by Coulton, JC
“Carrie, it’s not like that,” he says, getting off the chair and approaching the bed.
“If it’s not, why can’t we just go there and get April? Why does she have to suffer any more?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Well you know what? I’m sick of that line. Of course it’s that simple. If that was your friend, or your sister, would you leave her back there?”
“You don’t get it, Carrie.”
“Fuck you, Jason Cooper. Get the fuck out of my room. I’m sick of you people upholding the law and navigating politics, and April is nothing to any of you.”
I stand up and walk to the door. “Get out. Get out now.”
He looks at me with pleading eyes. “Please, Carrie. We’ll take care—”
“Get out!” I scream, cutting him off.
He grabs his suit jacket and leaves slowly. I’m ready to take care of business myself now. He and Blake are useless, and I’m so sick of the whole thing, I decide there’s no more playing along with the law, waiting for them to put the victim first.
I hurry into the bathroom and have a shower. I put on my robe and get my head clear so I can plan for April’s rescue tonight at the same brownstone where I saw her—all by myself.
***
When four in the afternoon comes around, I order room service and request a taxi for six-thirty in the evening. The meal comes, and it’s a lot more than what I would have at one sitting. It’s perfect. If I may be out there walking the street like a hooker all night, I’m going to need energy.
After I eat, I search my suitcase for the sexiest dress I have. I find a shimmery, pink, form-fitting dress in April’s bags. It meets me about mid-thigh, and two weeks ago, this thing wouldn’t even fit me. Now, it’s a little snug, but it works. I find my dangling earrings and put them on. I apply my makeup—heavier than I would ever try—and I stop when I think I’ve got enough on to blend in with the ladies of the night.
I put the dress on, and slip my feet into some strappy stilettos. I stand and look in the mirror. I look the part. I’m angry as hell too, that it’s come to this—I’ve got to fly solo and get April myself. It has to work.
I study my body, and wonder where in the hell I’ll put my money and hotel room card. I don’t know where prostitutes keep their kitty. April’s flat purse would have been perfect. It looks like I’ve got to make my tiny makeup bag double for a purse again.
I take one last look in the mirror and suck in a deep breath. It’s time. My rage is still fueling my courage. It’s perfect. I head out and take the front door to exit the lobby. I don’t give a damn who’s watching, who the hotel reception desk calls or who will follow me when I step into the taxi.
We’ve hit the tail end of rush hour traffic, so the trip takes a little longer than the last couple of times. The timing is fine; the taxi drops me off as darkness is settling in. I make him let me off at the café down the street from April.
My plan is simple, the way I see it. I’ll sit in there until April shows up, engage her under the guise of being another prostitute, and once she sees it’s me, convince her to come with me. I figure I’ll need to say a lot to earn her trust, given she’ll be heavily intoxicated and traumatized. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve got years of friendship between us. I know I can get through to her. No one is going to use her as a pawn to entrap Neon anymore. Not Blake, and not Jason or his FBI sideshow. Enough is enough. I’m angry again, just thinking about it.
I calm myself down by ordering coffee in the café, and sitting in the same perch as I had done yesterday. Anger is not going to keep my head clear. I need to be deliberate. I start to think of all the tips the FBI staff psychologist gave me yesterday. It’s easy to apply all of it to how I’ll break through to April. I know her personality, her strengths and weaknesses, and I’ll leverage them all to find her through her thick drug-induced fog.
I’m finished my second cup of coffee when there’s movement at the brownstone. Three women appear from inside and descend the steps. One of them looks like April. She’s in a bright blue dress this time, and her hair falls so limply around her face. It’s her, and it’s time for me to act.
I look around for Neon’s thugs, or cars that may be doing surveillance. It seems clear to me. I stand up and check out my getup. My dress looks right. I check my makeup. My lips are still stained a bright red, and my tousled hair still looks good. I feel sexy in the dirtiest way. I am truly scared.
Chapter Eighteen
Carrie
There’s hardly a moment for more thinking. I walk up the street, and find April standing in exactly the same spot as she was last night. I approach her and stand nearby without saying hello. Who knows what the protocol is between hookers. I decide to try and play on our friendship.
“April. Is that you? It’s me, Carrie. How are you?”
She doesn’t look at me. A blank look clouds her eyes like storm shutters. The person I once knew is simply not there anymore.
“Hey, are you listening?”
I move closer to the wall that she’s leaning against. Her head is slumped downwards. I’m shocked to see a trail of drool is dripping from her mouth down and onto the front of her blue sparkly dress. It’s disgustingly sad. Her eyes are closed. It’s as if she’s nearly asleep but still standing.
I look at her arms. The needle marks are fresh and swollen. She’s wearing an armband of sorts to hide the damage, but it has slipped down and exposes every hole that’s been made in her skin over the last two weeks. There’s a lump right in the crook of her forearm. It’s in the space where a needle has made it mark too often. It’s weeping pus. My friend isn’t just wasted, she’s sick.
I reach out to touch her forehead, it’s burning hot. Before I can say another word she lashes out at me, swiping my hand away with her own ragged nails.
“Don’t touch me, you cunt,” she shouts.
I recoil for a second, in shock. Her speech is slurred but the message comes through loud and clear.
“I’m checking to see if you’re okay, April. Can you see it’s me?”
“Just fuck off, will you?” she says, and starts to mumble. “Stupid bitches are always coming around, trying to save someone.”
“April it’s me, Carrie. Honey it’s going to be okay. I need you to come with me.”
She turns away from me. I keep trying.
“April. You have to listen to me, honey. Benny needs you. Remember your dog, Benny? He is still in Iowa and Benny misses you so much. We all miss you.”
A flicker of recognition wakes up her eyes. “Benny?” she asks.
“Yes, April. All the animals at your pet hospital miss you, but Benny misses you the most. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”
The fog returns to her face, but with it, she pulls her hand back again. With the second swipe, her palm makes contact with my face. The slap stings and burns.
“Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t know you. I don’t fucking care. Just go away.”
That’s when I want to walk away, but I can’t give up on my best friend. I hold my head up, and inside, my heart is breaking. This isn’t the April I once knew. The drugs and the pain have changed her.
I calm myself. I get ready to make another valiant effort, but I feel an arm holding me.
“Carrie, are you ok?”
The voice is familiar. It’s the last one I want to hear right now.
“Blake, get away from me. I don’t want to talk. Just leave me alone.”
He persists, and even when I pull my arm away, he supports me with a hand at my lower back. His presence makes April stumble back up the steps she came from and into the brownstone townhouse.
“April, come back!” I scream. Blake’s grip stops me from following her. “Let me go, Blake. I’ve got to help her.”
“There’s so much you don’t know, Carrie. Please don’t believe what you see. You need to leave here. It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think! How dare you
come here and say that to me now. That’s April. She’s not here of her free will, and you’re aiding and abetting a criminal for the sake of my friend.”
“You don’t understand, Carrie. That’s not April.”
“It is April. And I understand what I need to. I know about you and Neon, Blake. I saw the pictures in your album, I heard her voice threatening me on the phone and now I know she was the one that stalked me. You can’t deny any of that Blake. I saw you last night. Just fuck off with your lies, and get out of my life.”
With that, I pull my hand back and slap him in the face. It’s something I’d never do, but all the frustration and rage has to come out somehow, and I’m glad to see it leave a red mark on his face.
For a second Blake reaches his palm up and touches the cheek I just slapped with all the force I could muster. I brace and expect him to hit me. I look away for a moment, and feel disgusted at myself for doing it. When I turn back, he’s not even looking at me anymore. It’s not until I turn around that I see why.
Jason is standing there; looking more official than I’ve ever seen him. The two men look each other up and down. I instinctively step backwards. Something is about to happen.
“Blake Anderson, you’re under arrest. You need to come with me now. I don’t want to have to handcuff you, but I will if I have to. It’s up to you how you want to play it. And don’t you ever touch her again.”
We’re standing on a busy street, and the guys don’t seem to care. They only have evil eyes for each other. I instinctively want to stand between them to stop what I feel they’re about to do, but I’m likely to get hurt, so I hobble back a little more on my shoes and manage to avoid the fallout from the first punch.
It’s Blake who attacks first. Jason stumbles backwards at the impact on his jaw. If I hadn’t of moved he would have fallen right into me. I need to do something, but what? Where are the rest of Jason’s team to fix this? These two men now have each other in headlocks. Soon, both are bleeding, and one is pounding the other in the ribs. I need to stop them. I step forward but Jason seems to sense I’m close, and pushes me back roughly.
“Carrie, stay out of the way!” he shouts. “Get back in the c—”
His instructions are cut off when Blake throws another punch that makes contact with his jaw again. I see the blood fly and it makes me sick. I shrink backwards and lean up against the car. I’m nauseous now. I have no idea what’s going to happen. I run away from Blake and Jason. I can’t handle the blood or the fighting, or that April is gone.
I get close to the front entrance of the café when I feel a pair of hands guiding me away. I assume it’s one of the FBI team doing surveillance. I turn to leave with them without thinking, and am shocked to feel the sting of a needle being plunged into my neck. My eyes bulge in my head as I realize I can’t breathe. There’s a second before I collapse to the concrete. Before my eyes weld shut, I make out a flash of neon lipstick and pale skin.
***
A boot to the ribs is what wakes me up again. I’m in a world of hurt. Everything around me seems distant. My head hurts, my elbows are raw, and I can’t move much. I make to moan and feel like I’m choking on something. There’s a rag stuffed between my lips, making my tongue feel giant as it silences me. I try to raise my hand to feel my mouth, but they’re tied behind my back.
I’m lying on the floor of a large, dusty room that has an industrial feel to it. I can smell oil. I can see the edge of a meat hook and some daylight coming through a cracked window. Daylight? It’s light outside? Shit! This means that neither Blake nor Jason has come for me, and it’s been hours that I’ve been here. Everything is blurry around the edges. It’s like I’m looking through a pinhole. I’ve definitely been drugged.
The boots stalk into the room again. I cough at the pain choking my head, and try to stop the retching in my mouth and my jerking around on the floor. The bottom of the person’s boots is close now. It’s jet black stilettos that could only belong to one person.
I look up and see Neon’s sneering face laughing down at me. She doesn’t speak. She sinks to a crouch next to my prone figure and pulls at the cloth in my mouth. Her eyes meet mine, and in them I can see the cruelty, pain and madness of a lifetime spent on the street.
I spit out the last of the material. I should be begging her to let me go, but instead I say, “You’re never going to get him back.”
It’s the first thing I can think of, and obviously I’ve hit on a winner, because she reaches out and slaps me. Hard. Somehow, I don’t flinch. I just stare her in the eye.
It must not have hit me that I’m in deep shit, because I continue to egg her on. “You can do what you like to me, but it’s too late, Erica. Blake is going down. He’s already been suspended, and now they know where you are, Neon. It’s over.”
“You stupid little whore,” she answers. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you? I’ve got more power than either of your little boyfriends. No one is coming for me. And now, they won’t come for you.”
“You’re all talk.” I say that to try and scare her, but I’m beginning to figure she must have a point. There’s no Blake, and no Jason. No FBI team anywhere. I need to stall whatever it is she’s planning. I start praying that soon, Jason and the team will realize I’ve been taken and come for me.
“Does this feel like talk, little one?”
Her tone is crooning and I don’t brace myself for the blows that follow it. She kicks and punches at my body. I try to roll over and protect my head, but each punch impacts a little more; a little harder. I can feel myself start to pass out.
I fight hard to remain conscious, despite the pain. I have to stay awake if I want to survive this. I hear the snap of a bone that I think is my rib. I refuse to cry out. I take every blow that she dishes out in silence. It has to stop eventually.
“We won’t mess with that pretty little face, though. Will we, missy?”
I nod my head numbly, and she walks around behind me. She removes the bindings around my wrists. She pulls me up to stand and I’m shaky on my feet; I can’t take a breath without shooting pain in my chest. I make out that we’re in a workshop of sorts. It’s filthy, and there are a few tattered plastic chairs gathered around a small circular table.
I thought we were alone, but I see three guys dressed in black standing behind me. They look familiar. It’s not their faces; it’s their stance and their body types. I nearly vomit when I realize they’re some of the men who attacked April and me.
“Boy’s, meet little Carrie,” she tells them. “She’s been making a nuisance of herself lately, but it’s okay now. We’re going to turn this little threat into an asset. Who wants to go first?”
Her words sink in slowly, and when it finally hits me, I struggle to pull away from her surprisingly strong grasp. It could be what she used to drug me, but my martial arts training abandons me. I’m sluggish and unable to react. She pulls my hair sharply. She wrestles me into one of the plastic chairs. She laughs, securing my hands to each of the flimsy armrests with cable ties.
The guys look over at me and talk amongst themselves. God, they’re probably discussing who’s going to be first for the gang rape. I try to move and struggle, but I can’t think clearly. If Jason doesn’t find me soon, I’m in real trouble. I wish for Blake to save me, but he didn’t the last time all those years ago, so I can’t expect him to help me now.
“We’re going to give this little lady a crash course in the service industry,” Neon cackles, and I hear the true level of madness in her voice.
“Carrie I want to introduce you to a tool that I like to use. I call it a business enabler. I find my girls like it a lot once they’re used to it. I’m told it’ll make what’s to come rather enjoyable. Are you ready?”
I shake my head in horror, wondering what she’s about to do to me. Jason, where are you? I think, pushing myself back into the chair as far as I can. I can’t avoid the feeling of her fingers stroking my face. She’s not soft at all, as she
explores me. Pushing her fingers into my mouth and then pulling at my ears. It’s terrifying and I don’t understand what she’s doing until she makes her way down to my collar bones and then my arms, tapping on various areas.
Oh my God, she’s looking for a vein. I realize I’m right when she stops at the crook of my arm and signals to one of her thugs. He moves in close and unzips a small case from the inside of his jacket pocket. As I watch in horror, he prepares a fix in front of me. I don’t know what to say or do. I can’t look away from the fluid movements of his hands.
He cooks what I assume is heroin in a spoon. After that, he drops a small cigarette filter in the liquid. He opens a fresh needle and plunges the tip into the filter. The pressure sucks the liquid up through it, filling the syringe. When he’s done, he taps at it to remove any bubbles. He places it gently on the table and then repeats the process, filling another syringe to the top as I sit there, unable to move.
“You’ve got a choice to make, Carrie. Either agree to take one shot like a good girl and do what I say, or I’ll give you both of these, and you’ll never have a say again.”
I now have the answer to the question I asked Jason about what they do to unwilling participants. I look around the room in a panic, hoping to God that Jason and the FBI are going to jump out from some corner anytime now, but they don’t. I have no choice now. I have to do what she wants.
I nod, and with wide eyes, I watch the next moves as if I’m not even in my body. For a second, before the needle goes into my arm, I glance up and see the look on the face of the guy with burns on his neck and hands. He’s practically drooling. He can’t take his eyes off of me. I have no doubt what he’s about to do.
The prick of the sharp needle is followed by a cooling sensation as the liquid flows up my arm. The last thing I see is her mouth moving, saying words I cannot hear before I sink into oblivion.
To Be Continued
Click below to continue reading Seized Part 4 on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VTR68GS