After a few more minutes, I’m rewarded with some relatively nasty water dripping down from the upper joint. I’m no plumber, but I’m pretty sure this is the outflow pipe I’m working on. Incoming are usually smaller, right? I clear the distractions of the smell and the foul water from my mind and keep working at it. Closing my eyes again, I continue along the path that has gotten me this far.
The crunching sound is music to my ears. More water and debris fall as I feel the pipe give what is probably only an inch or two, but for me is as good as a mile. The creaking I had heard previously from the ceiling when Reed was home is what gave me the idea. It sounded old and weak, so I had been hoping that the pipe itself was just as rickety. Unfortunately, I may have underestimated, because the next thing I hear is a sickening crunching sound, followed by bigger pieces of debris, some leaving stinging reminders on my upturned face. I give one more hard press against the wall.
___
I’m chasing my brother through the little stretch of wood behind the house. He’s always been bigger, stronger, faster, but this time I’m out to prove myself. I know where he’s headed, and I’ve veered off to try to cut him off. There’s moments in life that are important, and this is one of them. Realizing I’d probably never be able to best him physically, I had decided to outsmart him, and this was my first fledgling attempt.
Completely ignoring the branches scraping my face as I run, I’m confident that I can do this. There’s no clear victory or loss, but that doesn’t really matter. Beating him to the little treehouse will feel like a feather in my cap, regardless. It’s not too far from me when I can hear him off in one direction, crashing through the deadfall and branches himself. When I finally see him, I try to put a smile on over my grimace, but the strain doesn’t let me. Full steam ahead, I crash into the clearing at the edge of the dry riverbed, heading for the big oak perched right on its edge; the perfect vantage point. Jason emerges from the other edge, but I’m pretty confident that I have him, especially when I take a moment to glance over and see the expression he’s wearing. Shock, disappointment, and…I don’t have the chance to process anything else. The toe of my boot catches on one of the big oak’s roots and I stumble, my last conscious thought being how much it was going to hurt when I finally hit the bottom of the big ravine.
___
“Des.”
I hear the voice, but I can’t place it. Jason? Dad? I try to open my eyes, but the light is too blinding, making me immediately cinch them closed again. In the brief moment of vision, though, I could make out the ceiling, but it just didn’t look right. The slow circle of the ceiling fan conflicts with my memory. I hear the voice again.
“Des?” More insistence this time around.
Suddenly I place the voice and everything comes back to me. Reed, the basement, the last few days. I try to rise and open my eyes at the same time, succeeding in neither.
“Whoa, stay still, Des.” I hear as I try to recover from the racking pains I’ve just caused to course through my entire body. “Take it easy.”
I remember the pipe. This probably isn’t going to be good, because I obviously failed somehow. My head holds the last remaining throbbing pain as the rest of it calms down from my stillness. Slowly, I’m able to open my eyes enough to see, though there’s still a little blurriness around the edges.
Reed.
He’s leaning towards me from a chair at the edge of the bed, but the room I’m in is unfamiliar.
“Where am I?” I ask.
“My bedroom.” Reed says. “Not the usual way I get a woman in here, but…” He smiles, but I can see concern in his eyes.
“What happened?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He says after a moment’s pause. “I came home and found half my bathroom down in the basement with you. Shitty old house finally gave up. I’m sorry.”
“It was my fault.” I say. I don’t know why; I just admit it. It may have something to do with my head. His expression has changed a bit, some of the humor slipping out. “I’m sorry.”
He seems to gather up his thoughts. “Hey, you’re okay now.”
If he wanted me out of his place before, I can probably assume that it goes double now. I don’t know why the ‘others’, as he calls them, haven’t come for me, but I can only guess that they won’t be likely to treat me as nice as he has so far. Trying to move again, but my body tells me that it isn’t a good idea.
I see Reed touch his palm to my forehead, gesturing with just the expression in his eyes that I should stay still. The warmth is nice. He brushes some hair out of my face, with more gentleness than I ever would have expected from him.
“I think you’re just going to have to stay up here for a bit.” He says. “I’m not really worried about you going anywhere.”
The smile has started to come back and I see that under different circumstances, I might actually like him. Sometimes people just take the wrong path. Kind eyes, a gentle face, not a bad looker.
“You okay, Des?” He asks.
“Just drifting a little.” I say, but my voice seems odd.
I feel his hand come off my forehead, then feel him gently lift my arm and raise the blanket over it after setting it down on the sheet. “That’s probably the meds.” He says, that smile playing in my heavy eyes.
“Meds?”
“Painkillers, and an antibiotic just in case.” He says. “I know you said you’re not big on the pharma stuff, but considering the circumstances…” My struggling mind can’t decide whether or not I want to kiss him or make a mental note of an additional criminal charge. My mind plays out a kiss, regardless. No harm in a little fantasy, right?
___
His lips are soft, a contrast to the rough skin of his fingers, resting lightly on my cheek. His eyes are closed and I can taste him, my own hands wandering up the untucked tail of his shirt, following the tightly defined muscles of his back up towards his shoulders. He’s taller than me, which is a change of pace, and that in itself thrills me even more. The kiss is passionate, and I feel it throughout my body. The feeling isn’t one of pleasure, though, it’s more one of contentment and it’s a good one. He finally breaks it, and I beat him to opening my eyes, watching his bright blue ones appear to mine shortly after. This time, the look is more intense, and that too I feel in my body as the goosebumps rise on my arms. His hands find the front of my blouse and I can hear the clatter of the buttons as they fall to the floor, little spinning remnants of modesty slowly winking out one by one. He roughly pushes the blouse off my shoulders and my arms are suddenly pinned behind me. New tingles, these coming from the very core of me. His lips find my collar-bone after quickly abandoning my neck and I feel like I can’t even move, his hands wrapping around my back, pulling me tightly against his towering figure. They work their way down to the top of my breasts. I feel his closeness, like he’s urging me to step back. I acquiesce, and we take three or four steps, our bodies still linked by our arms and our touch. I can feel the edge of the bed against the back of my knees and there’s a moment of weightlessness as he cradles my body, lowering me to the cool sheets.
“I want you, Des.” He whispers softly. I lift one of my legs playfully and he peels off one sock, the both of us playfully repeating the process with the other. The next thing I know, he’s pulling my shorts off over my hips and I watch, feeling exposed as he slips them off over my feet. His hands touch me everywhere from the tip of my toes, running between my legs, which slowly spread, as if of their own accord. The excitement of his touch is almost overwhelming me as those kisses follow the rough fingers, until I can feel his breath against my thighs, steaming up my already uncomfortable panties.
“Reed.” I whisper, my voice sounding hoarse, my fingers running through his wavy blonde hair.
“Yeah, Des?”
___
My eyes snap open, seeing him there, still at my bedside. “Sorry.” I say, weakly. “I was just having a dream.”
He goes in and out
of the room, but he never leaves for very long. I’m not sure how much time I spend awake and how much time asleep, but he’s usually there when I wake up, those kind eyes looking down at me with concern. Though it hasn’t happened again, my mind keeps replaying the dream. Where did that come from? I have fantasies like everyone else, that goes without saying, but something in the combination of the situation and the drugs had just made it seem so real. That doesn’t explain Reed, though. Throwing out the fact that he’s made it clear that my captivity isn’t his idea, he’s still keeping me here, and that bothers me. The concern he’s been showing is either real or an extremely well-choreographed and convincing fake, but I just don’t see him being capable of that. So far, I’ve got him pegged as the ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of guy, his mind guided by the simplest of emotions; so far manifesting in loyalty and compassion. Now if I can just get the latter to override the former, at least when it comes to the syndicate he’s working for; that may just be my ticket out of here.
I should be happy that after everything, I finally have stumbled on a plan that just might set me free, but for some reason, I just don’t feel that way.
Chapter Nine
Tuesday Morning – Reed
She’s down there. In the basement. There’s been no word from the higher-ups and it’s pissing me off. The original plan had been for a day or two, but that has stretched out to almost two weeks and I have no idea what I am going to do. It’s their own fault, really, because the delay has made it less and less likely that I’m going to turn her over to them. Fuck. I don’t want to mess with these guys, but she doesn’t know anything; well, other than me. I’ve given her far more information that I know I should have, but I justify it due to the time we’ve been forced to spend together. What am I supposed to do, just leave her down there alone? I realize that is exactly what I should have done, but it didn’t happen. I’m just not that guy. Either way, I’m screwed. All that’s left for me is to decide which way my morality swings. I would have decided last week, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Something about her intrigues me, and I guess I just like being around her. She’s really like no one I’ve ever met before, or certainly no one that I know currently. Brash and shocking, I guess the appeal is that she seems to be exactly what she presents. The woman wouldn’t know what pretenses were if they smacked her in that pretty face of hers.
I unlock the basement door and it creaks loudly as I open it. A little WD-40 would easily do the trick, but my procrastination from before she showed up is actually a benefit this time around. It gives her a little warning that I’m coming down, and since I’ve tried to make her life as comfortable as possible, it helps with the whole modesty issue. It didn’t take long before I had decided that she couldn’t spend all day every day in handcuffs, so I gave her the freedom of the basement, at least when I was home. Hell, in the early goings, the woman had done more damage cuffed than she had when she was free; causing half my bathroom to come crashing down into the basement on top of her in an attempt to escape.
I don’t blame Des for that, really. Fuck, I’d be trying to escape too, but that situation had seemed to tone her down a little bit, laid up in my bed upstairs for three days, practically delirious for the first two. I had considered taking her to the hospital and saying fuck it all, but I hadn’t had the guts, or maybe it was something else. Those three days had been the start of the time leading up to today.
“You up, Des?” I ask as I start down the stairs. The lights are out, but I can hear movement. I should be expecting to be clubbed over the head with something or other, but that doesn’t seem like her any more than turning her over to my boss is me.
“Su casa es mi casa.” She says, repeating the joke that’s irked me for a week now. Well, it actually has started to make me smile and I realize that it will be moot after today, anyway.
She’s actually made it her own, as best as she can. The futon mattress I had brought down was now the center of her little world, as were the other amenities I had brought down, including a few bags of clothes I had picked up at Wal-Mart after I had rescued her from the collapse. That had just proven two things; that I’m way too soft-hearted for this line of work and that I am a terrible judge of sizes for women’s clothing. She had been appreciative, really, but we had both had a laugh when I came back down for the first time, seeing her in the sweats and t-shirts I had bought. Too big on the sweats, too small on the t-shirts. The lean look of her and the way she had been dressed had been deceptive, hiding the fact that she’s surprisingly well-built. I offered to exchange them, but she dismissed the notion.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress, playing a game on of all things, an old Game-Boy I’ve had since I was a kid. She’s still buried in the screen. “One second…” She’s angling the little box back and forth, as if the lean in her body will give Mario an advantage. “Almost there…”
I’m wearing a big smile when she finally looks up. “I never had one of these.” She says, returning the smile. “Probably would have flunked out of eighth grade if I did, though.” She rests it beside her on the mattress.
Thinking about what I need to say, my smile fades and she notices it. “Are they coming?”
It takes me a second to catch what she means. “No, no. Haven’t heard a word from the fuckers.”
She seems relieved, and I don’t blame her. I hate seeing the look of apprehension on her face. The smile that comes back makes me much happier. “So what is it, Reed?”
The slip-up had come a few days ago. Before that, she had been using the name I had given her, Cal. Turns out, she had overheard Gray say the real one on the first day and had been keeping it to herself.
“It’s been almost two weeks.” I say, not sure how to continue.
“Is that how long? I’ve kind of lost track.” She says, leaning back against the wall, her abnormally tight t-shirt accentuating the curve of her breasts. Yes, I’ve noticed.
“I’m going to be honest with you.” I say, still hesitating.
“Okay.” She says, looking straight at me, brushing some of the curly red hair out of her face.
“I don’t want to keep you here anymore.”
She looks up at me, her face seemingly trying on different emotions and I wonder what’s going on behind those green eyes. “You never have. I believe you on that.”
“No, I’m done, Des.”
“So?”
I’ve got something big to say, but I don’t know how to say it. The words are failing me and I know that she knows something’s coming.
“I don’t have a lot of options, but I know how I feel. I know you’re going to come after me and I don’t blame you for that. Hell, they’re going to be after me too.” I say.
Des looks at me, her face having finally settled on confusion. “What are you saying, Reed?”
I can feel the emotion welling up in me. The emotions that I’ve felt for the last few days and haven’t been able to escape. Stockholm Syndrome is supposed to work the other way around, damn it.
The look of confusion is getting stronger, but I can’t look at her anymore or I’ll lose my own grip on my feelings. I turn and climb about halfway up the stairs, then turn around.
“You know what they say, Des.” I say. “If you love something, set it free.”
Figuring the look that passes on that face in the moment before I head up the rest of the stairs will have to last me the rest of my life, I realize I’m going to have to be fine with that. I don’t close the basement door, but I do close the front door hard, gunning the engine as I back out of the drive onto the street.
___
The rain is welcome to beat the heat, but I’m still miserable. The memories of her have kept me sane thought the long, wet night. Soaked to the skin, I’m doing something pretty stupid. I’m taking another shot at getting out through the Port of Duluth. Crispus and the Beltran are long-gone, but there are others. In a round-about way, it
is a decent enough plan. They know me well enough to be thinking that the last thing I would be dumb enough to do is take another shot at it. Either they’re wrong, or I’m actually smarter than they give me credit for. I’m hoping it’s the latter. My run-through of the port the first thing after the sun came up had been a bust, but I know ships will be coming in and out during the day. I’ll check back later. For now, I’m hoping to just find someplace warm, and ideally, a place where I can get online.
Des’ final message still has me confused, though I’ve narrowed it down to one of two places. The first is no problem; the second is going to be a big issue because I can picture the passport down towards the bottom of the junk drawer in my kitchen, a remnant from the cruise I had gone on with Marisela.
The thought of her brings all kinds of mixed emotions. She let me go, despite the risk that was to her, though the guilt of how that went down is sitting on me like a weight. She had gone down cleanly to the floor with one solid blow, and I had checked her pulse after I lifted her up onto the couch. The gun I had used was still tucked into the waistband of my soaked jeans. Apparently, she had had an even bigger underbelly than I had realized. Her face hadn’t shown much signs that my story had choked her up, but then again, I wouldn’t want to play poker with her. Her actions had been enough. The parting kiss she gave me had been unwanted, but almost felt owed. I did care for her more than I had admitted at the time; we had just drifted.
Checking myself in the windowed glass of the library, I decide that I don’t completely look like a vagrant, just a guy that’s been out in the downpour too long. Right as I’m walking in, though, I swing back around and walk to the alley, where I bury the revolver in a pile of trash.
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