by Loretta Lost
“Owen,” Liam says quietly. “Caroline probably thinks you’re tossing her out, man. You spoke to her really harshly yesterday. Don’t you want to at least try to remain friends? You’re being really immature.”
Chewing on my lips slowly, I lower my head and acknowledge the truth of these words. It just seemed so impossible to break up with Caroline and still maintain any measure of communication without falling back into old habits. If I wasn’t a total dick, to the point where I was too embarrassed to ever show my face around her again, I wouldn’t have been able to make a clean break.
“Maybe you should talk to her,” Helen suggests. “At least for some kind of real closure. I think you owe her that, at least. In the meantime, I’ll try to get in touch with Carmen and figure out what’s going on with her, and why she disappeared.”
“Thanks,” I tell her softly. “Either way, I’m going to need a ride to town so that I can deal with this Carmen and Caroline situation. These women are driving me crazy. I have such a splitting headache that I literally feel like my head is going to split open.”
“That’s called a hangover, bro,” Liam says sympathetically. “I’ll give you a ride to the bus station, but I really think you need some time to cool down. Take at least twenty-four hours to really sit and think about what you’re going to do before you rush in headfirst.”
“Twenty-four hours?” I ask him incredulously. “That’s an eternity when you’re dealing with love, man. Every minute you’re separated from a beautiful woman is a minute that she’s considering being with every other semi-decent dude who would gladly take your place. Every minute apart is a minute when she feels like you don’t care, and numbs her heart to you a little, destroying the bond you’ve built. Don’t you know this? When it comes to love, every minute counts.”
Chapter Three
Carmen Winters
I wince at the pain in my arm as Brad drags me roughly to his car. My feet are still bare, and moving this quickly over the ground causes pebbles to dig sharply into the tender soles of my feet. Brad’s coarse fingers will surely leave bruises in my soft flesh; he is manhandling me in the way that someone would drag a runaway horse back to the stable. The fear and humiliation registers in my mind, but I am not completely capable of feeling it. The image of my burning home has rendered me too emotionally numb to be able to suffer any more.
Just a few hours ago, my father was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Now, he’s fighting for his life in the hospital. And I might never see him again.
Turning to stare at Brad blankly, I observe his features.
Everything is the fault of this twisted man. This monster.
How can one person be responsible for so much disaster? How can one person get away with ruining so many lives? He looks like a normal human being. His perfectly-styled sandy brown hair and his chiseled jaw are masculine and appealing. He looks like a charming young man; a recent college graduate filled with ambition and fire. That’s what I once thought he was. I guess I am easily fooled by appearances.
I don’t even understand this. I don’t understand why.
I must have led a very sheltered life, because I can’t seem to comprehend someone being this violent and vindictive. Is there some underlying reason? Should I even bother to try and make sense of it?
Did something happen to Brad in his youth? Or was he just born this way?
Evil.
That’s the only word in the English language that comes close to describing what I see in his eyes. Even when I thought I knew, I didn’t know. I didn’t truly understand what he was capable of. I should have never let this man’s heart keep beating. I should have never let him have the privilege of breathing in a single additional breath.
I look at his chest rising and falling in fury as he drags me across the cobblestones.
Every breath he takes is an abomination.
How dare he? As I breathe in my own lungful of air, I feel revolted that I am forced to share the same oxygen with this man. It is blasphemy that the same precious atmosphere should nourish both of our bodies and lives. How dare he? His mere existence is an infringement on all that is good and right. He isn’t just a soul-crushing carnivore; he is a cannibal. A cannibal who feasts on hope and innocence until we’re all bled dry.
He’s bled me dry. He’s taken everything from me, and feasted on my heartache.
But he’ll never have the opportunity to do this again.
I silently vow that I will do whatever it takes to end him. It might take every drop of life and energy I’ve got left in me, but I will make sure he never breathes another breath. I will end him. I. Will. End. Him.
Who the hell cares if I die trying? He has already killed everything in me.
“Get in,” Brad says, opening his car door and shoving me down into the seat.
My body goes tumbling forward roughly, and I have to catch his gearshift to steady myself. Brad bends down slightly to study me as he reaches out to press his knife against my neck again.
“You left me,” he says in a tense voice.
I gaze into his wounded dark eyes. I know that speaking as little as possible is my best option in this situation. A thousand insults are sitting at the tip of my tongue and begging to be unleashed, but this simply isn’t the right time. I have to imagine that there are invisible iron bars bolted down over my lips.
“You were mine, Carmen,” he says softly, leaning so close that I can feel his breath against my face. “We were happy.”
I stare at him wordlessly, trying not to betray my hatred and my lethal intentions. If only Brad knew how much I despised him, I am sure he wouldn’t hesitate to sink that blade into my throat.
“Why?” Brad whispers. “Why did you go? I thought you loved me.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I let a few words tumble from my tongue. “I loved my husband. I loved my daughter. I loved my father. I never loved you.”
Brad flinches, and his hand wavers. I gasp as the knife slides against my neck. I hold my breath, expecting the worst.
A warm trickle of liquid tickles my skin as it trails down over my collarbone and between my breasts.
“Well,” Brad says quietly. “It’s rather convenient that they’re all gone. It looks like you have some love to spare. Give it to me, Carmen. All the love that you used to waste on them? It should be mine. I want your love, Carmen. I need it. I need you.”
The cut in my neck isn’t deep enough to kill me, but it’s frightening enough to make me clamp my mouth shut.
I shouldn’t have spoken.
I shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my life; not until I’ve made sure that Brad can’t hurt anyone else. I just have to hold on a little longer. I just have to live long enough to make sure that he gets what he deserves.
Then I don’t care what happens to me.
I know that if I can just rid the world of Brad, I will be saving countless lives from his particular brand of cruelty. It’s all on me, now. No one else is ever going to do what it takes to get rid of him.
But there is very little I can accomplish while a madman has a knife pressed up against my jugular.
Chapter Four
Carmen Winters
My heart leaps into my throat as Brad’s sleek, black Audi blasts across the highway, dodging in and out of traffic recklessly. He swerves sharply around cars, passing them within inches. When his path is blocked, he even drives into the unpaved shoulder.
He has complete disregard for all the rules of the road. He has complete disregard for our safety, or for the safety of anyone else on the highway. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course he does: he has a complete disregard for human life.
But I can’t help feeling the fear creep into my chest, and my hand moves to clutch the bar along the passenger side door.
“Don’t worry,” Brad says in a low voice that trembles softly. “You’ll be safe soon. I’ll take you away from all this.”
A chill runs through my chest as I turn to gaze at him.
I am startled to see that there are beads of sweat clinging to his face and neck, and generously staining the front of his shirt. Even with all his insane driving maneuvers, he periodically pauses to scratch at his wrists. I can see that his palms are glistening with a thick layer of sweat, just like his face and neck.
Something’s wrong with him. Physically wrong.
The realization that he’s driving like a stuntman on a movie set while his palms are sweaty, and while he’s experiencing some kind of psychological episode does not offer me any comfort. I stare forward through the windshield, and I begin to imagine that every single one of his maneuvers will result in a freak accident.
I imagine the car spinning out of control. I imagine us hitting another vehicle, or being crushed by a huge truck. It makes my heart beat faster in fear, but it also gives me a thrill of pleasure.
Anything. Anything at all, as long as Brad ends up dead.
My fingers twitch as I consider reaching out to yank hard on his steering wheel. How do I cause the most damage? I want this little metal box we’re in to crumple up like an empty bag of potato chips in the hand of God. I want us to be plunged directly to the bottom of the nearest bottomless lake; somewhere dark and cold, where not even the tiniest of microorganisms will suffer to feast on Brad’s rotting flesh. I couldn’t bear it if his organic matter were to live on through accidentally entering the food chain.
As Brad drives into the shoulder to pass a Jeep, I notice that his hands are shaking. I don’t have time to worry about this before a grating metallic sound causes me to gasp and flinch as the Jeep comes into contact with my car door. My passenger side window shatters into pieces that spill all over my lap, and it takes me a moment before I can breathe or register what’s happened.
“Sorry,” Brad mumbles incoherently as he wipes the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so hot, and I can’t control my hands. Dammit. Fuck.”
I realize that I have still been tightly gripping the door handle, and my fingers are white. A horn blares loudly at us. I look around and discover that we just sideswiped the Jeep, and ripped off the mirror on the passenger side. I am not injured at all, but the experience was terrifying. I remove my hand from the door, and wrap my arms around my stomach to try to calm my unsettled nerves.
Brad switches back into the actual lane, but he does so haltingly, as though he has forgotten how to drive. Something suddenly clicks in my mind.
It’s the drugs.
The drugs that I’ve been slipping into his food are causing his irrational behavior, shaking hands, and excessive sweating.
The drugs I intended to use to physically incapacitate him have worked against me; they’ve only made him more unhinged, more unpredictable, and more dangerous.
Nice going, Carmen.
I tighten my arms around my stomach in dismay. At these speeds, the wind from the highway is loud and furious as it violently whips my blonde hair around my face. I hesitantly turn back to gaze at the steering wheel, staring through the horizontal strands of locks of my hair.
A memory comes to my mind, of cuddling in bed with Owen yesterday. I remember him running his fingers through my hair, and nuzzling me in a blissfully dreamy state.
“Your hair tastes like honey and sunshine,” Owen says sleepily.
I remember giggling and gently shoving him away. Now, the silly memory is painful and bittersweet. I don’t think I’ll ever see Owen again. The thought makes my chest ache, and makes me want to get this all over with as rapidly as possible.
Glancing to the side out of the corner of my eye, I see a beastly-looking Hummer that we are about to pass. Trying to time my motion perfectly, I reach for the steering wheel and pull hard.
I shut my eyes and wait for the impact. Nothing happens.
Opening one eye nervously, I see that Brad has corrected the steering and is looking at me with shock on his face.
“Did you just try to kill us both?” he asks me with hurt in his voice. “Carmen! That’s not very nice.”
My heart pounds hard against my ribcage. I pull my lips into a narrowed, grim line.
“Why don’t you just sit there and behave yourself, like a good little girl?” Brad suggests with a smile.
“Fuck you!” I hiss, reaching for the steering wheel again. “You maniac!” I wrestle with him desperately for a moment, trying to swerve the car into an object large enough to crush us. However, even with the drugs in his system, Brad is far stronger than I am. I let out a yell and put my full effort into pulling on the wheel, and our car slams into the back corner of another vehicle, sending it spinning. I stare at it eagerly, hoping that it will slam into us, but Brad yanks the steering wheel sharply to the side and dodges the giant bullet. He easily catches both of my wrists in one of his hands and pulls them away from the steering wheel as he straightens the vehicle.
“Carmen,” he says softly as he uses his knee to steer. “You’re making things very difficult for me, sweetheart.” He reaches under the seat of his car and pulls out a gun with his free hand. He turns off the safety before pointing it directly at me. “I’m going to let go of your hands, okay? If you try anything stupid, I’m going to shoot you in the stomach. It’s going to feel a lot worse than that time they ripped your dead baby out of your gut.”
My anger causes my chest to heave, but I nod compliantly. He releases my wrists and switches the gun to his right hand so that he can grab the steering wheel with his left. He presses the cool metal nozzle of the gun against my head as he drives.
“Do me a favor, my love?” he says gently. “Reach into the glove box and put some chloroform on the rag that’s in there. Then put it against your face, and breathe.”
“No fucking way,” I say in disbelief.
“Then I’m going to be forced to pull this trigger,” Brad says with a shrug. “And I’d really rather not. I really like your head the way it is, without a bullet hole in it. Besides! Fixing that window and repairing my car is going to cost a bundle, but do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out of the upholstery?”
Staring at him in disbelief, I feel a bit like a cornered animal being stalked by a predator.
Just be patient, Carmen, says a voice inside my head. It sounds like my husband’s voice, and it nearly brings tears to my eyes. I’ve missed him so much. I need him now, more than ever. Just be patient, he repeats again. Do as he says, and wait. Wait for the right moment. Have faith that you will get that moment, when you can gain the upper hand and end this. But until then, please wait. Be calm, be focused, and wait. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for our daughter?
I close my eyes and exhale slowly. Yes, Grayson, I mentally respond. Thank you. Please, just stay with me. Talk me through this.
I’ll be right here, he assures me.
Somehow, I suddenly feel safe. Although I am frightened out of my mind, I feel like there is a secret angel on my shoulder, protecting me. I slowly reach forward and open up Brad’s glove box. I withdraw the bottle of chloroform, and the cloth.
“There you go,” Brad says, digging the weapon into my head a little more. “That’s a good girl. Breathe it in deep for me.”
Biting my lip, I uncork the bottle and spill a few drops on the fabric.
“More,” Brad commands.
I shudder a little as I pour enough liquid on the rag to soak it completely. I glance to the side and consider putting the cloth over Brad’s face instead, but I know that he could simply hold his breath and pull the trigger long before I have a chance to knock him out.
Don’t do anything rash, Carmen, my husband’s voice counsels me. This isn’t the right moment. Just do as he says, for now. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to survive this.
“Breathe it in!” Brad commands nervously. The sound of sirens is heard, and he glances behind us with narrowed eyes. “Faster, Carmen! Or I’m going to pull the fucking trigger.”
“Okay,” I say softly, pressing th
e cloth against my mouth and nose. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, letting the sharp fumes burn my nostrils as they infiltrate my brain. A wave of drowsiness immediately hits me, and I cling desperately to consciousness.
I try to conjure up a picture of Owen’s smiling face. I try to remember the dimple on his cheek, and the light in his eyes. I try to remember the sound of his laugh. I try to remember the way it felt when he kissed me.
Don’t worry, Carmen, my husband’s voice assures me. You’ll see him again.
I wish I could believe him.
My hand falls into my lap, and my head rolls to the side before my world goes black.
Chapter Five
Dr. Owen Phillips
“Come on, come on. Pick up!” I say with impatience as the phone rings.
“Are you looking for Carmen? Great! You’ve got the right number, but she’s busy doing something awesome right now. Leave a message, and the very awesome Carmen will be sure to call you back and make your day a little more awesome too.”
Her voicemail greeting no longer makes me smile. It is at least the fortieth time I’ve heard it today. Should I even bother leaving a message? Is she even getting these messages? Where the hell is she?
“Carmen, please,” I say into the phone as I stand below my apartment building and stare up at the towering structure in exasperation. “Will you talk to me and tell me what’s going on?” Hanging up the phone, I growl in a mixture of anger and annoyance. After taking a bus back to New York, and a cab home from the bus station, I am exhausted and worried. I haven’t been on a long bus ride surrounded by dozens of strange and sad individuals in quite some time. I’d forgotten how much I dislike the company. There’s something really disheartening about traveling like that, and it really made me miss my little old car and my favorite radio stations.
