by R E Swirsky
***
Michael pulled open the backdoor to Lucy’s apartment building and stuck his head inside. The single fluorescent light fixture in the narrow hall flickered and buzzed, threatening to plunge the short hall into blackness. Once over the threshold, he took one last glance over his shoulder into the darkened alley, let go of the spring-loaded fire door, and moved further inside and down the short hall. The answer to finding Lucy’s whereabouts had to be up the three flights of stairs in her apartment.
It was only a matter of minutes before he was up on the third floor, through the broken door, and back inside her darkened flat. The afternoon sun had a bad habit of heating the apartment like a sauna if the drapes were left open. With the exception of the single open window in her bedroom, all drapes were pulled tight and all windows closed. The gloomy darkness encapsulated him. He moved slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust.
A small crunch under his shoe caused him to freeze. He lifted his foot and looked down. Broken glass. He turned on the small lamp on the table next to him, bent down, and picked up a wooden-framed picture from the floor. It was the photo of Lucy taken earlier this spring. She was standing with her arms spread out wide on top of Moose Mountain just west of Bragg Creek. Pockets of snow littered the cavities and crevices of the mountainside around her feet and capped the long stretch of Rocky Mountains behind her.
Lucy looked happy in the photo. Anything to do with hiking always made Lucy smile. Her grin was wide, her eyes piercing, and her expression one of great accomplishment. She wore it proudly as if she was invincible. It was impossible for him to comprehend that the confident girl in the photo was the same terror-filled Lucy he watched from beneath the bed with a rag stuffed in her mouth and both hands and feet bound with duct tape.
Wasn’t she so pretty last night, Michael…?
He dusted away fine particles of glass that remained on the photo. The frame was still intact. He carefully reset the picture on the table and picked up the shards of glass from the floor, along with the splinters from the door frame, and deposited them in the trash bin next to the small table.
…while you hid beneath her bed?
Michael jerked up at the thought and stared down the short hall to where the only light in the apartment entered from the streetlight outside: Lucy’s bedroom. The window was still open. As much as he didn’t want to relive what happened last night, he knew he would the moment he stepped inside.
Go on, Michael. Don’t be afraid.
The breeze from the open window chilled him as he entered her room. He remembered how quickly his happiness from her touch had morphed into panic and ultimate terror. His heart thumped heavily inside his chest and a sudden desire to flee overwhelmed him.
He turned on the light.
Run, Michael.
Every surface his eyes touched opened his mind to the horror of what occurred.
“Stop it,” he whispered and took another step into her room.
The sounds and images returned immediately: sliding of hangers in the open closet, shuffling of feet across the linoleum, slamming of drawers, the thump as Lucy hit the floor only a few feet away, and then voices.
Do you hear them, Michael?
The voices swooped in and clouded his mind. “Which one?” he whispered as his eyes dropped to the floor. There on the floor lay Lucy’s many hiking trail documents. The men had taken only one. He knelt down and picked up the scattered documents one by one. “Why would anyone want any one of these?” He didn’t understand it. He tucked and straightened them into a small pile and shoved them into his back pocket.
Who pushed her, Michael?
The spot against the wall next to the closet looked naked. It was where she kept her larger, more expensive backpack she used only for hiking, sometimes for overnight trips. He’d helped Lucy place a few items inside only two nights ago in anticipation of their hike along the coast. Why would they take her backpack?
What else had they taken? Michael moved throughout the apartment checking room by room. In the bathroom, he began to understand.
“Where is your toothbrush?” He pulled open the drawers and cabinets. He rubbed his chin as he thought.
You let them take her, didn’t you? Why didn’t you stop them?
“…and your toothpaste?” He paused a moment and then rummaged some more. He held back a laugh. It seemed almost funny.
“They want everyone to think you’ve gone away. Hiking.”
Michael soon found other items of hers missing as well; a light, water-repellent raincoat he’d seen her often wear on campus, her cell phone, purse, and camera bag. There were only two pairs of sport socks in her drawer and none in her dirty laundry, suggesting some of her socks were missing.
What other sounds had he heard while under the bed?
Do you masturbate to her image every night she’s not with you?
“Shut up,” he muttered. It was becoming difficult to focus with the rambling voices.
Well? Do you?
In the kitchen, he opened the small fridge and stared inside. The two Red Bulls he purchased on the way over yesterday were missing. He recalled moving a bottle of water to the side when he placed the drinks in the door tray. The water bottle was also missing. He couldn’t tell if there was anything else missing from the fridge.
Will you tonight?
He opened the door to the storage room again. Sandwiched between a large suitcase and some cardboard boxes were more camping supplies; a small stove, rope, and tarp. All were items for their trip along the coast.
Remember the blood? How did she get cut, Michael?
The final semester was ended and it seemed to him that all of her course books sat untouched exactly where Lucy had last placed them. Next to the couch lay Lucy’s much smaller, cheap backpack she’d picked up at Walmart at the start of the school year. The small backpack showed the wear and tear of the school year. It was scuffed on the sides and the bottom was soiled. The beading along the edges was cracked and split in places, and he was surprised she hadn’t tossed it into the trash already. He looked inside.
“Shoes…” He recognized the white cloth shoes immediately.
She wasn’t wearing shoes, was she?
“Eff off already,” he whispered. The voices were on at full blast.
She wore duct tape.
Lucy would often switch into the cloth shoes when she arrived at University and leave the other pair in her locker until the end of the day. He looked towards the front door.
“Where are your hiking boots?” he whispered softly. “Those are gone, too?”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
They weren’t by the front door nor in the front closet. They weren’t in the storage room, either. He checked everywhere, even under her bed in case he’d pushed them against the wall as he scrambled under last night. Her hiking boots were definitely missing, but in the far corner behind the bed leg, he spotted his missing sock. He snatched it up and stuffed it into his other back pocket.
“Why would someone kidnap you to take you hiking?”
But it did make sense. Everything he had heard and seen supported what he was thinking. Michael pulled out his cell phone and began to take photos of every room. He even opened the fridge and freezer and took photos. It was the storage room that caused his brain to run itself in circles again as he recognized more camping items were missing. He scratched his head. “No sleeping bag, no foam mattress…” He looked around. “…and no tent.” He snapped another photo.
Don’t forget under the bed, Michael. You can show everyone where you were hiding.
“Hiking, not hiding.” He stated it as a fact. “I was…I mean she was hiking…they’ve taken her hiking.”
Who? Johnny?
“Of course, Johnny,” he said and made another sweep of her small apartment, but there was nothing to connect Johnny to her abduction. Nothing. In fact, there was not one item he saw that even suggested that there was a Johnny in her life.
Yo
u said there was a Johnny. Johnny who?
The thought disturbed him. “What the hell?” he asked himself. He fumbled through her important notes and papers that she kept tucked in a wicker basket on the kitchen counter. There was no mention of Johnny on any of the documents. There was no mention of Johnny anywhere.
Michael walked quickly around the apartment looking in drawers, closets, the pockets of her coat, for anything that might prove there actually was a Johnny. He suddenly stopped midway through one of the kitchen cabinets.
“Uh, oh,” he uttered. He spewed out a nervous laugh as he backed away from the cabinet and lifted his hands, palms exposed, into the air as if he was caught red handed. His fingerprints were now everywhere. “What did I just do?” Of course his fingerprints were already in her apartment before today, but these fingerprints were now on every surface and lay atop any others that may have helped identify the abductors.
If fingerprints weren’t enough, her cell phone would point right at him, if found, as a person of interest before and after her disappearance. It was only a matter of time before someone came calling for him. Michael’s anxiety grew at an alarming rate.
Run, Michael.
“I’m not running anywhere.”
Michael spotted her laptop resting on the coffee table. Lucy didn’t use a password on her computer. In minutes, he was logged on and in her mailbox. One unread message. He opened it. The message was short and to the point.
Run, Michael.
“Shush, already.” He read aloud. “Miss Lucinda Carter, Please find attached two airlines tickets for you and Michael Crowder.…” The rest was flight details. “Sent by your dad’s secretary, no doubt,” he mumbled.
He opened the attachment of airline tickets in each of their names to Victoria on Sunday. Michael marked the message as unread after recording her father’s office number into his cell phone. He had a feeling he may need to call him at some point. He quickly scrolled through the others; none were to or from Johnny. He signed off.
Michael had seen enough. His thoughts were still on the lack of messages to or from Johnny when he paused, went to the front picture window, and opened the drapes for a quick peek outside. “No!” he cried out.
A police car was parked in front of Lucy’s building. Michael dashed madly from her apartment and down the short hall into the stairwell.
“Damn it!” he said when he was halfway down the second staircase. Lucy’s key remained clutched in his fingers. He had forgotten to lock her door. His indecision lasted only a second. There was no way to lock her door with the broken door frame.
Run.
He continued down the stairs, pushed open the staircase door to the inside lobby, and prepared to beat a path out to the back. He nearly fell over the two uniformed police officers standing next to the doors of the elevator. They both turned their attention towards him as he stumbled out next to them.
“Shit!” he mumbled aloud and staggered to the side to veer as far around the officers as possible.
“Hold it!” one of the officers called out after hearing his mumbled curse.
Michael attempted to manoeuvre himself past the two officers towards the side door that led out the rear of the building, but one officer stepped over, reached out, and grabbed his arm to spin him around. The second officer moved back towards the front door, blocking the only other exit.
“What?” Michael asked timidly.
Do you think she’s hurting, Michael?
“What’s the hurry?”
“Hurry?” He pointed at the back door. “Uh…I just, uh…no hurry.”
“Do you live here?” The officer’s demeanour screamed of authority, igniting Michael’s flight mode even higher. His brain spun away on him.
What are you waiting for?
It was hard to think. He felt his face flush and he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “Nothing! I mean it’s a friend…I have a friend.”
“A friend?”
“Uh huh. My friend lives here.” One school mate did live in this apartment block. “David. He’s in one of my classes at university.” The voices swirled in his head and he slammed one fist up to one temple and pounded it twice.
The two officers glanced at each other, one frowned and the other smirked at his odd behaviour.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened.
The officer let go of Michael’s arm. “David, huh?”
Michael’s brain slowed down and he almost felt a thunk inside as the voices began to fade and he found control of his words.
“Yes, David’s my friend from university. Who is it you’re looking for?” It was all he could think of saying to steer the officer away from him. He had no idea which unit David even lived in.
“She’s a young lady, probably about your age.”
Don’t say her name. Please don’t say her name. Not Lucy. Please, God, don’t let them say Lucy.
“Lanna Sheaver. In apartment 319.”
Michael’s heart nearly exploded. At first he was sure the officer said Lucy Carter. But he remained in control and forcibly shook his head in response. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her. My friend…” He pointed up. “David…he lives on the second floor.”
The officer nodded, but his eyes remained pinned to Michael’s. He seemed unconvinced, like he was studying him in attempt to peel back the layers of deceit. “Where are you heading at this time of night? It’s late and everything’s closed.”
“Back to my dorm. At the university.” Michael’s heart continued to pound away fiercely. “It’s only a few blocks.”
The officer blocking the way to the front door moved towards the elevator nudging the other on the arm. “Frank, we need to go. The elevator’s here.”
“Yeah, okay.” The officer gave a condescending nod to Michael to dismiss him. He turned away and both officers disappeared into the elevator.
Michael remained in the lobby, watching the doors to the elevator close and thinking how close he had come to exposing how deep in the middle of this he had gone.
As he stepped outside, the sight of the police cruiser on the street caused him to pause. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should be going straight to the police and telling them everything.
He turned and faced the building. Whispers and words funnelled down and spun about inside his head as if they were trying to organize themselves so they could spit out a coherent comment, but they remained incomplete and fractured. His eyes moved up to the third floor where the two officers were headed. Why was he running away? What had scared him so much last night that made him feel he could trust no one, not even the police?
He continued to gaze up at the building. Up there, behind the closed drapes, was where the bejesus was scared out of him. Underneath her bed, the creepy crawlers still swarmed; the sudden and horrific way Lucy was seized, the busted door frame, Johnny’s creepy chuckle, the voices, the strange Russian man, and his multiple messages and missed calls lay in wait for someone to find on Lucy’s cell phone.
“Shhhh.…” A murmur of words still stirred about and rose in small segments above the fog—some coherent, others partial.
…Run you is hiding undo thish…bed room runt…away…to door farmen exploded…fridge…her masturbate…inish …thike…it come to…Michael it…is run…hide…you…run…
“Oh, God, just stop, please,” he called out to his voices.
It was all because of Johnny. He seemed larger than life only yesterday and now he didn’t even seem to have a shadow. He continued his gaze up at Lucy’s window. Johnny seemed a ghost.
His eyes caught movement in the window of the apartment next to Lucy’s. Fingers slipped through the crack between the drapes and suddenly the drapes were pulled wide open.
Michael wanted to scream.
The officer from the lobby stood with his face pressed up against the glass, staring down at him.
Run!
Michael turned and ran.
