Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  “I’m through,” I said, unlocking my trunk. I dropped the bags in it and carefully eased the bracelet back on my wrist.

  “Any problems?” Mont asked.

  “No.” I glanced at his prior parking spot. “Where’s your car?”

  “Some punks were playing loud music. I complained and in return they wrote all over it. Someone was offended by the words and called the cops. I left and came back with the car over there.” He pointed to a dark blue Buick. “Mr. Crussett tried to reach you. Is your cell phone on?”

  I pulled it out of my purse. “I must have forgotten to turn it on earlier.” I climbed into my car and called him. Voice mail came on. I left a message to humor him.

  Around six I pulled into Conner’s garage.

  “How did shopping go?” Conner asked, meeting me in the hallway.

  “Good.” I held up my packages. “I ran into a friend from college. She’s here on business and will be leaving in the morning.”

  He carried my packages as we went up the stairs.

  I continued, “She wants to meet later for dinner and drinks. Since you’re going off to a meeting, I didn’t think it would be a problem. I told her I’d give her a call.”

  “Right now, it’s too dangerous for you to be driving around in the dark.”

  “She’s staying at the Sunlight Hotel. That’s where we tentatively planned on eating. Mont could drop me off.”

  “Sara?”

  “Conner, I won’t be a prisoner,” I hissed.

  He dropped the packages on a chair and wrapped his arms around me. “I just want you to be safe. Mont can drive you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said, gazing into his eyes. I saw a genuine but controlling love I couldn’t reciprocate.

  Kissing my neck, he unbuttoned my blouse.

  “Just a minute, let me give her a call.” I pretended to make a call as Conner undressed. Then he removed my clothes, lifted me into his arms, and gently laid me on the bed. Looking at him, a torrent of emotions flooded through me. I still cared deeply for him, and feared I always would. With a pang of regret, I knew I had to continue deceiving him in order to accomplish my goal.

  He leaned over me, and I felt his hot breath on my bare skin. My heartbeat spiked as he trailed kisses down my chest. I raked my fingers through his hair and my desire for him consumed my thoughts.

  An hour later, we showered and dressed. Conner looked immaculately groomed in his dark gray suit. I wore a short, sleeveless, rose-colored dress that was easy to slip off.

  “What time do you think you’ll be home?” he asked.

  “She has an early flight, so I can’t imagine I’d be later than eleven. How long do you think your meeting will last?”

  “No idea,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be looking forward to climbing in bed next to you.”

  I gave him my best fake smile.

  After I entered the hotel, I looked around for someone, any woman whose name I could memorize. I got in the elevator along with a middle-aged woman wearing a business suit. Around her neck a badge with the name Mary Gregor inscribed on it hung from a chain. On the fifth floor I went to room 501, the room I had rented earlier. I wrote Mary’s name on a piece of paper and slipped it into my purse. Then I changed into my black jogging outfit, grabbed my backpack, left the hotel through the rear exit, and drove to Pier 29.

  In the darkness, I crept between metal and brick buildings along the pier until I was within a hundred feet of the Freedom slip. No light illuminated my location. After the transformation, I had no problem seeing in the pitch blackness. Looking around a shipping container, I sensed someone breathing behind me.

  “Raise your hands,” a man with a deep, Slavic accent ordered as an object poked into my shoulder.

  I had never played Jason Bourne before, so I suspected I might be caught. I had hoped it wouldn’t happen this soon. However, I was prepared with my new Tegen strength and some karate moves I had seen on television. Also, Brett had taught me a little aikido right after my transformation.

  “I’m not doing anything,” I replied, raising my arms.

  He started to move his hands down my jogging suit. “Stop that!” I turned and met his gaze. He was a short, burly man, wearing a pair of slacks, dress shirt, and a tie. He wasn’t a dock worker.

  He held a pistol inches from my chest. “This way,” he nodded toward the ship.

  With a quick chop from the side of my hand, I knocked the gun to the ground at the same time as I scratched his face with my other hand.

  He snatched the gun from the ground and clutched my arm. “What do you want here?”

  My knee slammed into his groin while he raised the barrel. He moaned, buckled over in pain, and released my arm. I grabbed his pistol from his hand and swung it against his head. He tumbled to the ground and landed on his face. I nudged him with my foot and saw his eyes were wide open with a blank stare.

  With all my strength, I yanked him between two large, metal crates and kicked the gun underneath one of them. I returned to the edge of the shipping container, scanned the area, and put a ski mask that I purchased at the mall over my head. I approached the ship, keeping myself concealed behind containers, crates, and dock equipment. I slowly made my way to the first rope securing the ship to the dock. I gripped it in my hands.

  “Ivan’s not answering. Do you want me to look for him?” I heard a man say as I scurried up the rope without looking in the direction of the sound.

  “We don’t sail for an hour. Give him a few minutes,” another man said.

  I hurried across the deck and leaned against the cabin, then exhaled to relax just as the door flew open.

  A man slightly under six-feet tall with a mustache stepped out. He turned toward me. In a panic, I ran the needles protruding from my hand down his arm.

  He drew his pistol, aimed the barrel at me, and yanked off my ski mask. “Another passenger,” he said with a smirk. “You look the right size, but I’m afraid you’re too old.” His breathing became heavy and labored.

  My movements were forced and concise as I struggled to grab the gun from his hand. A tall, thin man ran in my direction and snatched the pistol out of my grip. A bullet discharged into the fiberglass wall. He lunged on top of me. I squirmed and kicked. Yet, I was no match until the venom took effect. He crumpled to the side. I stood and picked up the weapon.

  In the blink of an eye, a brawny man as tall as a basketball shooting guard charged out the door and pulled a rifle from the holster secured to his back. My hand trembled as I aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger. The slug completely missed him. He lowered his rifle toward me. He didn’t get a shot off before I fired again. The bullet penetrated his chest. Blood splattered onto the deck and the bodies in his path as he sprawled on top of them.

  I stayed next to the wall, slipped back on the ski mask, and waited in terror, knowing reinforcements would arrive. A man peeked out the door. I scraped his bald head before he retreated back inside. I moved stealthily around the deck, peering in windows without seeing anyone. Quietly, I stepped inside, made my way down the stairs, and heard pounding on a door at the other end. My eyes swept back and forth as I eased closer to the door.

  Unhooking the latch, I heard a blast and felt a searing pain in my arm. Blood oozed from the wound as a short man with a sturdy chin and recessed hairline yanked me around.

  “Who are you?” he snarled.

  Touching his bare forearm, my heart pounded rapidly and I said, “Nobody.”

  His eyes narrowed and his face tightened. “Who do you work for?”

  “Myself.”

  “Huh?” he mumbled, dropping his weapon as he stumbled toward me. His hands shook, his bottom lip quivered, and his eyes opened wider. He fell to my feet and attempted to hold onto my legs, but his strength was gone.

  I raised a foot and stepped away from him. A strange, unfamiliar sensation surged through my body, like a rush of adrenaline. I sensed additional strength being unleashed inside me as I un
latched the door. It sprung open. I saw those imprisoned on the Freedom with tears running down their faces. They all talked and shouted at the same time. Their voices melded together.

  A petite girl with long, flowing, blonde hair brought her arms around me and held on tightly. “Please, help me,” she sniffled.

  “I will,” I said, patting her back. “Everyone be quiet.” I counted them. I came up with less than twenty. “How many are you?”

  “Sixteen,” a tall, thin girl with short, flaming red hair said. “Why is your face covered?”

  “So I won’t be recognized. Do you know if there are other girls on the ship?”

  “Yes,” the girl answered, sobbing. “My friend, Susie, is here. I don’t know where.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find her, but first I’m going to get all of you off this ship.” I noticed two girls lying in a bed with their eyes fixed toward the door. “Is something wrong with them?” I asked, pointing.

  “Drugs,” the tall girl answered.

  “Can they walk?”

  The tall girl nodded.

  “I’m going to take five of you out of here at a time.”

  “Me first,” they all yelled.

  “Okay, we’ll all leave together.” Looking at the tall girl, I asked. “What is your name?”

  “Melanie.”

  I thought how ironic—Cameron’s wife’s name. “Everyone hold hands.” They followed my instruction. I led them into the hallway with the petite blonde clinging onto my waist. “Stay here while I get the two on the bed.”

  The blonde wouldn’t let go. She went with me into the room and stayed attached. I lifted the two girls from the bed, pulled them into an upright position, and held each one by a hand. We stepped over the threshold and moved to the front of the line.

  “Melanie, can you hold onto these two while I make sure everything is clear?”

  “Don’t leave us,” several girls cried.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, prying the blonde’s arms from my waist. I stroked her wet cheek. “I won’t leave you.”

  The girls were crying, moaning, and whimpering as I went up the stairs thinking none of their captors could be alive. Otherwise, the noise would have drawn their attention.

  Going out the door, I scanned the deck. I spotted shining eyes between a tarp and a box. I rushed in that direction and yanked off the tarp, revealing the hidden man. He pounced and plunged his arm forward with a shimmering flash of metal in his hand. A piercing pain arose in my ribs. Blood poured down my side. When I attempted to breathe, the pain in my lungs made my body convulse. Warm liquid soared through my torso. I looked down and saw his hand gripping the handle of the knife protruding above my waist in a shining wet blotch staining my clothes. I grabbed his arm where I could see skin and squeezed hard. He yanked his arm away with the knife secured in his fist and raised it for another strike.

  I leapt out of its path. The knife plunged into the deck. Wearing a stunned expression because I was still standing, he reached for the knife. I slammed my foot on his hand. He flung out his other hand, knocking me down, and grabbed his knife. Raising it above his shoulder, he froze. His eyes opened wide. His body hit the deck with a thump.

  I ran my hand over my wounded side and didn’t feel any blood flowing from it. I gazed down. Carefully, I slid a finger through the hole in my jogging suit where the knife had penetrated. I touched the lesion. The spot no longer was painful or bleeding. I felt amazed, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Propping the door open, I yelled, “Melanie, come up now.”

  She appeared, holding onto the hands of the two drugged girls.

  “Go down the gangplank and over to those buildings,” I said, motioning as the blonde wrapped her arms around me again.

  I counted as the girls marched off the ship, some of them holding hands, others huddled together. I followed with the blonde. She was number sixteen. Watching for any sign of danger, I led them close to the road and moved as quickly as possible.

  I took the backpack off, unzipped it, and pulled out two cell phones. “Melanie, call 911. Tell them you and a group of girls were held prisoner, and you just escaped. You’re at the entrance to Pier 29.” I gave her a cell phone.

  “Share these phones and call your parents, whoever you want. Make it brief,” I said, handing the other cell phone to a girl who appeared to be a little older than the rest.

  “I want to go home,” several girls cried.

  Then I reached into my backpack and came out with a wad of $100 bills. I handed five to each girl. “Use this money to get home. Have the police help you get away from here as fast as possible. This is all I can do for you. I need to get the other girls.” I extracted the blonde’s arms from me. “You’ll be okay.”

  Running up the gangplank, I heard a low buzzing sound and hoped it wasn’t some kind of alarm. I hurried inside, down the stairs, and opened each door along the corridor. No girls. I ran back up the stairs and searched the bridge. Behind it was a locked door. I kicked it. It didn’t budge.

  “Please, not again,” a girl yelled from inside.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I shouted. Searching around for a tool, I noticed a key ring lying on top of an instrument panel. The third key I tried worked.

  Pushing the door open, I saw four girls huddled in the corner, looking bruised and emaciated in their underwear. The room was barren except for two beds without any sheets or blankets, and a toilet, standing against the far wall.

  “I’m getting you out of here. Follow me,” I said. The girls didn’t budge. “Melanie told me you were here, Susie.”

  The girl with an ivory complexion, long auburn hair, and green eyes began to cry. She had a natural beauty under the tarnish of abuse. “Is Melanie okay?”

  “Yes. Come. Hurry,” I said, taking her hand. “Hold hands. Don’t let yourselves get separated.” I picked up some tarps by the gangplank as I took the girls off the ship.

  When we reached the first building, I handed the girls tarps and discovered I only had three. “I’ll get another one.” I turned and saw a black sedan stop next to the ship. Four men jumped out, carrying rifles, and headed to the gangplank. “No time,” I whispered, wrapping a tarp around two girls. I moved toward the street with the girls in tow.

  As we got closer to the road, blue and red lights throbbed ahead of us. I removed my backpack, pulled out money, and handed $500 to each girl. “Go,” I said, pushing the girls in the direction of the police cars.

  I stayed hidden around the corner of a building and watched the girls being secured and comforted by the officers.

  At the rented car, I took a plastic bag with a wet towel inside out of the backpack and wiped the blood from my outfit. It didn’t clean-up well, but I thought it no longer looked like blood, just dark stains that might pass for coffee or motor oil.

  I drove three miles, stopped at a payphone next to a convenience store, slipped on rubber gloves, and called the police.

  “Houston police department. May I help you?” a man asked.

  Trying to mimic a deep, raspy voice, I said, “My son saw boxes and boxes of child pornography at 5730 Empire.”

  “What is your name?” the man asked. I hung up.

  Within thirty minutes, I was back in my hotel room and checking my wounds. It appeared the one in my shoulder had just grazed the skin since it was almost healed. I couldn’t see any sign of a bullet. The knife wound was also healing nicely. At the rate my body was mending, I thought both would be invisible within an hour. I showered and changed back into my dress. To dissolve fingerprints, I sprayed the room, my jogging outfit, and the inside of the duffle bag. Wearing plastic gloves, I stuffed the black outfit in the bag. Next, I slipped the plastic gloves, the spray can, and the money into an oversized purse I had purchased at the mall.

  Carrying the duffle bag and the oversized purse, I went to the rental car. I put on the gloves again and sprayed the vehicle along with the outside of the duffle bag. I threw the bag in
to a dumpster, and then I headed to the hotel bar and had a glass of wine. The clock on the wall said 11:46 p.m. when I stood and left the hotel.

  Outside I was greeted by Mont who looked nervous and preoccupied. “I was just coming to look for you,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Crussett couldn’t reach you again.”

  “I turned off my cell phone. I didn’t think he’d be home yet.” I climbed into Mont’s front passenger seat.

  “He’s not,” Mont said as he started the engine.

  I awoke with a start as loud voices echoed through the house. Conner wasn’t lying next to me. His side of the bed was untouched. I assumed he never made it home last night.

  The voices continued in the background as I showered, put on a pair of jeans, a short-sleeved cotton sweater, and sandals. I hurried down the stairs, hoping to hear their reaction to last night’s event.

  Conner stood talking in the living room and wearing the same clothes he wore to the meeting last night. Art, Carina’s husband, and another man were sitting on the couch. Jack Shelton, who also lived in the compound two doors from Conner, sat in an armchair. The three men wore suits with their ties hanging loosely around their necks. They turned as I approached. Art gave me a smile.

  “Sara.” Conner took my hand. “Excuse me,” he said to the men as he led me into the kitchen.

  “Why are they here?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said, his jaw muscles tense with frustration. As he gazed into my eyes, I saw love and sadness in his. “There was a problem last night. Why don’t you have breakfast and enjoy the pool while I deal with this. Later this morning, Barnes and his sidekick will be here to talk to you about the Billings investigation.”

  His eyes drooped and his face was pale. Knowing I was responsible, I felt a tinge of sorrow, no guilt. I touched his cheek. “Have you been up all night?”

  He moved his head up and down.