Torn in Two

by J. D. Weston

  “Yes.”

  “How much did you give him?”

  A firm tug released the zip, easing the dress apart.

  “I gave him nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Just my body against his and the touch of my fingers on his naked skin.”

  Two warm hands slid inside Emma’s dress, exploring her back with a gentle caress.

  “And was Darius pleased?”

  “Yes.”

  With her breathing growing to a heavy pant at the lady’s tender touch, Emma held herself closer as the familiar trembling of her own body began to weaken her knees.

  “How pleased was he?”

  Recalling the visible effect Emma’s touch had had on Darius’ body, Emma smiled, and felt the lady’s smile grow alongside her own.

  “Very.”

  With a practiced movement, the lady tugged from inside Emma’s dress, releasing it from her shoulders. The material, stained and dirty though it was, tingled as it slid from Emma’s hips to the floor, leaving her free to feel her own power begin to take hold in joyous warmth.

  “And was he completely satisfied?”

  Moving her hands to Emma’s stomach, the lady pushed herself away to admire Emma’s body in all its new found mature glory.

  Reciprocating, Emma’s hands found the lady’s hips. She pulled at the material of her dress to reveal more of the tanned and perfect skin.

  “Not completely.” Emma stopped. She stared the lady in the eye, smiling her own powerful smile. “I gave all I needed to give.”

  Verbalising the thoughts became a moment of growth. As a snake might shed its skin, Emma shed the words in proof that she was ready for whatever the lady had to offer.

  As if reading her mind, the lady leaned in, her hands wandering across Emma’s chest, feeling her harden between her fingers.

  Just as Emma was ready to fall back and give herself away in full for the first time, the lady whispered in her ear, “You’re ready, Emma.”

  “Yes.”

  “So get showered. There are dresses in the wardrobe. Choose one. I will be back soon to fix your makeup.”

  Her hands dropped Emma at the brink of excitement. The thrill was cut as if a switch had been flicked.

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Now. Today you will meet somebody. If you perform, if you use the power you have shown me, then today, Emma, is the first day of the rest of your life.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Grand Britannia Hotel occupied a prominent position on the north side of Syntagma Square. To the east was the Hellenic Parliament and to the west was the shopping district running adjacent to the Acropolis.

  Finding a parking spot behind the hotel, Frankie locked the car, checked his reflection and, very aware that he hadn’t shaved or washed for two days, he headed into the hotel. The doorman opened the door for him, greeting him with a smile, and Frankie nodded his appreciation.

  The lobby was as large and opulent as Frankie had expected. Although it was quiet, there still remained a polite hustle and bustle as guests and hotel workers went about their business.

  “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.” Sophia’s voice wasn’t a surprise to hear. Her perfume had made enough of an entrance for Frankie to expect it. “Who did that to you?”

  Without turning his head to greet her, Frankie offered a simple, curt reply.

  “I ran into a wall.”

  “Yet you say you do not need a babysitter?”

  Ignoring the comment, Frankie continued to study the room silently.

  “Have you seen her?” asked Sophia.

  “If I see her, you’ll know about it. What did the caller say?”

  “The caller didn’t say much. They just said they’d seen her. A blonde girl in pyjamas matching Emma’s description had been led into a hotel room.”

  “Which floor?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “Male or female?” Keeping his eyes on a couple at reception, Frankie began to formulate a plan.

  “Female. How did you get on at the beach? I had to leave. I do not like to see such things.”

  “The girl was dead. What else is there to say?”

  “Did anybody know her?”

  “I imagine the police will identify her.”

  “Do you think it is linked to Emma?”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “You don't seem very concerned, Frankie. If one girl shows up dead, then maybe Emma is next. I’m beginning to doubt your abilities. So far, you have found nothing and my father is growing impatient. He cannot pay for more of your time.”

  “Sophia, in one day, I have found three possible lines of enquiry. The first, Constantine, is off-limits. Your own words, if you recall? The second, a teenage boy who runs every time I see him-”

  “You still haven't spoken to Christos? You surprise me, Frankie. And the third?”

  “Angela Simmons. Sharon’s friend.”

  “The friend that was with Sharon-”

  “The night Emma was taken, yes.”

  “What does she have to do with this?”

  The questions were distracting Frankie from his thoughts. Until he had good reason to make an accusation, he decided he would keep his cards close to his chest.

  “I don't know for certain that she does have anything to do with it.”

  “So why is she of interest to you?” asked Sophia.

  “It’s just a hunch.”

  “A hunch? What is a hunch?”

  “A feeling.”

  “And do you often have these feelings, Frankie?”

  He finished a final scan of the room, his attention returning to Sophia.

  “Why don't you book us a room each while I have a look around?”

  “You want to stay here? But why?”

  Saying nothing, Frankie watched as the elevator doors closed at the far end of the reception, its occupants hidden from view.

  “But where will you go?”

  “I told you,” said Frankie. “I’m going to look around. South facing, please. I like the morning sun.”

  Frankie made his way toward the elevators, keeping his face turned away from reception until the doors closed with a muted ping.

  The elevator button showed nine floors including the restaurant on the top floor. Opting for a top-down approach, Frankie selected floor eight and studied the gaudy interior as the old lift rumbled into life. On the wall beside the buttons was an emergency plan showing the layout of the huge square-shaped hotel. Rooms were located on either side of corridors to form the square with the lifts and staircase in one corner of the building and a fire escape in the opposite corner.

  As expected, the doors opened on the eighth floor, offering Frankie a choice of two corridors. Or he could take a staircase to the floor below.

  Choosing the stairs, Frankie dropped down to the seventh floor, where a female voice caught his attention and the elevator gave off its familiar muted ping.

  He waited on the stairs, descending with slow, tentative steps. Peering through the balustrade into the seventh floor corridor, he just caught sight of a woman’s bare leg beneath a short blue dress as she disappeared out of sight.

  Keeping to the side of the old stairs, Frankie crept down and leaned into the corridor in time to see the woman with her arm around a girl wearing pink pyjamas and with long, blonde hair. It was as if the older woman was leading the girl. They disappeared around the corner. Frankie followed, his heart pounding.

  The buzz and beep of a room entry system preceded the sound of a door opening, leaving just enough time for Frankie to see the door shut. Muffled, female voices came from inside, but none were clear enough for Frankie to make out what they were saying.

  Until a girl’s shriek pierced through the confusion.

  In one swift movement, Frankie took a single step back then slammed the heel of his boot into the door sending it slamming into the wall in a splinter of wood.

&nb
sp; He burst into the room to find three blonde girls wearing pyjamas and screaming on the bed, each of them holding a pillow up to protect their modesty, each of them wearing far too much makeup, and each of them a dead ringer for Emma. At the end of the bed, a man looked up from behind a camera tripod in a mixture of confusion and anger.

  To Frankie’s left, standing beside the door, was the woman in the blue dress. Her legs were unforgettable but her face was a picture of rage.

  Unable to fathom the scene but keen to get in the first word, Frankie started what he knew would soon become a moment he would choose to forget.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “I might ask you the same. Who are you? And what the hell do you mean by kicking in the door?”

  “I heard a scream.”

  “And you thought you’d just kick the door in and be a knight in shining armour?” She turned to the room. “Girls, get your things together. Pete, sorry, can you set the camera up in my room?”

  The three girls on the bed lowered their guard. Two of them slid off the bed and began collecting clothes from the chair, but the third remained where she was, smiling up at Frankie and biting her lower lip with a playful expression on her face.

  “Now, Claudia.”

  The woman returned her attention to Frankie while the third girl gathered her things. Following the first two girls through the door, she gave Frankie a wink as she scurried past then ran into the corridor to join her friends. The sounds of their laughter faded and the opening and closing of another door triggered the onslaught of a verbal attack.

  “And what about you, Mr Hero? Do you have a habit of breaking through people’s doors without their permission?”

  “I heard a scream. I was walking past.”

  “Next time, carry on walking, tough guy. Why don't you take yourself downstairs and let reception know what you have done? I do not expect to see a charge on my room or I’ll be raising more than one complaint.”

  Brushing past Frankie, leaving her heavy perfume in the air, the woman cast him a scathing look then continued along the corridor to join the girls.

  Closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wardrobe, Frankie cursed himself for his stupidity. He kicked back at the wardrobe door in frustration as the camera man re-entered the room.

  “Have you not done enough damage already?” His voice was deep and his accent was very French. He offered no more conversation and began to unplug the two camera lights that were on stands on either side of the bed.

  Showing little interest, still stewing in his own mistake, Frankie watched as the man went about relocating his photography lights as if the occurrence happened every day.

  “What did I just bust into?”

  Frankie received a look of disdain from the man as if the lights and camera spoke for themselves.

  “Was it a porn shoot?” It was the only thing Frankie could think of, and although far from the mark, it raised a wry smile on the man’s face.

  “I should be so lucky. No. It is a photo shoot for a beauty company. Makeup.”

  “Makeup?”

  “Yes. Did you not see the girls’ faces? They look like china dolls, do they not?”

  “And the woman?”

  “Ah, Madam Simmons, yes. You like her? The girls are beautiful, but she has something they do not. A je ne sais quoi, no?”

  “Yes. Yes, she does.”

  Recalling the photos he had found in Angela’s bedroom, the term je ne sais quoi stuck in Frankie’s mind. It had been the phrase he’d been searching for to describe the exact same woman only the night before when he had been standing in her apartment.

  “If you would like my advice, monsieur, stay away. She has a habit of eating men and spitting them out. Even heroes like you.”

  Collecting one light in each hand, the man nodded a friendly goodbye at Frankie, who followed him into the corridor and watched him disappear into another room.

  Taking the stairs to reception, Frankie found Sophia sitting on an arrangement of couches in the centre of the lobby engrossed in her phone.

  “Did you book the rooms?”

  “I did.” Sophia closed her phone and slipped it into her handbag before Frankie could see the screen. “Although I did have one small problem.”

  “It can’t be as big as the problem I just had. What is it?”

  Frankie’s attention was distracted by the familiar face of a man climbing out of a BMW on the road outside.

  “The hotel is fully booked. I could only get us one room.”

  The man Frankie recognised as Adrian palmed the valet a folded bank note.

  “It is a suite on the eighth floor.”

  Frankie watched with admiration as Adrian Lockwood waited for the doorman to open the doors and the porters to follow him up the few steps to the reception.

  “Did I do wrong, Frankie? You do not seem pleased.”

  Frankie pulled Sophia out of sight behind a column as Adrian approached the reception. She stared up at him, her face close to his chest and her eyes wide with confusion. But she did not try to move away.

  “No, Sophia. No. It’s a very good choice of hotel.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Hot water stung Emma’s skin, finding its way into each and every cut and graze on her body. But memories of the lady’s touch only moments before eased the passing of pain until an aching numbness shrouded her body and the bitter sting of the hot water left a series of dull bites in her flesh.

  A dirty, purple bruise ran the full length of one arm. It was grotesque to look at and painful to move. Lathered from head to toe in natural soaps she had found in the bathroom, Emma explored her body, cursing herself for the damage her stupidity had caused.

  But the smile of the lady and her reassurance that her actions had pleased her had warmed Emma, inciting a renewed confidence. Leaving the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel, she found herself in the full-length mirror.

  She let the towel fall to the floor and stepped closer until only inches from her own face. Her mother’s eyes stared back at her with disappointment, failure, and a slither of something new.

  Let her have her time.

  Her father’s words. Spoken with compassion, patience, and understanding. But hinting at a missed opportunity. Lost time.

  “Resent.”

  She longed to have just one more minute with her mum. Just one more chance to say goodbye. To tell her thanks. To share the bond that overshadowed the lies, the imprisonment, and the unwavering desire to mould Emma into something perfect, something her mother was not.

  “I can do this, Mum. I can have whatever I want. I can have whoever I want. And I can be whoever I want to be.”

  Her eyes dropped to the floor. Then, starting at her toes, they moved over her damaged skin, the cuts, the grazes, and the bruises. Emma smiled at her taut body and her perfect chest. Then, once more, she found her mother staring back at her in wonder.

  “And I choose to be everything you wanted me to be. Everything you could never be. I’ll show you, Mum. I’ll make you proud.”

  Her stare lingered a few moments, and as if her mother’s spirit acknowledged the sentiment, the reflection returned to show a simple, young girl, naked and proud, admiring herself in the mirror.

  Opening the built-in wardrobe, Emma found, to her delight, a selection of dresses and shoes. Each dress varied in colour, cut, and style but was of the finest fabrics and brands. Excited, Emma pulled on the first dress on the rail: a mauve cocktail dress. It was sleeveless with an opening at the front that would entice any man. But the short length of the dress revealed far too much of a long scratch on Emma’s thigh. No man would want to see that.

  The second in the row of potential garments was a simple, black, knee-length dress. A little black number, her mother would have called it. It offered little in the way of enticement and lacked the impression Emma was hoping to create. It was too plain Jane.

  But the third dress outshone any Emma had seen
before. It was blue satin with thin shoulder straps that held up the open-front. A simple belt of the same colour pulled the material in around her waist to show off Emma’s figure, and its full length covered the ugly blemishes on her legs while a long slit offered a glimpse of the top of her thigh. Enough chest and leg was showing to entice a man. But there was enough material to cover her wounds, save for the dirty, purple bruise on her arm. But to overcome this, a pair of long gloves hung from the hanger. On the wrist of the right glove, a ruffle of material formed the shape of a flower with mock precious stones sewn into the design to add a subtle sparkle.

  The dress was perfect.

  The matching heels fitted as if they had been made for Emma’s feet alone. As she stood to gaze into the mirror, she straightened her back and her legs, sucked in her stomach, pushed out her chest, and raised her chin. Then she smiled at her reflection. No longer was her mother’s gaze staring back at her from dark and weary eyes. In her place was a young woman. A woman with confidence, strength, and a power that few knew how to wield.

  “What do you think, Mum?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Leaning against the tiled shower wall, Frankie let the hot water run over his shoulders taking with it the dirt and grime of the past two days. But even the cleansing steam had no effect on the whirl of thoughts that occupied his mind, the dark possibilities that had yet to be spoken of or acknowledged yet grew stronger with each passing hour.

  He killed the stream of water, pulled a towel from the pile below the sink, and then wrapped it around his waist while running the cold tap to clear the fogged-up mirror. The reflection that emerged as the mist cleared showed deep lines beneath Frankie’s eyes, and the two days’ growth on his face did little to mask his fatigue.

  A breath of cool air found the droplets of water on his skin as he opened the bathroom door and stepped into the air-conditioned bedroom.

  “Feel better?” Sophia was perched in the armchair with her feet on the small table and her laptop resting on her legs.

  “I smell better. I’ll let you know how I feel when I know myself.”