by Imogen Wells
“Of course. Please take a seat and I’ll let Miss Hudson know that…” she trails off, clearly waiting for me to fill in my name. I give it to her. “Yes, thank you, Miss Moore, she’ll be with you shortly. Have a good day.” I don’t miss the fact she almost chokes on those words. Jeez, what’s her fucking problem? I really hope the rest of the women in this place aren’t super bitches like Chantelle here.
I take a seat at the small waiting area just behind and to the right of the reception desk. I watch people come and go for a couple of minutes then look to the small coffee table and the magazines there, picking one up and flicking through the pages.
Suddenly feeling eyes on me, I look up and glance around, seeing nothing obvious for the strange feeling. Just to the left of me something catches my attention, looking over I see the back of a man talking to a woman. As I begin to drop my gaze, the man turns more this way. He’s broad, easily topping 6’, and wearing a pair of snug black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a pair of light tan, almost grey, Chelsea boots. I can’t see his face clearly, but he has short, dark hair, shorn sides and slicked back on top. I can just make out part of a tattoo on the left side of his neck, but he’s too far away for me to see exactly what it is. Possibly wings of some sort.
A voice to my right makes me jump, dropping the magazine I was holding. Looking over I see an older woman smiling warmly at me.
“I’m sorry, Miss Moore,” I wave her apology away, and try not to look like I was staring at some guy in the foyer. “Would you like to follow me, and we can get started.” I nod, placing the magazine back on the table as I stand. I risk a glance back to the man and woman, only they are no longer there.
The interview takes over an hour, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I finally exit the building. I spot Jamie over the road leaning against the car, parked in a ‘no parking’ bay, not a huge surprise. I roll my eyes at her as I get to the other side of the road.
“You honestly don’t give a shit, do you?” I mock, shaking my head. She’s almost bursting at the seams to ask how it went, and whilst I’d love nothing more than to leave her hanging, I put her out of her misery as I round the car. “Yes, I got the job, and I start Monday. Salary was better than I expected too. Are we going to grab lunch, ‘cause I’m starving, and this hangover is still kicking my arse.” I look up when she doesn’t answer, she’s looking at something up the road, “Jamie!” She’s still looking down the street. I follow her line of sight and see a guy in his late 50s, just as he greets a woman, pulling her into him and kissing her cheek. Looking back to Jamie, I see a deep frown on her face, “Jamie, who is that? Do you know them?”
“Yeah, I know him. It’s my dad, but that is most definitely not my mother!”
Three
Camryn
After Jamie dropped that bombshell she didn’t fancy going for lunch, and to be fair, I don’t blame her. We headed back to the house, ordered pizza and decided this shit required alcohol in the form of gin, lots of gin.
From what Jamie has told me, her parents are happily married, now I don’t know much about that, but I sure as shit know that kissing another woman in the street doesn’t equate to happily married. We watch classic 80’s movies all day, eat junk and drink gin until we pass out.
I wake Sunday morning to an incessant pounding on the front door. It’s at this point I realise that I’m on the sofa, with one leg on the floor, and the other thrown over the back. Not exactly ladylike but hot if you’re getting your freak on, and I store that little nugget away for another time. Then it hits, that’s the first time I’ve thought about sex since…The banging starts again.
“For fuck’s sake!” I grumble, “I’m coming, keep your fucking pants on!” I shout, as I stumble off the sofa and stub my toe en-route to the door. I pull the door open, holding my sore toe in one hand and trying to keep my balance, pretty sure I look like a hot mess.
Outside the door, the guy’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open “Ah, sorry…err, but are you…erm,” he quickly looks to the parcel in his hands, then back to me, “Miss Moore?”
“Wow! I look that bad, huh?” I snort a laugh.
“Oh, no. I…uhm, no you look just fine.” His cheeks blaze, and he drops his eyes to the floor.
“Sorry that was kinda mean. I’m just messing with you. To answer your question, yes, I’m Miss Moore. I take it that’s for me?” I say, pointing at the parcel. I take him in and notice that he doesn’t look like our usual deliver guy, he’s much younger, hence the blushing. Poor guy. He’s not wearing any sort of uniform either, which is a little strange, but before I get a chance to question it any further, he thrusts the parcel at me. I manage to hold onto it and watch completely dumbstruck as he spins so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash, stumbles down the drive and books it up the road. “Well, that was fucking weird,” I mumble to myself, looking down at the parcel in my hands. Then it hits me that it’s Sunday. There are no deliveries on Sundays!
I shut the door and carry the parcel into the living room, placing it on the coffee table. Jamie is still passed out on the floor. How the hell she slept through that racket; I don’t know. I sit and look at the package. It’s about the size of a book, but it has the hair on my arms standing on end and fear flooding through me. Please don’t let it be from him. If it is, how the fuck did he find me?
Before the fear takes complete control, I grab it and rip the paper off, immediately dropping it to the floor when I see what it is. It can’t be. It can’t be, no, no, no!
It’s a copy of one of my favourite books, Rebel at Raleigh High, I have—had the whole series back home. He hated me reading, but it was my escape. I needed it to keep me sane. This is the one and only book he took any interest in, and not for anything other than he liked one of the characters. And it wasn’t the hero.
I begin to feel my chest tighten, and my breathing becomes choppy. I’m aware it’s happening, and I put my forefinger to my thumb and start to rub, applying pressure as I do.
After Jamie rescued me from the pervy tramp that day, she convinced me to see a counsellor about my anxiety and panic attacks. Whilst I was sceptical at first, I can’t be too mad now, she taught me some techniques to stave them off before they take complete control. I continue with my finger hold and take some slow, deep breathes until I start to relax.
“Urgh, my mouth tastes like a whore’s arsehole,” Jamie mutters, as she sits up, “That image just had my stomach turning over. Ooh, your book came, yay!” She picks it up off the table, turning to read the back. I just sit there in utter shock, not knowing how I feel about that. I can hear Jamie talking, but it sounds fuzzy, like I’m under water. I really thought he’d found me, and I’d have to run again. I don’t want to run. I like it here, and I’m finally living like a normal 26-year-old should. Not in fear, not worried about when the next punch is going to come, or when I’ll have to give my body to someone who doesn’t cherish it but takes what they want, abuses it, sees it as a piece of meat. The fear from earlier has gone and been replaced by anger. An anger that I’ve not felt in a long time.
“Cam, did you hear me?” I look at Jamie, the smile on her face drops away and worry creeps in. “What’s the matter, don’t you like it? You said it was one of your favourites, and I wanted to get you something to congratulate you on your new job.” She seems unsure, and I hate myself for making her feel that way. So, I suck it up, put my big girl pants on and plaster a smile on my face, hoping she doesn’t see right through my fake arse happiness.
“I love it, thank you. I can’t believe you did that.” I smile wide, even though I actually can’t believe she did that, but I know it’s not her fault, she doesn’t understand. How could she possibly understand when I’ve kept everything from her. It’s been nice to pretend that none of it happened, but that’s not realistic. This incident has made me realise that if I ever want to have a shot at a normal life then I need to trust a little more and expel some of this baggage that’s weighing me
down. I dive out of my seat and hug Jamie. Hugging her tight and hoping she gets it. When I pull back with tears in my eyes, I take a deep breath.
“I think it’s time I tell you my story.”
“Well shit! That’s one hell of a story, Cam.” She’s sitting at the other end of the sofa from me, and I can see the many questions running through her mind.
“Yeah, it is,” I say, and although I haven’t told her everything, I’ve told her enough without, at least I hope, putting her life in any danger. Looking to change the subject, I ask her if she fancies coming into town as there’s a few bits I need for work, plus I need the fresh air after that conversation.
When we get back from town, Jamie goes off to cook dinner. She decided that we needed some meat and veg. Take that however you like, I know I’m not getting any, and I don’t think she is either.
I head to my room to put away the new clothes I purchased, well, Jamie purchased if I’m honest. Once I get paid, I intend on paying her back, for everything.
I start hanging the clothes when I spot my duffel bag in the bottom of the wardrobe. I pull it out, opening it, not sure what I’m hoping to find as I haven’t looked at this bag since I first moved in with Jamie. I’m not surprised to find it empty as there was never much of value in there anyway. I go to drop it back in the wardrobe when I feel something heavy in a side pocket. I put my hand in and wrap it round…oh my god! I pull out the phone Tyler gave me before I left. I’d forgotten it was even in there.
Plopping to the floor with it in my hands, I just sit and stare at it. Several minutes pass and although I doubt it will work, I push the ‘on’ button, so I’m surprised when the start-up screen lights up. As it loads, several message alerts ping across the screen that have my heart rate rising and dread falling in the pit of my stomach.
There was only one number saved in the phone and just one person who had this number, but a couple of these messages appear to be from a different number. With shaky hands and fear wrapping round me like a snake round its prey, I click on the first message.
UNKNOWN: Kasey, please come home. I need you. I’m not mad, just come home and we can work it out.
I flick through a few more, all similar to the first one, but as I get to the most recent ones the tone changes. This is the man I know, and dare I say, once loved.
UNKNOWN: You little fucking bitch! I will find you and, baby, when I do, I’m going to make you hurt so bad.
UNKNOWN: You have blood on your hands too now. He screamed like the little pussy he was. I’m coming for you next, baby, and it’s gonna be so fucking pretty watching your blood run. It’s making me hard just thinking about it.
There’s a link with this message, and when it opens, I watch in horror as Tyler comes in to view. Oh my god. What did I do?
Tyler is strung up, arms above his head, but his head is dropped to his chest, so I can’t see his face. But I can see the blood that runs down his body in rivulets and pools on the floor below him. I can’t see him from this angle, but I can see as he swipes out with a switchblade, slashing into Tyler’s skin. I drop the phone, running to the bathroom and dropping to the floor then heaving into the toilet. Sweat forms on my neck and forehead as I slump back and lean on the bath panel. I grab some tissue, wiping my mouth and closing my eyes as I try to rid my mind of the image of Tyler, but I can’t. It will be forever etched into my brain, alongside the pictures of the two people who were most precious to me that he felt necessary to show me; to torture me with as though he hadn’t done that enough. The man knows no bounds.
I feel sick to my stomach, and acid still burns in my throat at the thought of Tyler suffering. He didn’t deserve to die and certainly not for helping me, but I refuse to let his death be in vain. And I refuse to allow him to play the guilt trip on me. I can feel tears well in my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. He doesn’t deserve any more of my pain or sorrow.
I crawl back to the wardrobe and pick the phone up. I see another message from a different number, and while I’m conscious that it’s possible my phone is being tracked, I get the feeling this message is important.
UNKNOWN: Camryn, it’s Rick. I know when you left that you had no intention of contacting me, and I totally understand that. However, things have become a little complicated. I know you’re probably wondering how I got this number; Tyler gave it to me. He knew things were going pear shaped and gave this to me to ensure your safety. I need you to contact me asap, but don’t use this phone. Once you’ve read this message you need to get rid of the phone. Here’s my number, 0784 619 7721, it’s secure.
I scramble to my feet, going to my desk and grabbing a pen then quickly writing the number down on a scrap of paper. I double check it before shutting the phone off, putting it on the floor and go to stamp on it, but at the last second, I stop. I know Rick said to get rid of it, but it has evidence on it.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on or who Rick is, but I have to believe that if Tyler trusted him then maybe I should too.
From what I know, if a phone is off then it can’t be traced, and though there may be ways to get round that, it’s been in my bag for over 6 months and so far, I’m safe. He obviously has the number but not where I am. Yet. I take that thought and lock it up tight and pray it stays that way. I put the phone in my desk drawer, and then sit and think about my next move.
Four
Blue
Three months ago
“Have you heard from her?” I take a seat at the dining table, grabbing the coffee pot. I turn my nose up as I bring the cup to my mouth. Rick and his fancy arse coffee. I’d much rather have a cup of tea than this sludge.
“No, nothing. Do we still have eyes on her?” Rick asks, and I see the worry in his eyes. He feels bad for letting her walk away, for not trying harder to get her talking. I understand how he feels.
I had no idea who she was outside Rick’s that day, although to be honest, I was more interested in getting to know her for another reason. Shit! This is what happens when I let my dick have control.
“No, and we haven’t since she left the streets. It’s like she just disappeared.” I pray to god that’s not the truth. “I have a contact in the Manchester area that’s doing some digging.” I tell him, rubbing my thumb and forefinger across my brow and trailing my hand down my face, across the stubble that’s growing. Rick nods just as his phone rings, pulling it out and answering as he leaves the room.
I sip my coffee while running different scenarios through my mind and none of them are good. I can’t believe we just fucking let her walk away.
At the time, we had a man on the inside, and now he’s fucking dead. Tyler was a fucking good man, and it makes my blood boil that the bastard took him out. I’ve been in touch with his wife and made sure that she and the family are well looked after, but it’s no fucking consolation.
Now, without Tyler, we have no idea of Sean’s movements or even if he has any leads on where Kasey is, which is pushing my stress levels through the fucking roof. I can’t wrap my head around how such a beautiful woman could get mixed up with a twisted motherfucker like Sean Donovan. I just have to hope that my contact comes through for us.
Rick comes back in with a deep frown on his face. “Something up?” I ask, not sure I really want to know the answer.
“I’m not sure,” he says, as he grabs the folder sitting on the table, chucks back the last of his coffee then turns to me. “We have a possible sighting of her. And before you get too excited, it’s not concrete.” I jump up from my chair, but before I can get a word out, Rick cuts me off, “I thought maybe you would like to go check it out?” I see the fucking smile in his eyes, and I can almost feel the ribbing he’s dying to give me but won’t if he knows what’s good for him.
“Too fucking right I do! What do we know?” I ask, as we head out the front door.
Within the hour I’m on the road to Manchester, and although we don’t have much of a lead, it’s something. I’m to meet a guy called Lee, who
apparently works at an upscale bar in Spinningfields. It’s the financial district and best known for its entertainment and cocktail bars. Lee thinks that he worked with Kasey for a while, but he can’t be one hundred percent until he’s seen a picture of her. It would have been easy to send a picture to his phone, but neither of us wanted to risk it. Sean has eyes everywhere.
Five
Camryn
It’s been almost a week since I found the messages on my old phone, and I’m still not sure what to do. I know I can’t, or shouldn’t, leave it too much longer. But what the hell do I do? I’m so scared that if I get in touch with Rick it will lead him to me. But if I don’t, then not only does he get away with murder, but there are no guarantees he won’t find me anyway.
I don’t know exactly what Rick does, but I remember the card he gave me the day I met him. Unfortunately, I don’t have it anymore, only remembering that he works for a security company. Whatever the fuck that means. I could speak to Jamie about it, but I don’t really want to drag her into this anymore than I already have. Although, I could use her laptop and see if there is anything online about him. Shit! I don’t even know his last name. That’s the end of that fucking idea.
Just then I hear the door downstairs and head to the kitchen to find Jamie putting bags of shopping on the counter.
“Hey.” She turns to look at me as I near the breakfast bar, I nod to the bags, “You planning on cooking up a storm? Shit, did you buy the whole supermarket?” I laugh.
“Nah, I invited a couple of the girls round, thought that we could have a girl’s night. A few movies, several drinks and some nibbles. You know, a sort of celebration of your first week at work,” she says, while she unpacks the mountain of snacks she bought. I walk over to help her, picking up the last bag which just so happens to be the drinks.