by Amy Faye
I pad out into the hall, my nipples making uncomfortable peaks in my thin tee-shirt, and tap the thermostat on the wall until it says that it gives, and it’ll turn up the temperature after all. Somewhere in the bowels of the house, I hear the boiler turn on, and hot air starts venting through the house.
That done, there are other things on the agenda. One in particular. Or, put another way, a mystery to solve. Where could he possibly be? Why would he call and tell me that he’d be home if he wasn’t? If he was home, why is it that every sign seems to suggest that he never made it?
I don’t know what to think, and I want nothing less than to try to figure out what I’m supposed to be thinking. There’s a lot that I don’t understand, but one of the biggest is what’s supposed to be going on today.
“Luke?”
I check the place where I left my notebook on the dresser. It’s been undisturbed. I didn’t think to check it sooner, with the cold. Part of me wanted to believe that I would have noticed if it were disturbed. Another part of me didn’t believe that for a second; certainly, not enough to put myself in a position that I would go into the conversation with Luke after he’d read it all, without knowing.
But there was no indication that anyone had picked it up, and even less of an indication that anyone had turned through all the other pages, filled with what might have been my innermost thoughts.
At least, that was what it was supposed to contain. After I wrote the note for Luke, though, I realized that everything else I’d written had barely managed to scratch the surface of my thoughts and feelings.
“Luke?” No answer a second time. Either he was playing some kind of prank on me, a prank that I didn’t appreciate, or he wasn’t here. I slipped on a pair of socks before I continued my exploration, too. The hardwood floors were frigid against my feet, and I couldn’t keep going without something to protect my skin against it.
The first place to check was the most obvious. His bedroom was empty. The bed hadn’t been slept in; if he had ever been in the room at all, then he’d only stood in the doorway and looked in on an empty bed before he left.
I thought I heard a noise downstairs. I wanted to believe it was a person, but even I couldn’t fool myself that well. It was the sound of the house settling, or the pipes in the walls, or any number of things. But it wasn’t someone’s footsteps.
Even still, I had to go explore down there at some point, and if it had to be done, then I’d rather do it sooner than later. Another noise. It’s repeating, slowly but surely.
Part of me wants to believe that it’s a cat, or a dog, or something like that. But there aren’t any pets here. Nothing to be walking around, trying to find trouble to get into when the master is away. If there is something, it doesn’t belong here. It just found its way in. That’s not house cat territory.
There’s a louder noise this time, nothing like the ones before. It’s sharp and loud and clearly identifiable as something hitting the ground, hard enough that it almost certainly left a mark.
“Luke?”
My heart pounds in my chest. Maybe it was just something balanced precariously, and fell now by coincidence. It’s not unheard of. Every horror movie plot seems to have something like that happen, for example. So I don’t have to start freaking out yet.
That said, I can get a head-start on it now, and I don’t miss the opportunity.
My hands ball up into fists, as if they’d do something about an intruder. I cock my fist back and hope that I’ll be able to see whoever it is before they see me. That way, I can wallop them upside the head and run as fast as possible in the other direction.
I round the corner. My heart is beating so hard that it hurts. My chest feels like it’s about to burst. I see the tiniest flicker of movement and start throwing the punch before I even have time to register what I’m looking at.
The man gives out a cry. “Ah! That hurt!”
The adrenaline doesn’t go away all at once, even as the tension does. Still, I stay on guard. I always have to, with my Dad, and when he’s someplace that he’s not supposed to be, I have to be doubly on my guard.
“Where’s Luke?”
“What, he didn’t call you?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. No missed calls. No calls from anyone, except the one from last night, which I guess was from Luke’s phone.
“No, no calls.”
“Well, then I don’t know where he is. Come on, Katie, let’s get you out of here.”
His hand claps around my arm and he pulls me with him. I follow. It’s not like I’m in a position to argue. I’m not even in a position to understand what’s going on, and until I get an explanation for what he’s doing here, I’m going to assume that there’s probably a perfectly rational explanation for it.
“Dad?”
He frowns to himself as he messes with the keys in a car that I know doesn’t belong to him.
The garage door opens behind the car, just as it kicks to life and growls under us. This is Luke’s car. I can’t imagine that he thinks that I won’t recognize it.
“What?”
He doesn’t wait for me to get my explanation before he starts driving, though. He eases the car out onto the street and starts working his way toward the interstate.
“Why do you have Luke’s car?”
“He gave it to me,” Dad lies. I can always see it when he’s lying. Maybe there’s someone out there who he can convince. Maybe that’s why he believes that he can just lie with impunity. Or maybe it’s something hard-wired into him.
“Dad?”
“What now?”
“Tell me the truth. How did you get the car?”
“I told you. He gave it to me.”
I look at him. He’ll lie, but he’s not good at sticking to a lie. Dad’s more likely to switch up the lie, at some point, if he sees an alternative. He gave it to me, he lent it to me, I borrowed it, he sent me out just to come pick you up…
I can think of a dozen different explanations he could have given me, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. He sticks with that story.
“What happened last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“He called me while you two were driving.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. So what happened after that?”
“After that?”
“Yeah. The twelve hours between then and now.”
“Oh, uh…” I can watch the cogs turning in his head as he thinks it all through. “I don’t know. We got separated.”
I don’t know what he did, but I know it wasn’t good. And I know that I’m going to have to get it out of him one way or another because it’s probably important that I mitigate the damage as much as possible.
Seventeen
Luke
I wake up. The fact that I don’t remember falling asleep was an interesting twist; the fact that I don’t remember much of anything at all, except that I was out with Bill Ashley, because he said he needed my help.
There must have been something between then and now, because some half-remembered faces are staring at me, like they’ve been waiting for me to eventually awaken.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I say. My voice is groggy, and my speech slurred. “What seems to be the trouble?”
The guy in front stands up and walks off. He leaves behind his friend, who just smiles at me. I’m starting to get tired of people refusing to explain things to me, at this point.
“I’m gonna get mad at someone soon,” I growl. He doesn’t seem to be particularly worried about that. In fact, he doesn’t seem worried about much of anything at all.
My arms strain to reach behind me. That’s probably got something to do with the lack of worry in his eyes. No matter how mad I get, it’s not going to count for very much if it only comes to impotent rage. That seems like what I’m aiming at, at this point. Better to conserve my strength, then.
“You want to explain wh
y I’m here, my man?”
He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head in a mocking gesture, but he never opens his mouth. There’s all the time in the world for someone to just tell me what the hell I’m sitting in this chair for, tied up and waiting for something to start. But he apparently isn’t interested in that.
A minute later, my other friend steps back inside, and then a third man steps past him, looking down at me impassively. He takes a moment to weigh me and my chances at doing anything.
“You’re awake,” he says. “That’s good.”
“It wasn’t a restful nap,” I tell him. “I’m still exhausted.”
I don’t know how long it’s been, but the sun is still up, and after driving the whole night through, I’m sure that I haven’t slept near enough.
“Good sense of humor, I like that. You’ll want to keep that. This might become tiresome, and I would hate to imagine that you were sitting there in a furious mood.”
“I do my best,” I say. “So do you want to tell me why I’m here?”
“Your friend sold you out,” the new guy said.
“Bill’s no friend of mine,” I say with a low voice. “And now he’s even less of one.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but that doesn’t change anything from my perspective, you know. I just have to get my money. If it’s from him, or from you, I really don’t care. He promises me that you’ll be able to reimburse me for my trouble.”
“I hear you, but I’m feeling like I hear an implied threat there, too. You want to tell me what happens if I don’t pay?”
“You disappear, and you don’t go home again. But I’m sure that we’re not going to have that trouble, are we?”
“If it gets me out of here, then I don’t have any trouble. Two problems.”
The leader took a seat on the bed and leaned forward. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“First, I don’t have the money on me. Why would I?”
“Of course. Why would you? And I can’t accept checks. You’d stop payment as soon as I let you go. Cash is so much easier and cleaner, don’t you think?”
“I’m glad we agree on that. Now, problem number two. It ties into problem number one a bit.”
“Okay?”
“I need a ride.”
I don’t like losing money. I don’t do it when I can help it, and that’s doubly true when it’s to some scumbag gangster. But I like getting my fingers cut off even less.
Which is why I swallowed my pride, swallowed my anger, and let him do what he was going to do. After all, I didn’t have time to be worrying about what I was going to do to him. I wasn’t going to do anything if I didn’t get out of those restraints.
And more than that, I have to keep in mind that my beef isn’t with these guys. If they keep to themselves, I don’t care. They’re in business, and part of their business is, by and large, not pissing off the wrong people.
Well, this time they pissed me off. But the one who’s really responsible isn’t even in the room. He already left, and apparently, he’s got my ride. So I take Rodrigo’s phone number.
See, the other thing that I’ve learned is that you can get mad, or you can get even. In this case, I’m going to get even, I think. And as it happens, the sort of men who kidnap a guy to try to take his money, they work for money.
So I double the output, and I take the number of a burner and a ride back to my house.
It’s a long drive, but I’m footing the bill, and I guess they’re friendly sorts. The house is empty when I get back. Which was what I was afraid of. There’s a good chance that I can guess where Kate’s gone, but I’d rather know more than less.
I close my eyes and start thinking. I’ve been on since yesterday morning, and at some point I’m going to lose it I have to hope I don’t start losing it before I can close the book on all this stuff.
My chest hurts. I have to sit down before I start to lose it completely; at some point, I’m going to, I know that much. But I’m going to keep control. I have to.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Jorge is a big guy, and he puts on a tough face. It would be easy to believe that he’s got nothing to him, but I can see through it. Under all that, he’s a big softy.
“I’m going to be fine,” I say. I hope that I sound believable, because I struggle to believe it myself at this point.
“As long as you’re sure, man.”
“I’m going to be fine,” I repeat. “And that’s all that you need to worry about, okay? I just need to sit a minute. You know what you can do for me, man? If you don’t want, you can tell me to fuck off, okay?”
He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to continue.
“Can you go put a pot of coffee on for me? I’m dead on my feet here, and we’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Yeah, sure. Where you keep your coffee?”
He’s already moving towards the kitchen as I push myself up and start following behind. I drop into a chair sitting around the kitchen table as he goes over to the counter.
“The pantry, right there. Hey, Jorge. No hard feelings here, but did Rodrigo send some guys around here?”
“Round here? No, man. You were kind of a surprise to us.”
I pinch my lips together. That’s not what I had been led to understand from Bill. His story is confusing for me, at this point. What’s his thing?
“The water’s low, too. Just pull out… yeah, you got it.”
He fills the water reservoir and hits the button. The coffee maker immediately starts making a hissing noise as it sucks water up from the reservoir. The big guy starts walking around.
“So we’ve got a minute, and I’ve got to take another look around. But I need some coffee in me first.”
“Yeah?” Most guys probably wouldn’t want to talk. Then again, our situation, I can’t blame him. Jorge is more than willing to hang out, though. Maybe I could invite him around for Friday nights.
“How’d you get your lats so damn wide? Maybe it’s just genetics but I just…” I stretch out my body. With the jacket off, I can see muscles flexing under the shirt, and I’m not unimpressed with myself. It’s a lot of work to keep my figure maintained. Work I enjoy.
That said, there’s plenty I could ask a guy Jorge’s size.
He shifts his eyes from right to left, halfway amused. “You really want to know?”
“I’d love that width and thickness, man.”
“Gear,” he says, and laughs. “You think I got a body like this naturally?”
He flexes his arms to show it off. You can practically count the fibers in his arms. They’re big, and the amount of separation and clarity is admittedly very impressive. But on size, I’m not even that impressed. His back and shoulders, on the other hand… well, whatever. I’m not here to criticize the guy on his build.
“Damn,” I say softly. “Well, looks like the coffee’s ready. Don’t be afraid to take a cup for yourself, you hear?”
He nods vaguely and I start upstairs. The first place to check, I guess, is Kate’s room. Maybe, if I’m lucky, she left a note behind telling me where they’re going, and I can go catch up.
Otherwise, it’s going to be an interesting couple of hours.
Eighteen
Kate
“Dad, where are we going?”
I’ve already asked that four or five times now, and I don’t know how many more I’m going to have to ask before I get an answer.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. It’s progress. Before, he refused to answer at all. So I guess I should be happy with that, at least.
“I’m already worried about it,” I tell him. I hope that it gets through to him, but I know better than to actually believe there’s any hope of that. He just stares at the road in front of us and keeps on driving.
“Well,” he grouses after a long pause. “Don’t.”
That’s very helpful. I wish I’d thought of it myself. “We’re not going the right way to go home,” I offer.
> “We’re not going home,” he tells me, like it’s not ominous as all hell.
“Then where are we going?”
“Away.”
“In a stolen car? Dad, you’ve got to think!”
He turns without taking his foot off the gas, his finger pointing at me and leaning in. I can see the anger on his face, but I can’t make myself afraid of it.
“You think I haven’t been thinking? You think I haven’t thought every single day about what I’m going to do? How I’m going to get you out of there?”
I let out a long breath. “I know.”
“If you know, then don’t ask stupid questions,” He says. But I can see that he’s calming down, and that’s at least something, right?
“I’m just saying. You can’t go off half-cocked, you know? You have to have a plan.”
“Well, I’ve got a plan. I’ve been working off a plan for a while now.”
“Why were you rummaging around the house?”
“Rummaging? I wasn’t rummaging.” There are lies that my dad tells, and then there are lies. When he’s telling such bald-faced lies, I know instinctively that there’s something going wrong.
He gets these ideas, sometimes, Dad does. He gets it into his head that he has to do things, and he never thinks about the consequences. It’s not like he’s not trying to be reasonable, trying to be rational. I know that.
But he’s not always thinking straight. Which is what’s going on right now. He’s completely lost track of his own thoughts and what rational even is, and it’s having a very real and very detrimental effect on his mindset. An effect that I wish I knew how to mitigate. But I don’t.
“Dad, I need you to stop. When was the last time you ate?”
His eyes dart over to me and then back to the road.
“It’s been a little while, I guess. Couple hours.”
I’ve been in the car with him a couple hours. Which means that it’s been at least a little bit longer than that. But in this case, ‘at least’ isn’t the most likely case.