by Gregory Colt
“Yes sir,” he said, pausing for a moment. “What is it you hope to do out here, Mr. Knight?”
“Find Ruby. You feel like a walk right now?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said standing. “Where we going?”
* * * *
The rest of the album fascinated me. Most were of Adrian and Nick taken in various towns and villages. Several had a young woman in them. She looked about their age. You would have thought maybe they were all in the Peace Corps, or student volunteers, or on holiday, the way they smiled and laughed and took crazy pictures around the city or hiking in the countryside. And one photo of all three of them trying to ride an elephant and failing. I laughed out loud at that one. It felt good to laugh.
It was difficult picturing Adrian as innocent. Both boys had the same devilish grin, usually while doing something mean to the girl in the photos. When I flipped past the first couple of pages that all changed.
No more smiles, no more laughing, no more picturesque landscapes with the pretty girl. In their place was carnage. Villages burnt to the ground, mass graves, buildings on fire, old women screaming and crying. I only saw the girl in one other picture. It looked like she was working as a nurse in a makeshift refugee camp during a thunderstorm. Adrian and Nick were loading supplies onto a truck along with several armed men in fatigues and the girl was screaming at them.
There was more. Black and white aerial recon, roads with convoys marked, pictures of compounds, jungle forts, and mines. The photos gave way to newspaper clippings. The oldest going back to May 1997.
It was a church. Or what I assume was a church. The building had been blasted from the inside out and people were carrying burned and broken bodies outside where they waited in rows for burial. An excerpt in English stated the Gray family, who had built it several years before, were the intended targets and were found among the deceased.
Another, from years later, had a black and white photo on the cover of bodies littering the ground on the banks of a stream flowing through a village.
Most of the articles were in a language I didn’t know. Especially the older ones that appeared to cover events of the Second Congo War until around 2003. From then on more and more were articles from international papers and magazines. Most were in English and covered subjects from weapons trafficking to black market antiquities to international criminal court hearings over events the world over. Dozens of unrelated stories in an order I could not figure out. Like an article on hundreds of millions of dollars missing in the financial records of over half a dozen central African governments after the war ended was right beneath a short story on one of the last battles before the ceasefire. Something about a mining compound ravaged by fire but no one had taken credit for the attack.
On and on the articles went. Theft, trafficking, battles, assassinations, serial killers, manhunts, Interpol statistics and briefings, warlords brought to trial, it was a mess all the way to the end.
I slid the album over and picked up the small pile of papers lying beneath it in the drawer.
More recent photos and articles. One in color of a woman getting a certificate or degree of some kind. Looked like the young girl in the other photos, but older. Several of the newspaper articles were local stories on missing children found or neighborhoods reclaiming their street. It never mentioned him by name, but given the focus on local crime, and the handful of wanted posters crossed out, I knew those were about Nick Roarke. An interesting fellow this Roarke. Savior of children and neighborhoods and keeper of a disturbing album from the past.
An album that did nothing to give me any clarity on who Adrian Knight was. I didn’t like the idea that the scene I walked into this morning would have fit into that album and not looked out of place. Was I absolutely certain he didn’t have anything to do with it?
Chapter Eight
The one and only time her boyfriend had called her a whore was the day she stopped being one. Ruby Jordan ran under the shadow of a busted city street lamp in the South Bronx as the nightmare began again.
It was well past dark; she needed to get home to Thomas. Her best friend Jess had promised to watch him, but no one had seen her for days. Ruby needed to be home. She also knew running kept the tears away, so she made the only decision she could…she would do both. A long stretch of shadow lay ahead as she stopped in the middle of the intersection. She turned around and ran away from the dark, away from thinking, and hard toward home.
Snap! Ruby collapsed to the sidewalk as her heel caught in an unseen vent. She choked off a scream, realizing where she was, and instantly regretted the noise. She scooted back against the outer wall of an abandoned building and waited to see if anyone heard. Several intense moments of nothing calmed her. She looked at the broken heel and thanked God that had been the popping sound she’d heard. She wasn’t hurt, not seriously anyway, just scrapes and bruises. Ruby took her shoes off. It was a clean break and, if she was careful, she could fix the heel. It was the only pair of high heels she owned, after all. Standing brought a lance of pain through her ankle, encouraging her to stay down.
Ruby tried to stand again and squeaked, slumping back down the wall of the building. It hurt too badly. She was stuck right there. Besides, it was dangerous to crawl off looking for somewhere better. This area was nothing but abandoned industrial buildings anyway, and she didn't see or hear anyone. The darkness protected her as much as it hindered and, well, she’d spent plenty of nights on the street in years past. One more wouldn’t kill her.
Ruby looked around for somewhere to hide, somewhere out of the way, somewhere that would keep the night chill out. Nothing on the street would do. She crawled toward the half-boarded entrance of a nearby empty building as headlights came around the corner. She recognized the white van as its brake lights cast the block in red. The van rolled to a stop at the curb in front of her and then the man driving opened his door. She knew him. What was he doing out here at this hour?
“Is that you Mr—” she started.
“Ruby, dear," he asked. “Is that you?”
She nodded, feeling the conflict of being excited for help, and fearful due to her rapidly growing skepticism. There were not many reasons for a man to be around here at this hour, and none of them good. She stood again, trying not to whimper, but limped when she took a step.
The man hopped out and was at her side in an instant.
“Ruby, you’re hurt. What happened?” he asked, giving her his arm for support.
“I…” she couldn’t think of anything better than the truth. “I twisted my ankle. I’m fine. I’ll be all right. Just need a minute.”
“Of course,” he said, looking around. “Of course. Here, come over here and sit so I can take a look, okay?”
Ruby cautiously let herself be escorted to the van and sat in the passenger seat after he opened the door. He began to poke around her ankle while she winced.
“Definitely a sprain. Starting to swell,” he carefully turned her foot in the light of the cab.
“Yeah,” she said with a weak laugh. “I figured.”
“Yes, and I cannot leave you out here alone. Is there someone I can call for you?” he asked.
Ruby calmed down. There wasn’t any reason to be rude.
“If you don’t mind, yeah, I’d appreciate it,” she grimaced.
“Of course,” he said, digging around for his phone.
“Yeah,” she said, straining carefully to turn her ankle and get a better look at it. “I’m real grateful running into you like that.”
The man nodded absently, still wrestling with one of his pockets.
“Nobody’s gonna believe I ran into you out here,” Ruby said, trying to smile.
The man froze before sliding his hand out of his pocket, empty. He looked at her for a very long second and glanced up and down the street. He sighed.
“What’s the matter? What’s—” Ruby tensed, gripping the door handle so hard she broke a nail, when she realized there was someone else behind h
er in the van. Someone large, and wearing hospital scrubs.
“No,” she whimpered.
The man she knew looked away and just shook his head. “Grab her.”
“No!” Ruby let out with more resolve than she felt as she tried to jump out. An arm from behind tightened around her waist, keeping her pinned in.
She screamed, and a light came on in a window down the block. Someone yelled out of it.
“Get her in!” the man snapped to the big guy in scrubs, before slamming the passenger door shut. He ran to the driver’s side.
Before Ruby knew what was going on, a massive latex hand clasped around her lower face, cutting off her nose and mouth as she was pulled from the passenger seat. She flailed and kicked, screaming into the latex when her sprained ankle struck the dash. The man pulled her between the front seats of the van and into the dark behind. Her screams were lost as the engine started.
* * * *
Ruby opened her eyes. I must have fallen asleep again, she thought. How many times had she woke since being taken? Two? Three? She couldn’t sit up when she tried. Thick leather buckles held her wrists and ankles. Ruby had awakened from her nightmare and into terror once again. She screamed at the memory of getting into the van with a man she had trusted. There was no sound. She screamed again and again and nothing. She tried to struggle against her restraints and realized she could not. Her arms and legs didn’t respond as they should. She screamed again and noticed now that her mouth didn’t open like it should either. It was difficult to even breathe. She tried moving something, anything, but all she could manage was her head. It was so dark she couldn’t see past the bed she was strapped to. A hospital bed.
Sickly green lights along the ceiling came on as three men in white lab coats came into the room far to the left. Ruby turned her head again now that she could see farther, and wished in desperation she had not.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod tore through her panicked mind. All the way to the edge of the darkness were hospital beds with pumps and IV’s and needles and bags and blood and urine and instruments scattered around. Beds to the left and right. She couldn’t see far down, and nothing above, but she knew there were more rows of beds. Several rows of beds. Occupied beds.
Ruby vomited. Given her lack of mobility, none of it even made it off the bed. She never noticed. She was looking into the open eyes of the young woman in the bed next to her. In one brief moment between the screams in her mind, she recognized her friend, Jess. Whether Jess recognized her, she never knew.
The men came over at the sound of her vomiting. One checked her restraints and, once satisfied, took his clipboard to check on someone else. The other two shone lights in Jess’s eyes and took other readings. They unbuckled the leather straps and sat her up. Ruby heard something about “administering phase two” before Jessica erupted, shoving both men to the ground. Jessica turned and looked at Ruby confused, then slid off the bed. She stumbled, lunging forward. Her legs wobbled drunkenly as she regained her balance, but it didn’t take long. The two downed men yelled while the third ran to the door, calling for something. Ruby didn’t hear what it was, but Jess must have recognized it, judging by the way her head snapped around. She ran for the door, snatching up a scalpel off of a tray on her way.
She didn’t make it. A large shadow in the doorway gave her pause. A second later the man in scrubs appeared.
“Stop her!” yelled the third man.
It was over in seconds. Jess charged the third man. Ruby thought she had him when the large man from the van missed by going straight at her, while she shot off at an angle for her intended target. It didn’t matter. The big man pivoted and grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms. Everything slowed then. The two men at the foot of Ruby’s bed got up and straightened their lab coats. The other man brushed himself off, getting settled. The big man from the van seemed content to hold Jessica there, almost tenderly, and leaned his face in closer to Jess’s. Ruby relaxed with that strange ordeal coming to a close. Then Jess screamed. A burbling, curdling scream as the large man’s teeth ripped into the soft flesh of her throat.
“Stop! Stop, damn you! Release her,” the third man hollered, seeming more annoyed than angry.
The large man dropped Jessica with a sickening thud. He stood there, calm once more, as the third man made notes on his clipboard. He dismissed the large man, and one of the others as escort, with instructions to change the dosage on something Ruby didn’t understand. The other man walked over when the two had gone back upstairs. “I’ll have this cleaned up and the body disposed like the others.”
“No, not yet. Go get everything prepped for a phase one run," the third man said, turning to look right at her.
Some distant part of Ruby was telling her that she knew where she was, but it took a moment to resolve. There was so much screaming in her mind nothing else was getting through. Dead. Dead. Jessica was dead. I’m going to be dead. Dead like Jessica. He’s going to tear my throat out!
“Fuckin’ waste,” the third man said, stepping over Jess’s body. He turned down the lights and left up the stairs, shutting the door behind him. She couldn’t see past her bed again and was thankful. She needed to calm herself. She needed to think this through. She would be helpless if she gave in to the screaming again. Ruby tried to relax her mind and quiet the voices. Soon there was only one sound she couldn’t get rid of.
She focused hard, but it wouldn’t go away. A soft pitter-patter, like the small sprinkles of an early summer rain, in regular repetition. Ruby wondered if it was all inside her head. She listened as the noise grew softer. It came from near the doorway. Jessica’s body convulsed on the floor, clinging to life. The harder Ruby tried not to picture the regular spray of blood across the tile floor, growing fainter with each weakening pump of her heart, the clearer the image became. She pictured the blood begin to pool as it dripped. She was ten feet away from her best friend, mutilated and bleeding to death, and couldn’t even call her name. She couldn’t comfort her best friend in her final moment of life. Then the room echoed loudly with the sound of suctioning. The blood must have hit a drain in the floor. In her mind, Ruby screamed. And she never stopped. She screamed her silent scream until she was deaf with the sound of it.
* * * *
Thomas and Ruby Jordan’s apartment was our first stop, and it did nothing to help shed light on anything she may be involved in or clues to where she was. It was a glorified closet that took me all of ninety seconds to tear through. Brandon supervised and made certain I put everything back and kept it neat. He didn’t want to burden Ruby with a mess when she got home. He wasn’t going to even consider another possibility until he knew what was going on. Until then she was fine, she was coming home, and he was going to make sure it was nice when she got there. My opinion of Brandon rose a couple of notches. I have to say the little apartment was clean and smelled nice. Better than the hallway. Or the building. Hell, the rest of the neighborhood.
I checked my watch as Brandon locked the door. It was getting late and I still had places to go.
“I think it’s time to see this Roman,” I said.
“Yeah. We’ll walk it and I can show you everywhere we looked. The street she ran down and all. It’s on the way,” said Brandon.
He showed me Jess’s apartment on the way out but she wasn’t home. I was curious about Jess, but we needed to walk the route Ruby had taken and still have time for me to visit the shelter. Not to mention getting back to Nick’s office.
I wasn’t worried about Claire. Abner would stay with her awhile, but still. I needed to be there, and I could only push her so far. Especially given the day she’d had. I knew helping Thomas find his sister was the right decision, but I felt like crap about it.
Brandon took me back to the diner and led me along the sidewalk Ruby had ran down. “This is where we split up and spread out on the side streets. I saw her run at least this far. After that…” Brandon trailed off, furious…and scared.
We stopped at th
e intersection and he told me how they had gone down each side street and alley for several blocks in all directions without finding anything. He got more upset knowing he didn’t know what he was doing and worried he had overlooked something important that could have made a difference.
“It was dark, right? Last night when she ran?” I asked.
“Yeah. Not totally, but the street lights had come on and everything,” he said.
“Exactly,” I said, looking around. I pointed down the side streets. “No street lamps. Almost no light at all. I doubt someone is going to decide to run off into total darkness. Especially if someone is upset, angry, confused, scared, know what I mean?”
Brandon nodded.
“Right. We stay on this stretch of road and keep going straight. Don’t worry about any side streets unless they’re lit. How many blocks, straight ahead, did you cover earlier?” I asked.
“Three. Maybe four. I didn’t want to miss anything,” Brandon said.
“Brandon, listen to me. You and Thomas are doing a good job out here and you’ve already saved me a ton of time by eliminating those side streets and being able to point me in the right direction,” I said.
“Don’t bullshit me, man! I know what the odds of finding somebody out here are,” Brandon snarled.
“You’re right. I’m not going to lie to make you feel better. She could be dead,” I said. “But she could also be in a hundred other situations. That’s the real problem. We don’t know. And it is for all those other chances that I’m here. I wasn’t joking about getting an early start on this thing. Most missing persons aren’t looked into for two or three days. Statistically speaking we are exactly one thousand percent more likely to find her alive and well now, than Monday.”
“I’m not,” he stammered. “I’m not giving up on her. Not ever. But, it’s just, with everything going on around here at night, if something happened to her…”
I grabbed his shoulder and got his attention.
