by A. m Madden
“Trey, you never had me.” She shoves me away and jumps.
My eyes abruptly fly open. The room is well lit, daylight spilling in through the windows. My heart is pounding, and I have a thin layer of sweat coating my skin.
It was so real. I could feel her in my arms. I could smell her. The clock beside me displays three in the afternoon. I finally slept for a few hours, and it’s only left me even more exhausted. I feel like shit. How long will this go on?
I can’t continue doing this. I’m very familiar with these emotions. They are resurfacing as if no time has passed at all. I spent so much time working on self-control and stifling my true feelings. I perfected it with all my hard work, and I now have nothing to show for it. I’m back to being the fucked up mess I was at eighteen.
A soft knock on my door forces me to sit up. My head feels like cement when I do.
“Come in.”
Leila appears, holding a bag. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I respond halfheartedly.
She measures me up and frowns. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was up.” I stand to stretch, making my way into the bathroom.
I don’t mind leaving her out there alone. Leila understands me. After I clean myself up, I come back to find her in the chair, waiting patiently.
“You look like crap, Trey.”
“Gee, thanks,” I smirk. “How ya’ doin’ Little Lair?” I lighten my tone in an attempt to tease her.
“Not good. My friend is hurting, and the fixer in me doesn’t know what to do.” She lifts the bag she carried in. “I made you some food. I figured these idiots weren’t feeding you well.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Trey, you can’t keep…”
“Lei, I appreciate you coming, but don’t lecture me right now.” I immediately feel bad about cutting her off and pretty much dismissing her. Her eyes fill with tears, and here comes even more guilt. Fuck. Taking her into my arms, I add, “Hey, I’m fine. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I just wish I could help you.”
“I know, but you can’t. No one can.”
She squeezes me briefly and then releases me to leave my room. At the door she pleads, “Please promise me you’ll eat at some point today?”
“I promise,” I lie.
“We love you, Trey,” she says with a quick smile. As she opens my door, Farley appears.
“We need you,” he demands. He looks at Leila and says, “Don’t leave yet. We need to be sure the area is swept.”
Leila stands awkwardly to the side, not knowing what to do. We both follow him out to the “command center.”
“What?” I ask, losing all patience.
“Another delivery. It came a few hours ago, same way.” He holds up a bag with a note. On it, one word, PAIN. “One of our guys followed him to an apartment in Harlem. He ditched the car and entered the building. The asshole is contained and being questioned. Abe baited us. He wanted us to follow this prick.”
“Why?”
“A distraction. A test? We don’t know. As we were concentrating on him, this was delivered by a different guy.” Farley hands me another one of those fucking plastic bags holding a photocopy of a picture. Written on it are a location, a time, and a message.
Twenty-four hours - one million dollars or she won’t survive the next round.
The picture is of Tara chained to a handicap bar in the shower of a hotel bathroom. Her hair is matted. She is badly beaten, naked, and slumped over as if she passed out.
Without warning my knees give out, and I fall heavily in a slump. The bag drifts to the floor, landing at Leila’s feet. She picks it up and gasps out loud. Without words, she wraps her arms around me.
For the first time in my life, I want to openly cry in front of people. I want to scream at the top of my lungs in attempt to release this anguish that’s overwhelming me. But, I don’t. Instead, I suppress, and allow Leila to hold me in her arms. She strokes my hair to comfort me. It’s not working. I can’t be comforted.
I’m vaguely aware that the room just got eerily quiet as Leila helps me stand and steers me to my room. She leads me to the bed, and sits on the side. She never utters a word. Every so often she strokes my hair, otherwise I don’t even know she’s here. After a few long minutes, she kisses my head and leaves me alone to sit and think.
How am I going to get that much money in one day? Even if I did, there are no guarantees he wouldn’t kill her anyway. These assholes have been sitting around for days, coming up empty. We have no idea where he is, where she is. I have no confidence in them or their skills.
I may as well have been the one who kicked her with the toe of my boot. I may as well have thrown every punch that bruised her smooth skin. It’s all the same. Whether it was his fists, or mine. I did this to her.
How does this work? We only have one day. I don’t have that kind of money at my disposal. In a completely desperate way, my anguish turns to anger.
I slam open my door to see a flurry of activity that is causing me to get dizzy. Phone conversations, all compete with each other, getting louder and louder. Agents are bent over maps that are spread out on the table, all competing with each other to be heard over the phone conversations. These fucks are finally waking up? It took a picture of my girl beaten to a pulp for them to finally do something?
I stand rooted at my bedroom door, my muscles coiled and tight. They all continue to ignore me. It’s pissing me the fuck off! This involves me. I have every right to know what the fuck is going on and to be included in their plans. None of these pricks feel that way. They all plot the next steps without my input, and without my opinion.
“WHAT’S THE PLAN?” I spit out. No one gives me a second glance.
Farley is bent over the table, pointing to a location on a map, instructing his minions how it’s going to go down. I hear the words, S.W.A.T, forced entry, and assault rifles in the same sentences as Tara’s name. On their own accord, my legs carry me over to Farley, and I shove him from behind. “Hey!”
He turns calmly, amused by my aggression.
“I’m going to wipe that smirk off your fucking face,” I spew through clenched teeth directly into his face. The prick doesn’t even flinch.
In a calm voice he says, “We found her.”
There’s a brief moment in time when I feel I’m sleeping, dreaming this up. I stare blankly at him, processing his words. He stares back, not helping me out in the least. When he turns away from me, I realize this is real.
I shove him again, this time even harder. He turns slowly, “What?”
“I want your guarantee she comes out of there in one piece. One living, breathing PIECE!”
“We’ll do everything in our power to insure she does.” He dismisses me again by turning back to the map on the table.
“Listen up, Asshole!” I bark into the back of his head, demanding he turn around. When he does, a hush falls over the room. I’m quite aware that all eyes are now trained on me. I’m also well aware that all these dickheads are carrying guns. I don’t give a flying fuck. I want guarantees. “Say it!” The adrenaline rushing through my body makes me feel like I’m on fire as I wait for this prick to promise me she’ll come out of this alive.
Farley quirks one brow, and says, “I’ll get her out of there alive.”
That’s all I needed to hear. His words are enough to help me breathe. Call it false promises or downright lying, I don’t give a fuck. I need to hear out loud she will come out of this alive and well. I need that to cancel out the voices in my head that are screaming that I’m going to lose her.
Abe made contact again, this time by phone. His voice was altered. I tried to keep my voice from cueing him in on my fury.
He called my apartment with instructions for the drop off. He said once he has the money, she would be released. Once he is sure no one is with me, he’ll have her delivered. She will not be at the drop off site. Any funny business and she dies. He kno
ws I have help, and said he hopes my goons all get exactly what they deserve.
He asked if I knew why he took her. I played along, pretending ignorance. When I asked why, he simply said, “Because I could.”
Farley motioned to keep him talking. Easier said than done. I wanted to tell the prick I knew exactly who he was and that his life was over. He will never get out of prison and I will forever be free of the Barton brothers. The problem was everything I wanted to say to him wasn’t allowed. So when my mind went blank with ways to keep him on the phone, Farley frantically scribbled instructions to me to keep him talking. I was able to get him to that pivotal mark when a call can be traced. After the call ended, the phone was traced to a dumpster in the Bronx.
The next ten hours were spent going over every detail of their plan.
Farley explained how they found her. He had a computer forensics team analyze the photo of Tara. They were able to enlarge the picture enough to lift a hotel logo off the shampoo bottle that was partially visible in the corner. They then were able to narrow it down to the exact location based on the pattern on the tile. I couldn’t wrap my brain around that, or how the fuck they did it. I didn’t spend too much time on it. Basically, I don’t give a fuck.
I’m still worrying about the one million dollars. The deadline to hand over the ransom is looming, but Farley said they’d be executing the rescue well before. His words, “The fucker won’t know what hit him.”
Agents have already been in contact with the hotel. It’s in Teaneck, New Jersey, right off the highway. Farley said it’s usually frequented by businessmen looking to save a buck from the New York prices or couples who are looking to hide their indiscretions from their spouses. Again, who gives a flying fuck? The fact that she’s been across that fucking bridge, minutes from here while being tortured is all I can focus on.
They haven’t shared too much with me regarding the actual rescue. All I know is that I told Farley that I’m going.
“No you’re not,” he said, dismissing my demand.
I was instantly in his face. I don’t care if he can lose his job, I don’t fucking care if it’s against FBI procedure. I dared him to stop me. After measuring me up for a few minutes, not giving me the satisfaction of an answer, he finally motioned for me to join him in my room. Behind closed doors he agreed I could be there, and to keep my mouth shut.
He told his teams that I was released to stay with friends during the mission. Most of these dicks will stay here, with Whitney running things. Farley will command things from the scene. The only complication would come from leaving the building. We haven’t since this all started. Abe has made it obvious he’s been watching his deliveries, which means he’s watching the building. Could be from anywhere, an apartment across the street, a hidden camera? With today’s technology, there’s no way of knowing how he’s doing it. A diversion will have to be orchestrated.
I’ve been pacing, waiting for the hour to come. It’s here.
Without invitation Farley opens the door to my room.
“Ready?” he asks, arms folded and eyes narrowing into slits.
“Yep.”
“Special forces are on the roof. To get out, we’re going up. Follow instruction.” He walks out and says to his team, “Let’s roll.”
Like clockwork Farley’s plan has us up to the roof, over one building, and meeting our rides on the street behind. There’s a caravan of four S.W.A.T. vehicles who will transport all to yet another command center a block away from the hotel. Farley jumps in a black sedan and motions for me to join him. We all pull up to an abandoned building that has been converted for this operation. After everyone files into the building, Farley and I follow. He sneaks me in and hides me in a corner. No one notices my presence.
He and his men are equipped with wireless microphones and in-ear listening devices that are sensitive enough to hear a pin drop. Big-screen TVs are set up on the wall in a grid showing views of every angle of the hotel. The biggest one in the middle is focused on the doors to Abe’s room. He’s occupying adjoining rooms on the fourth floor. Floor plans of each floor are laid out on tables, a team analyzing each plan.
My eyes are trained on those screens. My heart is pounding in my chest knowing she’s right behind that door. I’ve never been this nervous, terrified, or scared in my whole entire life.
Farley explains how the operation will unfold. I can barely hear him, and desperately want to walk closer. From what I can gather, only seconds before they are given the green light will two S.W.A.T. special-forces officers position themselves in the hall facing the doors. Two will man the stairwells. Two will be at the elevator banks. Two will be busting down the door, but not until they get word from the two snipers that are traveling through the vents that lead to whichever room Abe is in. Communication between units will be through mini tablets. Housekeeping hasn’t been given access to either room. There is no other way to gain access but to bust through. At that moment the snipers are able to lock on Abe and any accomplices, word will be given to the other officers to bust in. Sniper rifles will be used through the vents to kill Abe, if necessary.
“Positions confirmed.”
Through the speakers, the units count off their positions running one through eight. Number nine and ten use their tablets.
“Teams ready?”
Again, they one by one confirm they are ready.
On the monitor, officer one and two appear from the stairwell and quickly position themselves outside his room. On the other screens, the other agents also move to position. Officer one gives a hand signal to officer two. He stands poised to knock on the door. They don’t expect the door to be opened. They do expect Abe to move to the door to see who it is.
With one nod, the knock occurs. Faster than I can keep up, the door is breached, four agents storm the room, and shots are fired. It’s all over in a matter of a minute. It happens so fast my eyes can’t keep up with who was shot, or who wasn’t.
“Scene secure. Hostage safe,” comes over the speakers. “Unconscious but breathing.”
The ringing in my ears from the sudden release of tension drowns out all sound after that announcement.
She’s alive.
I watch as an officer covers her broken body with a blanket. Her face is unrecognizable. The heat from my tears burns my eyes to the point of pain. I refuse to blink. I’d rather watch her through my blurred vision than to lose focus of her face. On another screen, two other bodies are covered with blankets, as they lie limp on the floor.
He’s dead.
Farley nods toward the door and I quietly walk out. Again, with all the commotion occurring, no one notices me.
Once outside, I pace back and forth trying to calm my pounding heart. I breathe in the fresh air, desperately trying to fill my lungs. With every breath, I feel my anxiety leaving my body. Farley comes over to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s over, Trey.”
I nod at his confirmation. It is over. She’s alive. Barely, but she’s alive.
“Come, you can ride with her to Holy Name Hospital. That’s where they’re taking her.”
“What about them?” I motion to the agents now streaming out of the warehouse door.
“Who cares?” he shrugs and starts to walk away. Farley is a good man.
“Farley,” I call out as he walks around to the driver side of the car.
He turns to face me, his face no longer sporting the hard-ass edge it had. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
A nod is all I get, but it’s enough.
Seconds later we are in the hotel parking lot. There are police cars everywhere. Some black sedans as well. Ambulances sit at the entrance of the hotel, waiting for any victims. Waiting across the parking lot are Tara’s parents. I know immediately who they are. Tara looks so much like her mother.
“Who told them?” I ask Farley.
“Whitney.”
A few minutes after we arrive Farley stalks toward them. As he fills them in, they
nod somberly. Tara’s mother bursts into tears, my guess is Farley just told her Tara is safe and alive. At one point they all look in my direction before Farley starts to speak again. He better keep them away from me. Farley is once again sporting his hard-ass face. When I explained Tara’s relationship with her parents and siblings to Farley, I remember a vein bulging on his forehead. My information upset him. Not sure if he was also abandoned as a child or if he has children, but for whatever reason he sympathized with Tara.
It isn’t long after when EMTs roll Tara on a stretcher out of the hotel to the ambulance. Before her parents can beat me to her, I rush to her side and gently take her limp hand in mine. They aren’t fighting me. So far, they haven’t fought Farley or me on any of the decisions that have been made. They both must know they have no rights here today.
“Sir?” the EMT asks when he tries to load her into the ambulance.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I voice out loud.
“Okay.”
It’s only the second time I voice those words out loud, and it feels so fucking good. I can’t wait to tell her everything, including how much I love her. I decided today that if she doesn’t want me, then I’d walk away. Just knowing she is alive is enough for me. She’s altered me. I’ll never be able to find another person who means as much to me as she does, but if I can’t have her then I can be happy knowing that she’s happy and safe.
It was hours before we knew what was happening. Farley stuck around until Tara was examined. As FBI, he received details of her prognosis as soon as they became available. He informed the Rodstons of their daughter’s condition. While they were talking to the ICU nurse, I called Jack to fill him in. I explained all that went down and said I was sitting here until she woke up. He was stunned listening to the details. I asked him to keep them to himself. I know hearing all that happened to Tara would upset Leila. He agreed and said they’d be by to check on me soon. The last thing he said was that Tara would heal, and so would I.
I wasn’t convinced.
Farley got me clearance to all the necessary places the hospital staff wouldn’t normally let me go into being just “the boyfriend.” Specifically the room Tara is currently occupying in the Intensive Care Unit. Farley explained to hospital staff the situation with her parents. He said that he did not know if their presence would cause intense emotional trauma to Tara. Until she was conscious and aware, they were not to be let in to see her. Her parents were told the same. They accepted his instruction without argument. Their compliance can only be attributed to the guilt they carry.
