Seeking Havok

by Lila Felix

  “Good, now try to rest. Here.”

  He tossed a toddler sized flannel blanket on me and I tugged it around my parts, caring more about the found modesty than the cold.

  I woke later and the sun was no longer checking in on me through the window. Skunky came in, followed only by his funk cloud and laid out some clothes, no, lingerie, it was lingerie. My earlier eaten food begged to be let go, but my stomach was too greedy to let it out of its grasp.

  I twisted and pulled, trying to free my arm of the handcuff but I only succeeded in making enough noise to alert Thing One who got in my face and told me to shut up and sleep.

  Now tired but fully back in control of my faculties, I wept. This was how I would die—or at least never be heard from again. Cal would think I left him angry, hurt and never returned. He would blame himself when the body was found—if it was ever found. No one would come to the funeral. I would be forgotten in a matter of days. Cal was the only one who cared—maybe Ali. Yes, Ali would miss me.

  And I would die or be sold with regret the guardian of my dungeon heart.

  How fitting. The daughter of the harlot being sold. No matter how hard I’d fought, she’d gotten her dream for her little girl.

  I wonder how long it’s been.

  How long had I been down here?

  “Time to get dressed. We gotta make you look pretty. Those guys did a shitty job on your hair.”

  Keys jangled and I watched a new person through blurry vision, who smelled like a woman, unlock my handcuff.

  Brown hair, tailored to be sexy voice, blue dress, bags under her eyes, “My hair?”

  “Yeah, Dean told them to make you a blonde, but damn, they’ve got you looking like a canary. But it’s ok, the bidders won’t care if you’re blonde or yellow. They only care if you’re certified.”

  My eyes finally focused, “Beth?”

  “The one and only. Come on. Get up.”

  It took me what seemed like hours to fully stand on wobbly, shaky legs.

  “You’ve lost some weight. You were skinny before, but damn. I honestly don’t know what Fade saw in you. But that’s ok. I’ll go help him through his grief. Don’t you worry.”

  I lunged for her but my body didn’t understand, instead I flopped on the floor, my anger swallowed by the cement. A basement, I could see it now, I was in a basement.

  “That was impressive. Now, get your ass up.”

  She wretched my body up by my arm and settled me on a metal chair.

  “Here, put these on,” she demanded as she handed me a pair of underwear, plum and black, that I was embarrassed to even look at much less put on.

  She turned and I could see the door now. She targeted the direction of my gaze, “Now, now, you don’t want me to put you out again, do you? I’ve got some good stuff that will make you remember everything but not be able to do anything about it. Or I could give you something a little naughtier? Maybe something to make you writhe like you want it but inside you’re being tortured? Keep it up, Mary.”

  “Mary?”

  She laughed, “Yeah, we listed you as Mary Magdalene. We thought it was funny. Your mom was more than willing to help us take you. But then you just walked right into our hands. Your mom came back home after you went back to the apartment. Said she knew you’d been home because the sheets had been changed. All we had to do was wait you out—simple. And then they took her too. She got shipped to some other country. Although I don’t know who would pay for that.”

  I guess this is the life my mom always wanted for me. She always wanted me to follow in her footsteps, because her footsteps took the easy path, the quick way to fast money. I had wanted more. Did I still want more? Should I just give up and give in to the life that finally caught me in its snares? Hell—no.

  “It’s so funny. The name, Mary Magdalene.”

  “Whatever, put it on.”

  I lifted a leg, pretending to put the panties on, but instead I lunged for her again, grabbing her hair and turned myself, not on purpose, into a deadweight behind her, forcing her to the ground. An arm came my way and I bit down on it as hard as I could, tasting the penny liquid in my mouth. Steps again, steps, yelling, steps, a pin prick, black, dark, dizzy.

  “Come on Biter. Let’s go.”

  Haze, everything was hazy again but I wasn’t so sleepy. I was walking, being led somewhere, up, up, up, stairs.

  As the door opened, a light blinded me and the rest was fragments.

  Men sitting in metal chairs, suits, ties, old, young, wads of money in their hands.

  Numbers waving.

  Turning, someone was turning me.

  Yelling, there was yelling.

  The men moved, scrambled.

  The floor.

  The cold floor.

  Dripping—the dripping was back.

  Her door was closed when I woke the day after I told her, but somehow I knew she was gone. It was hard to explain, but I couldn’t feel her there. I flung the door open to find the dresses, laid out like parting gifts from a game show, heels on top of dresses, except the shoes and dress she’d worn. The dress was hung with care on a hanger, laid on the back of a chair, and the shoes were in the seat.

  I immediately got dressed and went to the places I knew she’d go. I spent hours on the streets surrounding her building. I put Mrs. Swan on full alert. I went to the library, the museum, the park, even that damned taco truck—nothing.

  After a couple of days, I stopped going to work. There was no point in working if something had happened to her. Day after day I repeated my steps. Her apartment, the bakery, the library, the museum, the park, the taco truck, rinse and repeat.

  If something had happened to her, it was my fault.

  I shouldn’t have told her.

  I had to tell her.

  It was eating me alive.

  It was eating us alive.

  Eventually, it would’ve torn us apart.

  Eventually came sooner than I thought.

  A knock belted on the door and I hopped up in joy, it was her, it had to be her.

  It was Jett.

  “Hey, man. What’s up with you? You don’t answer the phone. I called the station and they told me you switched to day shifts and then took a leave. Even your sister called me.”

  “Come sit. I have to watch the news.”

  He stared me down all the way to the couch. I knew I was a ragged, worn version of myself. But nothing else mattered but Havok—finding her—making sure she was at least okay.

  I’d convinced myself otherwise. She could be hurting. She could be in danger. Those people could have gotten her. I’d reported it to the police, the day I found her gone. And I’d bugged them so much afterwards they banned me from calling, saying they’d get back to me when they had news.

  “Why do we have to watch the news?”

  “To see if Havok’s there.”

  “Havok?”

  “Yes, Havok. I can’t find her.”

  He jerked to attention, “Woah, woah, are we talking about the same Havok?”

  I eyed him suspiciously, “I don’t know who you think we’re talking about, but I’m talking about my friend, girlfriend, whatever, that was living here, until about a week ago when she disappeared.”

  “Havok, short black hair, always dresses in clothes three sizes too big, real quiet, mother’s a real bit…”

  I grabbed him by the collar in desperation, “How do you know her? Tell me now!”

  He removed my hands, “Get a grip, bro. She’s Ali’s best friend. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were in preschool. She used to stay at the house all the time, probably still does.”

  Completely defeated, I whispered, “Take me to her.”

  He mocked me, “Take me to your leader—ok, ok, not funny. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed her phone, the one she’d left and mine and the keys. We hopped into my Bronco, I kept it close now in case I needed to get somewhere fast, and went to his house. I had been to his hous
e a few times in high school but mostly we’d hung out at the pool hall or my house since his was usually packed. When we got there, Ali wasn’t home yet. Mrs. Blakely made me sit down and eat, I scarcely remember her saying something about me losing weight though she hadn’t seen me since high school. Setting down a plate with grilled cheese sandwiches before us, she looked to Jett, his family called him J.J. to explain.

  “It’s Havok. She’s missing. She’d been living with Fade.”

  A gasp broke from Mrs. Blakely’s mouth, “I knew she’d moved out of her mother’s apartment, but I had no idea she’d moved in with you. How did you meet?”

  So, I started at the beginning, sparing no detail. And as I bared my soul to her, some of the weight lifted from my chest. Jett got up and paced halfway through the story.

  “Ali knows everything. She knows everything about Havok. Just wait until she comes home. Mom, call her.”

  She shot Jett an incredulous look, “She’s still with Herbert. I swear she stays with him just to piss me off. Did you know that Ali purposefully did badly in the fifth grade because Havok was having such a hard time and she didn’t want to to go to middle school without her?”

  “That’s when her mom started staying out, stripping.”

  Mrs. Blakely looked as guilty as I felt, “Yes. I’ve tried to step in several times. I went over there, time after time, offering to help her mother, trying to get her out of that spiral, but she was too far gone. It was too much for me to stop.”

  “What’s going on,” Ali busted into the house and the conversation with some guy trying and failing to look Goth.

  Mrs. Blakely took a stand, the beginnings of tears welled in her eyes, “Havok’s missing.”

  Ali dropped her bag, “She moved in with a guy.”

  “Me.”

  “You?”

  I pointed to myself, “Fade Calhoun Nichols.”

  “Cal,” she figured out.

  “You checked her mom’s—the bakery—the library—did you call the police—how long has she been gone—what’d you do?”

  “Yes, to all of those. And I told her that I was Fade.”

  “And she’s loved Fade for years.”

  “Has she?”

  “Yeah, give me ten minutes and then we can go look again. Did you check the club?”

  “What club?”

  “The club that her mom works at, and that scum Dean. He’s just the kind of sleaze that would slither his way around Havok.”

  “No. I didn’t know where she worked. Can you show me?”

  “Yes, let me get changed,”

  A new voice entered the conversation, “Ali, we’ve got plans.”

  She twisted around with a glare that would kill angels, “And?”

  “I think it would be best to leave these things to the cops.”

  She leapt down the few stairs she’d taken and got in Goth boy’s face, “Do I look like I give a shit what you think? This is my best friend. By the way, we’re over. Been meaning to do that for a while, thanks for the push over the cliff.”

  Then she turned to me, “Give me five minutes.”

  Less than five minutes later she came back down, her boy long gone, “The club’s on Dover Street. We can go there after we hit her regular places.”

  With a ‘be careful’ from their mother, Jett, Ali and I went on a manhunt.

  We checked her mom’s apartment, still vacant, even during the day. Mrs. Swan hadn’t seen her. And the more we checked her usual places, the more I lost my patience.

  “We should go straight to the club. See if anyone there has seen her.”

  “Like they’re gonna tell us,” Jett muttered behind me.

  “What?” It was the second time that day I’d turned on my friend.

  “Those girls are paid for two things, shaking their asses and shutting their mouths. You think you’re just gonna walk in there and they’re gonna call a cab to the address where Havok’s at? Tell the police where her mom works.”

  I stopped cold, eyeing a place across the street. I had an idea.

  “Why don’t you two go to the police. I’m gonna try something else.”

  I froggered through traffic to the building in my sight. It couldn’t hurt. Walking into the place, I couldn’t remember the lady’s name. I looked to the wall and there was a list of reporters and there she was, Sandy Rueger.

  “I need to see Sandy Rueger.”

  “You have to make an appointment, Sir.” The frail girl said from across the pine counter.

  I hated what I was about to do, “Can you call her, tell her I’m Fade from The Edge. She contacted me about doing a story on one of my callers.”

  “Yes, um, sure.”

  She pushed the buttons and made the call. And within minutes a middle aged woman appeared through an open door, “Fade, I’m Sandy. How can I help you?”

  “She’s missing. Jocelyn, my caller. She’s missing and the police won’t help me.”

  A needed lie, a necessary lie.

  “Come with me.”

  And so began the fury. Only one hour after Sandy had intensely interviewed me, the story was everywhere. Pictures of Havok Jocelyn were all over the news, even on Facebook and Twitter. Everyone was looking for my girl.

  I drove the Bronco around hopelessly, feeling empty.

  I wondered if she was cold—she’d always been cold at home. I tried not to picture her hungry or in pain—she was always hungry. What if she was somewhere with no food, or if those people had taken her and weren’t feeding her?

  And I needed her back.

  Remembering Jett mentioned my mother, I turned the Bronco and headed towards the house. There would probably be an issue with my stepfather, but I didn’t want my mom to worry. I now knew how it felt, to worry about someone you loved.

  I pulled up at the brick house thirty minutes later and took a minute, just to be grateful what I did have. Because that’s what Havok would’ve done. I was always whining about my step-dad coming down on me, but when’s the last time I thanked them for a decent childhood?

  Getting out of the Bronco, I walked up the driveway and was greeted by my mom and my step-dad, both looking more welcoming than usual.

  “Hey, Jett said you called.”

  My mom grabbed the sleeves of my t-shirt and pulled me in for a tight hug and to my surprise, my stepfather followed suit.

  “I cooked,” my mom said. “Come in, we haven’t seen you in a while.”

  In a state of minor shock, I followed them inside. My mom always had a crockpot with something simmering inside since I was little. Even when she cooked a full dinner, there was either soup or stew slowly brewing there. I sat at our kitchen table, and felt like a whiner. Havok never knew this. She never knew, or hadn’t known in years, what it was like to sit at a family table and eat dinner cooked by a loving mother. She didn’t have the security of knowing that one way or the other she’d be fed and warm.

  “Eat, Son.” Mom said as she sat in front of me. Camille was the spitting image of her, with kind eyes and a warm tone. She was the kind of woman you were afraid to curse in front of for fear of her ears catching fire. Camille was the same way. I didn’t know how she was a high school guidance counselor—she probably spent the entire time gasping at the things her students revealed.

  “What’s going on, Fade,” my stepfather Aldo spoke up.

  My face betrayed me, showing him the bold suspicion I felt. What changed his mind?

  “I know, I know, I’ve been an ass. Look, this is,” he massaged his neck, “this is hard for me to say. Your mom showed me that lady on Youtubers or something. All those comments from people you helped. I thought you were just spinning records all night.”

  I cut him a glare, “No one has records.”

  “You know what I mean. I owe you an apology.”

  “Thanks. But it doesn’t help anything, she’s still gone. I don’t know where she is. I’m freakin’ in love with her. I’m losing it.”

  I pushed t
he plate away from me, disgusted at the very idea of eating when I didn’t know anything about how she was being treated.

  “What can we do to help?” My mom offered.

  “I don’t know. I check every place I know to check. I go at night, during the day, sometimes at dawn, thinking that she’s fine and I’ve just missed her. I don’t know what else to do.”

  The back door opened letting in the humid air and Camille, as usual full of sunshine herself.

  “Well, look who’s here. Mr. Doesn’t Visit and Doesn’t Call.”

  “Not today, Camille. I can’t banter with you today.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You haven’t seen the news, Camille?”

  She blew them off with a ‘Pssh’ and made herself at home, pouring a cup of coffee. “I hate the news, always full of murders and horrible things.”

  “And what about Facebook? I posted something on your page earlier.”

  She sat and rolled her eyes, “I just got that account to seem cool to the students. I never check it. Just show me.”

  My mom led Camille into the living room, gloating about her knowledge on all things DVR and played the recorded news story. After about five minutes, Camille burst into sobs, her crying was always the loudest everywhere. She was kicked out of our aunt’s funeral when we were fourteen because her crying was disrupting the mourners.

  I stuck my head through the doorway to the living room, “Why are you crying, you’re not the one who had to live that life.”

  My harsh words caused a new wave of ear shattering cries. In the past week I’d become a rough version of myself with only one goal in mind, seeking and finding Havok. And the search was taking its toll on my attitude and my sanity.

  “I’m sorry Millie,” I hoped my childhood name for her would smooth things.

  “That’s my student.” She finally whimpered out.

  “Havok?”

  “Yes, Havok. I don’t understand. She was living with you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve known her for a while. She’s my friend. She’s more than my friend.”

  She stared at the screen through the entire report on Havok and Jocelyn and then she rewound it and started it again. Finally, she turned the TV off and turned around to me in revelation, “Files, I’ve got all her files on my Skydrive. I’ve got addresses to her apartment, her mom’s work, the old one and the new one, emergency contacts, there has to be something. Can you take me to the police station?”