Curveball

by Teresa Michaels

  “What the,” is all ‘Scar’ is able to say before I drill him over the head with the metal chair…the same chair I had been chained to.

  He tries to put up a fight until he sees Breanne with the gun pointed at his face. When he’s distracted by this turn of events I deliver another blow. My ribs are pleading with me to stop, but that doesn’t keep me from lifting it again and slamming it into him once more with a guttural cry.

  “Enough,” Breanne begs, her voice sounding horse.

  Deep down I know I’m not a murderer but the rage I feel at the memory of her pain makes walking away mid-assault difficult to swallow. The look on her face, however, tells me that if I don’t stop she may never look at me the same, and I can’t chance that. My energy level is crashing anyway so I toss the chair on the floor. I huff in frustration and cautiously walk over to him to confirm he’s unconscious. Breanne scurries to grab the restraints that were used on us earlier and follows behind me as I drag ‘Scar’ towards the tattooed man.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Tying them together,” I strain, heaving his limp body forward.

  I shift ‘Scar’ so that he’s face down on top of the tattooed man. Using the rope I tie each of their legs together, making sure the knots are as tights as possible. I then tie ‘Scar’s’ hands together behind his back and handcuff the tattooed man’s hands intertwined around his sidekick’s. I hope when these assholes wake up they are in their own personal hell.

  I rummage through his pockets looking for his keys or any phone, but he hasn’t got a thing on him.

  “Are you ready?” I question. I cannot wait to get out of here.

  She nods and slowly bends down, placing the gun on the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously.

  “I don’t want this. We don’t need it anymore,” she explains.

  “You don’t know that. Take it with us just in case.” She’s uncomfortable, but agrees.

  “Come on.”

  I direct her towards the door and let her take the lead as I have no idea which way to go. We scan the hallway and run to the adjacent room to check for our phones. Nothing. Quietly, we then make our way through several rooms, all of which are bare. We stop occasionally to listen but as far as we can tell there is no one else in the house. I can’t help but think that if Dosdell wasn’t involved with us being sabotaged he would have been here by now. That said, I’d like to get far away from here in case he does show up. He’s the enemy.

  When we finally get to the stairs I feel uneasy. There’s nothing to indicate that something’s wrong, however, the hair on my body is standing on edge. I reach out and grab Breanne’s shoulder so that I can go first. Unfortunately, she mistakes my gesture and quickly spins with the gun pointed directly in my face. Holy shit!

  “Fuck, Breanne!” I sputter, ducking and pushing the barrel away with one hand.

  “Damn it, Drew! What the hell was that for?” she cries softly.

  “I wanted to go first,” I explain, trying to regain my composure. “Give me the gun. Now!”

  “Not a chance,” she tells me before starting up the stairs. How can a quality I found attractive a few days ago infuriate the hell out of me now?

  “Breanne, give me the gun,” I demand. “You’re going to hurt one of us.”

  “You can barely walk. I’ve got this,” she says with finality.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I stammer, finding it impossible to be mad at her. “We can’t be the Keaton’s. In the 60’s women complied with what their men told them to do. You wouldn’t have survived a day in that decade.”

  “I was seconds away from pulling the trigger on you and you’re cracking jokes at my expense? You’re unbelievable,” she retorts. “Try to remember who has the gun.”

  At the top of the stairs she waits for me and allows me to move ahead of her. She places her free hand on my side and I can feel she’s shaking. I turn to her and it’s clear that all of her confidence has faded. I kiss the top of her head in an attempt to reassure her.

  “Just keep the gun off me, ok?”

  Breanne nods and I turn back to the door. For several minutes we just listen. My imagination is running wild with what could be on the other side. More hit men? Dosdell? Who the fuck knows? The only sounds I hear at the moment are of our heavy breathing and the eerie sound of a wind chime from outside. Why the hell is a wind chime at an abandoned house? We silently move into the room, sticking side-by-side as we do a quick sweep of the galley area. Though the hairs on my arms are standing on edge, it appears that we truly are alone.

  Glancing out the windows that face the driveway I see our car in the same position we left it in and find that no additional vehicles have arrived. At least we have that going for us. My eyes travel around the room in search of inspiration. To my surprise I spot something I hadn’t seen before. By the back door of the kitchen is a side table with a bag lying on top that peaks my interest. I quickly make my way toward it and riffle through the contents. Yes! My wallet, Breanne’s things from the car, and…that’s it. Shit! No keys or phones.

  “We can’t get anywhere without keys,” Breanne says, pacing around. Unfortunately, the keys the tattooed man had were only for the handcuffs and the house.

  “We could run to some of the neighboring houses and hope one of them is occupied. Or we could use the tattooed man’s phone and call for help,” I suggest sticking my hand in my pocket. “What the hell? I don’t have it,” I tell Breanne while I pat myself down. “Did I give it to you?”

  “No, I saw you put it in your back pocket,” she recalls.

  “It must have fallen out when we were tying them up,” I reason. “I’m going to find it.” I head toward the stairs and take my first step back towards hell.

  “Drew!” Breanne gasps.

  “I’ll only be gone a minute,” I reassure her, continuing my descent. I don’t want to leave her but it’ll be quicker this way. Besides, who knows if the twins are conscious.

  “Drew…outside! We have to go!” she exclaims in a hushed but urgent tone.

  I dash back into the kitchen and find Breanne crouching by a far window, which faces the driveway and garage. She’s as white as a ghost. Another black SUV has pulled in, facing away from the house and blocking our car in. Fuck! Who the hell is here now?

  “Stay low and get over here, quick!” I command. Carrying the bag of our belongings Breanne darts to me. Finally, she listens. I watch out the window as two men climb out of the car and continue whatever conversation they were having.

  “Are either of those men Dosdell?” I ask her.

  “No. We have to get out of here,” Breanne insists.

  “And go where?”

  “How the hell should I know? Clearly we can’t stay here,” Breanne states the obvious.

  The faint, but distant screeching sound of metal on metal friction distracts my thoughts. My eyes light up and I dart to the windows that line the wall near the back door.

  “We can try to hop a train.”

  While the two men rummage through our car, Breanne and I stealthily exit the back door and hide behind an oversized built-in stone grill on the patio. Patiently, we wait for them to move out of view. When they finally enter the house we take off running, determined not to look back.

  Each step towards the train brings us closer to freedom. My lungs are on fire and my facial wound has reopened, causing blood that was clotting to drip down my face. The injuries I’ve sustained could cause me to collapse at any minute. The only thing pushing me forward is the woman next to me; the woman I love. That alone gives me enough energy to feel like I could fly.

  To say I’m relieved when we make it beyond the large, partial barrier is an understatement. The opening in this eyesore is a blessing and I thank God that it was never finished. It’s amazing how drastically different a few yards can be; it’s like we’ve entered a different world. This space is filled with dozens of large, desolate buildings left to f
urther deteriorate. Aside from grey the only color in sight is brownish-green from the dehydrated, dying grass that hits around our knees. During the height of mining and steel manufacturing I bet this was a bustling area. Now, however, all that seems to have life are the trains.

  When we’ve nearly made it to the first set of tracks I hear voices and pull Breanne low to the ground. The grass provides enough coverage to make me confident that we haven’t been seen. Well, at least not by the people working on the train. Afraid of what I’ll see if I turn around, I maintain my forward focus.

  “Did you clear the debris from the track?” a voice calls towards the head of the train.

  “All clear,” another voice bellows.

  “Get ready to move out,” the first voice shouts back.

  When the voices disappear I pull Breanne up and run for the train, crossing over two sets of tracks to get there. Approaching the last car of the moving train, I see that the last boxcar’s door is open. The 50-foot standard boxcar is deep blue with some company’s logo adorned on the side in bright yellow. The train starts picking up speed quicker than expected, catching me off guard. Launching into a sprint I take Breanne’s hand and drag her forward. The single sliding door is propped partially ajar and it’s just enough space to get my hand and shoulder in to push it open further. Grabbing hold of a handrail by the door for leverage, I push Breanne in front of me and hoist her into the car before following behind her.

  Inside is filled with a variety of dry food products like canned foods, sauces, prepared dried goods and pet food split into four sections and piled high. There isn’t a ton of room but it’s enough. The layout has created one long path as a hallway. I push the door mostly shut, leaving just enough of an opening for some light to get in, and lead Breanne to the back of the boxcar.

  I rest my back against the wall and slide to a sitting position before pulling Breanne down into my lap. She collapses onto me and we embrace each other. The weight of her leaning against me causes sharp pains through my midsection and chest, but I couldn’t care less. Not holding her after everything that’s happened would hurt far worse.

  Though we’re silent I know we’re both wondering what the hell we do now. Neither of us has a phone. We are still hours away from home and who even knows where the hell this train is headed. Selfishly, I can’t help but hope I have a few more hours with her safe in my arms. I won’t have many more moments alone with her and I want to enjoy it. I also try to get the courage to tell her how I feel. I wanted to earlier but the timing didn’t feel right. I’m sure she’s still probably pissed at me for what I said about Dosdell so now might not be the best time either. As I’m trying to figure out if I’m chicken-shit or smart to delay my confession, a muffled buzzing sound cuts off my train of thought.

  “What is that?” Breanne asks.

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

  Over the roaring sound of the train it’s almost impossible to hear anything else unless you’re really close or loud. Breanne scrambles out of my lap and picks up the bag of our belongings that’s resting on a bulk carton of peanut butter. She dumps the contents on the floor and picks through them one at a time.

  “Ahhh!” she shrieks.

  “What is it?” I ask as she’s blocking my view from whatever it is that she’s found.

  She turns around wearing a smile that extends from ear to ear and holds up both of our phones. I pull her into a bear hug just as one of the phones starts to ring. I release her and in the light from her phone I watch her smile fade.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “Dosdell,” she replies softly.

  I grab her phone and answer. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Where’s Breanne?” he questions, brusquely.

  “With me,” I reply, feeling my temperature rise.

  “And where would that be?”

  “None of your fucking business. But I am interested in hearing why the hell you sent us to that house,” I spit.

  “This isn’t a game, Drew. Tell me where you are.”

  “Why should we trust you?”

  “I just got to the house and found a lot of blood in the basement. There’s no sign of Lucas or Pierce. What the hell happened?” he asks, and he sounds concerned. I’ve got to hand it to him; this guy can act.

  “Why don’t you ask your other friends? You know, the ones from the plane?” I ask in return.

  “If someone was here I’d ask. Clearly there’s been a misunderstanding, Drew. Tell me where you are so we can work this out,” he says. There is nothing in his tone that suggests he’s lying but my gut tells me otherwise.

  “Why don’t we start by you telling me why your number was the last one called by one of the gunmen?” I demand. There is a long silence on the other side of the phone. “They said your name on the plane, Dosdell. I didn’t piece it together until after I’d been beaten within inches of my life and was forced to watch Breanne be manhandled, but I know now. You are involved with this. You fucking piece of shit!” I scream.

  “You’re making a huge mistake, Drew. Not one person can keep you two safe. You have no idea who you’re up against,” Dosdell says.

  “Tell me why you did it? Why you used Breanne? Were you trying to get her killed? Did you kill Mark? Tell me what the fuck is going on!” I yell. I’m so worked up I’m starting to sweat. I’ve lost control and I’ve momentarily forgotten that Breanne is sitting with me.

  “Good luck,” Dosdell says tersely and then disconnects the call.

  I drop the phone into my lap and clench my fists before slamming them both into the ground. I sense Breanne’s gaze burning through me. Like a coward I don’t dare look at her yet.

  “I didn’t misunderstand what the gunmen said. He’s involved, I just don’t know how.”

  “Well, it’s going to be hard to find out answers now,” Breanne says, snatching her phone. “I could have handled that conversation better myself.”

  “I don’t trust him. And until someone proves otherwise he’s not getting anywhere near you,” I stammer and chance a sideways look her way. “I told you I wouldn’t let anyone put their hands on you again and I meant it.”

  Breanne stares at me thoughtfully while her eyes soften. She’s not happy but she doesn’t look quite as mad. “What did he say?” she sighs, and I take the opportunity to pull her back into my arms so that she’s sideways in my lap with her head resting against my shoulder.

  I summarize the conversation for her. When I get to the part about us not having one person who can help us or keep us safe, she tenses. I cock my head to the side to get a better look at her expression, but in the limited light it’s hard to get a read.

  “Not one other person,” she repeats, slowly.

  “We’re going to be fine,” I try to reassure her. I feel like a broken record having said some version of this phrase to her countless times over the last few days.

  “He’s right, you know. One person can’t help us.”

  I sense her wheels churning. She taps her phone screen so that it lights up, illuminating her face. “Do you have contact information for any of the major media venues?”

  “Um, yeah. I think I have a few contacts in my phone and email. Why?” I ask intrigued.

  “I have an idea!” she says, grabbing my phone enthusiastically.

  Breanne explains her idea to me and then shifts to face forward while still seated in my lap. I have to say, I’m surprised and impressed by her idea. Using the flashlight function on her phone she places it on the floor so that the light is pointed at the ceiling, illuminating the space all around us. She takes my phone and faces it towards us and hits a button so that we can see ourselves. Without rehearsing she hits record.