by Ruby Molloy
He hasn’t called since I left. I guess it meant nothing, him finding me gone.
Another door slams, has me jumping again.
I freeze, fingers poised above the keyboard. Delta, who was walking towards the water cooler, pauses too, her expression one of shock and confusion. A soft moan escapes her mouth, along with a small trickle of blood. I stare in mute horror as she collapses to the floor.
Charlie rushes towards her and Violet jumps to her feet. Shelley stands motionless, staring somewhere beyond my right shoulder. Footsteps ring out; loud, clomping steps with an ominous rhythm. Mike is striding through the office, a gun in his right hand. He swipes it from side to side as if unsure of his next target.
Charlie is kneeling beside Delta, cursing as blood flows out beneath his fingers where they’re pressed against her ribs. Violet goes to join him until another gunshot reverberates around the office.
Charlie’s head flies up and I can see the panic on his face. He thinks it’s Violet. It’s not. It’s the TV that plays silent in the corner. It’s black now, with a white, powdery hole at its centre. Charlie sends a warning glance Violet’s way before addressing Mike. “You crazy fucking idiot. What the fuck have you done?”
My body jerks with terror. Please Charlie, don’t get yourself killed.
Mike steps closer to Charlie, the gun barrel terrifyingly close to his cheek. “Leave her, Charlie.”
“Can’t,” snaps Charlie. “She’s gonna die if she doesn’t get help. I’m not gonna sit back and let that happen, Mike.” He glances around the office and says, “Someone call an ambulance.”
Shelley’s the first to move, but just as her hand reaches for the phone, Mike waves the gun in her direction .“No!”
She gives him her dragon-lady stare and I swear he shrivels beneath her gaze. “Point your gun at me all you like,” she says with contempt, “but I’m calling an ambulance.”
Violet picks up her phone too, eyes flashing with rebellion above her pale, silvery cheeks. “Me too,” she says, though her voice isn’t strong like Shelley’s.
For a few stupid seconds I think everything is going to be okay. Shelley and Violet will summon help, Charlie will save Delta, and the nightmare will be over. But Mike aims his gun at Violet just as Charlie shouts her name. The bullet embeds in the wall and Violet drops her phone. Everyone’s watching Mike, terrified of his next move.
Everyone except Shelley. I hear her speak into the receiver. “Ambulance please. Yes. My colleague’s been shot. Yes. No,” she says, staring at Mike, “he’s still here.”
She reels off the address and Mike watches on, his face purple.
“They’re on their way,” Shelley says and, swear to God, I’ll give her the mother of all hugs when this is over.
Mike’s lips fold back over his teeth. “Bitch,” he hisses. “You always were a meddling old cow. ”
If anything, Shelley seems pleased. I guess Mike’s words don’t penetrate the same way as his bullets.
My phone starts to ring and the caller’s persistent. Mike’s attention swings to me, his small round eyes bulging with loathing. “You fucking bitch, you stole my job. I lost my home, my girlfriend. Gone. Because of you.”
There are different levels of fear. I was at seven, maybe eight. Now I’m on ten and blood’s pounding through my head like a dull siren. Everyone’s helpless, staring at Mike, waiting for his stubby fat finger to squeeze the trigger.
There’s no quick escape, nowhere to hide. Shelley and Charlie may have disobeyed Mike, but he’s the one in control.
“Up!” he yells, striding towards me, his gun now aimed at my head. “Stand Up!”
I do as he says, rising slowly, palms up so he knows I won’t do anything stupid. His pudgy fingers, slick with sweat, grab at my wrist and swing me towards Delta’s office. Inside, he shoves the door closed, the print of his greasy palm visible on the glass.
From the outside Delta’s office looks rectangular. Inside it’s square with a small private bathroom at one end. The back and sides are solid, the front is glass. It’s not small, but it feels it now with Mike pointing his gun at my face.
“The blinds,” he says. “Close ‘em.”
I pull at the cords, taking a last look at Violet and Shelley, their faces stiff with fear. I guess mine’s the same. I know I’m not getting out of here alive. Mike shot Delta because she fired him. He thinks I stole his job. That means I’m next.
“Sit down in front of the door.”
I do as he says, shoulders against the glass, arms wrapped around my raised knees. He sits behind Delta’s desk, out of place in his worn brown t-shirt with its cartoon logo.
I watch as he takes out his phone. He holds it horizontally, both me and his gun in its view, and I hear the simulated sound of the shutter click when he takes my photo. Phone vertical now, his fat digits move slowly across the screen as he types. “Don’t ya just love social media?” he asks in a fake American drawl. “Let’s see how many likes I can get.”
That’s when his phone begins to beep.
Ten, twenty, a hundred beeps, so many it becomes one consecutive high pitched sound. His face radiates happiness, his mouth splitting wide in a grotesque grin.
He starts typing on his phone again. Typing and reading, that’s all he does for an hour, maybe two.
I hear vague sounds from the office outside. I hope they’re saving Delta. I hope she survives.
I think about Boyd and whether someone’s told him I’m trapped with Mike. And if he does know, I wonder what he’s feeling. Guilt? Regret?
He loved me once. Or he said he did.
That counts for something, right?
My face is wet. Silent tears. Who knew I was capable? Loud, dramatic me, able to weep without a sound. Boyd would laugh.
His face flashes before me, vivid, as if he’s here. He’s not laughing. He’s terrified.
I think he knows I’m here, shut in this room with Mike.
Yeah, he knows I’m here.
God, I need to see him again. Just one more time. I promise I’ll reign in my temper and hold back my anger, if only you’ll let me see Boyd one more time. Please.
I love you, Boyd.
But that’s not true.
I loved the Boyd you were, before you changed, before you turned into a carbon copy of Liam.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Helpless
BOYD
Stifling back a yawn, I reach for my coffee. Slade and I are parked up in Harrow, waiting on a guy to leave his house so we can follow. Our client thinks he’s selling off business leads to another company. The job’s about as boring as it can get, sat in the car for hours, doing nothing, Slade happy for me to keep watch while he gives his full attention to his phone.
I fight back another yawn and blink to clear my eyes. I’m not sleeping much. Been reaching out for her in my sleep, feeling it all over again.
My free time is taken up with searching for whoever threatened Kayla. The sooner I find them, the sooner I can get back with Kayla.
I’m hoping I’m finally getting somewhere. Last night I switched direction and searched Kayla’s name on the ‘net. I found her work posts on social media. Someone’s been sending malicious messages. A couple had Kayla’s name in them. It could be nothing, but it’s all I’ve got to go on. Tag’s got the day off and he’s looking into it for me.
It takes a solid hour for the guy to leave his house. I elbow Slade to let him know we’re on, seeing as he’s driving today. We follow the guy into the heart of London, waiting in a parking zone when he visits an office block. I exit the car and take a look at the companies listed on the brass plaque outside.
I’m memorising the names when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It’s Tag. I’m hoping he’s made a breakthrough. “What’s up, Tag?”
“Where are you?”
“On a job in the city. Why?”
“It’s Kayla.” There’s no pause after he says her name, but it feels like forever. It ta
kes everything I have to hold down the panic. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Jack, but it’s all over the web. Some fuck’s got into Kayla’s office and shot one of her colleagues. He’s holding Kayla hostage, typing a shit-tonne of messages on social media. It’s not good, Jack.”
Buildings spin and cars blur. My shoulders collide with a concrete wall.
“Jack?” Tag’s voice draws me back.
“Tell me.”
“Shit, there’s no easy way to say this. He’s threatening to kill her and there’s a photo to prove he’s not bluffing.”
It’s all I can do to stay upright. My hands are tingling and I force air through my nostrils, waiting for the feeling to subside. My mind’s racing and I try breaking it down to single thoughts, ignoring the need to hit, punch or kick something. I’m in the city district. Kayla’s what ... fifteen minutes away. It’s probably quicker on foot than by Tube.
“I’m gonna go find her.”
I hang up on Tag and sprint over to Slade, adrenalin kicking in. “Gotta go. Kayla’s being held hostage.”
“Get in.”
I back away, eyes darting everywhere, trying to figure out which way I should be heading.
“Jack, get in the fucking car, man. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
I don’t think twice. I jump in and give Slade directions. Traffic’s heavy and there’s a snarl up on the main route, but Slade knows the short cuts.
There’s road blocks when we get closer and I get Slade to drop me off so I can run the rest of the way, but the street’s cordoned off with blue and white tape stretching from one side of the street to the other. Kayla’s building is round the corner, out of sight. Beyond the tape there’s a fleet of emergency vehicles. Gathered beside one of them is a firearms unit, with five or six officers, their guns aimed at the ground as they take instructions.
I duck under the tape needing to know that Kayla’s okay. I take three steps towards an officer when I’m bundled to the floor and pinned down by three, maybe four officers. I’m laying face down on the tarmac, grit biting into my cheek. My first instinct is to fight them off, but that’s not going to help Kayla. Voices shout commands and I have to shout louder to be heard. “My girlfriend, she’s inside.”
When they don’t listen I shout again, louder this time. “Kayla, my girlfriend, she’s inside. I need to know she’s okay.”
The knee in the centre of my back shifts and they pat me down, searching front and back, leaving nothing unchecked. I’m hoisted to my feet, instantly crowded by five officers.
“What’s your name?” asks the guy who’s tallest.
“Jack Boyd. My girlfriend, Kayla, Kayla Martinez, she works at PNL. I heard she’s been taken hostage.”
He doesn’t exactly relax, but sympathy creeps into his voice. “You got any ID on you, Jack?”
I pull my wallet out of my cargos and hand him my driving license. He examines it before handing it back. “Dean, take Jack to see Emily. She’s on Liaison.”
I’m escorted to a blonde officer who’s half my build. Dean introduces me and explains the situation. I’m impatient enough to override him. “Just tell me if she’s okay.”
Dean nods to Emily and leaves her to it.
“Jack, is it?” she asks.
I nod.
“Okay, Jack, here’s what’s happening. Kayla’s okay. She’s being held hostage and we’re doing everything we can to get her back safe to you. You go rushing in, you’re liable to put yourself and Kayla at risk.”
I’m used to being the one who’s in control. Now I’m on the flip side and it doesn’t sit well.
Emily checks I’m listening and continues. “When we have any updates I’ll let you know, but for now you need to sit tight.”
“Who is it? Who’s holding her hostage?”
She looks torn, glancing to her colleagues and back to me, before finally relenting. “His name’s Mike Archer. He’s an ex-colleague of Kayla’s.”
“You know why he’s doing this?”
Emily grimaces and her eyes flick back to her colleagues once more. “All I know is he held Kayla’s job before she did and if anyone asks, you didn’t hear that from me.”
She turns away, clearly done with answering my questions.
I go stand with my back against a set of iron railings, waiting on Kayla, knowing she’s going through that thinking I don’t love her.
I’d give up everything for the chance to explain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Specks
KAYLA
I’m not sure how long I’ve been cooped up in here, but the external sounds have diminished and all I can hear are the beeps from his phone that inflate his ego and feed his creepy smile.
“Bitch!”
My head snaps up and I brace, but he’s not talking to me. He’s addressing his phone. “Fucking bitch!” He types some more, biting his fleshy bottom lip with his nicotine-yellow teeth.
The hours roll on and my body’s needs grow stronger. Thirst and hunger battle it out for second place, but right at the top is my need to pee. But that would mean speaking and drawing his attention to me. In the end I have no choice, not unless I want to wet myself.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
His head lifts and he holds my gaze, saying nothing.
“Please.”
He drops his phone to the desk and fixes the gun on my belly. Images of Delta falling flash through my mind. I see Charlie’s red hands, pressing against her ribs. Sweat breaks out on my back.
Breathe. Breathe slowly.
He gestures with the gun, ushering me towards the bathroom. My finger pushes against the light switch and there I am, pale and terrified in the bathroom mirror, him standing at my back, gun unseen. He takes a quick look round, taking in the white dispensers and matching towels. There’s nothing I could use as a weapon, not even if I was Jason Bourne.
“Two minutes,” he says, leaving the door partially open.
I’m quick as I can be and I’m drying my hands when he pushes the door open, the gun still in his hand. “Time’s up,” he says.
For a moment I’m convinced he’s about to pull the trigger. My hand comes across my belly, as if I can block the bullet.
“Move,” he says.
A shudder rips through me and I stumble to where I was before, once again sitting with my back to the office door while he returns to his phone. For the first time he lays down the gun and it transforms into a paperweight on top of Delta’s files. I stare at it, wishing I was closer, close enough to reach it first. I imagine how it would feel to pull the trigger, to witness his shock, see the bubble of blood rise up from his chest.
The phone rings.
Not his.
Delta’s.
He watches without answering. But the ringing doesn’t stop and it becomes a competition to see who will give in first, him or the caller.
The caller wins.
He lifts the handset. “Hello.”
It’s that sound again. The one that sounds like a slammed door, only this time it’s louder and it comes twice.
The white wall behind Delta’s desk is sprayed red. His head has dropped back, as if he’s fallen asleep in the chair, and all I can see are three chins now merged into one.
“Kayla?”
The voice comes from behind my back. I crawl, terrified, towards the corner, tucking myself into a ball. The door opens and two black-clothed Police officers enter, their guns pointed at his chest in case he survived having his brains blown out.
“Are you hurt?”
I can’t stop staring―at him and the specks of blood on the wall behind.
“Hey, do me a favour look at me, not him,” says a voice. I do as he says, gazing into a pair of warm brown eyes. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, good. You’re Kayla, right?”
I nod.
“Can you stand up for me? Great. Don’t look at him, just keep looking at me, okay?
”
I do as he says and he guides me out the door and into the main office. It’s heaving now. Police everywhere, medics too.
“She says she’s not hurt,” the guy with brown eyes says, handing me over to the medics. They’re both young, both Afro-Caribbean. The man is quiet, but the woman talks softly, keeping up a soothing running commentary. They lead me down the corridor, one on either side as we move towards the reception area.
“That’s it, take a seat,” says the woman. “You mind if I run a few checks, make sure you’re okay?”
I don’t mind anything right now. They could stick me full of needles and drain half my blood, I wouldn’t care.
There’s no elation at being freed, no sense of relief, only an overriding sense of being alone.
Everything slows down, takes longer than I hoped. I’m checked over, questioned, and given a briefing on what will happen next. I overhear someone say Delta is critical, but I’m thankful she’s alive.
I’m free to go. Except I don’t have my phone or my bag. They’re in the office and I can’t get to them because it’s a crime scene.
I’m offered a ride home by one of the officers, but I’m not thinking straight. Now that the danger has passed my mind is slow and cloudy. When I refuse his offer he looks concerned and asks if he can contact someone; a friend, family member―anyone I might want to come collect me.
I want to say Boyd’s name, but then I think he might get Tag or Mason to come in his place. I’m not sure I could survive that so I refuse once more.
I need out of here. Now.
The officer tells me to wait where I am, but I think I’ve had enough.
I walk home, not entirely sure of the route. I feel detached. Buildings seem taller, their windows black and ominous. It’s cold out and my fingers are numb, toes too.
I don’t have my key when I get home, but that’s okay because Frankie’s home. She wraps me in her arms and holds me tight. I shiver and cling onto her and afterwards, when we’re done with hugging, I go sit on the sofa.
I hear Frankie talking, whether to me or someone else I’m not sure. I’m staring at the TV, watching the news, seeing PNL’s facade lit up with flashing blue lights.
