The Collar of Sacrifice

  I step back and carefully observe the wall made of cardboard, stuck on the bars from the outside. I’m looking for the place where the cardboard joins. Once I find it, I try to pry it open and, even better, I see they overlap. This is perfect. If I put my arm through it fully I will just about reach it.

  Carefully and without making any noise I spring into action. I’ve stopped breathing; very slowly I reach out with my arm, and just about touch it with my middle finger. I try to claw it in, moving my fingers like I’m playing piano. And, thankfully, the scrunched ball jigs and lands closer.

  “Got it!” I whisper.

  I grab it and withdraw my arm quickly.

  I quietly move to under the skylight window and start straightening the crumpled up letter. I need to be able to read it.

  The Central Intelligence Agency logo is embedded at the bottom of the page. The letter is handwritten, on formal stationery.

  ~

  My dear Alexander,

  You are probably wondering why an old man who worked as a valet in England put you in his will. If only it were that easy to tell you.

  Truth be told, I really hoped you’d remember me on the many occasions we talked but, it seems you’ve forgotten. You’ve forgotten everything, Alexander. And it breaks my heart.

  I don’t even know where to start.

  I met your mother and father, Marianne and Bill Reeves, at my first job in the CIA. They were the first two members of a team the CIA put together to work on a highly confidential matter, in the field of robotics. And what can I say? Your father became my best friend, the best man at my wedding a few years later and the person with whom I spent a lot of time. He was kindhearted, thoughtful, and a very happy man. He’d make you smile no matter how down we all were sometimes.

  As for your mother, the beautiful Marianne, she was amazing. Not only pretty, but clever, too. The brains of the team. Don’t get me wrong, we all had PhD’s and enough research behind us to last us a few lifetimes but she was something else. She was a genius.

  There were three more members of the team. Victoria James and Jennie Dixon, whom you’ve met at Wyndham Grand Hotel on many occasions; I’m sure you know who I’m talking about. And the last member, Robert Kowalski, the black sheep of the team.

  I’m giving you information you might not want to know but, please, be patient. I need to explain things to you so you understand the weight of the situation you will find yourself in.

  Our team was great. We were overachievers and we did a lot in a very short span of time. The high powers behind the CIA were impressed. They gave us more funds, which meant we all spent more time in the lab. You were there, too. My dear Alexander, I wish you could remember. You were such a clever boy. I remember your mother saying that you inherited her genes, her mind. You really were talented, verging on genius – to put it in your mother’s words - you understood most of what we did. She told us she spent the nights talking to you, explaining what it was that she did. You were about eight or nine at the time but, as the youngest of her children, you were still her baby.

  With your mother’s vast research we all pulled our strengths together and somehow got lucky. We developed the first of its kind bio-chip. If only we knew that chip was going to haunt us for the rest of our lives, we would have most likely destroyed it immediately.

  As soon as the word got out, everyone wanted the bloody chip. And trust me when I say it – Everyone! We got a pay raise just to keep our mouths shut but still, people somehow found out. We got many offers, most starting at ten million dollars. Hundreds on the black market, and legally too, from the KGB, MI6, ASIS, ABIN MSS, DRM and many more. All of these are intelligence agencies from all over the world that had somehow found out about it. We were the hot shots everyone wanted to hire.

  All that fame wasn’t good for the team. We stopped talking to each other. We didn’t go out anymore and we all knew something wasn’t right. Your mother was worried; she knew the true value of the chip and, Marianne being Marianne, she hid the chip to be on the safe side. Not even your father knew what she’d done with it.

  Now comes the painful part. Please, and I’ll say it again, please read this letter to the end.

  One of our team members, Robert Kowalski, all of a sudden, died from a heart attack. Robert was a healthy man. Nobody could understand how on earth that happened. A few days later, our boss called us into his office and told us Robert tried to make a deal for himself. He was going to sell the chip to a buyer in China but since he couldn’t deliver it, they presumed he was killed. The only evidence was the money in his bank wired from China on the day he died. They knew he was doing this by himself, but they thought we should all know in case the buyer contacted any of us.

  At that moment, everyone looked at Marianne. If she hadn’t hidden the chip Robert would have been alive. She just stood up and I’ll never forget what she said, “I am employed by the United States of America. My work stays in this country. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done.”

  They dismissed us and kept her. I’m sure they wanted to know the whereabouts of the chip but I doubt she told them anything.

  A few months later I got the call. Those same buyers from China were not giving up. They offered me and another member of our team a stupid amount of money to find the chip. All we had to do was scare Marianne. That’s what they said. And that’s what we did.

  We knew the chip was at her home. And we knew that day she was going to be alone.

  Please, trust me when I say, we never wanted her to die. NEVER. No matter what you think, know that what we did was to scare her, not to kill her.

  But the fire took hold of the house so quickly, it didn’t give her any time to leave. She died, and took her secret to the grave.

  I know what we did was wrong. There were numerous times when I wanted to turn myself in, but my partner was there to stop me. Every time.

  Your father couldn’t deal with the loss and the guilt. Since your mother was in your room when she died, he decided you were to blame, for god knows what reason. So he alienated you.

  And since your whole life pretty much got fucked up that day, we, the rest of the team, decided to look after you.

  We helped you with the shares; we wanted to give you something to start with, but don’t you think we helped you build your company. That was you.

  And your mother was right, you WERE clever. You didn’t end up an engineer, like her, but she would have been proud of you, anyway.

  Whatever you did, wherever you went, we were there, protecting you. After the incident with Sophie, Max has been protected 24/7. Yes, we know about Max. He is a fine young man, just like you were. I hope you take good care of him.

  We also know that you have been talking to the CIA. I know they’re watching you too, for different reasons. And we know that you have recently called them in for a favor, about a woman living in London, England.

  I blink and realize my eyes are brimming; a few tears drop on the letter.

  Now, before I finish, I want you to know this: those buyers from China are still around. They have been all this time. Bad people who’ve already infiltrated your life on a personal level.

  One of them, you probably guessed by now, is Madison.

  I gasp, covering my mouth with my palm.

  They think you know about the chip and they have been waiting for you to remember. They’ve been watching you closely and, when your heart was healing with Sophie, they sent Madison in. They needed you to be alone, and they hoped your heartbreak would bring you home and you would finally find out where the chip is.

  They need you, Alexander.

  They need what your mother left you. It’s somewhere in your memories. Somewhere in that house. Find it. Set yourself free.

  Since I take full responsibility for what was done to you, this is me, making amends. As for the other person, the one who was with me that day, I can’t say much. That is for you to find out. Or them to tell you.

  P.S. You were the closest
thing I had to a child even though you were too young to remember me. There are some pictures in the box. I thought you would want to see your family happy, before everything fell apart by greed, money, and guilt.

  Eternally regretting everything I’ve done to you,

  Jack White

  ~

  I still have my palm over my mouth and mumble into it, “Oh god.”

  As I wipe my tears, so many thoughts come forth, like bees in a hive, buzzing, each one louder than the other. Poor Alexander, it all makes sense to me now. Why he didn’t want to share anything. His tormented look, the inner struggle. Absolved of the guilt he’s been carrying all his life and yet, he just couldn’t forget what was done. Or forgive.

  My attention is drawn to Madison coming over, still talking with Mark from afar. I quickly put the letter under me and lie on the floor, as if I’m still unconscious.

  “Mark, cuff this bitch to a chair when she wakes up.”

  “Cuff her? Why?”

  “Mark, darling, why don’t you go and get Alexander’s father as agreed, and leave me to worry about this one. Okay?”

  “Cuff her yourself then,” he scoffs. “Bitch.”

  “I can’t possibly stand another broken bone. This one is a wild one.”

  I hear Mark getting up and as he comes closer, it’s clear that he’s dragging something along with him, probably a chair. I use this moment to crumple the letter again and throw it in the far corner of the cell.

  “She could be awake. Be careful.” Madison unlocks the door. “I’m going to make the call.”

  I open my eyes a bit, hoping to see what’s going on but I’m met with Mark’s malevolent eyes. It’s pointless to pretend, he caught me. I lift my head and pull back a little as I slowly sit up, afraid of whatever he’s about to do.

  “Easy now, woman! I want you to sit down on the chair and put your hands behind you. And don’t try anything stupid!”

  I’m weighing my options in my head but there aren’t any. Whatever I do I’ll end up hurt. There’s no way out of it.

  “Don’t think too much! Sit!” he orders, opening his jacket and laying his hand over his gun.

  Frightened for my life, I do what he says; I sit on the chair and place my hands behind me, letting him cuff my arms with the cold metal handcuffs. He proceeds to cuff my ankles to the chair legs.

  “There.” He smiles crookedly in my face; his breath reeks of alcohol and cigarettes. I cringe and look away; I cannot stand the smell. “What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?”

  Oh please! Just go! I close my eyes in the hope that he’ll leave me alone. Please, god, he’s so vile!

  He finally leaves the cell and locks the door behind him. I hear him talking to Madison and then he goes out, the door slamming loudly. Not even ten minutes have passed since he’s gone, when Madison comes in the cell again.

  “Finally, alone!”

  I look vacantly at the wall in front. She won’t get any reaction out of me.

  “You couldn’t wait for this moment, for us to be alone. I see it in your eyes.”

  I don’t even blink. No emotions.

  “Oh Amelia?” she sings. “You want to play naughty games with me?”

  I glance at her, fully under control.

  “Is that what you told Sophie? Right before killing her?”

  Shocked, I see her teeth clench and her eyes open wide. In an instant she swings her hand wide and slaps me over my lips. She deserves every single word. Fucking bitch!

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “I don’t? Then how come he hates you so much? How come he cannot talk about you without being physically sick!”

  “That’s not true! I spoke to him just now! He was fine!”

  “That, and other lies you tell yourself!” I sneer. “Keep it up!”

  “You stupid insignificant whore!! I could easily kill you if I wanted to.”

  “Then why don’t you? Go on! Kill me!” This courage in me is plain stupid and yet, my ego replies each time. “Kill me you bitch!!

  Another slap comes over my lip and this time, something hot trickles slowly down my chin but I don’t care. It feels good to stare in her eyes. In her loser eyes. Now I want to protect Alexander even more. He is mine!

  She gives out an exasperated scream, more of a guttural sound actually and leaves the cell, banging the metal door so hard it bounces off and bangs on again a few times, the sound vibrating in the space. The door is left partially open; I see her lighting another cigarette nervously and falling on the sofa.

  I’m not sure how much time has passed but I try to work on the cuffs. I’m not afraid of Madison and if I manage to free myself I’d definitely kick her head in and escape. But it’s too late now as I hear someone coming in. It’s Mark, with a bloody nose, lugging someone with him.

  My heart starts beating faster because I already know who this is. An older man with white hair, hands cuffed in front of him, bloody lip, reddened eye. The resemblance is uncanny. It’s Alexander’s father.

  “You should have gone to get him! The old man is completely out of his mind!” Mark pushes him towards the cell. The man falls on the ground and needs a good few minutes to get up.

  “Everything is arranged for tonight,” Madison replies impassively. “Stop complaining.”

  “Good. Cause I’ve fucking had enough of this, of them... of him!”

  “And so have I!” The old man replies with dignity in his voice, equally maddened.

  “Fucking hell, old man! Get up!” Mark picks him up and walks him towards the cell. He opens the door wide, pushing him inside and then slams the door behind him closed. We’re lost in darkness yet again.

  I need a few moments for my eyes to adjust. As they do, I see the man sitting on the ground, holding his head in his hands with his elbows leaning on his knees. Sighing out loud. Talking quietly to himself. I can’t make out what he’s saying; if he’s in London for that damn chip then fuck him, Alexander doesn’t need a father at all. But if he really came to make up with him…I sigh. Why can’t that be an option?

  The door suddenly opens, startling me.

  “I’m sorry, how rude of us. Let me introduce you, please.”

  “Fuck you, Madison!” I growl. I’ve had enough of her.

  “This is Amelia Jones, your future daughter-in-law, Bill. Say hello.”

  I glance at him and he’s lifted his head, already looking at me with teary eyes. Was he crying?

  He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out of it. He’s speechless. Shocked, more like it. Madison starts laughing hysterically and leaves us again.

  “I...I-I’m really glad to meet you,” he whispers.

  “Well I’m not,” I snap at him.

  “He-He must have told you about me. All the things I did...” He starts sobbing.

  “Please spare me your tears, Mr. Reeves; it’s not me you should be talking to.”

  He doesn’t reply but keeps sobbing quietly. Under the moon light, I see an old man, needing forgiveness. Nothing else.

  “Look, talk to your son.” I can’t help but feel sorry for him. “He’s the only one who can absolve you from your guilt, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Guilt?” he lifts his head, “You… know? He told you?”

  “He hasn’t told me anything. I read a letter addressed to him, from someone called Jack White.”

  Suddenly his face turns grey and his voice gets deeper.

  “You read a letter from Jack White? What did it say?”

  “It’s over there, in the corner. Read it yourself.” I point to the corner with my head, “I know what you’ve done to him so don’t expect me to like you. Whatever you say, I know.”

  He crawls to the corner and in the darkness he searches for the letter around him blindly. He finally finds it and sits under the moon light, reading hungrily.

  He skims over it really fast, as if searching for information and, having finished it aw
fully quickly, he leans on the wall and sighs loudly.

  “Oh, Jack!” he groans.

  “As I said, it’s Alexander you need to talk to.”

  “I do. I must talk to him.”

  ~

  “Time’s up, you two.” Madison comes in. “Mark, you take her. Make sure you put a bag over her head. I’ll get the old man.”

  We’re both cuffed tightly and our eyes covered before we’re taken out of the building, via long hallways and straight into a van, I think. Madison and Mark aren’t talking and hence we all feel the weight of the moment. If the exchange doesn’t happen tonight they’ll die. If it does happen, I’m sure we will.

  After a while of driving, the van stops and we’re taken out one by one. I look down and I can see the pavement through the loosened bag over my head. I hear the city sirens and I can smell the river; the Thames has a funny smell this time of the year. I manage to get a glimpse of my surroundings, too. I can just about see that we are walking …is it...it has to be Tower Bridge. The blue metal railing next to the pavement. What are we doing here? Central London? Is this where we’re meeting? With the twenty mile per hour speed limit imposed on cars, Tower Bridge is always busy. And it has loads of CCTV, that’s all I know.

  I love Tower Bridge. How ironic is that? In fact, I think this is one of the best places to see in London. Not only because of the majestic sight of the bridge opening up to let bigger ships through, but of the two towers tied together at the upper level by two horizontal open air walkways, giving it the true feel of the glorious Victorian era. Those used to be open to the public and only accessible by stairs. Now they’re part of the Tower Bridge Exhibition that I visited a while back.

  I know we’re still on the bridge and haven’t crossed to the other side yet when we’re ushered into an enclosed space and led up the stairs. Oh god! That’s exactly where we’re going, the place that gained an unpleasant reputation as a haunt for prostitutes and pickpockets in Victorian times. Fifty meters up, at the open walkways of the bridge, many have met their death there. This may as well be the place I’m going to die, too.