Property

by Renard, Loki

  Before Alice gets up, I go through her wardrobe. She won’t mind. Half of the things in here have never been worn and I’m not taking anything particularly nice. I need to blend in right now. Jeans. T-shirt. Sneakers.

  To complete my disguise, I wrap my head in a classic paisley scarf and put on large sunglasses. They’re not in fashion anymore, but they cover enough of my face to stop face detection software from spotting me. It’s possible that they could tap into surveillance cameras worldwide and pick my face out of a crowd. Paranoid? Maybe. But now is a good time to be paranoid.

  My father took great interest in conspiracy theories in the last years of his life. He used to enjoy talking about them over dinner. I never paid as much attention as I should. The idea that the world was run by powerful people who never show themselves to the public, who scheme and lie and enact their wishes on the world seemed ludicrous to me. Now I’m realizing that it was simple fact—and the reality is far worse than the theory.

  I borrow a few bucks from Alice. She won’t notice them missing either. I catch a bus down to the pier, where my funds are waiting for me.

  The pier is busy, the people wrap around me and I sink into them, part of the bustle. I have never felt so relieved to be nobody. I let myself forget about the horrors of captivity, of men whose eyes burn and hands hurt. I pretend that I don’t know the world is run by a few select, truly twisted humans who control the wealth and futures of people who wouldn’t recognize them if they fell over them.

  My destination is unassuming. It’s a spaghetti booth located in between a surf shop and a pawn shop. It is shuttered up and it rarely opens, if ever. Is a spaghetti booth even a thing? I don’t know, and right now it doesn’t matter. There’s a little alley down the back and it leads to a dirty old door with a surprisingly shiny lock on it. The code is the same it has always been. My mother’s birthday.

  I unlock it and step inside the musty little kitchen area. It hasn’t been maintained well over the years, and I’m sure the teenagers hired to pretend to work here never bother to wipe down the walls or mop the floor in between cooking up batches of spaghetti they never sell.

  They’ve definitely never pulled the microwave oven away from the wall. The spot behind it is thick with grease, sticky to the touch. I take a knife from the opposite wall and use it to pry at one of the tiles. It comes away, thin tendrils of old oil stringing behind it to reveal a small box pushed into the wall. My father was a very rich man, but he was not born into money. He knew what it was to be poor, and he was always taking precautions against being ruined. There are little stash boxes like these all over the world. I used to laughingly refer to them as his treasure hunts. I never knew that one day, I would need them.

  The box opens to reveal everything I need. Thick wads of cash, credit cards that I am sure are linked to separate, untraceable accounts. There’s even new IDs. Two of them. One of them is for my father. Seeing his strong face staring out of the plastic card makes my eyes swim with tears, but also toughens my nerve. He’s providing for me, even now.

  When I return the piece of tile to the wall, I notice something I’d missed before sitting just under the box. It’s dark and metal and I wasn’t looking for it so I didn’t notice it. It’s a gun.

  It slips into my hand, the weight of it feeling like power. I don’t like guns. They frighten me, both in their noise and their ability to destroy lives. But right now, I like the way it fits in my hand. I like the fact that having this means I can’t be taken again.

  If Darko could see me now...

  A small smile passes over my lips. There were moments I thought I could love him. He touched me and my body sang. But he humiliated me in front of my enemies, and I don’t regret my escape one little bit.

  Now that I have money, I should be good for some time. But where to go? What to do? Revenge plays on my mind. My fingers curl around the butt of the gun. The notion of putting some of those men under is appealing, but I don’t know if I have it in me.

  Darko wanted me to submit to the evil. My instinct is to run from it. But the third option, the choice to fight for myself and avenge my father lingers in my mind. I can’t quite let it go.

  The usual rules of existence have been suspended. The more I think about my situation, the angrier I get. They’ve taken my father. They’ve taken my homes. My money. They’ve taken my dignity. But I do have one ally left. One man I trust more than anyone else in the world.

  Before I can contact him, I have some shopping to do. I need a new phone.

  I leave the spaghetti place and head back into the city. I need a car too. It won’t be a new one. It will have to be one that somebody has owned before. I’ve heard it’s possible to buy cars in such a fashion, though I’ve never driven anything other than new luxury models.

  My morning is spent purchasing the necessary tools. I buy what I’m told is a midrange vehicle. Ten thousand dollars doesn’t go that far when you need to set up an entire life from scratch. The car I buy has broken air conditioning and a hula girl attached to the dashboard with what seems to be cement. I leave her bobbling there and drive my way around to the motel I intend to stay at.

  It’s strange, spending money now. I used to buy things without regard for their cost, but there’s only a few thousand dollars to tide me over. It won’t last forever. I have to feed myself, shelter myself. I have to buy clothing. Some part of me realizes that this is how most people live their lives. To me, it feels something like a game. In my real life, the one where I’m not the prey in a hunt, I can buy whatever I like whenever I like.

  The phone I buy is simple. It’s not a smartphone. It’s just a phone. Text and voice. Not even a camera. It’s perfect. Can’t be tracked by something that doesn’t have the technology to be tracked.

  Finally, I make the call.

  “Parker-Baskerville residence, how may I help you?” The refined tones of my oldest and best friend come over the line and tears spring to my eyes again. I would give anything to be in the same room as Miles, to be sitting with my father as he brings us our meals.

  “Miles, it’s me. Chloe. I need you to do something for me.”

  I know he must be surprised to hear from me, but he hides it well. “Anything, madam. We’ve missed you. Your disappearance was so sudden we felt it necessary to alert law enforcement.”

  “Don’t tell them I’m back,” I say quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s to do with Daddy,” I try to explain without sounding insane. “He had some enemies in high places. They came for me, and I don’t want them knowing where I am so...”

  “It’s alright, Miss Parker-Baskerville. I understand. What can I do for you?”

  I give him a list of items. Some of it is simple, more cash. I’m going to burn through my reserves pretty quickly. Other items have sentimental value, or practical. He takes the list in its entirety, and without question, and he agrees to meet me at the place I’ve chosen to stay.

  Tomorrow I’ll see Miles again. Tomorrow, things will be one step closer to okay.

  * * *

  Darko

  The old man’s teeth are chattering with fear as I hang up the phone. He gave a good performance, I’ll give him credit for that. I don’t think Chloe suspected a thing.

  The first thing I decided to do, once I got over the initial shock of her loss, was to come to her family home. My initial reaction that she had been taken soon faded under Roland’s ruthless logic. For her to have been taken, one of the Order would have to have disrespected me in my own home, and that would mean that they had lost their fear of me. I don’t believe that is the case.

  Chloe, on the other hand, is a spirited little creature with her father’s blood. A born rebel, defiant to the core. Of course she found her way out of confinement. I let her show of submission and the display of her vulnerability make me believe in her helplessness. I was too convinced of my own ability to break her down that I didn’t see the strength inside.

  The truth is,
she took the first opportunity to escape—and put herself right back in the danger I tried to rescue her from.

  Roland knows she’s out. He is used to taking women. I have asked him to respect my claim on Chloe, but I know his version of claim and mine are very different. And though he is my friend, I don’t fully trust him not to fuck with me. He’s that sort of guy.

  Coming to her family home was a good idea. No matter how unpredictable someone is being, few ever resist the urge to phone home. I got here several hours ago and set up tracking on the phone lines. Every call runs through the laptop that now has her number and location displayed prominently on the screen.

  “Get the plane ready.” I give the order over my shoulder. The first time I took Chloe, I worked alone. This time I have a team. Reclaiming her without the same element of surprise is going to be more difficult, but it’s going to happen.

  In a few short hours, I’ll have her. That girl is in trouble when I get my hands on her again. My mind is full of dark thoughts, the things I will do to teach her never to defy me again. I am going to cage her and chain her. I am going to punish her sweet body until she begs for mercy and promises never to leave again.

  It was tempting to take the phone from the old man, talk to her myself, but hearing her voice secondhand was enough. I don’t want to tip my hand. I want her to think that she’s gotten away with her little escape.

  “Please, don’t hurt her,” the old man begs. “She’s had enough pain in her short life.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to keep her safe. You know her father’s enemies want her. Don’t you go tipping her off.”

  I’m going to leave men here to ensure that he doesn’t, and also to monitor any new calls that come in. If Chloe changes her mind again, I want to know.

  * * *

  Chloe

  Something is wrong. I can feel it. I’ve arranged to meet Miles in the motel lobby. It’s a tired old space with magazines from 1992, peeling wallpaper, and a smell that I can’t quite identify. This is the last place anyone from my old life would expect to find me, so it’s serving its purpose, but I’m ready to move on. My skin is itching from the sheets I slept in last night and I am uncomfortable all over.

  He’s bringing me the supplies and documents I need to take things to the next stage. I’m already tired of staying here. I have been here two days and that is one day too long. I am keenly aware of being hunted. I want to move on, but I can’t before I see Miles. I need the supplies he has for me, and I need to see his face. I need to connect with the world I used to belong to, because this one is already seeping into me. I can feel decay setting in. Hopelessness. Where do I go from here? Do I skip from one shitty motel to another until I finally give in and show myself?

  No.

  I take a breath and steel myself. If the Order is going to come for me, they won’t find an easy victim. I’m going to protect myself. Miles can carry messages for me, filter some funds out of major accounts into smaller ones. My assets include thousands of businesses. Even the best forensic accountants in the world won’t be able to track a tiny multitude of payments being funneled into backup accounts.

  I’m going to get stronger. My escape was the beginning. Now I have to follow through.

  The glass doors leading in here are dirty. I’m trying to keep an eye on the street, watching for Miles, but all I can see are a series of blurs. Any one of them could be him. Any one of them could be anyone.

  A bigger shadow moves across the door. A spike of panic hits me.

  The shadow passes, but I’m spooked. I don’t know why. There’s no logical reason for it, but my body is screaming for me to get up and go. Now.

  I follow the instinct and take the back exit to my car. I drive a few blocks away and sit, breathing heavily, fingers clutching the steering wheel. What the fuck did I just do? Miles isn’t going to know where I am. I’ve just left an old man wandering around in a dodgy area with thousands of dollars on him.

  Before my guilt can make me turn back, my phone rings.

  I stare at it.

  Nobody has this number. I haven’t given it to anyone, and I’ve only made one call from this phone. A call home. So it has to be Miles on the other end of the line. Right? He’s probably wondering where I am. I’m being paranoid. I have to get myself together. I can’t run every time I feel a little bit scared for no reason whatsoever.

  I try to push my nerves away. I’ve been so damn jumpy since my escape. It’s hard, being alone, looking over my shoulder constantly, knowing any one of many innocent mistakes could get me caught by one of the men I met that evening on Darko’s island.

  I answer the call.

  “Hello, Chloe,” Darko drawls down the line.

  The hair on the back of my neck rises instantly as a powerful charge of emotion bolts through me. Oh, fuck. Oh, no. This can’t be happening. He can’t have found me already.

  “How did you get this number? What did you do to Miles?”

  “That’s not important. Come back to the lobby. If I have to come and get you myself, this is going to be worse for you—and it’s already going to be bad.”

  I hang up on him. I can’t tolerate that dark masculine voice threatening me. With trembling fingers, I restart the car and I start driving. I don’t know where I’m going, just away. I have to get as far away from California as possible.

  It’s hard to drive with tears in my eyes. Miles. Poor Miles. What the fuck did Darko do to him?

  The phone rings again. I wind my window down and throw it out into highway traffic. That fucking thing is like a collar around my neck. He can probably follow me with it. Now he can follow the trail of shattered plastic and dust crushed beneath the tires of a dozen semi-trucks.

  I drive up the coast. To my left, the Pacific gleams. It’s so open, so free. I feel as if I am at the edge of forever. My grief, desperation, pain, fear, it all comes surfacing again. Darko is on my tail. It only took him a single day to hunt me down. At that rate, he could be on me any minute.

  I have to get smarter. It was a mistake contacting Miles. If I’m going to organize money, I’ll have to do it myself, pay in-person visits to various branches of various companies. I can hit them and be gone before anyone knows I was there, and it’s not theft if you own the place. At least, I think it isn’t.

  Sirens make me go tense. Has he set the cops on me?

  There’s temptation to put my foot to the accelerator, but I keep it cool, move over to the slow lane and let the highway patrol cruiser blast past me.

  “Breathe, Chloe. This is a big place,” I remind myself. “And Darko isn’t everywhere. Not everybody is looking for you. You’re okay.”

  But I’m not okay. I’m scared shitless. Darko is probably somewhere behind me, following me. For all I know he has eyes on me right now. What if he had a drone over the motel? Or a satellite feed? What if he’s been watching me this whole time, knowing precisely where my car is?

  I have to ditch this car. I have to change my appearance. I have to go somewhere busy, like a mall and make sure that I can’t be surveilled from the air.

  Fortunately for me, there are malls literally everywhere. Every off-ramp seems to lead directly to one. God bless America.

  I take the closest off-ramp and head to the mall looming near the end of it. I abandon my car in the underground parking lot and slip inside the massive construction of pure commerce. I never used to go to malls. Boutiques were more my scene, usually privately closed just for me. Now I am surrounded by throngs of people who act as camouflage for me, just like I might for them. I wonder how many of them feel as I do. How many are scared and pretending not to be? How many are bored and wishing for excitement? Many of the people here are in families. Mothers. Fathers. Teenagers trying to pretend they’re not with them. Smaller offspring distracted by the shiny lights and products in the windows.

  Pangs of jealousy sink through me. I never had a life like the ones playing out before me. I was never able to take simple
family living for granted, because I never had it. My father and I have been living in a cage of our own making, and that cage has been getting smaller and smaller.

  I go to a beauty shop and buy some hair dye. Red. It’s not exactly a stealthy color, but that’s what they’ll be looking for. I want to blend in by being brash and bold just like the other people who surround me. Muted colors and refined dress sense are not going to keep me safe. I need to look like I’d never look.

  It’s time to get shopping.

  Three hours later, I have my head in a public bathroom sink, washing the remnants of the dye out of my hair. The blonde I’ve lived with all my life is gone, and in its place is a fiery mane. I’m wearing new clothes. I’ve kept the jeans, but I’m wearing a much tighter, much lower-cut top. Black velvet hugs my breasts and waist, draws attention to my body and away from my face, which is smeared in bright low-end makeup just like the other young ladies I see around me.

  I’m still not done. Reinventing myself is a big project, but once again, the mall can provide. I take myself off to a place labeled ‘Supercutz.’ In my previous life, I had a personal hairdresser. Today I have a lady named Sheryl who asks me what I want.

  “Give me something different.”

  She doesn’t ask any more questions. She takes her scissors and one bold snip cuts seven inches off my hair. I have been growing it all my life. I used to quibble over having half an inch taken off. But Sheryl doesn’t know about that. She attacks my hair with gusto, chopping off big chunks until what I’m left with isn’t quite a mullet, but also isn’t not a mullet. I hate it. It’s perfect.

  I pay her the ten dollars she asks for and I head to the food court. I need to eat. And then I need to do something I had never imagined I’d ever do in my entire life.

  I need to steal a car.

  Chapter Nine

  Chloe

  The wind is blowing through what is left of my hair, making bright red strands flutter around my face.