Abby sighed. “She is. Or she should be. He had a reason to kill me, to keep me quiet. Killing her would just have been icing on the cake. He’s a sociopath, but he’s not an idiot. He’s been in hiding for what, almost two years now? He showed up only to tie up some loose ends. He’ll stay ‘dead’ if he’s smart, but that’s not my point. At least consider keeping the gun handy, OK?”
“No, Abby, I won’t consider it. I don’t even like it in the house.”
Then it’s a good thing you don’t know what else is down there, Abby thought. Over the past several months that she had been sneaking in to visit Ava, Abby had amassed a small arsenal of handguns and other trinkets.
“Ava gets her report card next week,” Sarah said, changing the subject. “She says it should be all A’s. Isn’t that great?”
“It is,” Abby said vacantly.
“You OK?”
Abby was silent a moment, “Yes, I’m fine. Tired, that’s all. It’s a lot of work here; a lot of physical work.”
“Well, Ava is looking forward to seeing you this weekend. Are you still coming tomorrow night, as usual?”
Abby stared at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. She usually left after therapy was done in the afternoon, reaching her sister’s house around midnight. “Maybe I’ll come tonight instead.”
“No, Abby, we’ll be fine.”
“They’re waiting for me, you know. They’ve got to be Bryce’s guys. Why else would he have them there? Could he know I’m still alive?”
“We buried you, Abby. It was all pretty convincing—and it was all over the news.”
That it was, Abby thought. There had been a full-fledged funeral and burial. All the news outlets covered it. It was a pretty huge story, and elaborately orchestrated by Robert and his money.
“At least tell me you’ll keep a gun by the bed tonight?”
Sarah smiled. “Yes, Abby, I’ll keep a gun by the bed tonight.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I am. We’ll be OK one more night. Tomorrow night, just come as usual.”
“I’ll be there. And I’m hoping those two fat bastards in the car are still hanging around, too.”
Sarah thought a moment before admitting, “Me, too, Abby. Me too.” She knew what her sister was planning, and knew there was no alternative.
* * *
“Rinse your dishes and put them away if you’re done,” Sarah reminded Ava as she cleared the pots and pans from the stove.
“Yes, Auntie,” Ava said, smiling, but almost rolling her eyes.
As was their typical ritual, they both cleaned the kitchen table after dinner. Ava didn’t help to get dinner ready, as she was usually completing her homework, but Sarah expected her to help clean up after.
Sarah looked out various windows of the house over the course of the night but saw no sign of the men in the car. Maybe they’re taking the night off, she thought, amused—albeit morbidly—at the thought.
After the dishes were put away, teeth brushed, and pajamas put on, Sarah and Ava sat on the couch to watch a little television before bedtime. Ava’s therapist had advised Sarah that organization and structure would go a long way toward helping Ava feel safe again and get through what had happened. “Knowing what to expect, and when to expect it, helps put the mind at ease,” she had advised. Despite Ava’s traumatic upbringing, nothing can prepare a little girl for seeing her father shoot her mother in the chest only a few feet away from her.
Sarah did the right thing, and they were in a psychologist’s office not forty-eight hours after the incident. Maybe it was her young age, or the fact that her father’s psychotic actions were not unprecedented, but Ava worked through things fairly well and was a relatively well-adjusted girl.
Still, Sarah rarely deviated from structure and schedule. At eight o’clock sharp, she announced, “Time for bed, little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m almost ten! Can’t I stay up just a little while longer? Please?” A test, Sarah thought.
The therapist told her, “Especially in the face of a test, it’s important not to give in. Stay firm. Asking to stay up longer is a test of the boundaries, and it is important for a victim like Ava to know that boundaries are there.”
Despite wanting to give in, Sarah fought the urge and resisted. “Not tonight, sweetie. You still have school in the morning. When your mom is here, we’ll talk about having a new bedtime for you. How does that sound?”
Ava, as always, lit up with the thought of seeing Abby. “Sounds great! I’ll see you in the morning!”
Sarah gave her niece a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be up in a little while to check on you. Have sweet dreams.”
As she walked away, Ava chuckled a bit at that expression. “I will, Auntie. You know, you don’t have to say that every night. I’m really not a little girl anymore.”
Sarah smiled as Ava turned and trotted out of the room. “No,” she said to herself, “you’re certainly not.”
* * *
Something woke Sarah just after two a.m.
Like every other night these past few days, it took her a few moments to realize where she was. Sitting up, her neck a little sore from having fallen asleep in an awkward position on the couch, she stretched before turning off the TV.
She checked the front-door locks, and then peeked out the dining room window to make sure that neither the car nor the two men were anywhere to be seen. Satisfied that everything looked in order, she sleepily walked up the stairs in what had become a nightly ritual over the past week.
She opened Ava’s door to look at the lump under the covers. She smiled to see Ava sleeping peacefully though she was a bit shocked at how cold the room was. Fall always came a little early this far north, and notwithstanding Sarah’s constant reminders to shut her window before bed, Ava insisted otherwise.
Sarah shook her head and rubbed her arms as she crossed the room and shut the window. It had to be just above freezing outside, and the chilled air gave her goose bumps as the breeze fluttered over her skin when she pulled the window closed. The poor girl must be freezing, Sarah thought, seeing that Ava had pulled the covers up over her head.
As she leaned over to adjust the covers and give Ava a kiss on the cheek, a hot wave of panic washed over her as Ava’s body completely compressed. Ripping the sheets off the bed, a wave of nausea overtook her. Nothing more than pillows lay stretched across the bed, arranged in the rough shape of a small body. Ava was gone!
Overcome by panic, Sarah raced around the house, throwing open closet and bathroom doors, “Ava?!”
After tearing through the house in mere moments, Sarah realized the worst and grabbed the phone with her trembling hands.
* * *
Abby sprang into action and was racing through the backwoods of Maine at a breakneck speed in her little import inside of two minutes after her sister called her. She had barely dressed, and her hair was a mess, but none of that matter to her. Two hours into her six hour trip, and she had been cursing herself the entire time. I knew I should have gone tonight.
As the gray light of dawn started to threaten the horizon in her rearview mirror, Abby told herself to get a grip. If I go crazy and do something stupid, Bryce wins, and who knows what happens to Ava. She had to stay sharp and think clearly.
Even though Sarah had promised to call her with updates, and they had just gotten off the phone twenty minutes ago, Abby dialed her again. She needed to stay calm, to keep focused, and to feel like she’s part of the situation.
“What’s the status, Sarah?”
“Nothing has changed here, nothing new.”
Abby cursed the steering wheel.
The police were not taking the situation seriously, and this frustrated Abby and Sarah to no end.
“This happens all the time,” a female officer had assured Sarah an hour earlier. “Kids run away. We’ll keep looking, but she’ll turn up by breakfast, as soon as she gets hungry.”
The police were do
ing pretty much that—just looking. They were searching the neighborhood, knocking on doors, the usual first steps when a child goes missing.
Abby knew that by the time the police got around to it, Ava would be long gone, hidden deep in the Canadian wilderness or flown out of the country on a private plane. She slammed her fist into the steering wheel and pushed down harder on the gas pedal.
* * *
The fatter of the two men secured the duct tape around Ava’s wrists a bit tighter once they found a safe place to pull over a couple miles down the road. With her arms bound behind her and a gag in her mouth, she looked up at her capture helplessly, with terror in her eyes. He felt bad for her, he really did, but business was business. He stroked her soft brown curly hair with his meaty hand and spoke through labored breathing. “Don’t worry, honey, we’re just bringing you to your daddy. Everything will be fine.”
At the mention of her father, Ava’s eyes became as wide as saucers as he slammed the trunk shut.
4
SARAH WATCHED ABBY pace the kitchen like a caged animal as she poured two cups of tea and set them down on the island. “Abby, why don’t you sit down and have some tea? Wind down a little.”
“I’m not having fucking tea,” Abby shot back.
Her mind was racing and immediately started making connections. Tea always made her think of Robert. The first time she met him on the island, he made her peppermint tea. Of course, Robert, the island, and damned near everything else brought her thoughts back to Eric.
She stopped, body tense, and closed her eyes trying to push his image from her mind, but it was no use. It didn’t help that she was at the scene of the crime. There he was, smiling, crashing broken to the ground, body jerking as Bryce put two bullets in his chest.
Sarah watched her poor sister, her body wound tight and rocking slightly. She wanted to hug her but was a little scared. Abby had thrown a fit when she arrived fifteen minutes ago. She punched a hole in the foyer wall before breaking down in tears on the floor. Sarah worried that, mentally, her little sister was becoming unhinged. Years of fighting just to stay one step ahead of Bryce and his mob family were finally catching up with her. With Ava gone, Abby appeared to be going over the edge, and Sarah didn’t want to wind up collateral damage if she did.
Abby concentrated on her breathing and pushed Eric from her mind. She needed to think about Ava, no matter how much it drove her mad. She’d be damned if her daughter suffered the same fate as Eric. She needed to find a way to stop Bryce because the police never would.
She thought about how she would exact her revenge on that bastard, and sooner rather than later. She could picture herself shooting him or breaking his neck. No matter what steps she took to end his life, the image of his dead body calmed her and allowed her to sigh her first easy breath in hours.
Sarah smiled and gestured to the tea. She smiled again when Abby nodded and took a sip.
Abby stared at the flower garden in the back yard through the French doors. “It’s been almost seven hours. She’s gone. Long gone.”
Her lip quivered a bit as she was about to speak, so Sarah simply nodded her head as her eyes glassed over.
Abby was emotional but had moved past crying. Tears weren’t going to get Ava back. She was calculating, trying to determine exactly what Bryce’s next move would be. At last Sarah broke the tension. “The detectives will be here in a half hour. They’ll help find her, right?”
Abby laughed. “Just like they found Bryce after he murdered Eric and shot me on your front lawn?” She shook her head, “I’ll be gone before they get here. Don’t tell them a thing. Useless, Sarah—they’re useless. Crimes get solved either when someone confesses or the facts drop in their lap. We tell the police everything and my face becomes the lead story on every news station in North America. Bryce may think I’m alive, but he doesn’t know it for a fact. I still have surprise on my side, and I have to go after him. Alone.”
“How? Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Abby shook her head. “But I know who does, so I’ll go after them. They’re hiding him, and they’re going to pay, too.”
“Abby,” Sarah’s hand shook, and she had to put her tea cup back on the saucer, the china rattling upon contact. “Abby... these are dangerous people.”
She smirked, “Not as dangerous as me.”
* * *
With some effort, Abby pried open the storage bin under the basement stairs. Inside sat a large metal box with a combination lock. After dialing in the code, it popped, and she smiled.
She took out what had become her favorite handgun at the shooting range—her Combat NCO .45. It was a big gun made to finish the job. Not like that little 9 mm Bryce shot me with, Abby thought. JJ let her borrow his when they snuck off to the shooting range together a few months back, and she immediately fell in love. It was about as accurate a gun as you could get, and its silencer meant her victims would never hear death coming. She loved the feeling of power in her hands when she held it.
It had a hell of a recoil, though, and being a small woman she had to be well-set and braced to handle it. It wasn’t a gun she could whip out unprepared and fire one handed if need be. The thing would send her whole arm flying backwards if she tried that. She knew this from a rather embarrassing experience at the shooting range. The old-timers had gotten a kick out of it, though.
She holstered the .45 against her body under her left arm and took out the smaller .22 she reserved for close combat. Also silenced, whomever she hit within twenty feet would be dead as a doornail if she wanted them to be, and never hear it coming. She holstered this weapon in the small of her back and smiled at her old friend in its leather sheath at the bottom of the box.
“Well, hi there,” she smiled as she slid the seven-inch blade from its leather scabbard and inspected the gleaming metal finish. She thought about all the times this knife had saved her life. It hadn’t seen action in quite some time, but she knew it was up to the job. There are a few more bad guys for you to take care of, she thought. She secured the sheath around her right thigh and felt as complete as she had in months.
Checking her watch, she figured another ten minutes until the detectives arrived, and she wanted to be gone with her small arsenal by then. She grabbed a few more items from the box: a small pouch—similar to a coin purse—that contained a few quarter-sized discs numbered individually, a palm-sized case containing a powerful night-vision monocular, a small canister that looked like an asthma inhaler, and a larger four-by-six-inch case that contained five small, dull gray tubes each about the size of a roll of quarters.
The discs and grenades were presents from Ace, JJ’s brother. The first were small discs of plastic explosives that she could remotely detonate by phone, or by clicking in a code on the small button on the back. The second were homemade flash-bang grenades, designed to blind, deafen, and generally disorient anyone for ten to fifteen seconds with their combination of bright explosive and concussive sound. She clipped the packages to her belt and pulled on her thigh-length, black leather jacket.
Checking herself in a dusty, full-length mirror in a corner of the basement, she was satisfied that the various arms strapped to her body were well-concealed. She grabbed a disposable flip-phone, a billfold with a few hundred dollars in American currency, and a fake driver’s license and passport JJ had procured for her.
Abby hurried upstairs but froze when she got to the top and heard a man’s voice. She stood listening through the cracked door.
“Sorry, we haven’t come up with anything on your daughter.”
“She’s not my daughter,” Abby heard Sarah say. “She’s my niece. Her mother passed away last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the detective said.
“It’s OK,” Sarah said louder. “I’m going to pour myself a coffee in the kitchen. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. Trying to cut back.”
“OK, wait here in the living room, I’ll be back in a momen
t.”
Sarah knew that Abby’s presence might raise some questions. Abby had to get out of there without being seen, so Sarah was letting her know where the detective was. He was in the living room, so Abby could sneak out through the French doors at the back of the kitchen without being seen. Quietly, she eased through the basement door as Sarah entered the kitchen. Abby held her finger to her lips.
Sarah nodded and gave a slight smile as she hugged Abby. There was no mistaking the hard bulges she felt under Abby’s coat. When Sarah backed away, she mouthed, “Be careful” to her, with a tear in her eye.
Abby nodded and mouthed back, “I will” before slipping out the French doors and through the back yard, where she had snuck into the house so many times before.
Sarah watched for a second as her sister disappeared, and was wiping tears from her eyes when the detective’s voice came from behind her, “Everything OK?”
She whipped around, surprised, with tear-filled eyes and nodded her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll give you a minute to compose yourself, then we’ll go over the questions, OK?”
Sarah nodded and stole one more glance out the back door, wondering if she would ever see Abby alive again.
* * *
Abby cut through a neighbor’s yard, behind a house that had had a For Sale sign on it for at least six months, heading toward her vehicle to get on her way. Just before she turned the corner of the house, she heard men talking. She stopped in her tracks and listened closely. After a moment, she realized she was going to have to find a new getaway vehicle. The officers were running the tags on her vehicle. It made sense. A car from outside of the country, parked in the driveway of a vacant house, they’d be remiss not to take a good look at it with a child missing in the neighborhood.
She was at least happy that they were trying to do something; though she also knew it wasn’t going to get them anywhere, and certainly wouldn’t lead back to her. The car had been purchased, registered, and insured all in a fake name that wouldn’t lead anyone back to Abby. All the exercise was going to accomplish was to delay her.
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