by Love, Amy
She maneuvers herself to try to reach out for the next step and clumsily fumbles for it. As she’d predicted, there is one step and then another and then another. She has to virtually crawl up the stairs like a child on all fours, and she ignores the pain in her wrist at the jarring sensation, as she shuffles herself up. She scrapes her elbows against the hard floor, but she barely even notices. Her one focus is to get to the top, to get out of this place.
She’s lost count of how many steps she’s climbed, but the effort that it’s taken her feels more like she’s scaled a mountain than just gone up a staircase. She’s breathing hard, as she reaches her hands out only to find that there isn’t another step. Instead, she comes up against something hard and cold. Her fingers feel their way up, and she comes to grips with what this is. It’s a metal door, her way out.
She feels around, looking for some kind of a handle or lever, something that will open the door. Her fingers stretch frantically over the cold surface, but there’s nothing. She pushes hard against the door, putting the whole weight of her body behind her, trying to force it open, but it doesn’t even budge.
“Come on.” She whispers the words to herself, as she does another pass over the door, checking that she hasn’t missed anything, any small detail that could be the key to her getting out of this place.
She feels herself panicking, losing the thin thread of control she had over her emotions, as the realization of just how trapped she is sets in.
“Hey! Hey!” She hammers hard on the door with her fist. “Let me out! Let me out of here!” she screams, as she kicks the door and throws her weight against it, making as much noise as she can. “Somebody help me! I’m down here!” Her voice cracks, as all the anger she’s used to get her to the top of the stairs dissipates into despair.
There’s no answer from the other side of the door, not even a sound, nothing. There’s no light coming from underneath it. Whatever is on the other side, there’s no one there who wants to help her. She turns around, her back sliding against the door, as she slips to the floor. She leans her head back, feeling the unforgiving inflexibility of the door behind her.
“Grayson, where are you?” The words come out in a whisper, as she hugs her knees to her chest, curling up in the fetal position. “Please come find me.” She jumps, as she feels something brush against her bare arm. “What the hell?”
She strains her eyes, searching through the dark at what had just passed by her. When she hears the squeaking from below her, she wishes that she hadn’t asked. Adriana had never thought of herself as squeamish, but rats were a whole different story to her. They were something that she really was afraid of, something that made her skin crawl and her stomach roll.
Suddenly, Adriana became filled with the overwhelming need for her mother, as if she could come to protect her, to make everything right again. Adriana’s mother had left so many years ago, she has trouble even picturing her face. However, as she cries, she feels a longing in her chest that she has kept buried for so many years.
“Mama, where are you?” She buries her head in her hands, giving herself over to the emotions.
She thinks back to the conversation she’d had with Grayson about her mother, something that feels like it happened months, even years, ago but it had only been a few days. Time was beginning to lose all kind of meaning ever since she was stuck in this dark dungeon.
“Don’t you ever wonder where she is?” Grayson had asked her, as they walked along the beach that first day they’d spent together after finding each other again.
Adriana had shrugged, looking out onto the ocean, not wanting to let all those old feelings of abandonment and pain play out across her face for him to see. She knew he wouldn’t judge her, but there was something so intensely private about her relationship—or lack of one—with her mother that she hadn’t ever been able to share it with anyone. It was a pain that never quite healed and always remained fresh. It was as if no time had passed since that afternoon her father had told her that her mother was gone and she wasn’t coming back.
“Sometimes I think about it,” Adriana had admitted truthfully. “Sometimes I wonder if she found whatever it was that she was searching for. I wonder if she met another guy, if she had another family, if she had another daughter.” She’d let one solitary tear slip down her cheek then and that was all that she’d allowed herself to cry for her lost mother.
“It must be hard, not knowing.” Grayson’s voice had been low and full of concern, full of feeling. He’d reached out to take hold of her hand, like he was giving her strength, and she’d been grateful for the support.
She’d smiled up at him, wryly. “Only when I really think about it.” She shrugged. “It’s weird; I don’t even really think of myself as having a mother anymore. There’s some woman out there who left me and my dad when I was just a kid. That’s not a mother; that’s just someone who gave birth to me.”
“Have you ever tried to find her? To find out where she is? I mean, she could be in Miami; she could be living two blocks away from you and you wouldn’t know.” The idea seemed to be something that Grayson couldn’t quite wrap his head around.
“Have you ever tried to find your dad since you told him to leave?” Adriana had leveled a look at him and hadn’t missed the way he’d flinched at the mention of his father.
“That was different.” Grayson’s jaw had been set like stone, the emotions of his youth spent afraid and beaten and hurt rushing back to him. “Your mother didn’t beat you with a belt so bad you couldn’t sit down in class the next day.”
Adriana had felt her heart squeeze tightly in her chest at the thought of Grayson as a little boy, hurt, bloody, and afraid.
“No, she didn’t do that. But she left, without an explanation, without a word, without a goodbye. She left knowing that I would need her, knowing that she was leaving me behind.” Adriana remembers laying her hand on Grayson’s shoulder and how she’d felt his body relax underneath her touch. “She made me feel worthless, like I didn’t matter, like I wasn’t important.” Adriana had watched as understanding dawned in Grayson’s eyes, as if it was in that moment he’d realized that there were all different kinds of abuse, all different kinds of pain.
“She’d never made any effort to find me, even after all these years; so, I returned the favor. I figured that she was the one who left, so she should be the one who made the first move. Otherwise, I just have to assume that she wants to stay out of my life.” She’d taken a deep breath and smiled through the threatening tears. “Now, shall we go get some ice cream? All that depressing talk has made me desperate for something sweet.”
Grayson had looked at her then, as if he was going to say something, but he’d just smiled and led her towards his favorite gelato place on the strip. Now, she can’t help but wonder if what Grayson had wanted to tell her was an explanation of what she had read in that article her captors had so thoughtfully provided her.
She had pushed the thought of what she’d read as far from the forefront of her mind as she could, but now it’s back, and she can’t not think about it. Not only is she stuck in a basement in the middle of God knows where with no way of getting out and with rats providing the background music, but she is having to face the very real possibility that Grayson, the man whom she loves is, in fact, a murderer. ‘Bad day’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, Adriana thinks to herself ruefully.
She starts banging the back of her head rhythmically against the door, as if she could knock the negative thoughts about Grayson out of her head. If only. If only Grayson would come for her. If only he would explain everything and tell her what really happened to that dead fighter. If only she could get out of this place. If only someone would open the damn door. She bangs her head against the metal one last time—hard, and that’s when she hears it.
Adriana scrambles to her feet, her ears straining to make out what’s happening on the other side of the door. It sounds like footsteps, a couple of different sets. She doesn’
t hear any voices, but she does hear something that makes her breath catch in her throat, something that makes her wonder if someone up there really was listening to what she was wishing for. It’s the sound of locks clicking and something heavy, like a bolt, sliding out of place.
She prepares herself to rush at the door as soon as it opens, to use the force of her body to knock whoever is on the other side down and then… Well, that was the problem. Once she was past them, she had no idea what else lay in store for her, and she wasn’t exactly a force to be reckoned with bearing in mind her bound hands and swollen, sprained wrist.
Adriana is still debating what she should do, when the door is thrown open and she’s blinded with the force of the light that streams in to her dark little corner of the world. She throws up her hands to shade her eyes, feeling like the rats that scamper away from the light, scurrying into whatever shade they can find.
“Hello, my dear. I think it’s about time we had a little chat, don’t you?” The voice that reaches her ears is ice cold. She feels her insides clench, as she recognizes the short man who had instructed his goon to incapacitate her in her apartment.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Her words come out like venom, an anger that she didn’t even know she was capable of escaping her.
“Now, now, my dear. I’m sure that’s not true. After what you’ve read, I’m sure you have a great many questions that only I can answer for you about your beloved Grayson.” His eyes glitter with something close to glee, as he bears witness to the conflict playing out within her.
GRAYSON
“It’s not as simple as just throwing the fight, Grayson.” West clearly has no intention of letting this go, his dogged line of argument hasn’t changed since the start of the conversation.
“I came here for help, West, not for a lecture.” Grayson delivers a roundhouse kick at the punching bag, as he feels his nervous energy running away from him. He has to keep focused, for Adriana. “I have to do whatever Morrison wants.” He says the words dully, hating them as they come out of his mouth.
“Well, Morrison didn’t want you to tell anyone about this, so I’m guessing you’re not quite his little puppet yet.” Tommy shakes his head, as if he’s disappointed in Grayson, the man he’s always looked up to like a hero.
“Tommy, you’ve never been in love. Come back to me when you know what the fuck you’re talking about.” Grayson waves his friend’s comment away, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.
“Cool it! Both of you!” West uses his best coach’s voice to cut through the animosity between the two men. It’s only when he’s happy that they’ve both stood down that he continues. “I’m not trying to lecture you, Grayson, but we’re not talking about some little underground fight back in Philly.” West’s expression is hard, as he tries to make his protégé understand what he can see so clearly. “It’s not just about making the fight look real to the judges, to the crowd, and to the cameras. We’re not just talking about the potential of someone outside of the three of us finding out about this and ending your career. That’s not what the big risk is here.” He levels a look at Grayson, making it clear that Grayson knows very well what it is that West is talking about.
“You’re talking about Dexter, about what he does in the ring.” Grayson nods in understanding. He had been so crazy over what Morrison had done, using Adriana as a bargaining chip, worrying about what she might be going through, that he hadn’t even taken his opponent in the ring into account.
“He doesn’t go easy on the other guy.” Tommy nods his head in agreement at West’s words.
“I don’t care. I’ll take whatever he throws at me.” Grayson’s voice is grim determination personified.
“Doesn’t go easy?” West lifts an eyebrow, highlighting the understatement in Tommy’s comment. “Dexter has put the last three guys he’s fought in the hospital. One of them is still in a coma, and his wife is facing the very real probability that if he ever does wake up he’ll be about as conscious as a stick of celery. The other two guys aren’t likely to ever fight again.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Grayson starts to shake his head, not wanting to hear all this again, but West has no intention of giving up that easily.
“It doesn’t matter if you end up a vegetable by letting Dexter win? Or that you can never fight again because one more blow to the head would result in permanent brain damage? Can you really look me in the eye and say that none of that is important?” West narrows his eyes at the man he looks upon as a son and holds his breath.
Tommy looks between the two men, probably wondering if he’s going to have to step in again to avoid a fight, something that he’s been doing a lot of recently. “G, think about this, Dexter doesn’t take any prisoners in the ring and, after the little pissing contest at the party last night, he’s going to go all out on you. You know that as well as I do. If you were fighting to win, it would be one thing, but if you’re fighting to lose, then that’s a whole different ballgame. Grayson, he could really hurt you—permanently.”
Grayson rakes his fingers through his hair. He had come to West for answers, but now all he has is more confusion. “I got Adriana into this mess; I have to get her out.” It’s the only thing that he can accept; he can’t let her get hurt because of his mistakes. He’s never let anyone fight his battles for him; he’s not about to start now.
“And do you think that’s what Adriana would want? That she would want you to give up everything, maybe even your life? Do you think that she would be able to live with herself, knowing that?” West rubs his temples to alleviate the headache that is probably hovering somewhere behind his right eye. “I don’t know her well, but I think I know her well enough to be able to say that girl wouldn’t want you to do this.”
“Good thing she doesn’t get a choice then.” Grayson smiles, but there’s no hint of humor in his eyes. There’s nothing remotely funny about this situation. He rubs his chest absently. Before he’d met Adriana, he had never thought that it was possible to miss someone so much that it actually created a physical ache. He’d felt it since that night ten years ago when he knew he could never see her again, not after what he had done and after what he had become. He’d managed to fool himself into thinking that the ache was gone, that it had disappeared, and that he’d forgotten about her and how she’d made him feel. However, all it had taken was one look that night in the club and he had felt everything all over again. In that moment, he had known that he would do anything for her and be whoever she needed him to be.
“G, you’re not thinking straight! Listen to what West is saying. There must be another way to get her back. We just need to think clearly and analyze this from every angle, like we would a fight.” Tommy’s earnestness is infectious, but Grayson will not allow himself hear what he’s saying.
Grayson’s ears are closed off, and he is settled on what he knows he has to do. “And while we’re sitting here debating this and throwing ideas at the goddam wall to see if any of them stick, what do you think Morrison is doing to Adriana? What do you think she’s going through every minute that we’re just fucking talking?”
ADRIANA
The lights are back on and the goon has manhandled her down the stairs, tying her restrained hands to a water pipe running down the wall. Then, he hurries to get a chair for his boss.
“It’s just a precaution, my dear. It’s nothing personal.” The short man gestures towards her restraints before he settles himself elegantly down into the chair. The goon takes a step back, but continues to stare at Adriana as if she is the first hot meal he is likely to get all year.
“Well, excuse me if it’s a little hard to believe you. You broke into my apartment, drugged me, and locked me in your little dungeon of doom here. That feels pretty personal.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but she holds onto that anger. Anger is better than fear and better than the tears that completely overtook her on the stairs.
“It’s just business, Adriana. May I
call you Adriana?” The man looks at her deferentially. The situation would be funny if she wasn’t pretty sure that he is going to kill her at the first available opportunity.
“I don’t think I’m really in a position to tell you what you can and can’t do.” She looks pointedly at the pipe that she’s been tied to.
“Smart girl.” He nods appreciatively, as if he’s impressed with her reasoning abilities.
“And what should I call you? You have me at a bit of a disadvantage on more than one front.” She tries to keep her voice calm and confident, not letting him see that inside she’s feeling anything but.
“You may call me Morrison.” He looks at her a little expectantly as if she should react somehow.
“Should that name mean something to me?” She frowns, looking as unimpressed as possible.
“Grayson never mentioned me? I should have assumed as much.” He sighs loudly. “After all the time we spent together, it’s sad that he doesn’t talk about our little adventures. But, what can you do?” He shrugs, his hands open as if to show how powerless he is. It’s a little hard for Adriana to believe his little act when she’s completely at his mercy.