by Kelly Moore
The puckered scar on my cheek is jagged and ugly, and my hair is longer than I ever let it grow.
Brooklyn probably wouldn’t even know me if she ran into me on the street. Hell, with my deflated muscles and scarred up body, she’d probably run for cover.
I hand over the used razor and shaving cream and ask for scissors, doubting that he would give me a sharp object. He probably fears that I would stab him with it.
He lets out a long breath and shakes his head before handing the items back to the guard outside the door. “The haircut will have to wait, pretty boy. Dinner is served and then we have to get that hand looked at.” He grabs ahold of my bicep again and leads me back into the hallway where the another guard takes ahold of my other arm.
I’m led up a set of steps where we pause to let the guard open a heavy, metal door. When it opens, sunlight steams through and I blink back tears brought on by the sudden brightness.
I’m pushed through the doorway and into a big open room. The floor is covered in a dirty gray carpet, and the walls are plain white, but this area is at least clean. This must be where the guards stay while they’re keeping an eye on me.
Part of the room is sectioned off, being used as a kitchen. There is a small table in the center, with a fridge, stove, a few cabinets, and a sink.
I turn and note the other side of the room. The wall furthest away from me is covered in brown paper, like it is lined with windows that overlook the hall.
I continue to take the place in, trying to figure out where I am. There is a couch and TV, and further away is a bed. This room almost looks like it was once used as some kind of office. There are several desks pushed to one corner of the room and one directly in the center of the floor, covered in computer monitors. Looking closer, I see my cell on one of them. There is also a camera in the hallway outside of my cell, one in the interrogation room, and one on the entrance of the building.
I strain my eyes to see what is printed on the glass door of the building. It says, “Smith and Stocker Pharmaceuticals”.
I don’t have a chance to process my thoughts before I’m shoved into the chair at the table.
A plate is set in front of me and I look down at it. A steak – grilled to perfection – steams tantalizingly in the middle, surrounded with a baked potato and some steamed vegetables. “If you’re going back to work, you need your strength,” the guard says as he sits with me to eat.
I shrug. “I won’t complain. Anything is better than the cans of beans and Spam that have been thrown at me.”
He stands and grabs two beers from the fridge and hands me one. I’m almost taken back. I stall before taking it.
He urges me on. “Makes you wish you would’ve given it up years ago, huh?”
“Years?” I look over at him. “How long have I been down there?”
“Down there?” he asks around a mouthful of steak. “About six months. But you’ve been held captive for over two years now.” He cuts a big chunk of steak off and shoves it into his mouth, chewing loudly. I push the anger down and cut into my own steak before taking a bite. My mouth waters from the delicious taste. It’s been too long since I’ve had real food.
There is a long silence while we both sit eating. Then I finally ask, “Why are we in a pharmaceutical building?”
His blue eyes flash to me. “Your girlfriend shut it down with her cure to cancer. The place couldn’t stay afloat.”
That makes me smile, an action that feels foreign to me. I’m glad her cure was finally released and is saving people.
With that thought, I pull the picture out of my pocket and look at the three of them. My brother is healthy and in this picture, he looks happy.
Happy with my family.
What if he loves her? What if she loves him? For two years now she’s thought that I was dead. What if she’s moved on? Will she even want me back when this is all said and done?
Anger floods my body again, and more than anything, I just want to kill the guards and run from this place. I contemplate it for a moment, staring at the steak knife curled in my fist. I want to find my family and forget all about these last two years. I can’t put them in danger though. I will do as Miles demands. I will do this job and be done with it all. I know the chances of getting my family back are slim to none, but I have to end this. I loosen the death grip I’ve had on the knife.
I want my family back. I want my life back. And I want Miles dead, once and for all.
He says my family will be safe as long as I do what he says. But he’s forgotten one thing: I can’t be trusted.
I’ve already fucked him over once, and I’ll do it again. I will make him pay for the pain he’s caused me and my family.
If it’s the last thing I do, I will kill Miles and get my family back.
I’m taking Brooklyn back.
She’s mine and always has been. Even before I knew it, she belonged with me.
When dinner is over, I’m pushed over to the couch to wait for a doctor to come in and set my hand. Within twenty minutes, he walks through the brown-paper-covered door and I see that I was right - from the small peek I got out the door, it is definitely a hallway.
He walks over to me and sets his bag down. “This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch,” he says as he grabs my hand.
I hear a loud pop and everything goes black.
I wake sometime later surrounded by darkness again. I’m back in my cell – I recognize the damp feeling and the overwhelming smell of mold. I stand from the cot and walk to the center of the room to pull the chain for the light. A soft glow fills the room and I look down at my bandaged hand, gently flexing my fingers to test them out. Pain shoots through my arm, but I groan and shake it off.
After all this time, I’ve gotten weak. But it’s time to get back to work and I need to be strong.
I sit down on the dirty floor and start a round of sit ups. The real food fills me with energy, but my heavy stomach feels different than what I’m used to. It’s almost weighing me down.
I push through it and do a set of thirty sit ups. I’m sore and covered in sweat by the time I finish. My stomach rolls from all the activity and I rush to the toilet to empty its contents. I rinse my mouth out with the sink on the back of the toilet and spit it out into the drain. I pace the room, feeling the anxiety raise inside of me.
I’m ready to get out of here. I need out of here. I want this shit done.
I throw myself down on the cot and place my one good hand behind my head. As my eyes drift closed, I’m flooded with memories: Brooklyn’s smile, the way her dark eyes would light up, her soft, cream-colored skin, the way she would feel so tight and hot when I entered her, the sounds of her heavy breathing that would fill up the room when we made love. It’s the only thing that has gotten me through this.
Memories of our short time together. It’s all I have left to live for now.
Chapter Four
John
I hear the metal lock being unlocked and then the heavy door is opened, scraping on the floor. I open my eyes to see the hallway light spilling into the darkened room. Before I can sit up, one guard is grabbing me and another one is pulling a black bag over my head. I don’t fight them this time, I just let them take me. This is the first time I haven’t been drugged for a move.
“Time to go to training, Pretty Boy,” the guard says as they lead me across the floor.
“Aren’t you guys forgetting something?” I joke.
“Not this time. The boss man wants you alert, not fucked up.”
They direct me up the same stairs that I walked up yesterday. Since I memorized the layout of the room, I know exactly where I am. I listen closely and I hear them opening the glass door that is covered in the brown paper. I can distinguish the sound of the paper scraping the edge of the floor as it’s pulled open before I’m pushed through it.
Now it’s time to pay attention. They guide me to the left and I count my steps. It’s exactly twenty-four steps until I’m turned
to the right, then another fifteen when I’m turned to my right again. We stop and I make out the ding of an elevator, followed by the sound of the big door sliding open. I take the few steps in, feeling the presence of the men on each side of me. I detect a button being pushed, and the doors close. The elevator begins its slow descent.
I count again. It takes thirty-six seconds before I feel the elevator stop and the doors open. I’m led through what I assume is the lobby, and then I feel the sun warming my skin. I’m outside. The wind blows through my thin T-shirt, slicing through me like a sharp blade. Despite the biting cold, it feels refreshing. Other than my short escape the other day, it’s been two years since I felt the heat of the sun or the wind caressing my skin.
What I wouldn’t give to be on my bike again, to feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I fly down a long road, darting between cars. Just thinking about it makes my heart pound.
One of the guards places his hand on my head and shoves me down. I half expect to hit the hard, icy ground, but instead fall into a cool leather seat.
Within a few minutes, the two guards are inside the car with me and the engine starts up. The radio blares a song I’ve never heard before, and chilly air blows through the open vents. I shudder from the frigidness hitting my bare arms and I lean back, crossing them over my chest to try and stay warm.
I’m not cuffed or tied down in any way. Why would I be? If I even try to make a run for it, my family will be their target. But that only reminds me of the bracelet that is around my wrist. “Hey, what about this bracelet? Shouldn’t you take it off?” Fear suddenly takes over.
“It has been reprogramed for the time being. You’re allowed off the property, but it can be turned on at any time so don’t get any bright ideas.”
I hear him shift the car into drive and my thoughts stop while I pay attention to the direction he’s driving. I begin counting. I close my eyes and feel a left hand turn that causes my body to lean to the right. I count again.
I keep all this stored in the back of my memory. On the off chance that I do find myself escaping, I’ll know right where to go to find Miles.
The car stops and I feel the winter air rush through the interior as a door is opened. Moments later, my door opens too and I am pulled from the vehicle. The wind bites at my skin again, but we must be out in the open now because they are damn near forcing me to run.
I breathe in deeply, but smell nothing but ice and… Is that gasoline? I think to myself as the familiar smell burns my nostrils.
I can feel the moment I’m inside. The warmth of the sun is gone and the cold breeze has stopped, but the building is still freezing, as if it isn’t used frequently or kept heated.
I’m walked through the building until one of them place a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. After a quick knock, I hear, “Come in.” It’s Miles. His voice is muffled behind the closed door but it already sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me.
The door is opened and we walk inside. I am shoved into a chair before the guards jerk the bag from my head. My eyes land on Miles on the other side of the desk.
He smiles a welcoming smile. “John! How you doing now that you’ve come out of the dungeon?” He fills the room with his deep belly laugh.
I tilt my head to the side and pop my neck with no sign of emotion on my face. I get comfortable in the chair, crossing my ankle over my knee. “Well, I’m here. Now what?”
His smile falls just a bit but he quickly recovers. “It’s time to start your training. Let’s see if that hawk eye of yours is still a lethal shot.”
I raise my eyebrow in surprise. “You’re really going to give me a loaded gun right now? Aren’t you afraid that I will just kill you all and be done with this bullshit?”
He stands, adjusting his expensive jacket and straightening his crimson-red tie. I can only imagine the blood that is all over his hands is the same color. “You don’t think I haven’t thought of that?” He takes a few steps to the side of the desk and sits on the edge, raising his shirt sleeve to show his wrist. “You see this bracelet, the one that matches yours?” His eyes lock on mine. “It’s a friendship bracelet of sorts.” He lets out a small chuckle. “They are linked together. It does more than just track your whereabouts. The moment this bracelet detects that I no longer have a heartbeat, yours will send that powerful bolt of electricity surging through your body.” He stands, holding his hands out at his sides. “I die, you die.”
I look down at the shiny metal band on my wrist and wonder if he’s telling the truth. There’s only one way to find out. I bite my tongue and grit my teeth together.
Someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Miles shouts.
One of the guards peeks his head in. “Sir, we need to talk with you.”
He looks at me. “Don’t try anything. I’ll be right outside that door,” he says as he passes me with a slap on my back. I turn my head and watch him walk out, closing the door behind him.
The second the door is closed I stand and move around the desk. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I won’t find anything that can help me if I don’t look. I keep close watch on the door while I rummage through the desk, listening intently to their muffled voices.
I open a drawer with my good hand and find his cell phone. I pull it out and quickly type out a text to Jake. “Stand by Me in Chicago. Do Not Reply.” I hit send and watch as the text goes through, then quickly delete the conversation before putting the phone back and moving on.
I open the next drawer and find a gun. That would come in handy if I were trying to kill the son of a bitch, but I can’t do that yet. I slide the gun forward and uncover a black metal box behind it. I pick up the box and it opens with a click. Inside is a foam lining that holds bullets. The tip looks just like a regular bullet, but why would they be in this fancy case? I pick one up and instantly see the difference. The end is in a star shape. These are the nanotechnology bullets I overheard Miles talking about. There is only one bullet missing. I instinctively rub the scar on my chest.
The voices outside of the door grow louder and I see the handle turn just a bit. I snatch a bullet and put the case back, shutting the drawer as I stealthily slide the bullet into my pocket and sit in my chair before the door opens. My heart is pounding from the adrenaline that pulses through my veins and my chest is practically heaving.
I force myself to calm down. One look at me and Miles will know something is up. I hear his muffled footsteps on the carpet getting closer and closer to me. I slow my breathing to a pace that won’t arouse his suspicion, even though it makes me want to gasp for air.
“Well, what do you say we get started, John?”
I nod curtly and stand.
As he leads me back to the door, I get a glimpse out the window and know exactly where we are. We’re at an old facility that used to house industrial-sized oil drums. That’s why I thought I smelled gasoline. My apartment is only a few blocks from here.
I squeeze my hands into tight fists as I push down the urge to kill Miles and his men.
I’m taken into a room that looks like a loading dock. Big garage doors line one wall where semi-trucks would come to unload. On the far side of the room, I see targets lined up against the wall.
I’m nudged on the back to go down the steps to the main landing. Miles remains up on the stairs while both guards stand at my side.
“Are you sure about this?” the guard asks Miles.
I don’t hear his reply but the guard hands me the gun. I take the cold metal in my hands, the object almost feeling foreign to me after all this time, and do a press check to make sure the gun is loaded.
It is.
I aim at the target and pull the trigger. The sound of the gun echoes around the room, causing my ears to ring, but I ignore it. I keep shooting until the chamber is empty and I have nothing left to shoot. Squeezing the trigger sent searing pains through my hand, but I don’t want to show any outward signs of distress to them.
Everyone turn
s to look at Miles. He nods one of the guards on, who walks to the far end of the room and retrieves the target. He holds the paper up, showing one big hole in the center of it.
I hit my mark every time.
Miles laughs, the sound echoing menacingly throughout the empty room.
“Next,” he says, clapping his hands together like an excited child about to go on a thrill ride.
The guard takes the gun from me and replaces it with a sniper rifle.
Holding the machinery in my grip makes me want to smile, but I hold it back. It’s good to be home. I love the power that I feel when I hold a gun like this. Two years ago, I didn’t get this rush anymore, but it’s been so long since I’ve been here that I get that same thrill I got when I first took this job.
I take my position and aim at the next target. The distance isn’t nearly far enough. I’m used to doing this from hundreds of feet away. I could clearly see the target without the scope, but now, it’s just cheating.
I pull the trigger repeatedly and empty the weapon. When I can no longer fire off shots, I hand over the rifle and the guard fetches the target.
Perfect shot every time.
I look at Miles. “Are we good here?” I clinch my jaw as my hand spasms.
He grins. “Yeah, we’re good. We’re real good.”
One guard stays behind to pack up the weapons while the other escorts me back to Miles’ office.
When Miles and I are alone, he opens the case on his desk and pulls out two cigars. He hands one to me and lights his own. I’ve never been much of a smoker, but I take the olive branch that’s offered.
I light the cigar and wait to hear my fate.
He pours two glasses of bourbon and slides one across the desk to me. I take it and swirl the liquid. God, it’s been so long. My mouth waters just from looking at the amber liquid.
