Ensnared

by I N Foggarty

  “Roca, load up the guns and get ready. When I pitch these bastards over we’re getting out and putting a stop to this.”

  “For fuck sake, Rae. You try any more of your shit and they’ll be scraping us off the fucking road.” For the first time, Ramone could sense genuine fear coming from his comrade. He had never known the big man to be scared of anything, except on the rare occasions when he got drunk enough to speak of his grandmother.

  “Just fucking do it, Roca,” he spat, pulling out his gun and tossing it to the man.

  The shallow bend opened up onto a long straight strip of asphalt. Out in the distance, he could see the road inclined up towards a towering rock formation on the left, then skirted around it. That would be his spot. The corner would be tight and the black van would have to slow in order to make it. He would hit them there. He tightened his grip on the wheel while beside him, Roca reloaded the weapons. It would all be over soon.

  A few moments later Roca handed him back his gun. He holstered it, while under his breath, he whispered the only line he could remember from any of the old preacher's prayers. “Ave Maria, Gratia plena,” He had no idea what it meant, but it sounded fitting.

  Closing up to the back of the other van he regulated his speed and prepared himself. One way or another, come that corner, it would all end. He would either be cast down to Satan or find the path to his salvation… His eyes widened as one of the back doors of the black van burst open.

  ##

  The road in front of them twisted and turned and Anna could do nothing but lie there, helpless. Her skin slowly turned cold and clammy, beads of sweat starting to form. Matt could not save her and she doubted Rae and Roca would have any feelings of goodwill towards her, should they somehow managed to stop The Violator's vehicle. The driver had announced the Mexicans return to the chase and for a brief moment, she had held hope that Matt had decided to give up, having narrowly avoided a collision with the other van. It was not to be.

  Beneath her, the now warm leather had become sticky and felt as though it had melded with her skin. She tried to shift her body but found it impossible to do anything more than lift herself up a few millimetres. Panting, Anna flopped back into a motionless state. Though a sheet covered her, she still felt fully exposed. Her naked body at the complete mercy of a man who terrified her. She started to shake again, her mind involuntarily recalling the sensation of The Violator's latex-clad fingers. Softly he stroked her wiry, unkempt pubic hair. A shiver ran down her spine. The cold, slimy feeling of what she now realised must have been a lubricant, rubbed gently over her private area. Her eyes began to sting again, the memory of her violation reaching its climax in excruciating detail.

  “Sir, they’re both still on our tail.” The voice of the driver drew Anna out of her mind trap. She had never been so grateful to hear another person talk. “That Mexican is probably going to try and ram us again.”

  “And I had hoped that they would have taken the hint by now,” The Violator sighed. There was a note of genuine dismay and regret in his words Anna detected.

  A new voice, from somewhere to her right spoke next. “Allow us to handle the situation, Sir.”

  No reply came, but Anna could hear the unmistakable sound of guns being cocked. A clunk signalled the back door opening, allowing the harsh tones of the second van's engine to enter. The smell of gunpowder engulfed her nostrils as the first series of shots were fired, two gunmen with semi-automatics by her reckoning. With a lack of commentary, she could only guess at what the screech of tyres, bang of bullets and chinks of metal hitting metal were resulting in. Then the driver spoke again.

  “Sir, the van’s dropping back.”

  “Good,” The Violator sounded pleased, almost smug. “Perhaps they have realised the folly in their endeavour.”

  A note of shock rang in the driver’s tone when he replied. “Sir, the motorcycle. It’s just overtaken them.”

  “What!” Anna yelled in horror, not even realising that she had vocalised the thought. The sound of guns reloading followed by a new wave of shots caused her eyes to widen. “NO… DON’T!”

  An image of Matt’s blood-soaked, battered and bullet-ridden corpse, lying sprawled out on the tarmac, filled her mind. “Please…” she begged, a fresh set of tears rolling down her cheeks from behind the blindfold. “…I’ll do anything…” The words caught in her throat and she could feel her resolve to fight The Violator slip, her Achilles heel on perfect display. “…Just don’t kill Matt.”

  The bullets continued to fly.” NO!” she screamed, her body shaking violently against her bonds. “DON’T KILL MATT!” Bucking from side to side, she tried to shift the gurney only for a firm pair of hands to clamp down on her right leg and arm. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” A second set gripped her other side. “LET GO OF ME, YOU BASTARDS!”

  Anna felt the sheet lifted off her right arm and a latex-clad hand grab her triceps. Seconds later and a cold, wet sensation spread across her skin. “What are you… ah… NO!...” Something sharp pierced her arm and she could feel a cool liquid flow into her vein. “You… bastard…” she struggled to say as her eyes rolled inside her head and her body fell limp.

  Close to the edge

  The sound of gunfire cut through the collective engine noise and Matt could not resist the urge to see what was happening. Glancing to his left he could see that the opposite side of the carriageway remained devoid of traffic; he had passed few cars since leaving the dirt track. Guiding the bike out it quickly became apparent which side was firing the shots. One of the back doors of the black van hung open and two men, one standing the other crouched, were letting off shots at the vehicle directly behind them.

  He would have to bide his time, for now, Matt thought, returning the bike to relative safety. By the time he had found a suitable stretch of road on which to pass the Mexican’s, they had both caught up to the black van. An overtake had thus become impossible. Pulling back on the throttle, he cursed beneath his helmet. Why were the kidnappers not doing more to harry the bastards?

  He had already concluded that, unless the black van ran out of fuel, the chase would continue until either it escaped or was forced to stop.

  “Come on,” Matt urged in annoyance when the Mexicans started to weave from side to side. “Ram them off the road!”

  He had been silently hoping the white vehicle would take them out and allow him the chance to settle this on foot. A group of dazed men clambering single file out of an upturned van would be far easier to deal with. Especially if the Mexican’s, like back at the garage, elected to point their guns in the same direction. Inside his jacket, he felt Walker’s firearm dig into his chest once more, still accessible for when the time arrived.

  On his right, Dylan had fallen silent, a mere passenger to events. Matt had paid him no heed since he had been told about the turn-off. How long ago that had been he did not know, however, it felt like a lifetime. Maybe he would consider the boy’s involuntary presence part of his punishment. He smiled to himself. Once this was all over he would probably end up forgiving Dylan… assuming he started being friendly towards Anna.

  Anna. His mind lingered on her image. Crimson hair billowing out behind her and piercing green eyes gazing at him above a sassy smirk. Impatiently he moved the bike out and stole another look, the Mexican’s had dropped back from the back of the black van. What the hell were they playing at? Why had they not fired back, or hit them, or... something? Inside the lead vehicle, the two men moved behind the closed door and for a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of something red amidst the dark.

  “ANNA!” Matt screamed, his frustration boiling over.

  Twisting the throttle to its maximum Matt pulled the bike out onto the other side of the road and breezed past the white vehicle that lay in-between him and his prize. Slotting back in between the two vans he took his left hand off the handlebar and forced the zipper of his jacket down. Stuffing it inside, he seized Walker’s gun and hastily withdrew it. The tyres, he thought, scene
s from various car chase movies cycling through his head. With difficulty, he weaved one-handed in towards the centre of the road. Clumsily he fired a series of four shots at the left rear.

  “Fuck!” he declared, the lack of recoil telling him that the magazine had emptied. Absent-mindedly he tossed the useless hunk of metal to the road and returned his hand to the handlebar.

  Moving back to his side of the road he felt the bike shake slightly and they began to climb a hill. Up ahead the road began to rise and bend its way around a tall rock formation on the left. To the right, a valley began to form as they continued to climb higher. Soon a metal barrier began to run along the edge of the asphalt, a buffer between them and the ten-foot drop on the other side.

  “Oh shit!” The two men had reappeared at the back door and now had their guns pointed squarely at him.

  At the sound of the first shots, he quickly lowered his body over the top of the fuel tank. When one hit the ground in front of him, he instinctively began to weave the bike from side to side. He had played enough video games over the years to know that a moving target stood a much better chance of avoiding taking hits. Somewhere, he was vaguely aware of Dylan screaming but he did not have time for the boy now.

  At the top of the hill, the van turned the corner, giving him a momentary reprieve. Following suit, he glimpsed the white one in the mirror. Apparently, the Mexican’s had not decided to give up. Exiting the bend brought a return to the gunfire. Several more shots flew over his head before one finally chinked the frame of the steering column. Mark would undoubtedly kill him for that scratch.

  A moment later and it happened. Lingering too long in order to avoid a pothole one of the men hit their target. The front wheel screeched and the tire blew out from the shot.

  As if in slow motion, the handlebars twisted right and his left arm went into a spasm, his grip gave way and suddenly he held nothing but air. In a blur everything of his life, everything he was or possibly could be flashed in his mind. His last tangible thought was of Anna and with a sudden pang of longing and grief, he realised he had failed.

  Dylan screamed again from somewhere beside him. Veering uncontrollably the bike careened towards the barrier and Matt was thrown, helplessly, into the path of the oncoming white van.

  A flight of fancies

  Up above the clouds, a luxury private jet soared across the majestic azure evening sky. The glistening of the sun’s rays off its wings may have been considered a thing of beauty had there been anyone around able to witness it. Inside the cabin, The Visitor reclined back in a soft cream leather armchair and for a moment enjoyed the quiet that only the low hum of the engines prevented from being total silence. Essentially, he was alone, just how he liked it. In his left hand, he absentmindedly swirled the burnt orange contents of a crystal rocks glass. The occasional clinking of the sole ice cube with the sides sounding somewhat soothing.

  The day had been… interesting he mused, taking a sniff of the twenty-five-year-old malt. The glass did not quite capture all the aromas but he could still detect an undertone of toasted almonds beneath the heavy sherry soaked fruits; there was also the slightest hint of something he would associate with old leather. Taking a sip, he rolled the fiery liquid around his tongue. Vanilla and dark chocolate opened the pallet if he were not mistaken, though the sherry quickly overpowered it, bringing the taste of spiced fruitcake to the fore; notes of orange rounded it off. The whiskey had a lot going on, almost analogous to the day’s events.

  He sighed. Even though he had procured both young ladies without paying a penny, the events that had followed had been unfortunate… regrettable even. He had reprimanded two of his escort afterwards but it would not change matters. Taking another drink he sat the glass down on the surface of a low chrome plated table. Standing, he made his way to the rear of the cabin. Along either side of the fuselage sat the two gurneys, both securely affixed to the floor.

  Restrained and covered up to the neck, the two young ladies lay in a chemically induced state of unconsciousness. IV’s on stands locked into the gurneys ensured they both stayed that way and would not become dehydrated during the flight. After having examined them both closely, he had deduced that the ginger-haired one, currently on his right, was two years younger by his reckoning than her counterpart. However, despite her general uncleanliness, a result of having been kept in such diabolical conditions no doubt, he found there was very little remarkable about her. The same could not be said about the other. Though there had been points during the ordeal where she had lost composure and even broken down, who would not, given the same situation? The red-haired girl had somehow dug deep and continued to fight until the moment he had decided she needed to be sedated. Even now, her occasional moan and jostle served as a testament to her inner strength as she fought the drug’s effects.

  The visitor allowed himself a sad smile and looked down at her fevered body. He would wager that every part of her being, from her calloused feet and guitarists fingers to her flushed pale skin and died crimson hair, even the old knife wound on her left shoulder, told part of her story. It would almost be a shame to send her off to be trained as his employer’s latest playmate. Unfortunately, he had little choice. The man had become tired of the last three companions far sooner than could have been anticipated, and the obscure request for someone with ‘fire in their belly’ had been difficult to fulfil.

  Almost on cue the satellite phone began to ring. “And I was just beginning to relax,” the man sighed, plucking the handset out of the dock. He already knew who would be calling.

  “Good morning, Sir,” he answered in an airy tone. “I am right in saying morning? Time zones can be slightly awkward to deduce when you have been travelling around so frequently.”

  “Yes, yes, never mind that man. How is she?”

  The visitor pinched the bridge of his nose, the irate and discourteous voice of his superior booming through the earpiece. “How is who, Sir?”

  “Damnit man, the girl.” Before he had the chance to say the words ‘which girl’ the caller added. “The ginger-haired one you told me about.”

  A puzzled look spread across The Visitor's face and he strode back to where his unconscious captives lay. He had not said a word to the man about the ginger haired girl. “Ginger haired one, Sir?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean,” the man replied irritably. The Visitor did not have a clue. Perhaps his employer was having another one of his odd turns. “Ginger, orange, red, or whatever else you want to call it. How is she?”

  Like the cogs in a well-oiled machine, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly slotted themselves into place. When he had spoken to his superior in order to have the funds released to purchase the young ladies, he had only bothered to describe the red-haired girl, already believing that the ginger-haired one would be of no interest. His employer had clearly taken ‘red hair’ to be synonymous with ‘red-head’ and thus thought she was ginger. The visitor laughed internally. Well, that could transpire to be an inconvenience. He might soon discover that he had two ladies unfit for purpose, instead of just one.

  “Are you sure that is what you want, Sir?” He ventured cautiously. There was no need to reveal his hand unless directly called for.

  “Damnit man, of course I’m sure. What a ridiculous thing to ask.” In the background, he heard a sound that he knew belonged to one his employer’s fat fists coming down on something heavy.

  “I thought you wanted someone with some fire in their belly.”

  “What! Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth would I want someone like that?” The Visitor resisted the urge to say ‘because that is what you asked for’; he knew the other man far too well. “It would be worse than that time you got me that gaggle of giggling high school girls.”

  Another of his superiors fancies The Visitor recalled and he chuckled to himself. He could remember the man bursting into his office and using his sheer weight to hold the door shut after they had chased him down the stairs demanding he play some biz
arre kissing game. “Anyway I’ve been watching an anime of late and I’ve taken quite a shine to this ginger haired girl. I want photographs at once.”

  “Of the girl from the Anime, Sir?”

  “What? No. I’ve got plenty of those already. Pictures of the girl you’re bringing me.”

  The Visitor looked down at the ginger-haired girl. Her face was grubby and her hair a matted mess. If he were to show her off in such a state, his employer would most likely refuse her point blank. The concept of what soap and water could do had often been lost on him. “She is not in the right condition for photographs at the moment, Sir.”

  “Why ever not?” his superior demanded hotly, the sound of his fist becoming audible again.

  “She was not kept in the cleanest of environments. Perhaps it would be best if you waited until I return so she can be washed, Sir?”

  There was a pause for a moment while his employer considered this option. “Fine, very well. Nevertheless, I want a full collection of photos the instant she is cleaned. I don’t care if she is still wet… In fact, leave her wet. I do have a liking for that sort of look. Besides, I’ll want her in a swimsuit half the time anyway.”

  The Visitor rolled his eyes. “Of course, Sir. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, yes. Now quit bothering me. My morning programs are about to start.” the line went dead.

  Lowering the handset the Visitors eyes shifted over to the red-haired girl and watched a moment as her brow furrowed in her sleep. Gently he placed the back of his hand against her warm forehead and considered her again, his eyes lingering on the bandage he had wrapped her injured foot in and then on her face, cheeks flushed with fever. From the moment he saw her incapacitate her cell mate with ease, he could not help but feel intrigued. Inexplicably drawn to her like a moth to a flame. At the time he had told himself it was because she fit the bill of his employers latest request perfectly. However, now, he was no longer sure. Walking back to his drink he placed the phone handset down and pushing up his shirtsleeves took a handful of ice from the bucket on the table. He dropped the cubes into a linen napkin and approaching the girl again, placing his makeshift ice pack onto her burning forehead.