They're Gone

by E. A. Barres

  The floor creaked far in front of her, near the direction of the front door. She turned and went the opposite way, deeper into the house.

  Searching for a window to crawl out of.

  Deb kept an arm ahead of her and barely lifted her feet, slowly shuffling forward. She finally touched something, a wall, and realized she was at the end of the hall. Reached sideways and touched another doorway. Grasped the knob, turned it, pushed open the door soundlessly, tried to keep her breathing quiet.

  She knew Levi could restore the power any moment now, and she’d be discovered.

  The room was dark, pitch-black, but she stepped in anyway. Bumped something with her shin. Reached down, felt wrinkled sheets and a mattress.

  A bedroom.

  Which meant there might be a window.

  Deb reached down, felt the edge of the bed, made her way around the room.

  A hand grabbed her wrist.

  Another hand clamped over her mouth, just before she could scream.

  She felt a body press behind her.

  “Don’t make a sound,” a woman’s voice whispered into her ear.

  Deb stood still, frozen.

  The hand lifted.

  “Who are you?”

  Deb didn’t say anything.

  “Oh, you can answer that.”

  “Deb,” she said, and panicked that she couldn’t remember her last name.

  “How do you know Levi Price?”

  “Not well.”

  “Huh?”

  “He lied to me.”

  “Yeah, okay. We’ll see. You’re coming with us for now.”

  “Us?”

  “Me and my brother.” The hand released her wrist, and Deb felt the woman quickly, efficiently pat down her body.

  “Are you a cop?” Deb asked.

  “No. Not even sure I did that right. Shut up and come on.”

  The woman took Deb’s hand, led her out of the bedroom.

  Deb followed her, too scared to be anything but blindly obedient. This woman didn’t seem like she would let Deb refuse her, and Deb didn’t even know if refusing made sense. It was all so confusing. And dark.

  And impossible not to think about the video Levi had shown her. The earnestness in his voice when he’d claimed to do it out of love. Something in his voice had a sickness to it, addiction and helplessness.

  It wasn’t a voice she’d be able to forget.

  The woman led Deb down the hall, abruptly stopped.

  “What?” Deb asked.

  “Deb?” Levi said.

  The woman grabbed Deb’s shoulders and yanked them, and Deb fell face-first into the carpet.

  Moments later, a gun fired, a terribly loud explosion that left Deb’s ears ringing.

  Another gun. The wall next to them exploded.

  Levi was shouting, she was shouting, her ears ached. The other woman’s body was covering her, shielding her. The woman’s hand covered her mouth and Deb tried to lie as close to the carpet as possible, panic engulfing her.

  Finally, a series of repeated words from the other woman broke through:

  “He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.”

  She removed her hand from over Deb’s mouth.

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Levi Price. He ran out the front door.”

  “He did?”

  A rough, coarse hand reached down, felt Deb’s wrist, found her hand.

  “Who’s this?”

  “I found her in his bedroom.”

  “Huh. Let’s go.”

  They pulled Deb to her feet. Her legs were shaky, but she followed them, walking clumsily, down the hall and outside.

  The door was open and, finally, there was light. Faint, but enough to break the dark.

  The man darted forward, looked outside, waved for them to follow him. The woman did, stopped on the porch with Deb and looked around. Then she waved to the man, and he ran to the next spot, stopped, and waved at them to follow him.

  It seemed unnecessary to Deb, given that Levi’s car was gone, but she was so scared that she wanted to be as safe as possible. She ran with the woman, so tense that breathing was a struggle. She gasped for air whenever they stopped.

  They kept going until they reached a car parked down the street. The woman opened a door. Deb climbed inside the back seat.

  The woman slid into the driver’s seat. The man took the passenger side.

  He turned as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “My name’s Chris, and this is my sister Cessy.” His smile looked like a shark swimming toward her. “How do you know Levi Price?”

  PART FOUR

  THE HUNT AND THE KILL

  CHAPTER

  34

  “WHO HELPED HER?” Scott Temple asked.

  Freddie Harris listened to the phone conversation and rubbed his sweaty palms over his thighs, but subtly. He tried not to fidget as he sat in the wooden chair facing Temple’s desk.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Temple asked. “That’s not particularly self-aware.”

  Harris watched Temple’s free hand tighten into a fist, then slowly relax.

  “Well, yes, Levi, I do think you should find her. That would be an excellent idea. Remember, some people make things happen, some watch what happened, others wonder what happened. Which of those are you?”

  Temple paused, listened to the phone.

  “Yes,” he said after a moment, “you probably have heard that before, but the point stands. Find Deb Thomas.”

  Temple hung up the phone, examined the fingernails on his right hand.

  “What happened?” Harris asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just Levi fell in love with the Thomas widow and thought it’d be a good idea to tell her who he really is.”

  “He did?”

  “Promptly and predictably, she ended up running away from him. With help. Shots were fired. Of course, he has no idea who was helping her or where she went.”

  “Levi told her? And there were gun shots? Someone helped her?”

  Temple nodded, pulled open a drawer, took out a metal nail file. Rubbed the file slowly, methodically over his ring finger.

  “And he used his real name,” Temple said as he inspected his nails. “Actually used his real name. Because—and this is a quote—he wanted to be honest with her.”

  Harris eyed the long file. It had been created to resemble a dagger, complete with a sharp pointed end.

  “Any word from Smith?” Temple asked, his voice still calm.

  “Not yet.” Harris paused. “Are you going to have Levi killed?”

  Temple slammed the file into the wooden desk. The blade sunk deep, stood like an exclamation mark.

  Harris had jumped out of his chair. He cautiously sat back down.

  “I should, right?” Temple said, his voice unchanged, still casual. “But not right now. We need more information from Levi first. He’s on his way here.”

  “You’re bringing him here? After he was involved in a shooting?”

  Temple waved a dismissive hand. “This is a satellite office.”

  Harris glanced around the office. A couple of shelves with law books and Orioles memorabilia. Framed certificates congratulating Temple for finishing various legal programs. Posters of nature scenes with inspirational sayings underneath them: “The highest peak is inside yourself.” “When there’s no trail, make one.” “You’re already starting at the top—climb higher.” “Plunge depths to reach heights.” The desk was mainly clear except for a computer, a green-shaded desk lamp, and a stack of manila folders with white and pink paper. Harris had never been to Temple’s other office, but he imagined it was nicer, more expansive, better suited to the needs of Baltimore County’s District Attorney.

  “Did you try Smith again?” Temple asked.

  Harris pulled his phone out of his pocket, texted his partner a second time. Set the phone on his knee to wait for a response. “He’s probably asleep. He was looking beat earlier tonight.
”

  “You two never should have let Cessy Castillo leave the hospital,” Temple said mildly.

  “It was crowded in there. Couldn’t finish her off.” Harris kept his tone calm. He’d seen firsthand how ruthless Temple was. Surprising for a man who looked like he’d be happiest mowing his lawn. Temple had mild features: brown parted hair, neatly combed; always wearing a bland navy-blue business suit; clean-shaven; kind, watery eyes.

  But Harris knew this wholesome appearance was a façade.

  He’d seen Temple put a comforting hand on a man’s shoulder, smile, and then slide his hand over and choke that man’s life away.

  Once he’d watched Temple swing a hacksaw into a pimp’s limbs, eventually cutting off both arms as the man screamed for his life and his god and then his death. Smith had been holding the man’s wife; Harris had been holding his ten-year-old son. He remembered how resolved James had been, his grip firm on the wife’s arms as her eyes squeezed closed and her knees buckled. And he remembered the boy’s thin shoulders in his hands, how violently they’d trembled.

  And his own trembling hands.

  Temple’s smile had never left.

  Harris hated being alone with Temple; really, hated doing anything without his partner. James Smith was the leader of their duo, a man who never seemed afraid or unsure of himself. Harris took strength from James the way plants absorbed sunlight.

  Without James, Harris felt like he was withering.

  It had always been this way with Harris; he was always subservient and secondary to other men. He could do anything or be anybody provided he could mimic someone else. He’d followed his two brothers into crime and, when his older brother was killed, followed the younger one into prison after a home invasion turned into a homicide. His brother convinced the judge that Harris was nothing more than an unwitting accomplice, so he was spared a life sentence. Harris left after four years of prison, without any idea of what to do, and realized that, aside from the beatings, he missed prison’s structure. And he missed his brother.

  Knowing what he needed, his brother hooked him up with a friend outside, someone who owed him a favor, a man named James Smith.

  And Harris had dutifully followed James ever since.

  “You know,” Temple said slowly, “a crowded hospital didn’t keep Barry alive.”

  Harris blinked. “You had Barry killed?”

  “A crowded safe house didn’t stop it from being burnt to the ground.” Temple pointed to one of the inspirational posters behind him. “If you believe in yourself, Freddie, then anything is possible. But you have to believe.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Right now you don’t believe in yourself, so I don’t believe in you. You don’t think you can ascend that peak. Become the you that you need to become to become a better you.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why I’ve reached out to someone else.”

  “What?”

  A knock on the door.

  “Look at that timing!” Temple exclaimed. “Holy cow! Nothing that cool will ever happen to either of us again! Come on in.”

  The door opened and a man walked into the room. He wore a long brown coat and a black baseball cap pulled low. He walked past Freddie without a glance, stood before Temple’s desk.

  Harris shivered, as if cold was trailing the new arrival.

  The new arrival took off his cap and gave it to Harris. Freddie took it, looked up at the man, reared back into his chair.

  “Got to tell you,” Temple said, “for a bounty hunter, you’re not exactly inconspicuous.” He squinted. “Did you get burned?”

  The man nodded.

  Harris stared at the back of the man’s bald head, the yellow and red rough skin, seemingly clumped together in places.

  “Ouch,” Temple remarked. “How’d it happen? Car accident? Grilling?”

  When the man spoke, his voice was scraped and rough. “Someone set me on fire.”

  “Yikes,” Temple replied. “On purpose?”

  The man nodded.

  “Was that before or after you became a bounty hunter?”

  “Before.”

  Temple beamed. “Destiny reflects where you’re going, but strength is how you get there.”

  “Okay,” the burned man said.

  Temple wagged his finger. “You’ve caught every person you’ve ever hunted down. Is that true? One hundred percent?”

  “Yeah.”

  Temple beamed. “See, Freddie? Those are the kind of numbers I like. Your name’s Seth, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seth, I bet you’re self-actualized as all get out. Do you have a last name?”

  “Just Seth.”

  “I can work with that. Can you work with that, Freddie?”

  Harris was still staring at the back of Seth’s scarred head. “Sure.”

  “The terms are ten thousand for Cessy Castillo, five for anyone helping her. She may have a couple of people working for her. We’re not sure.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Didn’t think it did! When you’re at the top of your personal pyramid, you realize that all obstacles are already beneath you.”

  Freddie blinked.

  Seth didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t need to see the bodies in person or anything,” Temple continued, “just some photos. No one left breathing.” He considered something, his head bobbing a little as he thought. “And I want you to work with a man named Levi Price on it. Bit of an idiot, but he’s my cousin. You can’t choose your family, only your path. Anyway, Freddie here will put you in touch. Do we have a deal?”

  CHAPTER

  35

  KIM WAS A little scared, a lot confused, and had no idea why she was sitting next to her mom on the edge of a bed in room 16 of the Paradise Motor Lodge in Manassas, Virginia.

  “Who are these people?” Kim asked, quietly.

  “I’m not sure,” her mother replied.

  A woman, probably a few years older than Kim, sat on a chair by the window and stared outside. She’d been sitting there since Kim had knocked on the door and her mother pulled her in with a quick, fierce embrace. The curtains were drawn, but the woman stared out through a narrow slit between the shades and the wall, relentlessly, as if it was inevitable that someone else was coming.

  A man was in the bathroom. He hadn’t introduced himself, just exclaimed, “Nature’s calling!” when the motel room door closed behind Kim, and then he’d hurried into the bathroom. Kim couldn’t tell if he and the woman were siblings or married—they looked alike, but there was distance between them in the way they regarded each other. A distance Kim associated with marriage.

  Kim thought about that, made a note to think more later about why she did.

  For now, she just wanted to figure out why she’d been urgently called to meet her mom in a motel in Manassas. She’d been watching a movie with Rebecca, Rebecca’s parents out of town, drowsily lying against her girlfriend, enjoying the warmth of Rebecca’s arms over her shirt and the warmth of the blanket spread over them both. And then her phone had buzzed.

  She’d risen from the couch, the message URGENT CALL MOM NOW URGENT jarring her awake. She called her, and the worry in her mom’s tone compelled Kim to dismiss the excuses she’d already been planning. She told Rebecca she had to go.

  Rebecca followed her into the hall, the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. “Is your mom okay?”

  Kim slipped on her shoes, felt the stress in her face. Her mom had sounded near hysterical, close to crying.

  All this was so new. Kim was used to her mom being in control, confident, easily self-assured. She’d never seen her mom so reactionary, such a victim of circumstance, since Dad died.

  “She doesn’t sound okay,” Kim said.

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll be okay. I’ll call you, though.”

  Kim put on her jacket, fished her car keys out of the pocket
, walked to the basement back door. Rebecca followed her, still wrapped in the blanket.

  “I’m sorry,” Kim said. “Sorry to cut another night short.”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.” She paused. “I understand.”

  There was something in her tone Kim wanted to stop and discuss, something belying the words I understand, but Kim didn’t have time to talk.

  She hugged Rebecca and left.

  * * *

  The toilet flushed, the sink ran. Chris stepped out of the bathroom.

  “All right, let’s start with the intros,” he said. “We’ll introduce ourselves and say why we’re all here. And maybe share something with each other no one else knows.”

  The two women sitting on the bed were looking at him strangely. No one said anything.

  “Good,” Chris said. “My name’s Chris Castillo. That’s my sister, Cessy, by the window. She lives in Baltimore. I’m here from Phoenix. Nice town you have here! Now, how do we all know each other?”

  It took a moment, and then Cessy spoke. “Those men killed my husband.”

  “What?” the younger woman asked. “What men?”

  “Mine too,” the older woman said, and she caught herself. “Sorry, my name is Deb Thomas. This is my daughter, Kim.” She turned toward Cessy. “When did your husband die?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “That’s about the same time my husband died. His name was Grant.”

  Chris wondered if he’d left his gun in the car or the bathroom.

  “Friday night, November eighth,” Cessy said.

  “That’s the same night for Dad,” Kim said, and the hurt way she said Dad hung in the room. Softened it. Chris wanted to say something, but the tension in the women’s faces kept his mouth closed.

  He was just so damn happy, and that made it tough. Happy to be back with Cessy, especially now that she seemed to have stopped coughing. Happy to have made it out of that dark house alive. And really happy that his blind gunshot hadn’t accidentally struck his sister.