by Carys Jones
Aiden’s first instinct was to call the authorities. He pulled out his cell phone and, with shaking fingers, he looked up Guy’s details. Aiden felt coiled up with worry and panic. He needed to do something, anything.
As he searched through his phone, he kept looking back at the box. Its very presence was toying with him, reminding him of how terribly he had failed Brandy. He had to remind his legs how to work as he hurried out of the kitchen, needing to put some distance between himself and the amputated digit.
With a sigh of relief he found the number for Guy’s office. With the press of a button Aiden would be connected to the FBI. He was about to make the call when logic stepped in. What exactly could he tell them? That he was receiving ominous threats from a drug cartel who had kidnapped and were torturing his girlfriend?
“Why would they target you?” the FBI would undoubtedly ask. And what then? Would Aiden admit that he had blood on his hands, that the cartel were seeking revenge for the killings that had been carried out in his own home, by his own hand?
“Fuck.” Aiden lowered the phone in defeat, having not made the call. He felt like he was drowning, that no matter how hard he kicked he wasn’t able to come up for air. He was a killer, a murderer. He couldn’t turn to the authorities for help. He couldn’t turn to anyone except…
Aiden brought his cell phone back up to his ear. There was one call he could still make.
*
“He really wasn’t himself,” Isla sighed as a sympathetic Guy Chambers sat across from her on the other side of the couch, nodding as he listened, nursing the fresh cup of coffee she had made him.
“He just showed up all of a sudden, without warning,” Isla continued. Her cheeks burned with shame as she discussed her husband’s erratic behavior. She felt like talking about it with Guy was somehow betraying Aiden but she needed to tell someone. All day she’d struggled beneath the weight of worry. Aiden was acting out of character and it deeply concerned her.
“He can’t do that,” Guy stated coolly, taking a drink from his mug.
“Well, I mean, he can,” Isla reasoned. “He’s entitled to come and see his daughter whenever he likes.”
“Where is Meegan?” Guy asked, tilting his head in the direction of Meegan’s bedroom, suddenly distracted.
“She’s sleeping.” Isla waved a dismissive hand. She was too consumed with her own worries to see the shadow of disappointment creep across Guy’s all-American good looks.
“He can’t just turn up as he pleases. The only way the divorce and shared custody will work is if you have clear, defined terms in place.” Guy looked back at her, his eyes bright and intense.
Isla cleared her throat nervously.
“We’re not divorced yet,” she corrected him.
“But you will be,” Guy stated flatly. “That’s where things with Aiden are headed, right?” He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.
“Yes, yes of course,” Isla shrugged casually and smiled at her handsome boyfriend. Because Guy was her boyfriend, right? And Aiden would soon be her ex-husband and that was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
“But I mean, when he was here it was great and then he suddenly gets a call and like, totally freaks out. I’ve never seen him like that. He looked like someone had died.”
“Do you know who called him?”
“No.” Isla shook her head, frowning. “I’ve no idea who called. It really shook him up though.”
Guy drank more of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Isla’s face.
“I’m worried about him,” she admitted softly. “I’m worried something bad is going on in Avalon.”
“In Avalon?” Guy scoffed at her fears. “It’s some tiny backwater town. What could possibly be going on there?”
“I don’t know,” Isla sighed in frustration. “Aiden’s been through so much lately. Meegan and I left and his friend and colleague, Edmond, passed. He’s had it tough.”
“As have you.”
“But he’s still there.” Isla tensed as her tone became insistent. “He’s still stuck in Avalon and that town, Guy, I can’t explain it but it’s like it somehow attracts darkness. When we moved there I thought it would be a simple place full of simple people.”
“And it wasn’t?”
Biting her lip, Isla looked down at her own mug of coffee. “No.”
“I’m sure Aiden is fine,” Guy reassured her confidently. “Perhaps he’s just sick.”
Isla shook her head and let her gaze drift over to her small kitchenette. She could still see the blind panic in Aiden’s eyes when he’d left. His skin had bleached and his voice sounded like it might crack each time he spoke. Something had well and truly spooked him, but what? Was he in some sort of legal trouble? Was that bitter old sheriff still giving him a hard time?
The thought made a stone of contempt lodge in Isla’s throat. Tensely she coughed it down.
“I just wish,” Isla turned to look back at Guy. “I wish he’d open up to me. It’s like he doesn’t trust me anymore.”
“I hate to sound harsh, Isla, but why should he trust you? You’ve already moved on, you’re not tied to Aiden anymore.”
Isla flinched at the brutal honesty of Guy’s remark.
“I still care about him. He’s still the father of my child.”
Guy lowered his half-empty mug to the ground and reached over for Isla’s hands.
“Whatever is wrong with Aiden, it’s his business,” he told her sternly, giving them a slight squeeze.
Isla nodded in agreement. Guy was right, of course he was right. And he was perfect. Sitting on her couch in his crisp white shirt and suit trousers, he looked impeccably handsome. He’d come to see her straight from work, dutiful and caring. When she’d opened her door he’d been wearing a suit but he’d since removed his jacket. But seeing him there with his vibrant blonde hair and golden skin had made her heart skip a beat. Guy was everything she’d ever dreamed of, the perfect package.
“Could you maybe call him?” Isla asked sheepishly. Guy’s grip on her hands tightened. “You were friends once,” she continued. “Perhaps he’ll open up to you.”
“I doubt it,” Guy remarked coldly.
“But he might.” Isla persisted. “Maybe you could at least give him some advice since you’re, you know, FBI.”
“Isla, why on earth would Aiden need advice from the FBI?”
“I don’t know.” Isla pulled her hands away, suddenly feeling foolish. “I just get a sense that something is seriously wrong.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not an issue for the Bureau.”
“Mmm.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Guy asked sharply. Isla tucked a stray strand of ruby hair behind her and solemnly shook her head.
“No, of course not. I’m just…worried.”
“Well don’t be.” Guy slid his arm across the back of the couch and turned towards the television. Isla leaned into him and started the movie he’d rented for them to watch. Clearly he didn’t want to discuss Aiden any further and who could blame him? What sort of boyfriend wants to hear all about their partner’s ex? But as the opening credits rolled, Isla couldn’t push Aiden from her thoughts. With each passing minute she became more and more convinced that he was in serious trouble. By the time the movie started, Isla was on the brink of tears, fearing that she might never see Aiden again.
*
“I told you, we’ve heard nothing,” Buck explained as soon as he answered the incoming call from Aiden’s home. He was feeling particularly brittle thanks to his own guilt over Brandy’s disappearance. Each time he tried to shake away the feeling, it came back with renewed force. So Buck had chosen to hide out in his office for the remainder of the day. Then he could go home and drink his guilt into oblivion.
As the hands on the clock continued to move frustratingly slowly, Buck contemplated starting his liquid therapy session early. He could say he was going out to make a house call and swing by the liquor store.
No one would challenge him, they never did.
“No one has seen even a glimpse of her little blonde head,” Buck sighed. He appreciated how wretched Aiden must feel but there was nothing more he could do. Even as sheriff his powers were limited; he couldn’t make someone materialize out of thin air.
“They’ve contacted me.” Aiden sounded shaken on the other end of the line. Buck straightened in his chair and lowered his feet from the desk.
“They’ve contacted you?” Buck repeated slowly. “Saying what?”
“Can you…can you come by the house?” Aiden requested tensely. “I’d rather not discuss this on the phone.”
Buck inhaled sharply, understanding the young man’s apprehension.
“Sure thing, Connelly. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Buck hung up and looked up at the clock on the wall, contemplating whether he had time to head over to the liquor store before swinging by Aiden Connelly’s place. He had a feeling that whatever message the lawyer had been sent, it would be easier to absorb if read with a shot of bourbon in his system.
“I’m heading out,” Buck explained to the receptionist as he sauntered past the main desk.
“Of course, Sheriff Fern.” She nodded politely at him.
“I won’t be back this afternoon,” Buck forewarned her. “This…appointment will take up the rest of my day.”
The receptionist nodded again as Buck headed outside towards the parking lot and the bright Avalon sunshine. He steps were heavy with dread as he approached his patrol car. He had no idea what sort of message Aiden had received, he only knew that it wouldn’t be a pleasant one.
*
In the darkness Brandy lost all concept of time. Her hand had ceased throbbing and was now just numb. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. She could hear a soft, persistent dripping and she feared that rather than coming from some rusted old pipe, it was her own blood slowly seeping out of her.
Feeling lightheaded, her neck struggled to stay up between her shoulders. Her head lolled awkwardly against her chest as she took shallow, pained breaths. She wasn’t even sure if she was alone in the room anymore. A dense throbbing radiated out from behind her eyes. She knew she was dehydrated. Her tongue was heavy and thick in her mouth and her lips were cracked and broken. She thought of all the times she’d been subjected to Brandon’s cruelty, how he’d make her bleed and punish her for doing so. But despite all his wickedness, he’d never left her like this; lingering so close to death. She could feel herself circling the drain as her body struggled against the multiple wounds which had been inflicted upon it. She’d lost too much blood, drunk too little water. Was she just going to be left in this dark, damp room to die?
“Water,” Brandy uttered the request against her own will, as if her body was acting on its own behalf in its desire to endure. She knew her pleas would go unheard, it was why she didn’t want to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing her beg. But, moments later, her mouth was being forced open and cool, refreshing water was being poured down her throat. At first she choked against the unexpected taste but then she drank hungrily. The water tasted so pure, so vital. It was the most wonderful thing Brandy had ever had. She drank a whole bottle and then whoever was gripping her chin released her and let her head fall back against her chest. Her captors were choosing to keep her alive…but why? And for how long?
*
Buck inhaled sharply as he viewed the grim contents of the package. Then he turned away, looking back towards Aiden who was loitering in the doorway, unable to step any further into the kitchen.
“You see!” Aiden accusingly pointed a trembling finger towards the box on the table. “They… they’ve got her. We’ve got to do something!”
“We?” Buck’s eyebrows jerked up towards his Stetson.
“Buck, please,” Aiden didn’t need to swallow down his pride to try and enlist help. He was already willing to do whatever it took to save Brandy. “I need your help. I have to save her.”
Buck ground his teeth together and wiped a hand across his brow. The heavy lines which gathered there created rivers of shadow. His grey eyes looked down at the floor, unable to meet Aiden’s desperate gaze.
“Please!” Aiden dared to enter the kitchen to move closer towards the weathered old man. “If we don’t help God knows what I’ll be sent next!”
“Something a bit more…vital, I’d expect,” Buck mused, still not looking at Aiden.
“I need your help.” Aiden exhaled in frustration. He kept imagining receiving another ominous package. What if the next one contained Brandy’s whole hand or, worse, her heart? The thought made his stomach spin as if it were churning his insides on a speed wash. His temple throbbed uneasily as he became lightheaded.
“Buck, please.” Aiden reached out and placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder. The sheriff didn’t bother to knock him away.
“I don’t have anyone else to turn to.” It pained Aiden to admit such a truth. But the shots fired by his own hand left him no alternatives. Either the bitter Sheriff of Avalon would finally cease to have an axe to grind with him or Aiden would be well and truly alone, which left Brandy as good as dead.
Slowly Buck looked up, his eyes glancing back towards the open box on the table.
“She must be suffering something awful,” he admitted gravely.
“And hasn’t she suffered enough?” Aiden instantly lamented. “First at the hands of her mother, then her abusive husband. Brandy has only ever known a life of pain! I was supposed to save her from that!”
Aiden raked his hands through his hair in despair. The faint shadow of stubble clung to his cheeks making his boyish good looks appear more rugged than usual.
“I’m supposed to save her!” Aiden cried, folding forward, his hands still in his hair. He could feel his frustration tightening in his chest, threatening to overwhelm his lungs.
“She…she’s going to die because of me!” Aiden was struggling to breathe. He couldn’t stop thinking about Brandy, couldn’t stop fearing what would become of her. He was so blinded by his own panic that he didn’t see Buck hastily throw open several kitchen drawers before eventually grabbing a paper bag which he promptly cupped over Aiden’s mouth.
“Deep breaths,” Buck barked the order. “You’re having a panic attack.”
Aiden followed the sheriff’s instruction and took slow, deep breaths in to the paper bag. The tension in his chest loosened and his breathing became easier.
“Don’t blame you,” Buck muttered as he tentatively approached the kitchen table once more, his mouth dipping as though he’d just tasted something extremely sour.
“Fucking monsters.” Aiden barely heard the old sheriff utter the words, they were so soft and brittle but carried such venom.
“She doesn’t deserve to die,” Aiden stated, leaning against the kitchen counter, still clutching the paper bag in one hand. “Whatever you think of Brandy, however much you may hate her, you know that she doesn’t deserve this.”
Buck continued to look down at the severed finger as his breathing deepened and his nostrils flared.
“Don’t let your history with Brandy prevent you from doing the right thing!” Aiden implored the old man. He needed him. He needed his steady hand and cool head. Buck Fern had plenty of faults, but when backed into a corner he’d fight his way out and Aiden needed that kind of attitude, that kind of instinct.
“What do you suggest?” Buck was still looking inside the package as he spoke. “Do we drive down to that little town you visited? Lean on the locals, find out where Brandy is and then go there and put a bullet in the head of everyone who is holding her captive?”
“I…” Aiden floundered. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was suggesting. He just knew that he had to save Brandy.
Buck shifted his gaze to look at Aiden, his silver eyes simmering with angry intensity.
“Because that’s exactly what we need to do,” he declared coolly. Aiden took a deep breath and let his mind focus on what the
old man was saying. As he did, he felt his thoughts sharpen with laser precision. Buck was right, if he wanted to save Brandy that was exactly what needed to be done. The time for half measures had passed.
“I’ll do whatever it takes.” Aiden nodded.
“Good, then go pack some things,” Buck gestured towards the ceiling. “And make sure to pack your gun.”
*
Aiden briefly released the wheel to rub at his eyes. They throbbed as they continued to stare out at a never-ending stretch of road. The sun was starting to dip in the sky. Soon it would be dark with only the headlights of the car to show the way.
Throwing a quick glance towards the satellite navigation system propped against the dashboard, Aiden saw that they were still at least ten hours away from San Migeno. He groaned to himself in despair. Beside him in the passenger seat Buck was sleeping, his head firmly wedged between the car seat and the window. Aiden was impressed by the old man’s ability to be able to fall asleep so easily. Like a cat, he seemed to be able to find a potential resting place anywhere.
Pushing down on the gas, Aiden wished they’d taken a flight down to Mexico. But Buck had been adamant that they should drive. He was certain that their movements would be more difficult to track that way.
Aiden had numbly agreed to the old man’s suggestion. He was just eager to leave Avalon and go after Brandy. But now both the hours and the miles were creeping by at a frustratingly slow pace.
Cracking the window, Aiden let in some of the cool evening air in an attempt to reignite his sluggish senses. Beside him Buck stirred, waking from his slumber.
“How we looking?” Buck asked as he wiped his hands down his face.
“We’re a while away yet.”
“Hmm.” Leaning forward in his seat, Buck scrutinized the digital display on the navigation system.
“We should be there by sunrise,” he concluded. “Let’s switch,” Buck suggested. “Let me take the wheel for a bit. You’re going to need to be fresh once we get there.”
Aiden signaled and pulled over to the side of the road. Clouds of dust billowed in the evening air as Aiden climbed out of the car and went round the front, passing Buck who sauntered over to the driver’s side.
