by Petrova, Em
Before the tightness in my throat closes over, I jab in the number. I hate to admit it but I am in way over my head here. I just hope they can do what I can’t and bring her back to me in one piece.
***
Sienna
The journey in the car makes me sick. I’m on the back seat, lying across it. Each turn makes my stomach roll. I don’t know if it’s from fear but I’ve got to say being laid down in a car, not being able to see anything, is not a fun experience. My hands are tied and the guy isn’t driving particularly fast but I can’t brace myself properly when the car corners.
In the passenger seat I can just see Skinhead. He turned around briefly to leer at me and he’s ignored me the rest of the time. The guy who punched me, I don’t recognize. Maybe Skinhead had messed up too many times to be allowed the privilege of grabbing me. Perhaps he was worried he’d get another wine bottle to the head.
I try to focus on that memory. Of a time when I was terrified but I fought back. I’m secretly hopeful something miraculous will happen and I’ll be able to fight back again, but the pounding of my heart and the tremors that keep attacking me are making me forget that I escaped Skinhead twice now. I have a sneaking suspicion it won’t be so easy this time.
I just wish I knew what they wanted. I don’t have the drugs. I don’t get why they want me. Surely I’m not that important? I’m a nurse for Godsakes. A nobody. Someone with a pretty dull life until recently. I never, in my entire life, expected to be attacked and kidnapped.
The car takes a corner and I press my feet into the car door to try to brace myself and stop me from rolling off the back seat. I keep thinking of all the films I’ve seen about kidnapping, like that one with Liam Neeson, and wonder if I should be counting stuff or listening carefully. But counting what? I guess if you’re going in a straight line, maybe you can figure out the distance you’ve traveled? I really don’t know. And all I can hear is traffic and the car engine. My ear is pressed into the leather seat so the noise of the car is pretty loud. Skinhead and the red-haired guy—I think of him as ‘Meathead’ due to his thick shoulders and large head—don’t have much to say to each other. They clearly know what is going on.
My head pounds like I’ve got the hangover from hell. I doubt my nose is broken but I’m willing to bet I’ve some nice bruises coming up. I’m a little numb to the pain in my face—just suffering with a headache—but that might be because of the fear. I’m scared for myself—I mean how else is this going to end up? While I can’t figure out what they want from me, it can’t be anything good. But actually my biggest regret is not seeing Nick again. Things ended so badly. My throat clogs. I wonder if they’ll let me call him one last time and tell him how much I love him.
It’s kind of funny because being tied up in the back of a car does put your life in perspective. I hate that I wasted so much time on Rob yet I wasn’t willing to put the time in with Nick. I worked so hard at a marriage that didn’t work and then gave up on something that could have been amazing. Was amazing.
Yep, I’m an idiot. This has only confirmed what I’ve begun to realize. I will do anything, go anywhere to be with Nick. If there was even the slightest doubt in me before, it’s gone now. If only I’d gotten the opportunity to tell him. Why hadn’t I called him when I had the chance? If I’d taken just two minutes to speak to him, I might not be in the back of this damned car going God knows where.
Because you were still scared, a voice whispers.
But I’m not scared now. Not of being with Nick. The idea sends the slightest trickle of courage through me. I have to survive this. Whatever happens, I need to tell Nick that he’s worth it. Need to tell him I want to fight for us and that I’ll put in all hours for him.
Just like he did with me.
Even if he rejects me, it won’t matter, because at least he’ll know.
The car slows to take another corner and it gives me the chance to twist my neck and see where we are. There are cranes around us but I can’t make out much more—only sky. We roll to a stop and I have to cling real hard to my courage to stop from hyperventilating.
I’m really not ready to die. I’m not sure if I’m being melodramatic but that’s the only outcome I can think of. They’re hardly going to snatch me and then let me go on my way when I tell them there’s no drugs left. Because that’s got to be the only reason they want me. Maybe the newspaper article didn’t work after all. Guess Nick was right about that too.
The door swings open and Meathead grabs my legs and slides me out. I try to fight but don’t have much luck. He’s practically as thick as he is tall and his arms are probably wider than my waist, covered in matted ginger hair. He snatches my arms and rights me. My feet are bare, having lost my shoes in the fight, and the ground is still cold as the sun hasn’t warmed it yet. I shudder.
I get a good look at Meathead now. He’s probably not much taller than I am, with a podgy nose and thick lips. Nothing about this man is small apart from his dark eyes. They’re sunken and kind of piggy. I’d love to tell him that but at the moment my tongue won’t work.
I peer around him and realize we’re at the docks. The noise of machinery and vehicles surrounds us. One large tanker, loaded with crates waits at the dockside and a drab grey warehouse looms to one side. With his hands clamped firmly around my arms, Meathead leads me to the warehouse. I struggle briefly and his only response is to pull harder so my toes scrape on the ground and I’m forced to jog to keep up.
Not far from us, behind more crates, I see workers and further along, I spy the cranes working. The metal boxes pretty much block us from the busy men but I hope the guys in the cranes might spot me and call for help. Though I’d bet to them we look so small, they can’t tell what’s going on.
“Come on,” Meathead insists with another sharp tug on my arm.
“I’m not going anywhere!” I finally find my voice and it’s high-pitched and squeaky. “Help!” I scream, fighting his hold once more. It comes out quiet against the background noise of the docks but I try again. “Help!”
I don’t even see it coming. The back of Skinhead’s hand comes across my face, dazzling me. Everything goes white for a minute and I sag, only supported by Meathead’s grip on me. Skinhead takes my other arm and they haul me to the warehouse. I’m vaguely aware of the painful chafe of concrete on the tops of my toes and going into a wide, dark entrance. Then one of them throws me over his shoulder and steps are whizzing past my face. My already queasy stomach lurches.
My journey ends in a plain office. I’m dumped on a chair, my hands still bound behind my back. They make no attempt to secure me but Meathead is standing in front of the door and there’s no other exit. A single paned window looks out over the tanker and a cheap wooden desk sits in front of it. One of those swivel chairs is behind it, like the one I’m on, its stuffing practically spilling out of the worn fabric. There’s no paintings or photos. No sign of this being used as an actual workplace. There’s a filing cabinet to one side of the window but no paperwork on the desk. For some reason, the grey carpet, bare desk and dingy yellow walls makes me more nervous.
“Mike, go get Mr. Johnson.”
So Skinhead is Mike. I prefer Skinhead. He definitely doesn’t look like a Michael. The other name makes me shake. I’m going to meet the guy responsible for everything that’s happened to me. I really don’t think I want to.
I hear Mike leave the room and twine my fingers anxiously behind me. I flit my gaze from side to side, trying to figure a way out of this. I could try to run but Meathead makes a pretty good wall. I doubt I’d be able to push my way past him plus I suspect they’re carrying guns. My gaze lands on the window and I shake my head. Too high up.
Maybe they’ll leave me alone for a while and I’ll be able to shout for help? I cling to that idea. I need to get out of this. I need to see Nick.
The door clicks open again and I stiffen as footsteps approach. An older guy, in his fifties, strolls around me and perches on the desk in front
. I take my time appraising him, while he does the same to me, a finger tapping against his chin. I gulp. There’s something about this man I find very, very scary.
His polished shoes and well cut suit tells me this must be Mr. Johnson. He doesn’t appear very bad though. In fact, he’s quite handsome. Slightly on the slender side for my liking but his short grey hair and strong jawline make him look like the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind asking directions from.
But then I glance into his eyes and realize why he scares me. And it’s not just ‘cause he’s kidnapped me and probably wants to kill me. It’s because there’s that stone cold cast to them. Their icy depths echo something I’ve seen before as a nurse. It’s usually in the occasional patient who doesn’t think the rules apply to them and they should be your priority. Or the son who is only visiting his dying mother because he has to and is praying for them to die so he can get his inheritance. That look says the most important thing in their lives is themselves and if you get in the way of that, you’re in trouble.
“Mrs. Wright…” he murmurs.
I narrow my eyes and draw my chin up. If I can help it, I won’t let him see my fear. “Can I help you?”
He chuckles. “You can indeed. I’d like my drugs back please.”
So he does think I still have them. “I can’t do that.”
“And why not? Have you sold them already?”
“No! Look I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t have your drugs—”
“In that case, I think you owe me a great deal of money.”
“I don’t have money! I’m a nurse for Godsakes!”
Mr. Johnson leans forward, the slightest smile twitching on his lips. “A nurse with a fine piece of real estate. How exactly does a nurse afford a down payment on an apartment so close to the city center?”
“What?” I splutter. “Rob’s life insurance paid for that!” I wriggle against my bonds. This is getting ridiculous. I can’t believe this guy thinks I would sell drugs. I barely knew what the stuff looked like before the other week and now he thinks I funded my apartment with drug money.
“I suspected you’d sold them you were able to purchase that apartment. I’m guessing you probably sold them to one of my rivals. Not many people can afford that much coke. But I bet you didn’t even get much, did you? Your husband didn’t teach you too well, sweet thing. You should have at least tried to leave the country. But maybe you thought your boyfriend would protect you…?”
“Leave him out of this.” My heart does a little flip flop at the mention of Nick’s name.
The slight smile on the man’s lips expands. “Ah. Was he involved too? Or didn’t he know anything about your criminal ways?”
Okay, it’s time to set this guy straight. He’s talking in circles and my head is spinning. “Look, I don’t have your drugs. I didn’t even know about them until that asshole,” I motion with my head to Mike who’s stood to the left of me, “tried to attack me. But I found them and I handed them over to the cops. Your precious drugs are locked away somewhere where you’ll never get hold of them again.” I try to sound triumphant but the cold look that slithers across his face makes me squeak the word ‘again.’
“If what you say is true, Mrs. Wright, then you owe me a great deal of money.”
“I don’t have any money. I told you, I’m a nurse. I have like a few thousand in savings and that’s it!”
He studies me for a moment, that damned finger tapping at his chin again. I meet his gaze boldly, praying—hoping—he’ll believe me and just let me go. What use am I if I can’t give him his drugs? Unfortunately the twisting in my stomach keeps drowning any vague feelings of bravery I might have.
“Look,” I try again, “if I had your drugs I would give them to you, I swear. I didn’t want anything to do with this. I’m just a nurse. I’ve never done a bad thing in my life. Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” I can see he’s still not convinced. Or he’s deciding what to do with me. “There was an article in the papers about the drugs. The cops thought you’d see it. It… it was in the Glenwood Gazette over a week ago. I’m telling the truth. Please, let me go.”
Mr. Johnson snorts. “You might be. Or perhaps you’re a very good actress. Your husband had a very gifted tongue. And you do plead your case well.” He looks over my shoulder. “Al, do you have her cell?”
“Yep.” He passes it over me.
My eyes are wide as he flicks through my phone. I think I know what he’s looking for and I’m terrified. My heart pounds and I desperately need to pee. I clamp thighs together and try to breathe slowly.
“Your boyfriend… Nick, isn’t it? Shall we see what he says? Maybe he can confirm your story.”
“No!” I don’t want Nick involved. I just know he’ll do something stupid if he realizes I’m in trouble. No way am I going to let him put himself in danger. I would actually rather die than let anything happen to him.
Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever truly felt like that about another person.
“Let’s see. We’ve got a Nicholas F or just plain old Nick. I imagine that’s the one.” He offers me the phone. “Are you going to speak to him and ask him for help?”
I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head.
“Brave woman, aren’t you? But foolish. You must realize you are in way over your head.”
Of course I realize that. And I don’t know what I’m doing. I suspect this is going to end very badly for me. I want to cry when I think of not seeing Nick again or how my parents will react when they get the news. But I bite down on my lip and somehow keep my composure.
Mr. Johnson presses my cell and I hear the ringing as he puts it on speakerphone. Nick answers quickly. “Sienna?”
There’s panic in his tone. Does he know something’s happened to me? I make a small sound and then bite my lip again. I don’t want to give him any reason to worry about me.
“Nick?” Mr. Johnson says. “I have Sienna with me here. Did you know your girlfriend was involved with drugs?”
“What are you talking about?” Nick’s tone hardens. “What have you done to her? I swear to God—”
“Yes, yes.” Mr. Johnson waves a hand to himself. “Now, listen. Your pretty little Sienna says she doesn’t have the drugs anymore. Nor does she have the money apparently. Now I must admit to being a little annoyed about this. As you can imagine, this puts me quite out of pocket. Would you like to tell me if you know anything about this? You could save your girlfriend quite a lot of hassle if you could tell me where the drugs are.”
The line goes quiet and I hold my breath. What’s he doing? Just tell him there’s no drugs, I scream in my mind.
“Let me talk to Sienna,” Nick finally says.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Another pause. “What do you want?”
“I want the drugs or the money.”
“If I bring the drugs, will you let Sienna go?”
“Absolutely.”
I shake my head, more to myself than anything. What’s he doing? He doesn’t have the drugs. So what the fuck is he saying?
“I’ll bring the drugs,” Nicks says firmly, “and you’ll let Sienna go.”
“Good.” Mr. Johnson meets my gaze and grins. Somehow I doubt I’m going anywhere. “Come to the docks. My man, Al, will meet you at the gate. You’ll recognize him. You met before when you tried to run him off. And, Nick, I don’t think I need to say this but come alone. I’ve got a ship waiting to leave and I may just decide to throw her overboard if you don’t comply.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
This triggers something in my brain and I jump to standing. “No! Nick,” I call, “don’t come!” I’m pushed back on the chair and a hand whips across my cheek, the same one that was backhanded. I’m not sure who did it but I can’t help but cry out as pain sears my face. When my vision clears Mr. Johnson is still holding my phone but I don’t know if Nick’s remains on the line. I pray he didn’t hear my scream.
***
Nick
If there’s anything more agonizing than the sound of the woman you love in pain, then I don’t know what it is. My heart hurts, my skin is hot. I feel a little like my eyes might pop out of my head in rage. I slam my palm into the door, the sharp sting not really distracting me from the very real agony inside.
“Fuck!”
I draw in a long breath through my nostrils. But I know where she is, which is more than I knew five minutes ago. I could have guessed she was at the docks but it was a shot in the dark and the place is huge. But she’s alive. For now. I don’t doubt this Johnson would happily kill us both if we don’t hand over the drugs.
The drugs… yeah, one minor problem. But I wasn’t going to let on we didn’t have them, not when there was a chance I could find out where Sienna was.
And now I know. I curl my fist and glance around the apartment. Part of me wants to sit down, think out a plan and the other part just wants to drive down and tear apart anyone who’s laid a finger on her. I force myself to keep my pace slow as I shut the door and ascend the stairs.
I’ve got my gun tucked safely in the back of my pants, it’s weight reassuring against my spine. I think I’m going to have to play this by ear. I’ve got no idea what I’m going up against and the docks are huge. If I don’t play along for a while, I’ll never find her and it will be too late.
I climb in my car and gun the engine. As I drive downtown, I consider the possibilities. Most of the scenarios end up with both of us dead. I’m going to have to call the cops—the call from Johnson interrupted my first attempt. I’ll try to speak to that Detective perhaps—but not yet. I’m not risking them harming Sienna if Johnson sees I’ve brought a load of friends with me.
I swear aloud at everyone who stalls me. The traffic isn’t bad and I gave myself enough time but I’m itching to get to her. If I can just see her, be by her side, I can protect her. At the moment, she’s all alone and vulnerable. It makes my insides coil in horror. Who knows what they could be doing to her? They’re criminals after all. I doubt they have any sense of common decency.