Going Gone

by Sharon Sala

  “Look what you made me do,” he muttered. “About ruined my dinner is what you did.”

  You plan death and then eat as if nothing was wrong. There is a devil in your brain. I don’t like you anymore.

  “As if I didn’t already know that,” Hershel said as he set the plate in the microwave and hit Start.

  The hum of the microwave matched the vibration in his body. Sometimes he felt as if he was coming apart, and that, when the vibration got strong enough, he would shatter. When the microwave dinged, he actually jumped, half expecting to implode. It took a moment for him to realize it only meant his food was hot.

  He opened the door, his hands shaking, and then carried his plate to the living room and sat down to eat. He aimed the remote, upped the volume and ate blindly, unaware of the taste or the show while waiting for a scream that never came.

  Ten

  Laura tossed the duffel bag with her workout clothes in the backseat, and then got in and buckled up. She popped in a CD as she drove away from the house. The drive to work was anything but smooth, but the upbeat music of Maroon 5 dulled the frustration of morning traffic. By the time she pulled into the parking lot at Red Cross headquarters, she was ready for the day.

  As usual, it took a while to get to her office. Inevitably, someone stopped her to ask a question or, lately, to congratulate her on her upcoming nuptials. By the time she was in her office, she had half a dozen requests to check on.

  Her secretary had entered the day’s agenda on the iPad on her desk, and there was fresh coffee in the pot on her credenza, along with a cinnamon-raisin bagel and cream cheese. Within minutes she was returning phone calls and routing emergency supplies across the country between bites.

  There was a flood in Colorado, a forest fire in California and a massive train derailment in New England. Two of the locations already had Red Cross shelters in operation, and the last one was in the process of setting up.

  She got a text from Cameron before lunch telling her he would be out of town for the rest of the day but back in time to meet her at the gym that evening, and he signed it with a kissy-face emoticon. She sent a smiley face back and kept working.

  It was almost quitting time when she got another text from Cameron letting her know he was back in the city and at the gym. She texted him back that she was leaving the office, and then did so in haste, wanting to get ahead of the traffic.

  The first vehicle she saw as she drove into the parking lot was Cameron’s SUV. Anxious to see his sweet face, she grabbed her bag from the backseat and headed inside.

  She spotted him at the weight bench and paused to watch the play of muscles in his arms and chest. Her eyes narrowed as she realized Tate was spotting him, and Wade was on a treadmill nearby. Either she’d walked in on a regular workout, or they were all here on her behalf.

  She stopped at the desk, got a key to a locker in the women’s dressing room and went to change. She came out a few minutes later wearing tennis shoes, stretchy bike shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was tied back, her chin was up and she was ready to take whatever they dished out.

  Tate saw her coming.

  “Hey, buddy, here comes your girl,” he said.

  Cameron finished the lift and grabbed a towel as Laura approached.

  “Looking good,” he said, eyeing her trim body beneath the figure-hugging clothes.

  She glanced at Tate. “Are you and Wade here because of me, or is this your usual time to work out?”

  “Busted,” Tate said.

  Wade came up behind her and tugged the ponytail hanging down her back.

  “Hey, short stuff. How’s it going?”

  She shrugged. “It’s good. It’s all good,” she said.

  Cameron gave her a quick hug and led the way into a room he’d already reserved. Normally it was used for yoga classes, but this evening it was theirs. There was a wall of mirrors running the length of a long wall with long bars mounted end to end for warm-ups, and a large mat in the middle of the floor.

  They walked out onto the mat, and then all of a sudden Wade turned and grabbed Cameron from behind. Before she could register what was happening, Wade was on his back on the mat and Cameron was free.

  Cameron turned to Laura. “If you get him down, that’s when you run.”

  Laura’s eyes widened. “You think I can do this?”

  “You can absolutely do that,” Tate said. “Even to someone as big as Cameron.”

  A calm feeling washed over her. If they said she could do it, then she could, and she wanted to know how.

  “Show me,” she said.

  And they did.

  * * *

  For the past two days Mr. Charles Trent, Esq., had been arguing a case at the federal courthouse in D.C., and the ruling had finally come down with a judgment in his client’s favor. After congratulations all around, he went back to his office, elated with the win and the fat fee he’d received for his efforts.

  Joan, his secretary of twelve years, was finishing up some paperwork when he rolled in the door. His briefcase was in his lap, and there was a big smile on his face,

  When she saw him, she smiled.

  “Congratulations! I knew you would win this.”

  Charles was more than a little pleased himself.

  “I have to admit, it was satisfying to see big business take a fall on this one, but I’m glad it’s over. Look, I’m going to dictate some final notes before I leave, but you can type them up tomorrow. Call it a day and go home, beat the rush-hour traffic for a change.”

  “Thanks. I think I will, although you know if I go home early, it means I’ll have to take Killer for more than a walk around the block.”

  He laughed. Killer was Joan’s Yorkie, a tiny hairball with feet and the heart of a lion, the antithesis of mean.

  A few minutes later Joan was gone and Charles was at his desk tying up loose ends for the night.

  * * *

  Hershel was on stakeout near Charles Trent’s office. He’d followed him there from the courthouse, and from where he was parked he had a clear view of who came and went. He already knew that Trent had a security alarm on his van, so breaking in ahead of time wasn’t going to happen. But the alarm was always turned off when Trent opened it to get inside, and Hershel had a ready ruse to stop the lawyer from pressing any kind of alarm before he could get to him. That would give him all the time he needed.

  * * *

  Sweat was dripping down Laura’s face. She had a burgeoning bruise on her arm from stepping into a hand chop instead of away from it, but there was a glint in her eye that meant business. They kept the lesson down to just a few basic moves, and then, for practice purposes, kept repeating them over and over until she had them down pat. Each time they repeated the steps, Cameron would let her break free of his grasp. Sometimes Wade would step in for Cameron, and sometimes Tate, getting her accustomed to how it felt to be accosted by different-size men with different body types. They had been at it nearly two hours when Cameron tossed her a towel.

  “Is that it?” she asked as she wiped the sweat from her face.

  His eyes narrowed. “We’re going to do this one more time, only this time you have to get free on your own.”

  She wiped the palms of her hands on her sweatpants and widened her stance.

  Cameron eyed his partners and grinned.

  “I don’t know about you, but I think I’m scared.”

  Laura glared. “Don’t make fun of me, damn it.”

  “Are you pissed?” Wade asked.

  She narrowed her eyes warningly. “I might be.”

  “Good, because that’s what’s going to keep you alive,” Wade said.

  She straightened up and slowly put her hands on her hips.

  “You were goading me on purpose, weren’t you?” />
  “Forgive us?” Tate asked as he extended his arm in a gesture of peace.

  Within seconds she had him on his knees, one hand cupping his crotch.

  “Holy shit, woman, I did not see that coming,” he muttered.

  Wade rushed her.

  Laura reacted instinctively as she let out a bloodcurdling scream and stepped sideways, aiming a kick toward the side of his knee rather than at his kneecap.

  He dodged just in time and spun, grabbing her from behind.

  She stomped his instep as she jabbed an elbow in his ribs. When she heard him grunt, she knew she’d landed a solid blow.

  Wade backed off and frowned. “I was going to take it easy on her. I just didn’t expect the scream.”

  “Enough,” Cameron said.

  “Good job,” Wade said as he got to his feet.

  Tate gave her a thumbs-up.

  Even though they’d planned to pull their punches, she was pleased to know she’d taken them by surprise.

  “So Tate and I are out of here,” Wade said, and both of them patted her on the back as they went to the dressing room to change and go home.

  “That was really good,” Cameron echoed.

  She stopped. “For real?”

  He held out his hand. “Yes, honey, for real—but this only works if he doesn’t use the Taser. You’re powerless if he does.”

  She shuddered. “Will we do this again sometime?”

  “As often as you like until you feel safe.”

  She looked away quickly, but not before he saw the tears in her eyes.

  He tilted her chin. “What is it, Laura?”

  She touched the cross beneath her shirt and then laid her face against his chest.

  “Honey?”

  “I never feel safe anymore. Not really.”

  He groaned as he pulled her closer, holding her tight against his body.

  “I would give a year of my life to make what happened to you go away. I will never understand what you went through in the crash, or the hell that came after. All I can do is love you forever and promise I won’t let you down.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” When he leaned down for a kiss, he tasted her tears. “Don’t cry. It kills me to see you cry.”

  “I want to go home. Can we go home now?” she asked.

  “Yes, baby, we can go home. You go change, and I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

  She walked away, swiping tears as she left the room.

  * * *

  It was long past dinnertime when Charles Trent locked up his office and wheeled out of the building. His battery-powered wheelchair rolled smoothly through the lobby as he waved goodbye to the security guard on duty.

  “See you tomorrow,” Charles said.

  The guard waved back.

  A cold wind enveloped Charles as he exited the building and then wheeled around the corner to the employee parking lot. It was nearly empty, save for a few scattered cars and the vans that belonged to the cleaning crews.

  He glanced up at the sky, frowning. Not a star in sight, and there were a couple of lights out in the parking lot, as well. He made a mental note to mention it to the building superintendent tomorrow.

  He headed across the lot toward his van. The keys were in his lap, and as he got closer he used the remote to turn off the security alarm and unlock his van. When the headlights came on he steered into the light, using it to guide his way. Once he’d rolled over a pothole in this lot and turned over, then had to make a call to the security guard to help him get upright. Damn embarrassing moment he didn’t want to repeat.

  Facing into the light, he didn’t see the van parked behind his vehicle or the man standing just between them.

  He hit another button on the remote. A side door slid open and a hydraulic lift emerged and began to lower. Charles’s mind was on dinner and his eyes were still adjusting to the dark after the glare of the headlights as he wheeled himself onto the lift, just as he’d done a thousand times before. And then out of the dark he caught a glimpse of movement, then heard a man’s voice.

  “Mr. Trent?

  Charles frowned, his thumb firmly on the alarm.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m from Speedy Courier Service, and I’m really sorry to do this so late, but it just came in. I have a special-delivery envelope you need to sign for.”

  All Charles saw was the big manila envelope the man extended and not the Taser he was holding beneath it. The moment he put the keys in his lap, Hershel shot him in the face, then dropped the envelope and glanced around the parking lot before he stepped out of the shadows.

  For Charles, the pain was excruciating, and when his body began seizing he lost his balance and fell out of his chair. His worst fear had just come true. He was fully paralyzed.

  He saw the stranger coming toward him and tried to cry out, but his muscles were locked in spiraling pain. Spit was running down his chin, and try as he might, he couldn’t talk.

  He watched in horror as his assailant took out a length of nylon rope and wrapped it around his hands. Charles cringed inwardly at the rough feel of the spiky fibers against his throat as his attacker wrapped the rope around his neck.

  God, oh, God! He was going to die!

  The rope grew tighter, then tighter still. Charles was praying for a miracle, but it wasn’t happening. He could barely hear the man breathing behind him, and his assailant’s silence was almost as frightening as the fact that his own life was about to end. Why was this happening? Why? Why? Why?

  * * *

  Hershel ended the man’s misery quickly, not out of kindness, but for fear he might be seen. He knew the moment the man quit breathing, but he still held his grip for a few more counts before he let go of the rope. Then he put it in his pocket and yanked the electrodes out of the lawyer’s face. He used the wheelchair to move him to the back of his van, then abandoned it afterward.

  It took exactly three minutes from firing the Taser to driving away. Hershel took care to stay in the shadows and back alleys all the way to the next intersection before he merged out onto the street.

  He headed out of town with Trent’s body hidden beneath the drop cloths, always driving with his eye on time and traffic. When he realized traffic was getting heavier and slowing down, he took the next exit and found a new way to get to the same place. Just when he thought he had it made, he drove up on a wreck and this time got caught in a traffic jam. There was nothing to do but sit through it.

  About thirty minutes into the wait his anxiety rose as a cop started walking toward his van. All of a sudden there was a scream in his ear, and he jumped as if he’d been shot.

  “Damn it, Louise, you are going to get me caught! Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

  All he could hear was her crying. It was so loud that he imagined the cop would hear her, too. But the cop passed by without a glance, and Hershel breathed a quick sigh of relief.

  A quick check of the rearview mirror showed him the cop directing traffic to allow the rescue vehicles to get through. The tow truck had finally arrived.

  When traffic began to flow again, he was so nervous he was shaking. It took almost an hour to reach the drop site once they got moving, and then when he got there he was in such a hurry to be gone that he dropped the body. The man hit headfirst on a rock, his skull cracking like an egg on the side of a bowl before he flopped onto his back.

  “Son of a bitch,” Hershel muttered.

  He grabbed the body by the legs and began dragging it toward the water. His own legs were trembling, and the pulled muscle in his back was reminding him it was there by the time he reached the water’s edge. Relieved that it was over, he gave the body a shove.

  “Bon voyage,” he said, and stumbled back to
the van.

  After checking the interior to make sure nothing had fallen out of Trent’s pockets, he drove away, relieved the job was over.

  It was almost midnight when he got back. He drove past Lucy Taft’s house to his apartment, breathing a quiet sigh of relief that he was home. As he got out, he grabbed the sack with his burger and fries. He was halfway up the steps when he began smelling smoke from somewhere in the distance. He looked over his shoulder toward the house and caught a glimpse of someone in an upstairs window. When he realized it was his landlady with a pair of binoculars, his heart skipped a beat.

  He ran the rest of the way up and quickly locked himself inside. Instead of turning on the lights, he made his way through the rooms, using the glow of moonlight to see. He changed clothes in the dark and then settled down to eat by the light of the television.

  He felt uneasy, knowing she’d been watching him, and wasn’t sure what that meant, but he had no qualms about killing her, too, should the need arise. In fact, the more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded. It would be the perfect way to tie up loose ends before he left. Satisfied that he’d solved another problem, he stuffed a couple of French fries in his mouth and then reached for the salt.

  * * *

  Lucy Taft had been sound asleep when she was awakened by a loud explosion. She threw back her covers and rushed to the windows, immediately horrified by a huge orange glow over the housetops and pillars of smoke billowing into the distant night air. She ran to the library to get William Harold’s binoculars and then hurried back to her bedroom. The orange glow was getting bigger, but even with the binoculars, she was still unable to see what was burning. She was still standing at the window when Paul Leibowitz drove in.

  She registered him glancing her way but didn’t care as she glanced at the time. The air was filling with sirens, and she knew whatever had happened, it was bad.

  “God’s blessings and healing upon you,” she whispered, then put down the binoculars and crawled back in bed.

  * * *

  Charles Trent’s abduction was discovered when two members of the cleaning crew came out to their van for supplies and saw the door of his van standing wide-open, the lift still down, and the wheelchair tipped over a short distance away.