my head up to get a good look at her glistening eyes. They say that someone's eyes are the windows to their souls. They say the only way to truly reach someone is to look them in the eyes. I can't understand why she'd tried to kill me, but I also know that right now it doesn't matter. What matters is that she's crying, which means she feels remorse. That can only mean one thing. It means that she's not too far gone.

  I can still save her but first, I must save myself.

  "Why…" I try to ask her but all I can get out is the first word. I try again, "Why did you—?”

  She grabs the knife even tighter, straining all of the muscles in her arm and hand. "Because you did this to me!"

  "No…" I shake my head gently but it's using too much of my remaining energy. I spent so much of my life blaming what happened to her on myself. To this very minute, I still do. But if I take responsibility right here, right now, it will only give her more ammunition to use against me. If I admit any guilt in any of this right now, she’d probably just finish the job. "I didn't…"

  I'm momentarily distracted when the lights above me flicker as if we're about to lose power again. When I drop my eyes back to meet her at eye level, there's a certain kind of storm brewing in her eyes. I glance down at the hand holding the knife and notice that she's gripping it even tighter than before to the point where I’m worried the blade is going to cut into her own flesh.

  The lights flicker once more and then the power goes out.

  It's the last thing I want to do right now but I know it's the smartest move. While the power is out and before her eyes can adjust to the darkness, I twist around on my feet and cut around the corner of the kitchen to head back into the long hallway that leads to the foyer.

  My left hand is occupied holding on to my stab wound as my right hand shuffles against the wall to ensure that I both keep standing up right and end up where I'm trying to go. From behind me, I don't hear anything. I don't hear feet clattering against the marble tiles and I don't hear the sound of anyone trying to follow me.

  That's a good thing for right now because I swear to God, I'm not leaving this mansion without my sister. And if I intend to stitch that plan, I need to regain some of my strength and patch up this wound so that I'm able to fight for my family.

  I finally manage to make it to the end of the hall and shift across the foyer so that I can push through the first of the two doors of the office. I close the door behind me as gently as I can, but it still manages to creak.

  I dig my phone out of my back pocket and use it as a flashlight. And even though I know the light might alert someone to my presence, it's a risk I have to take. I search around the room for anything I could possibly use to help close off the wound. All I can see are the curtains, but then I realize that I can just use my own shirt.

  I drop down into the office chair behind the wooden desk and rip my shirt off of my body. It takes everything in me to not scream out in pain as loud as possible as the shirt passes over the open wound.

  With my torn shirt in my hand, I began to tear it into long fat strips. I hold my phone that's being used as a flashlight between my teeth as I begin to search through numerous drawers on the desk to find some adhesive. Finally, I manage to locate some duct tape in the bottom drawer. It's a hot pink color, and though that's not my usual choice of color, I'm not about to complain. As if it's the appropriate time to be petty over something so stupid when I face the very real risk of bleeding out.

  As quickly and efficiently as I possibly can, I place the fabric over my wound and then tape it in place. Then, I add another layer. And when I rip the tape once more, I swear I can hear someone approaching from the hall.

  My heart begins to thump as I reach into the waistband of my jeans to grab the gun I had procured from the dead man outside. I rise to stand, the office chair squeaking beneath me when I release my weight from the leather.

  I'm too shaky to aim accurately with just one hand so I use both hands as I point the gun at the office door straight ahead. The lights flicker back on, stealing my attention for a brief moment before I see a shadow pass by the office doors.

  Somehow, I need to regain the upper hand. Somehow, I need to find a way to procure the element of surprise. If I have to, I will knock my sister out cold and drag her out of this godforsaken house. I will lock her up in the basement of the factory until she gets her head on straight if I have to. There is no length that I won’t go to save her.

  I'm waiting for whoever it is outside the door to burst inside but they don't. Maybe, somehow, they don't know I'm in here. I realize though that that is nothing more than wishful thinking because even though it was dark in the hallway when I fled the kitchen, I'm quite sure there would be a trail of blood leading right to the office.

  I swallow a nervous lump in my throat as the power flickers off once more. The first time it had happened, I was quite sure it was on purpose. I figured that someone knew we were here and turned off the power intentionally so that we couldn't make our way through the complex. But the more it happens, the more I'm inclined to believe it's a neighborhood power surge or it's the result of an imminent storm that hasn't quite hit yet.

  That's just about the only way this night could get any worse. It never really rains here in Southern California, but when it does, man, does a pour.

  Now that it's pitch black again and I'm back at square one, I realize that this is the best opportunity for me to make my move. I step to the door as quietly as I can, trying to make as little noise as possible. And when I pull open the door once more, it doesn't creak like before. Finally, I've caught somewhat of a break no matter how little of a break it may seem. It's still a break when I've had mishap after mishap tonight.

  I crane my head both ways, looking ahead at the formal living room first and then the moonlit hallway that leads back to the foyer.

  Thinking back on every case I've ever worked on, I try to think about the most likely scenario. I imagine that Shelby will no longer be in the kitchen where I had found her the first time. If she's even in this house at all, I imagine she is somewhere else. That's to say nothing of what happened to Katie. Ever since she took off from the porch, I haven't heard a peep from her. I pray silently and to myself that she is okay wherever she is.

  No matter how this ends tonight, I have so much to thank her for. She's made me feel something for someone when I never thought that was going to be possible again. She convinced me that my sister was alive and led me directly here. Once I get both her and my sister out of here safely, I'm going to make it my life's mission to help find her lost brother.

  I tilt my head upwards to glance at the pitch-black loft above me. And in the faintest of shadows, I swear I can see a face.

  I stick as close to the wall as possible as I began to ascend the steps quietly. With every step I take towards the pitch-black darkness, my heart races faster and faster. Worse though, with every step the aching and stabbing pain—no pun intended—in my stomach becomes more and more severe until I reach the point where I'm grinding my teeth in an attempt to try and hold any audible signs of pain at bay.

  The closer I get to the landing of the stairs, the more concerned I get. The face that I could have sworn I saw while standing in the foyer hasn't moved an inch. It's like I'm walking closer and closer to a ghost, or worse yet, a dead body.

  I think about calling out to whoever it is but I think better of it. If it's anybody
that's an enemy, or if it's my sister, then they might try and stab or shoot me. I've suffered enough abuse today.

  I finally reach the landing and a chill runs down my spine when I realize that the face standing there in the pitch-black darkness still hasn't moved. I ready the gun in front of me; have it aimed squarely at the silhouette of the figure before me.

  The lights flash on and just as expected, it's my sister. She's staring blankly ahead at the windows that hang above the front door of the foyer. Almost in slow motion, she twists to face me. Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. I've never seen her look so dead in my entire life, not even when she was plunging a knife into my stomach.

  Once more, for whatever stupid reason, I drop my gun to hang at my side. Just up ahead of me, she swallows a gulp and flinches but I can't figure out why.

  I feel a sharp kick against the back of my knee before I'm shuffling to the ground to kneel before her. And then before I can do anything about it, my gun is ripped from my holster and I'm whacked in the back of the head with it. I buckle forward until my head bounces against the hard floor. My eyes are blurry and my head is dizzy, but still I force myself to rise back to my knees. And even though my vision is blurred, there's no mistaking that the man who disarmed me is Christopher Lawson himself.

  With the gun he has stolen from me pointed at my head, he circles around me to stand side-by-side with my sister. He drops his free hand to grip her at her waist and pulls her into a kiss.

  My heart crumbles in an instant. She's far too gone and at this point, I don't know if there's any saving her. I don't know if there's any way to save myself but I can't bring myself to care. The one thing in this world I should have done, protect her, I've failed to do. And no matter the circumstances that have led to this day, I can't bear the sight of watching her kiss someone as crooked and evil as Christopher Lawson. He's nowhere near as bad as Seth Grimm was, but most men aren't capable of that level of maliciousness.