by Stacia Stone
“I don’t think it would.” He shrugs, but his expression is anything but casual. “But just for the sake of argument. If killing this girl was our only way forward, would you do it?”
I don’t like the way he looks at me or how much he’s starting to sound like Savage. “I thought we’d already gone over this.”
He just watches me, silent.
“Yes.” I know my tone is exasperated, but I’m getting sick of what’s supposed to be my crew acting like I’ve suddenly gone soft. “I will do whatever it takes to get Kidd back. Including killing this girl if that’s what it takes. Satisfied?”
He just shrugs, looking anything but satisfied. “I’m just getting this feeling.”
Frost and his fucking feelings. “What kind of feeling?”
“I’m just thinking about how easily this could all go sideways. We’re laying all our cards out on the table.”
Frost is a man of few words at the best of times. This is more words at one time than he usually strings together over the course of a month. Which means that the fact that we have the daughter of a United States senator tied up in our hideout is getting to him.
“Let’s wait to see how he responds before jumping to the worst-case scenario.”
“It’s been almost an hour.” Frost’s gaze returns to the computer, and he hunches over the screen. “Nothing yet.”
We sent the senator a video of his daughter tied up and begging for her life with a demand for all the information he has on what happened in Mali. Why hasn’t he responded? If he’s got the cops involved, they’re being quiet about it on the police bands.
I don’t understand the silence. When is he going to respond?
Savage suddenly appears at Frost’s other shoulder. His expression is anything but calm and he looks ready to breathe fire.
“You need to fucking see this.”
I follow him upstairs to his room where he’s got a flat-screen television set up on a crate. Wiring the place for electricity wasn’t hard, just a few generators and some piggy-backing off the grid. But somehow, he figured out how to get cable in here without it being traceable. It’s another reminder of why I put up with him.
The TV is tuned to a news broadcast. A generic looking newscaster speaks solemnly into the camera with the image of an American flag billowing beside her. I can’t tell what she’s saying because the thing is on mute.
“Are you going to turn it up?” I ask Savage a little testily.
He picks up the remote and hits a button.
“—Tennessee senator John Reynolds announced today at a press conference on Capitol Hill that he is officially announcing his candidacy for president in the upcoming election next year. He has been seen continuously on the campaign trail in recent months raising money for his senatorial campaign so this announcement comes as a surprise to some. The republican senator is a strong proponent of right-to-life legislation and is well-known for supporting funding cuts for Planned Parenthood and other clinics that provide abortion services. In a statement, he describes his intent as president to return this country to one of “strong family values and an unerring moral compass”. Senator Reynolds also announced that his first campaign rally will take place later this week in his home state of Tennessee. In attendance at the press conference was the Senator’s wife. His daughter, who has been a fixture at fundraising events over the last several weeks, was notably absent.”
I’m frozen in place as Savage puts the television back on mute. My mind is trying to logic its way through a puzzle that only has one solution.
“You’re sure the video was delivered?” I ask Frost, who stands silently behind me.
“One hundred percent. I can even see the time of receipt on his phone. But I can’t be positive that he’s opened it.”
“Oh, he’s opened it.” The look on Savage’s face matches his name. He whips the remote across the room and it crashes against the wall. “Don’t you fuckers get it? The senator knows we have his daughter. And he’s deliberately keeping it quiet.”
Frost frowns. “Just because he isn’t announcing it on television, doesn’t mean the police weren’t notified.”
“If the cops were involved, there’d be chatter on the police band. And I’ve been listening to this shit all day.” Savage rips the earpiece out of his ear and tosses the handheld radio onto the bare mattress. “And we haven’t been contacted, not by the police and not by the senator. What does that say to you?”
“He doesn’t believe we’ll hurt her.” My voice sounds dead and cold, even to me. “Or he thinks he can handle it himself.”
“This is a man who let hundreds of people die for his own gain. Is that the sort of man who’s going to give everything up because something might happen to his kid? Our entire squad was firebombed out of existence because of what somebody thought we saw. We don’t know how deep this goes and we as sure as fuck don’t know what Reynolds is willing to do to protect his secrets.”
“What are you saying?” Frost’s gaze is still trained on the television where footage of the senator at a press conference plays on the screen. His gaze moves briefly to Savage and then away. “Obviously, there’s something you think we should do.”
“Plan A is a bust so we go with Plan B.” Savage glares at me, the dark expression on his face daring me to argue. “Reynolds isn’t going to give us what we need because something might happen to his daughter. He needs to see that we’re serious.”
A weight drops in the pit of my stomach. I’m pretty sure that I know exactly where he’s going with this. “No.”
“What if this is the only way to get Kidd back?” Savage lowers his voice until it’s something deep and intense. “You just gonna let him suffer and eventually die because of this girl? We don’t even need to kill her, just… hurt her a little. What is getting Kidd back worth to you?”
I look to Frost whose expression has completely shuttered. I can usually trust him to be the more reasonable one and balance out Savage’s… savagery. But his unblinking gaze holds nothing comforting. “What if it is the only way?”
I’m already shaking my head before he’s finished speaking. “It hasn’t even been a day. We need to give it a little more time.”
“More time?” Savage’s voice is cold and mocking. “You want to give the senator more time to find us and end this before it’s even began. He’s just the tip of the spear and you know it. What will happen to Kidd then, do you think? When everyone in the world who knows he’s still alive is dead themselves?”
“She’s an innocent girl.”
“Nobody is innocent.” Savage snarls. He stalks across the room and presses his face into mine, close enough that our noses practically touch. “You’d see that if you weren’t thinking with your dick.”
I hit him. It’s a good right hook that catches him solidly on the cheek. I don’t even realize I’ve swung until I feel the impact of my fist connecting with the hard bone in his cheek.
Savage crashes back against the television, nearly knocking it over before he rights himself. I brace for him to come at me, but he just massages the side of his cheek. I’m surprised at the look of triumph on his face.
“See?” he says. “That girl has you all fucked in the head. You’re not thinking straight.”
Frost is staring at me with an expression that almost looks like pity.
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
“This is the kind of man who announces that he’s running for president right after his daughter gets kidnapped.” Savage points at the television screen.
The senator is smiling confidently while he stands at a podium. A hawk-faced woman in a chic pantsuit stands sedately behind him. I can’t hear what he’s saying but I’m sure it’s something about screwing over children on welfare or fighting more useless wars overseas. He seems like that kind of guy.
But the girl tied up in there — the one with the eyes that are a little too big for her face and the lips that are shaped just like a cupid
’s bow — she didn’t ask to be born to a monster. She’s innocent.
Except this is war. And war always has casualties.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask and hate myself a little for the question.
Savage pulls out the Bowie knife that he always carries on his hip. “I think you already know.” He catches the look that crosses my face and his expression softens somewhat. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll take care of it for you. I’ll make it quick.”
“I’ll do it.” I owed the girl that at least. If she has to get cut up, then I can at least be man enough to do it myself.
I have to make a choice between her pain and Kidd’s freedom. And I made Kidd a promise that I intend to keep.
Chapter 6
Wind lightly caresses my skin, but it’s hot like the breath of an angry God.
Clearly the building was abandoned before air-conditioning vents were installed. And there must still be walls missing somewhere because the air is thick and muggy like D.C. in the summer.
If I’m even still in D.C., I realize with dismay. Who knows how far away from the townhouse they managed to take me before I woke up here. I could be hundreds of miles or several states from home.
How is anyone going to find me?
I remember those assemblies in elementary school. Some kid would go missing in another state and they would gather us altogether to talk about stranger danger. Never get in a car with someone you don’t know, even if they swear that your parents sent them. Never let someone take you to a new location, even if they’re holding a gun to your head, because they’re probably just going to kill you anyway and leaving with them just makes you harder to find. No, that strange man doesn’t really have a litter of puppies and buckets of candy waiting for you in the back of his panel van.
Nobody ever covered what to do when obviously well-trained men break into your house in the middle of the night and already have you unconscious and kidnapped before you even really understand what’s going on.
Where is the assembly for that?
I’m not even scared anymore, lying on a rough stone floor that’s damp with my own sweat and tears. My neck and shoulders have been a fiery ache for long enough that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to not be in physical pain. I’m just numb to all of it. I keep thinking about my father and how frantic with worry he must be.
And I can’t stop thinking that, if I were to die right now, I’ve managed to accomplish so little with my life. All the times that I took the safe choice to placate my father, ignored what I really wanted because of assurances that I’m too young to really know what’s best for me. Too young to make any real decisions.
I think most people imagine themselves as the hero of their own stories. If they were trapped and at the mercy of kidnappers, they’d find someway to make a daring escape. The kind of person who talks about how terrorists would never take down the plane they were on. They’d be the one who tackled the bad guy and saved the day. We’re all action heroes in our own minds. But nothing prepares you for the numbness and despair that I feel right now.
They left the little work lamp turned on so I’m bathed in a small circle of bright light. A little light should be comforting, but I’m reminded of that quote by Terence McKenna:
The bigger you build the bonfire, the more darkness is revealed.
I’ve taken a good look at the darkness, now. And there’s way more of it than there is of the light.
I hear the sound of heavy boots on the wooden floor. Fear returns in a wave, crashing over me and crushing every other emotion in its wake.
Jason appears at the edge of the circle of light. I know there’s a real man under the mask, but I can’t help thinking of him as the monster he’s impersonating. And the cold way he stares down at me does nothing to break that image.
He silently approaches me. I realize with an unhappy start that he’s not alone. Freddy stands silently behind him, glaring at me.
“W-what are you doing?” I ask and can’t stop my voice from shaking.
Jason doesn’t answer. He bends down to work at the shackles around my ankles. His movements are deliberate and methodical. There’s none of the mocking cruelty from before when they made me cry and beg in that video.
I should be relieved at that, but it just terrifies me more.
When my legs are free, he moves to the handcuffs around my wrists. I think about fighting him, trying to kick or knee him some place sensitive. But I can’t even pretend I’m a hero in my own mind. Fighting isn’t worth it now, not given how small my chances for escape. The smartest thing to do is cooperate and wait for an opportunity, or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself to explain my own cowardice. And I know how much worse things will get if I make him angry.
I hate my own weakness.
Because that pretty much sums up my entire life doesn’t it? Just comply, just do what they say and everything will be fine. I’d spent the last twenty-one years training to be the perfect captive.
Jason’s hands make quick work of the handcuffs as I become more and more discomfited by his prolonged silence.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he levers me to my feet.
I shouldn’t be surprised when, instead of answering, he drags me toward the encroaching darkness. Corded muscles tighten in his arms as he propels me forward.
I can barely see in the darkness as he pushes me out in front of him, hands on my upper arms turning me this way and that past unidentifiable shapes in the darkness. His steps are sure-footed as if the pitch black makes no difference to him whatsoever.
It makes sense that he’s comfortable in the dark.
I can’t see Freddy but I hear his footsteps echoing ours in the darkness.
We enter a room that’s well-lit compared to where they were keeping me before. A bare lightbulb hangs over a small wooden table. The table only contains four items: a dusty glass bottle next to a hazy shot glass, a belt and a blowtorch.
My heart beats hard enough that I think it might just explode out of my chest. Jason pushes me down onto one of the two chairs at the table and takes a seat across from me on the other one. He rests his arms on the table and leans forward. There’s no cruelty in the bright eyes behind the mask. Somehow, that terrifies me more than anything he’s done up to this point.
Silence stretches between us for a long moment as he just stares at me. I finally break the silence when I can’t take it anymore.
“What is this?”
The other man — the one in the Michael mask — steps up out of the shadows. He’s so quiet that I didn’t even notice he was in the room. The video camera is in his hands, the little red light lets me know that he’s recording.
“We’re going to cut off one of your fingers.” Jason’s voice is calm and almost conversational. Like this is the most normal thing in the world to be talking about. “Do you want to choose which one?”
“You can’t be serious.” I automatically stand, but Michael slowly slides to block the door which is the only exit. “No… no… no.”
I think maybe it’s a joke, just another tactic they’re trying to use to scare me. But then he pulls a knife out of its sheath on his hip. It reminds me of the one that my dad bought when we took a family vacation to Australia. He wanted to look rustic and manly like our bush guide. It’s the sort of thing that people buy to look tough, not to actually use.
Except, Jason doesn’t have the air of someone making threats. He sets the knife on the table and cracks his knuckles like someone who’s just preparing himself to go to work. The blade glints dully in the low light. It looks old and well-used.
“Don’t do this.” Michael is using the bulk of his body to push me back towards the table. He’s not exactly threatening, more just turning it into a non-decision — move or be moved.
“Non-dominant hand, sweetheart. It’s the best I can do.” He picks up the belt and starts sliding the knife across it, sharpening the blade. “Most people pick the pinkie, but I think
you should go for the ring finger. That won’t affect your grip as much. But like I said… lady's choice.”
Michael’s gentle hand on the small of my back pushes me toward the chair. I stumble onto it because my knees don’t seem to be able to hold me anymore.
“You don’t have to do this.” I don’t realize I’m crying until hot trails of tears roll down my cheeks. “My father will give you what you want.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Jason pours clear liquid from the bottle into the shot glass. “You drink? It’ll make this a little easier for you.”
“Just let me talk to my dad,” I beg, my voice thick with snot and tears. “Please. I can convince him to give you what you want.”
Jason just shakes his head and pushes the shot glass across the table. “No go, honey. Drink up. Drawing this out will just make it worse.”
I almost get the feeling that he’s trying to be nice, which is in marked contrast to before when it seemed like he was torturing me just for the hell of it. Of course, now he’s planning to cut off my finger. I liked it better when he was just pretending to be sadistic.
“Do I need to tie you down or are you going to cooperate?” he asks softly. “This is happening either way.”
Freddy’s hands come down on my shoulders, squeezing harder than is strictly necessary to keep me in place. It feels like a very deliberate warning. I hate him the most.
“Please don’t do this.” I’m so sick of begging, but what else is there for me to do? “I have my own bank account. I can get you money.”
Jason just bows his head. “Would it be easier if we knocked you out? There’s probably still some chloroform left.”
Do I want to wake up in agonizing pain with a mangled hand? No. If I pass out then there’s nothing to stop them. I’m still convinced that there’s something I can say or do to end this.
“I can help you,” I say desperately. “You said you want information. I can help you get it.”
“She’s just stalling.” Freddy’s fingers squeeze tight on my shoulders, robbing me of breath.