by Raen Smith
Jack’s bat. She grabbed the bat and set it next to the bag. Then she walked across the hall into the bathroom and grabbed her makeup bag. Another creak sounded inside the house, this one longer and louder. Charla’s heart pounded as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She could feel the rush of panic flush to her cheeks. What if Liam’s warnings were right? Had they found out where Jack lived?
Her chest heaved as she listened to the silence. She tried to steady her breathing. Nothing, Charla. It was nothing. She grabbed her makeup bag and poked her head into the hallway. Nothing. She darted across the hallway and stuffed her makeup bag into her duffel and zipped it shut. She swung it over her shoulder and grabbed the bat.
She crept back into the hallway, the bat gripped tight in her hand. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight, mafia or no mafia. Her eyes scanned the dining room and kitchen, catching the only thing she knew was different. The basement door. The door was cracked open again. She knew she’d closed it yesterday. There was no doubt in her mind.
Maybe it’s the door, she reasoned. The cottage was old. Maybe the latch on the door was loose. The door had always been hard to close. That’s it, Charla. Just a bad door. She exhaled and loosened the grip on the bat as she walked toward the kitchen. She grabbed the handle, about to close it when curiosity ran through her blood.
Dropping her duffel, she ran her hand along the wall and flicked the light switch. A dull glow illuminated on the bottom of the stairs. There’s nothing down there. Just look to see how much you have to clean up. She took the first few steps down, her ears perked for any sound. As she got to the middle of the stairs, she saw a board ripped from the wall.
That’s strange, she thought. She didn’t recall any boards ripped from the walls, but then again, it had been a long time since she’d been down here. She took another step down and craned her head. The next board was ripped off the wall. Then another. And another. She got to the bottom of the stairs and flicked on another light.
Charla gasped. Every single piece of wood paneling was ripped from the walls, exposing the interior framework of the house. The basement was trashed, the boards strewn and broken all over the ground. She knew there was no way Jack had the strength to do this. Her heart hammered as panic flooded her body.
Someone was here.
“Shit,” she whispered as she turned and fled up the stairs, gripping the bat until her fingers ached. Just as she reached the top step, a black figure appeared. A large arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her through the doorway. Her bag skidded across the kitchen floor as she shrieked and kicked. She swung the bat wildly in the air but was unable to connect to the body behind her. She felt her body weaken under the man’s strong arms as he pulled her in tighter until she was snug against him. She jabbed the bat behind her, still trying to connect in vain.
“Drop the bat,” he rasped in her ear.
She squirmed and kicked her legs, trying to get free from his grasp. He picked her off the ground.
“Drop the bat,” he repeated calmly as she swung the bat loosely with only one hand. His accent lingered in her ear. It was thick, an accent she’d heard before in one of her nursing classes.
“No,” she choked out. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Not here, not in the only place she’d felt safe for the last three years.
“Drop the fucking bat,” he barked this time, squeezing even harder. She felt the pressure on her chest constrict her breathing. She panted, wincing at the burn in her ribs. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
His words cut to her bones. He wasn’t going to let up, and there wasn’t a shot in hell she was going to get away from him. His death-grip made sure of that. Charla’s head clouded and a warm sensation flooded her body. If she didn’t obey, she’d pass out. She finally relented and loosened the grip around the bat, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. Her body slacked as her feet dangled just inches above the bat.
“That’s a good girl,” he said, adjusting his grip on her. She felt the pressure ease up on her ribs, allowing her lungs to expand more fully. She inhaled deeply, trying to even out her breathing. She knew she needed oxygen and fast, and the best way to do it was to relax. But her body resisted, wanting to keep up the fight.
Breathe, Charla.
He leaned his chin against her shoulder so his lips were almost touching her ear. His words filled her head. “You promise to be a good girl, Charla?”
He knows my name. Her body recoiled, filling with dread. He knows my goddamn name.
“What do you want?” she sputtered, trying to replay the vision of the man on top of the stairs. All she’d seen was black. A massive black figure with no face and a thick accent.
Boston. He’s from fucking Boston.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he replied calmly. The resolve in his voice sent shocks of warning through her body. He’d been in situations like this before. He was in complete control. “Don’t make me ask again. I don’t like repeating my questions.”
“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” she muttered, looking down at the floor below her. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. All she wanted to do was be in control of her body again. “Just let me down.”
“I thought a woman like you would have some manners,” he said, still holding her in the air.
“Please,” she hissed through her teeth as she eyed the bat.
“That’s better,” he replied. “But I’m going to make you promise me something.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, feeling more and more like a rag doll in his hands. She hated that someone could make her feel so vulnerable.
“I’ll put you down as long as you don’t go for the bat.” He let out a low chuckle that made the hair on her arms stand at full salute.
“I won’t go for the bat,” she recited the lie, trying to sound convincing.
“Good because if you do, I’ll put a bullet through your skull, and I don’t want to have to do that.” His grip around her loosened, and he lowered her until her feet touched the floor. He held her loosely around her waist.
Bullet through my skull. Panic waved through Charla as she struggled to stand. The bat seemed pointless against a gun. She looked towards the door to the patio. Her keys were dangling in the ignition. Her phone was in her purse on the passenger seat. Only thirty feet from freedom, but there was no way she’d be able to outrun him.
“You’re not going to get far,” he said behind her, sounding almost amused. She looked back to the kitchen counter, realizing she’d already packed away the knives. She was defenseless with nowhere to run.
“What do you want?” she asked, spinning around slowly. If she wanted to get out of this alive, she was going to have to give this bastard what he wanted. Her eyes gazed across his massive chest in a fitted black shirt and then followed it up to the ski mask covering his face. He was dressed head to toe black, including leather gloves. He clenched his fists, drawing attention to the gun holstered on his hip.
Shit, he wasn’t bluffing about the gun. Charla’s gut churned as she eyed the gun. He was almost a foot taller than her, putting him easily at 6’5”. And he was built like a brick house, his chest and shoulders broad and massive. The veins of his biceps pulsed on the edge of his t-shirt. Jade eyes stared back at her through the ski mask’s two holes.
Charla definitely wasn’t going anywhere.
“Where is it?” he asked without blinking.
“Where is what?” she replied, holding out her hands.
“I don’t like repeating my questions,” he replied, the edge in his voice deepening. He folded his arms across his chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pleaded, the panic rising in her voice. Whatever it was he wanted, he wasn’t going to leave without it. “What are you looking for?”
He cocked his head slightly, his eyes burning through her. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” Charla repeated
. “If it was something in the basement, I have no idea what it was. I was only an in-home caregiver…”
“Cut the shit,” he barked as he put his hand on his holster.
“Jack had Alzheimer’s,” she stuttered, swallowing hard. She put her hands in the air again. “I don’t know anything about what he might be hiding here. I’ve only been in the basement once or twice. I have no idea what’s down there. I have no idea what you’re looking for.”
“The bag,” he said, tightening his grip on the holster.
“What bag?” Adrenaline shot through her body. “I don’t know anything about a bag. I don’t know anything about anything. Jack was incomprehensible for the last six months. He was a crazy old man who forgot to wear his pants half the time. I think you’ve got the wrong place. Please.”
“I don’t have the wrong place.” He mocked her tone.
“Then look,” she said emphatically, waving her hands around. “Look around. Do whatever you need to do. Just let me go. I don’t know anything. Please. Let me get in my car and pretend like none of this ever happened.”
“Right.” He laughed. “Anyone else been in the house besides you?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Just me and Jack. That’s it.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, her mind raced to Liam. He ’d been in the house two days ago.
The man nodded his head and folded his arms across his chest again. A wave of relief coursed through her. The further his hand was away from the gun, the better. She inhaled, feeling an edge of courage seep back through her veins. There might be a shot she’d get out of here alive.
“That’s it? Just you and Jack,” he said.
“Yeah,” she lied, folding her arms across her chest. Breathe Charla.
“Where’s everything from the house? Half the stuff is gone.” He kept his eyes steady on her.
“I brought it to the thrift store,” she replied slowly, trying to figure out what Jack could have had that this man was looking for. She added quickly, “None of it had any value.”
“To you,” he replied, finally breaking eye contact to look around the kitchen. “Where is the stuff from his room?”
Charla swallowed hard, thinking of the box she’d given Liam yesterday. “Thrift store.”
He put his hands on his hips and let out a noise that sounded like a growl. “Fucking thrift store.”
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Where is it?” he demanded, taking a step toward her. He looked down at her with steely eyes.
“I don’t know what…” she started. He reached out his finger and pressed his gloved finger under her chin. He lifted her chin slowly, her jaw clenching beneath his finger.
“What fucking thrift store did you bring the stuff to do?” he breathed.
She trembled beneath his finger, trying to keep her composure. “Goodwill. Over in Blackwell.”
He leaned closer, their faces only six inches apart. She could smell the strong musky scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. She held her breath, her body paralyzed as he opened his mouth. Just as he started to speak, a muffled beep sounded from his pocket. He abruptly closed his lips together and stared at her for a second longer. Then he finally removed his finger from underneath her chin and grazed it along her cheekbone, sending shivers through her body. He smirked before leaning back and digging into his pocket. He glanced at his phone and then shoved it back into his pocket. He looked back at her, narrowing his eyes one last time before smirking again.
“It’s your lucky day, Ms. Taylor,” he said, his eyes crawling over her skin. Charla finally exhaled, hoping like hell this guy didn’t have a morbid sense of lucky. “Usually I’m not this generous, and the men I work for, they’re definitely not this generous. But you’re beautiful, and I like beautiful woman. I’d hate to see a pretty little head like yours floating in the lake.”
A sharp pang of fear radiated in Charla’s chest. This guy is fucking crazy.
“It’s a shame when something like that has to happen,” he said slowly, moving his eyes toward the back window overlooking the lake. He paused for a moment before turning back to her. He leaned in again, his voice steady and commanding. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going into your bedroom to sit on that bed. Count to sixty while I walk out of here. By the time you’re done counting, I’ll be gone. Then you can get in that shitty car of yours and go wherever you planned on going. You won’t call the police under any circumstances. If you do, your family and friends will find that pretty little head of yours floating face down in the lake.”
Charla swallowed hard and fought back tears. She opened her mouth but was unable to speak.
“Understand?” he asked.
She nodded her head violently.
“Don’t make me ask you again, Charla,” he warned.
“I understand,” she sputtered. “I promise.”
“Good girl,” he said, giving her one last look. “Do what I told you, and I’ll forget you were here.”
“Deal,” she whispered, counting down the seconds until she could flee into the room.
He bent down to pick up the bat. He gave it a small shake in the air before pointing it at her. “I wouldn’t want you to try anything crazy.”
She shook her head again, inching away from the bat.
“Goodbye, Charla.” He backed into the dining room, his eyes still steady on her. He let out a low laugh before turning to walk toward the patio door.
She exhaled and propelled her legs, fleeing past him. She ran through the hallway and slammed the door shut, locking it behind her. She jumped behind the bed and slid down to the floor, her body shaking violently. She waited for the squeak of the patio door, but it never came.
Instead his voice called out, piercing through her. “If I find out you lied about someone being here, I will kill you.”
She closed her eyes, beginning to count slowly to sixty and wondered if she was crazy to believe a word he said. Would he really leave? Is he going to put a bullet through the door? Finally, she heard the squeak of the patio door twice as it opened and closed slowly when she was halfway to sixty. She finished counting and peeled her eyes open. She sat for a few seconds longer, trying to gather the courage to get out of the room.
If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already.
Nothing can break you.
She got up on wobbly legs and turned the knob slowly. She inched the door toward her and peeked her head into the hallway. The house was silent.
Now or never.
She fled into the kitchen and grabbed her bag, swinging it over her shoulder. Then she scrambled through the living room and down the patio stairs to her waiting Corolla. She scanned the woods around her as she climbed into the car. He was gone. The woods were dense, and she hadn’t seen a car parked along the road on the way in. She flung the bag on the passenger seat and started the engine. She slammed on the gas, kicking up dust as her tires spun against the driveway. She swung around on the grass and sped down the driveway, checking her rear view mirror.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She gripped the wheel and watched the cottage disappear. She squealed onto the road, leaving the cottage and the man in the woods behind her. She was a mile down the road before she dug in her purse, grabbed her phone, and held it in her hand.
The man’s words echoed in her head. Don’t go to the police.
She wanted nothing else than to call 911. That’s what everyone was trained to do in emergency situations. You called the police. They would save you. She envisioned her dead body floating in the lake. There was no doubt he’d keep his promise, but she had to tell someone. She needed protection. She needed help. There was only person that would understand. One person who could help her.
Pick up, pick up, pick up.
Charla exhaled when Liam’s voice finally answered. “Hey.”
“Liam,” she stuttered.
“Charla?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?
”
She panted in the phone, trying to make sense of what just happened.
“Charla?” he asked again. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she whispered. She was here. Alive.
“What’s wrong?” His voice rose with panic. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m driving,” she replied. “I just left the cottage.”
“Did something happen?”
Her chest constricted. Liam needed to know. After all, he knew who Charla was. “There was a man in the cottage.”
“What?” Liam shouted. She heard a loud bang in the background. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to steady her breathing. “I’m totally fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” he said. “Pull over, Charla.”
Pull over. Brilliant idea. She put her foot on the brake and eased onto the shoulder.
“Are you pulled over?”
“Yes.” She put the Corolla in park and locked the doors. She looked into her rear view mirror half expecting to see a car following her, but all she saw was an empty road.
“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming to you.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she reassured, trying to convince herself, but she wasn’t fine. How could she be fine after that?
“Jesus, what happened? You have to tell me,” he replied.
“There was a man.” The words rushed out of her like a flood. “He was massive. Huge. He was wearing gloves and a ski mask. The cottage, he tore it up. Oh God, Liam, he had a gun. He knew my name. He knew my fucking name.” The cell phone shook against her ear.