Torn in Two

by J. D. Weston

  But the display of flesh and enticing legs was no competition for the whirlwind of thoughts in Frankie’s mind.

  “If I had been called in a few days ago then yes. But it’s five days since Emma disappeared.” Leaning on the heavy oak cabinet, Frankie turned to find Sophia lying on the bed staring up at him. “The chances of finding Emma now are slim. We need to make preparations to break this to her parents.”

  Vocalising the possibility cleared Frankie’s mind a little. It was like a secret he’d been bottling up that now weighed less. Sliding her legs from the bed, Sophia stood behind him. Her usual casual, controlled expression flattened to a serious look like a mother about to scold her child.

  “Don’t say that.”

  She caught him in the mirror, locking stares as if daring his pessimism to try again.

  “It’s been five days, Sophia.”

  “It’s five days. Not six or seven. It’s five days. The police have searched the town. They stopped all the vehicles and there is no sign of her. She’s alive. I know she is alive.”

  “We have nothing to go on, Sophia.”

  “We have Angela Simmons and Adrian Lockwood. I think we should look closer.”

  “Angela and Adrian? What did you find out?”

  Working her strong fingers into Frankie’s muscles, Sophia began a slow massage using her thumbs to spread the tension from his neck to his arms.

  “A lot.” Stepping closer to Frankie, Sophia moved her hands up to his shoulders, peering into the mirror to talk to the reflection. “Angela Simmons runs a makeup company here in Greece. She is powerful and well-connected and attended the same school as Sharon Fletcher.”

  With his head lowered, accepting the impromptu neck massage, Frankie almost scowled at the news.

  “We know all that already. What I need to know is why Emma’s diary was in her apartment.”

  “I also learned a few things about Adrian. Would you like to hear?”

  The strength of the massage increased as Sophia’s fingers worked along Frankie’s spine.

  “Yes.”

  She paused long enough to gather her thoughts and for her fingers to begin a rhythmic pattern over each of Frankie’s vertebrae.

  “Among his many businesses, Adrian owns a transport company.”

  “Haulage?”

  “He has a warehouse outside Athens where his lorries are kept.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me this earlier?”

  “I have only just found out. Besides, it’s late now. You are tense. Let me help you.”

  Shrugging her off, Frankie stepped across to his bag where he found the photos of Adrian.

  “He’s in the hotel now.”

  Taking Frankie’s place at the bar, Sophia added a slice of lemon from a small dish to her drink. Then she swirled the glass before taking a mouthful.

  “With his sister, I believe.”

  “His what?”

  But even as he asked the question, Frankie recalled the photo of Angela and Adrian he had seen in Angela’s bedroom. With their power and money, Frankie had assumed they had once been lovers with independent wealth. But now he imagined the photo once more. They had been standing together, close as siblings might but not with the affection that lovers might display in such a setting.

  “They are brother and sister,” said Sophia. “Although they do their best to hide it.”

  “How do you know? Where did you get this information?”

  “Expensive clothes and nice hotel suites are not the only benefit of having a wealthy father, Frankie Black.”

  “So Sharon knew Adrian from school too? The three of them are old friends?”

  “Yes. But Angela Lockwood now uses the name Angela Simmons, a name she acquired in a marriage of convenience to a husband who died a convenient death.”

  “Why didn't Sharon tell me any of this?”

  “What does it matter? They are friends.”

  “It matters that Adrian owns a transport company and is here right now. It matters that Angela was running a photo shoot here earlier with three girls who all looked identical to Emma. And it matters that Sharon Fletcher lied. She knows something.”

  Dropping the photos on the bed, Frankie began to pull on his boots.

  “Are you going now?”

  “Of course. If they’re here, maybe Emma is too. Maybe the phone call to Emma’s hotline wasn't a hoax. Maybe it wasn't a mistake.”

  “But what can you do now? It is late. You cannot barge into every room in the hotel looking for them.”

  “No. But I can ask reception what room they are in.”

  “They will tell you nothing. Besides, if Adrian and Angela are as connected as my father’s sources say, the receptionist will alert them. No, Frankie. I cannot let you go.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait?”

  “In the morning, we will leave early. We will call the police and we will do this properly. But tonight, you must relax. We must make sure that we have all the facts. We must be one hundred percent right before we act.”

  Moving across to the bathroom, Sophia slipped inside leaving Frankie to kick his boots away in frustration.

  “If it is them and they are here now, Sophia, Emma could be here too.”

  “And the great Frankie Black will find her.”

  She stepped from the bathroom, hair pulled from the loose clip and resting on her shoulders with a gentle bounce as she walked, hips swaying as if in time to some unheard love song.

  “You will return to your son, proud and armed with the story that one day will help him understand how lucky he is to have such a strong father.”

  “That’s if she doesn't get away.”

  Frankie stood and made for the door, energy building inside him as the pieces came together in his mind. The photos. The subtle aggression and reluctance to help from Adrian at the apartments. The diary in Angela’s apartment. Everything made sense apart from the lies Sharon had told.

  “She will not get away, Frankie.”

  Placing her hand on Frankie’s chest to stop him, Sophia tensed, proving to be stronger than she appeared. Stopping, Frankie looked down at her hand and stepped back slowly. Her eyes focused on his, speaking in some unspoken language until the bed halted Frankie’s backward steps and Sophia pushed him down upon it.

  Shocked at the turn of mood, Frankie clambered to get up, but a long leg emerged from Sophia’s gown and pinned him down by his chest.

  “What are you doing?”

  Wild eyes found Frankie’s, holding him entranced as her mouth parted and a look of insatiable hunger like nothing Frankie had seen before crept onto her lips. Her robe slipped from her slender shoulders, revealing everything Frankie had imagined Sophia was beneath it.

  “Something I’ve wanted to do since the first time I laid eyes on you, Frankie Black.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  As quiet as can be, Emma tip-toed across to the bedroom door and groped for the handle in the dark. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Then slowly, she turned the knob.

  But the door didn’t budge.

  She had been awake for so long wondering what would happen that escaping into the night had raised her hopes to an all-time high, only to have them come crashing down. It was as if weights had been hung from her heart. The anxiety in her chest had become steady. It was a new normal that brought wonder, if for a moment, and caused the tightness to ease off. Only to return moments later with its firm grip.

  “It is locked?”

  Spinning around at the voice in the dark, Emma sought to see Anna’s shape, a form in the bed that had cried itself to sleep as soon as they had been locked in the room. The memories of the previous night returned. The lady, her sudden cold tone, and the doors that had slammed shut.

  “Did I wake you?” Emma whispered.

  She crept slowly and sat on Anna’s side of the bed. Anna dragged herself up and hugged her knees close to her chest beneath the covers.
<
br />   “I’ve been awake for some time,” said Anna. “Sleep only brings wild dreams and hope. At least when I am awake, I know that my life is over. There is no hope.”

  Finding the switch for the little lamp on Anna’s side of the bed, Emma flicked it on, squinting at the sudden brightness and letting her eyes adjust.

  “Don’t say that. There’s always hope, Anna.”

  Laughing a single stab of laughter, mocking Emma’s positivity, Anna looked away as a cruel grimace pulled at her lower lip.

  “I mean it, Anna. Just because Mr Francesco chose Duska, it doesn’t mean we are doomed. We will have other opportunities.”

  “Opportunities? What opportunities, Emma? I saw the way you spoke to him. You live in a dream as if there are hundreds of men out there like Mr Francesco, hundreds of men who will pay good money to have us on their arms and buy us clothes and jewellery in return for them having a pretty young girl to ride, spank, and spit on whenever they choose. Sadly, there is not. Men like Mr Francesco are rare.”

  “Our time will come, Anna. Don’t give up.”

  “No, Emma. You do not understand. There are two types of men who want girls like us. The tigers and the lions.” Turning back to face Emma, Anna pulled the covers around her shoulders and listened for any sounds from the next room. “Men like Mr Francesco are rare like the tiger. They live in the shadows and blend in with the trees selecting their prey with taste and measure. They watch from the darkness until the time is right. Then they reach out and take what they want, and when they want something, they will pay whatever it takes to have it.” Anna sighed. “Duska. I knew it would be Duska. Somehow. She has what Mr Francesco is looking for.” Anna looked down at her chest and shrugged. “I do not. For me now, all I can hope for are the lions. They hunt in packs in the open using only their size and strength to intimidate. They have no real power. They feed off the carcass of whatever they find, whatever weakness stumbles close enough for them to take down. Then they devour their prey like savages.”

  “You make it sound like we will be torn apart.”

  “You will be sold, Emma, not to a man of wealth, not to a tiger like Mr Francesco, but to a lion. A lion who doesn’t even care what you look like. You are very beautiful, Emma. You have perfect skin and every part of your body is flawless. But for the lions, you could have hair growing from your forehead and they wouldn’t care. You will be locked in a tiny, windowless room. You will be drugged so that you cannot stand, think, or escape. And you will be forced to do whatever the lions want you to do. And the lions, Emma, they always hunt in packs.”

  The scene Anna described was in stark contrast to the idyllic surroundings Emma had in mind, where she would have followed Mr Francesco’s lead, giving what she needed to get what she wanted until such a time arose when she could step out into the world.

  “A locked room?”

  “The lock is unnecessary. The drugs they will feed us will prevent you from walking, or standing, or talking. Our hearts will continue to beat, but inside, we will be dead.”

  Springing to her feet, Emma began to pace the room, switching direction in violent turns as scenarios played out in her mind, unthinkable until that moment.

  “Then we must escape.”

  “And how do you think we can do that? We are trapped here.”

  Pulling the curtains to one side, Emma found the window barred and offering no view. It was as if all the lights in Athens had been switched off.

  “There must be a way out of here.”

  Emma tried the doors again, this time with less caution and more noise, but found them locked as she knew they would be.

  “Do not fill your mind with hope. The fall will be more painful.”

  “How can you sit there, Anna? How can you accept what you just told me? You volunteered for this. You knew all along that if Mr Francesco did not choose you, your life would be over.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “How? How could you take that risk? How can you put your life on the line like that? To be drugged and raped every day? To never see the light of day? Or breathe fresh air?”

  But Anna refused to answer. She stared at the locked door while Emma pulled open the drawers searching for something, anything, to help prise them open.

  “Answer me, Anna. Don't just sit there. Don't just let them take your life away.”

  “What life, Emma? What is this life you speak of? You speak like I was cared for with my family in a loving home. But you know nothing.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

  “What use is sorry? What use is hope? What could I do? Each night, I walk the streets searching for a place out of the wind. A place where the biting cold doesn’t sink its teeth into my skin. And each night I pray-”

  “You pray? I also prayed.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. For the first time in too long.”

  “Long enough that you felt guilty to ask for help?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you prayed for forgiveness? For the bad things you did? For the guilt you felt for whoever you left behind?”

  “Yes. How do you know?”

  “Because I also prayed for that when I first called the streets my home.”

  “And now? What do you pray for now, Anna?”

  “I do not pray for forgiveness, Emma. I do not wish that the people that once loved me are okay and safe. I do not ask for light to shine on the path I walk, Emma. But I pray. Silently. Every night. Curled up in a corner where only the wild dogs dare to go. I pray for God to finish this. To strike me down. To close my throat or crush my heart. However he sees fit. I pray for him to end it.”

  “No, Anna. Life is out there. Life is there to live. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since this began, it’s that during everything that comes to you, everything that happens, you have a choice. You, Anna, have a choice. Now get up.”

  But Anna stared at Emma as if she had lost her mind.

  “I said get up, Anna.”

  Reaching down, Emma pulled on the smaller girl’s arm until, with reluctance, she climbed from the bed. But she stood on frail legs, her dress snagged and her hair dishevelled from the restless night.

  “I’ll make you a promise, Anna. But in return, you must make me a promise.”

  “What do you talk of? You are a girl who has peeled back the layers of cotton wool to find the world has rough edges that will hurt you everywhere you go.”

  “Not everywhere, Anna. I may have had a loving family and we may have been lucky enough to have money, but all that is over now. My parents are dead. If I weren’t here, I would be finding a place on the streets, like you, where only the wild dogs dare to sleep. But I won’t, Anna. I won’t let that happen. And I won’t be locked up and drugged for the lions to use me either.”

  “What do you know?”

  At that moment, a tiny metallic clicking sound broke the tension as a key slid into the lock. The movement was slow as if the person on the far side dared not to wake anyone.

  “They’re here already.”

  “Then it is too late for your dreams, Emma.”

  “I know enough, Anna. I know enough that I’m getting out of here. And one day, if I try, if I never give up, my own Mr Francesco will find me and take me away. Fortune will favour me.”

  “You are a fool.”

  The lock clicked open, and the handle began its slow turn.

  “You think of me as a fool when the lions feed, Anna. I’ll be in the shadows waiting for my tiger. So you have two choices.”

  Light spilled across the carpet as the door opened in a slow arc to reveal a man wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with leather boots.

  “You can come with me, Anna. Or you can stay.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Shades of black formed a dreamlike world when Frankie opened his eyes. The dark furniture against the grey walls, the gloomy hotel curtains against the weak dawn light, and the dark shape that moved across the room with pra
cticed silence and slipped from the door like a phantom.

  He stretched out a hand to find Sophia’s body but found only empty bed space, warm where she had lain only moments before as the bedroom door closed with a soft click.

  In a heartbeat, Frankie sprang from the bed. He pulled on his cargo pants and boots then grabbed a t-shirt and made for the door where he listened for voices. Then he crept outside.

  Beyond the doglegs, the elevator pinged its muted ping, leaving Frankie free to take the stairs. Keeping to the carpeted middle of each step, Frankie took them two at a time, making sure to make no sound. The elevator pinged once more as he reached the third floor and Sophia reached the ground. So he moved faster, risking a little more noise. By the time he reached the smiling receptionist, who raised her eyebrow and nodded once, the lobby was empty of guests and the sun had yet to peek above the mountains of Athens.

  Pushing through the two front doors and startling the doorman, Frankie found an inky-blue sky above a fresh morning chill. In the square opposite, several humps of blankets marked the warmest spots found by the more fortunate homeless people of Athens. Three or four stray dogs scavenged for food near the bins then bolted as the alpha gave chase to a street cat.

  But three hundred yards to Frankie’s right, crossing the road and entering a side street as if lured by the shops and neon lights, was Sophia. She wore the same dress as the previous day but with a warm jacket to keep the morning chill off her petite frame.

  Checking left and right, from habit rather than any direct threat, Frankie began to follow, keeping his pace up to close the gap. The distance closed to two hundred yards as Sophia entered the side street, urging him to run. But by the time he entered the street himself, she was nowhere to be seen.

  Corrugated steel shutters had been pulled down over each of the store fronts, providing a cold, grey canvass for street artists to express opinions about the government, life, and culture, as well as graffiti that could have been works of art in a museum, in Frankie’s opinion.

  Broad canopies above the shops hung over the pedestrianised walkway to provide shade in the hot summers but served to strengthen the shadows in the dark winters. They created dark holes and doorways for criminals to hide and echoed space for the sound of Sophia’s heeled boots.