by Vi Carter
When I feel as satisfied as I think I will be, I leave the table and make my way back to the bed. I bring the blankets back from the tub and remake the bed. I keep checking to make sure the knife is still there. It is.
Relieving myself is another thing I have to do, but each time I step closer to the toilet, I step away until my bladder demands to be emptied. I finally use the toilet and quickly wash my hands and face after. Sitting back on the bed, I wring my hands. I have no idea what I’m meant to do.
I check the entire box again for something to use to get out of here. But there are no weapons. Only the sharp butter knife that I stole. My mind sings. A sob presses against my throat, pushing my palm against my chest doesn’t stop the onslaught of panic that tries to devour me.
It’s the click that has me swinging towards the door. He’s here again. He doesn’t have to say a word. I instinctively dart to the back of the box. I need to appear obedient, so he can relax and hopefully give me an opportunity to use the knife. I want to look at the pillow where the knife lies but keep my focus trained on him as he enters the box. He’s carrying something that he places on the table before picking up the tray. Without a word, he leaves. The door closes. He climbs the steps and disappears out of sight.
I count to one hundred waiting for him to reappear and demand the knife back, or worse, use it on me. My throat grows dry as I wait, but he doesn’t come. My steps are slower as I approach the table where a box sits. It’s the size of a shoebox. I keep checking the stairway, but each time it’s empty. Picking up the box, I flip open the lid, and small puzzle pieces fall out onto the floor. Quickly I kneel down and scoop them up, placing them back in the box.
A puzzle?
Most of the small pieces are gray. The material in the image looks like stone. As I shift the pieces, I see the greenery of fields and trees and the blue of a river. I glance at the stairway again, making sure he isn’t there, and when I’m satisfied, I look back to the puzzle. My fingers itch to make it up. Why give me a puzzle? Is this some weird way of telling me why I am here?
With that thought, I spill the puzzle out across the table. Flashes of my family doing this have me stumbling from the table. Emotions surface hard and fast, and I cover my face like I can keep them down.
Would my family be searching for me if they were alive? I know they would. My parents would have been distraught. I wonder what life I could have led if they had lived. Would they have noticed how cruel Leonard was? Would they have gotten him help before it went too far? Before, it cost us everything.
I bite my lip until the pain has me refocusing. Make up the puzzle, Claire.
This is what I spent weekends off doing. With that thought, I tell myself it’s just a normal weekend as I sit down and get lost doing the puzzle. It’s something that has always numbed me, and all that matters is completing the puzzle. The image takes shape as I fill in the edges and continue this pattern, watching the landscape develop. A river is running alongside fields. With each piece I add, I see more of the picture, and my heart races. Why give me this? The castle starts to take form, and my stomach squirms as recognition takes shape. I know the castle. I know where this is.
Cabra Castle.
Not far from where I live. Why show me this? Is this puzzle one he had upstairs and just gave to me to pass the time? Or could he know doing puzzles is how I spent dwindling away my spare time. My hands start to shake as questions assault me.
Three questions dominate all the rest, and I’m looking at the stairway again. Why am I here? Why me? And what would he finally do with me?
I’m not getting out of this place. The chair hits the ground hard as I stand abruptly. My fists smash down on the stupid puzzle, and I tear into the image like it's a living thing that I can pour all my anger out on. Flinging the contents across the floor, I join the puzzle pieces on the ground. Tears burn my eyes, and I let them flow as I scream out my fear and frustration towards the glass ceiling. I stay on the floor for a while until my body is all out of tears and hope.
I crawl across the floor, picking up the gray box, and start putting the pieces back in. It’s like my life, really. When I fall apart and spiral into the darkness, I often wait for someone to pull me out, someone to hold me and tell me it will be okay. That never happens. I resurface even for a small amount of time and have to pick myself up off the ground. I have to convince myself it will be okay. That life will get better.
The lies, I tell myself. My fingers wrap around the small pieces, and I anchor myself to gathering up the pieces and placing them in the box. Once I’ve gathered them all up, I put the box back on the table and pick up the fallen chair.
The silence is driving me mad. At home in my apartment, I kept a radio going or the TV on. I never allowed the silence to fill the space; with silence came my pain.
I hum off-key as I move to the back of the box and sit down on the ground. I have a clear path to the door, but I’m the furthest away if he comes back.
He does. He’s changed out of his suit and has swapped it for a t-shirt and jeans. He looks more deadly, and my heart thump thumps in my chest as he places a tray on the table. No warning is given, and once he leaves, I muster the strength up and go to the table. A steak dinner steams from the tray. Silverware and a napkin are placed to the left. A tall glass of liquid is what I pick up first and drink it down in one go.
The food doesn’t go down so easily. My stomach rebels through the large meal. I hold up the steak knife, tempted to take it, but I got away with one; a second knife going unnoticed isn’t likely. The steak parts like butter under the steak knife. Once all the content is cut up, I take the plate to the toilet and scrape all the food into the bowl. I have to flush several times, and sweat starts to gather on the back of my neck. Flushing the toilet seems so noisy in the surrounding space. I hum to try to calm myself, and it works as I walk back to the table and return the plate to the tray. I reluctantly leave the steak knife behind. Grabbing the puzzle box, I take it with me to the back of the room, where I sit down and start to make the puzzle again while continuing to hum. I’ve made up the puzzle five times when he arrives again. He removes the tray and, just like the last time, leaves something on the table for me. He pauses this time and doesn’t leave immediately. I hold my breath, not moving a muscle until he finally leaves.
I hate the small swell of excitement that pushes my feet faster across the flooring. I reach the table, and it’s another box—this one black. Opening the box, the pieces are smaller and the quantity larger. Taking one final peek at the stairway, I take my puzzle with me and hug the box to my chest as I return to the back of the space. Sitting down on the ground, I finish off the first puzzle before starting the second one. These are just random fields with cows and some far-off mountains in the background. Once again, I recognize the landscape, or maybe it’s like all the back roads in our area that are overlooked by the Loch Leigh mountains.
The pattern happens again. He brings me tea. This time the tray holds a sandwich and a mug of coffee. I eat the food this time, and when he collects the tray, another package is left. I nearly smile as I race across the cube and pick up the package; it’s not a puzzle but a brown bag. Opening it, I take out several adult coloring books and a set of coloring pencils. Fear tightens its hands around my throat. This is another thing I do to pass the time. Has he been watching me? How did he know these things about me?
The coloring book makes me feel unsettled. I leave the book and the pencils on the table, not wanting to give him any more of myself. I do keep remaking my puzzles until I can nearly do them with my eyes closed.
***
Days grow repetitive. The one thing that changes is that he stops bringing my food. The bald man named Davy brings the trays instead. No one has to tell me to stay at the back of the box. I spent most of my day there, biding my time to use my knife. Food comes and goes, and more puzzles and coloring books are left behind.
My fingers itch to color, and I give in to another thing I di
d with my mother. Coloring calms me, and I give in to the call and start to fill the pages with vibrant colors. I want to fill the washout space with colors too, not just the pages. Everywhere in the box is white. Why white? Everything is white, even the clothes on my back.
The violet coloring pencil I slide across the white flooring and smile at the line it creates. My smile wobbles and my hand tightens around the pencil. It snaps. The sound of the cracking wood causes me to startle. Closing my eyes, I take a calming breath and start to hum. It settles me again, and I pick up a blue coloring pencil and start to paint my freedom on the floor.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RICHARD
“You want me to push you?” I ask Finn as we make our way to the hotel in Kells. It’s our first check-in of the day.
“No.” His word is barked.
Shoving him out in front of oncoming traffic has crossed my mind. My father has been on my case. So this would be the perfect opportunity to remove another thing from my to-do list.
“I still can use my arms.” His remark is spoken through gritted teeth.
“Make them work faster. We are losing daylight hours,” I say without looking down at him.
He stops spinning his wheels, so he’s facing me and also blocking me from going any further. “You will show me some respect.” There is no force behind his words, and I’m ready to tell him he hasn’t got my respect, but my attention is snagged by Shane, who jogs across the road.
He is accompanying us today. My father must think we are delinquents as he sends three of us to check in on the running of the hotels.
“I got caught up,” Shane grumbles to me. “Did you hear from Darragh?” He directs his question to Finn, who's all red in the face from having a go at me.
“No, why? What has he done now?”
Shane exhales loudly while rubbing his jaw. “He’s not answering his phone. He was meant to initiate new members.”
Shane takes out his phone. “I’ll try him again.” While Shane rings Darragh, I’m here standing on a footpath in the middle of Kells. These brothers are such fuck-ups.
Shane shakes his head, glaring down at the screen on his phone before cutting the call.
“I’ll initiate the members. Just tell me where,” I say.
Shane’s smirk is brief as he raises both brows. “You think Liam would want his son doing groundwork?”
“If it’s good enough for Darragh, it’s good enough for me.”
Shane’s smirk returns, and he glances at Finn, who also finds this fucking amusing.
“Are you sure?” Shane tilts his head like he’s giving me a way out, and I should take it.
But standing here with these two clowns isn’t doing it for me.
“I’m positive, Shane.” I don’t flinch.
All humor flees Shane’s face as he directs his attention to his phone. Mine vibrates in my pocket, and I remove the device.
“That’s the address.”
“Have a good day,” I tell them and leave. I’ll have to kill Finn some other time.
***
The new members are runners for the drug trade, and all vary in age. The only common thing they share is that they are all male, and all are here for the money. Two men I’ve never met before make their way across the warehouse toward me.
The first wears a leather vest with nothing underneath. His dark black hair is slicked back. Muscles bulge as he holds out his hand eagerly for me to take. I take his hand but want nothing more than to wash my hands immediately after.
“Shane told us you were coming. Great to meet you, Richard.”
I stare at him as I release his hand. “Your name?”
He stands a little taller as the second man steps up beside him. His attire is cleaner, with slacks and a royal blue shirt.
“Mike, and this is Eddie.”
Eddie holds out his hand, and I take it quickly.
The noise in the warehouse is growing quieter as the men start to notice my arrival.
“So the boys have been primed and are raring to go,” Mike says proudly, and I step around him toward the men who would do the actual donkey work. These men might be the lowest paid, but without them, this ship would sink. I just needed to make sure that if the ship did sink, the captain would remain on dry land.
“Who has spent time in prison?” My question has the men mumbling. I focus on a young boy, maybe eighteen, the pristine white tracksuit and shoes that haven’t seen a day’s work. That would change. He’s at the age that if he throws his weight around like that, it makes him more of a man.
I single him out. “What about you?”
He turns to the other men, half laughing before facing me. “Nah, I’m too quick to get caught.” He lifts the baseball cap off his head before sliding it back on. Laughter bubbles up behind him.
I grin, not fucking amused.
I look at an older man.
“You?” I ask.
“No, Sir.” His gut hangs out over his trousers, and I move along the line of men.
“Anyone?”
A lanky man, whose face is covered in acne scars, steps forward. “Two years in Mount Joy.”
I place my hands in my trousers pockets as I make my way down to him. I don’t ask him about his crime. That is irrelevant.
“In those two years, how many times were you beaten?”
“Too many times.” He laughs, but the pain and anger reflect in his eyes.
“How about getting raped?”
The next question has his face growing red, and he’s ready to step away from me and back into formation with the other men.
“You will answer my question.”
He looks to Mike and Eddie, who are approaching me fast like they are sweeping in to do damage control.
I know it’s Mike who will take charge before he opens his stupid mouth.
“This isn’t what Darragh does, Richard. We don’t interrogate the men.”
I nod, and the man who hadn’t answered my question tries to sink back into the line. “Stay where you are.” I warn him, and he pauses.
Turning to Mike, I grip his shoulder. “It’s Mr. O’Reagan to you.”
His jaw hardens, but he keeps his big mouth shut.
“I’ll do this my way.” I turn back to the lanky man. “Were you raped in prison?”
“Yes.” He admits through gritted teeth. Men snort laughter around him, and I take a step towards them.
They shut the fuck up.
“Working with us may seem like quick money. Easy earnings.” I walk the line, making sure each man hears my words. “But if you get caught, prison is how you pay for your quick money, and in prison, you will be beaten.” I stop and point at the lanky man who admitted to being raped. “What’s your name?”
“Jared.” He grumbles reluctantly.
“Just like Jared was beaten and raped, so will you.”
The men aren’t laughing now.
“But let me tell you something, if you get caught and breathe the O’Reagan name, rape and a beating would be a blessing compared to what I would do to you.” I stop, and the young boy who had never been to prison has paled as he looks up at me. The baseball cap dragged a little closer to his eyes.
“I enjoy hurting people,” I speak to him before stepping back. “I’m very good at it.” I allow a slow grin to grace my face. “I can’t give you references because no one survives.”
I clap my hands, and they startle. “So let this be your warning. It’s money on the table, but the consequences are deadly.”
I turn to Mike and Eddie. “How did I do?”
Eddie looks to Mike, who tightens his jaw. “Very well, Mr. O Reagan.”
I step up to Mike and slap him gently on the cheek. “That’s a good boy.” He needs to remember he is in the presence of a king.
No one laughs or speaks. The room is deadly quiet as I look back at the men.
“That is your initiation. Mike and Eddie will give you further instructions.” I take my leav
e from the group of silent men.
I think it went well.
I have no intention of returning to Shane and Wheels. My mind has been fixated on Claire whenever I gave my mind a break from thinking about work. She fascinates me. So much so that I had Davy take over bringing her food because the pull I felt toward her kept growing. She is the perfect image of damaged, and instead of mending her, I want to completely open her up until she is unfixable.
“That wasn’t wise.”
A thrill shoots through my body and I turn to Mike, the knight who races across the asphalt toward me.
“The men are pissed, and I had to ring Darragh.”
I fold my arms across my chest and let this fool continue to divulge.
“He’s Mr. O Reagan to us, and I mean no disrespect, but what you did to Jared in there wasn’t right.”
I nod my head like what he is saying is fascinating.
I could lash out easily and take this fool’s life. I remember my lessons. Take something else from him. It would be his power in this case.
“You’re right, Mike.” I unfold my arms.
Mike smiles. “Look, I get it, man, I know what you were doing, but that doesn’t work on my guys.”
“Your guys.” I grin.
This stupid motherfucker grins back. “I’m the boss when Darragh isn’t here.”
“Let me apologize to the men.”
Mike’s brain kicks into gear. “Really?” It’s his first time looking skeptical.
I walk back to the warehouse. “Yeah, Mike, really.”
He jogs until his steps match mine. “I mean, they would appreciate that. Especially coming from you.”
I pull open the door to the warehouse, and like the gentlemen I am, I allow Mike to enter first.
The hush falls around the space quickly, but I want to make my point.
I clap my hands several times. “Gentlemen.” I garner their attention. “Mike here thinks I’ve treated you badly.”
Mike steps up beside me, his shoulders held back with pride, like he just tamed a lion.