Misplaced Innocence

by Veronica Morneaux

  She wasn’t in her usual spot in the living room. The house was still dark, save the light from the windows, and achingly quiet. He couldn’t even hear the familiar jingle of Scruffy’s tags.

  He started a pot of coffee and then moved back down the hall toward Charisma’s room. Just to check in on her, he told himself. There was nothing else to it. Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t feverish.

  He had almost convinced himself that it wasn’t because he hadn’t seen her heart shaped face in eight hours and that he was just worried she had become deathly ill when he reached her door. He raised his hand to knock, and then decided against it. If she really weren’t feeling well, he didn’t want to disturb her sleep. He let his hand fall to the doorknob, twisted it gently pushed the door open.

  He expected to be greeted by Scruffy’s wet nose, the wag of her tail. At the very least, the sound of her heavy snores and the shape of Charisma loosely disguised beneath a sheet.

  But the room was as empty and quiet as the rest of the house. The bed was made, it looked untouched. Jared frowned again. He couldn’t imagine her leaving the house. Not after yesterday. She’d been bent for hours. He swung the door wide, but there was no sign of her. The closet doors were closed, the bureau was stoic. It looked like he could have imagined Charisma entirely. The past few weeks had been nothing but a figment of his creation.

  He moved out of the bedroom and back toward the kitchen. The smell of coffee was already permeating the air, bringing with it a growl in his stomach. He was pulling a coffee mug out of the cupboard when the piece of paper caught his eye. It was perched on the edge of the table. He took a step closer and scooped it up. Her handwriting was just as intentional as her artwork. No hesitations. Just a sweeping script that explained she had to leave because she couldn’t stay. That she had already been there too long and it was too dangerous for her not to go.

  He could see the faintest quiver in the thin paper, and realized the tremble was coming from his own hand. He had known this was coming, that she would try and convince them both that she needed to leave. He’d been structuring all his arguments and imagining all the ones he knew she would present him with. But in all his considerations, she had at least given him the courtesy of a face to face conversation where he could have a say. Beneath the tremble and little anger settled in the pit of his stomach. Anger and disbelief.

  The paper crumpled in his hand. She had to be exaggerating this whole thing. Maybe it was just a coincidence. There was no reason to jump to conclusions about what might have happened. And now she had run off, rashly, without thinking or considering any alternatives. Alternatives he could have helped her with! She was going to stop by her house and pick up some things. Then she would be gone. She left her thanks. She even wished things had been different. And then there was her signature at the bottom, the embodiment of all the things she was.

  He sighed and put the coffee mug down on the counter. If he was lucky maybe he could catch her at her place and change her mind. If he couldn’t, maybe he could at least convince her that she needed some company. He just knew he had to try.

  ~*~

  The drive to Charisma’s was uneventful. When he pulled into her drive he could see her truck still parked out front. He wasn’t too late after all. He didn’t even know where she was planning on going driving that thing. It wasn’t going to make it very far.

  Scruffy bounced up when he pulled into the space next to the truck, pressing her face against the passenger side window, leaving nose smear marks Jackson Pollack would have been proud of. She must have been just ahead of him. She wouldn’t leave Scruffy in the car long, not with the day already growing warm despite the early hour.

  He was reciting the list of all the reasons Charisma should stay when he tried to front door. It didn’t surprise him that it was locked. He knocked hard on the door. No answer. “Charisma, it’s me. I got your note.” He shouted for good measure. Who knew where that woman was. He wasn’t about to be attacked with a pot again. You could say what you wanted about him, but he learned relatively quickly. “We should talk about this–”

  He frowned. He hadn’t even started his day yet, and he’d done nothing but frown. He shook his head and made his way around the house. The stupid blankets she had felt compelled to hang from every window hindered his plan to locate her through the glass. He supposed that had been her objective. He was thinking about breaking in when he rounded the final corner of her house. Her bedroom, he knew. Suddenly, he stumbled over the window screen, banging awkwardly into the side of the house.

  The window was open. Wide open. His frown deepened. This was definitely not right. He pushed the curtain away to get a good look inside. The room was empty. Quiet. In an embarrassingly ungainly move that left him wishing he were 25, he swung up and over and into the bedroom, trying to make the smallest thump possible.

  He wanted to call out for Charisma. But now he wasn’t sure she was here alone. He tried to think of all the reasons the window to her bedroom would be wide open, the screen abandoned on the ground below. He couldn’t come up with a single good one. Not one that made him think calling out for her would be a wise idea.

  He hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the room before he realized that there was more wrong with her house than just an open window. Her closet was open, clothing on the floor. He moved out into the hallway, snagging a heavy pot from the bedside table. He had a sneaking suspicion pots and pans were distributed evenly throughout the house. They had turned out to be a more than adequate weapon. Everything was too quiet. The bathroom door was open, the light off, the shower curtain in a puddle in the bathtub. The kitchen loomed before him. He almost didn’t want to see what it held.

  The cupboards were open. Boxes of spaghetti and cereal were tossed on the floor. The living room was the worst. It had been totally ransacked. The sofa was crooked, stuffing spilled out from the ineffective mattress. Books littered the floor. The coffee table was tipped over. Even one poor potted plant hadn’t made it through unscathed.

  He swept through the house again. Panic making his step faster. This time, once he’d been through each room the first time he called for her, flinging open doors, and stepping over the stuffed animals in the office that had been thrown to the floor.

  A deep worry etched its way into him. She wasn’t in the house. She wasn’t in the house and she didn’t know where she could be. He unlocked the deadbolts and pulled open the front door. He closed it behind him, not bothering with the locks. It was pretty clear that ship had already sailed.

  Scruffy was watching him expectantly. Her tail was moving and her tongue was lolling out of her mouth. A new sinking feeling came over Jared. He had no idea how long ago Charisma had come here. He knew she wouldn’t leave Scruffy in the car. Not for more than a minute or two. Certainly not in the rising heat of the morning. Who knew how long she had sat in the car waiting. Charisma could be on the property, she could be long gone. Frustration swept over him. He made his way to the driver’s side door.

  He was wondering if the door was locked when he stepped on the photo album. He bent down to pick it up and caught the glint of car keys in the sun. This is where it had happened. He picked up the keys. Fuck the crime scene. You couldn’t leave a dog in a car indefinitely. He picked up the photo album too, because it was hers and because it had meant enough to her for her to come back here. To risk this happening.

  He went around to the other side of the car. At least he could try to preserve some foot prints. Of course, it had been nothing but dry for weeks and the likelihood of a footprint was somewhere close to nonexistent.

  He pulled open the passenger door and Scruffy leapt out. He ushered her into his car and pulled out the cell phone from his console. First he dialed the police. Then he dialed Bill. Then, with skepticism and a sense of failure he dialed Charisma’s, but was greeted with only her sweet voice saying she couldn’t reach the phone just then.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After waiting f
or what seemed an eternity, Charisma heard the click of a latch and the backdoor of the van swung open. She blinked as light blinded her and turned her head to avoid the overly bright, artificial beam that was being shined directly in her eyes. She felt the thick hand of a man grab her roughly by the face and she squirmed as he tried to tie a black length of fabric across her eyes.

  “I told you this wasn’t going to work. We should have done this earlier, when she was first out. Could have used one of them sleeper-mask things. You know, like the ones they give you on an airplane. Works like a charm,” the voice hissed, lowered to little more than a murmur. Charisma had to strain to hear what was being said. She hung on every word, wondering what was coming next.

  “Shut up,” a gruff growl exploded from somewhere close to her head. The man tying the folds of fabric so tight she nearly cried out. The knot tangled in her hair and yanked sharply at her scalp.

  “Seriously, it’s brilliant,” the first voice shot back, louder than before. She wondered how long the men would go back and forth about the beauty mask. If she was going to be dragged around the world and hauled around like a sack of feed, she didn’t want to know there was dissent and vapid incapacities among her captors.

  Charisma tried to wiggle discretely into a good position, trying to angle herself for a swift kick to some unsuspecting groin when the gruff voice sounded again. “That’s enough!” he barked, and a hand fell across her face with a loud crack and a wave of pain. She yelped out, the sound catching in the gag that had begun to chafe the corners of her mouth raw, but her body stilled. So much for seeing where she was. So much for kicking someone squarely and scooting off for help. So much for implementing any one of the plans she had come up with during her time in the van. If there had been any doubt before, it had entirely abated. These people were definitely not amateurs. She consoled herself that even if she had managed to kick one of them the others would have quickly subdued her and they would have taken it out on her later. Clearly, resistance in a traditional form was out of the question. She tossed all the plans she had come up with so far and started to consider new ones. Maybe cooperation would be the key to success.

  “It’s not brilliant. It’s stupid. It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Why would be use a mask when we can use, I don’t know, a blindfold.”

  “It’s not stupid. I’m telling you. Those things are made to cover eyes. And they have that elastic thing. None of this knot tying. That’s what we need. A pre-made blindfold.”

  “It is,” chimed in a third voice, apparently belonging to a new arrival or a chronic lurker, “she could wiggle her way out of that elastic. Too flimsy for what we need.”

  Charisma’s heart plummeted. Something about that statement didn’t seem to bode well for her immediate future. What exactly could these people need from a blindfold?

  “That’s enough!” the gruff voice snarled with a finality that ended the conversation. “If I hear one more word about the blindfold…” The sentence trailed off, but the conversation ended abruptly, and even Charisma didn’t doubt the threat that was to come. “Let’s get her inside.”

  Harsh hands grabbed her from the shoulders and feet and carried her like a dead body. The crisp air was welcomed against her exposed skin, and she hoped fervently that it wouldn’t be the last time she felt the breeze against her face and in her hair. The motion stopped abruptly and then a moment later there was a rush of stale air and the sound of a door swinging open. Even though she wore the blindfold she could tell the room was dark, the dank scent of mildew seeping around her. She clenched her eyes shut beneath the blindfold, pretending the world was black by her choice and not by this twisted reality. She was carried further into the room, the last wisps of outside and freedom slipping away. Her breath rushed out of her as she was unceremoniously dumped on a chair that badly needed to be re-stuffed.

  She heard the man with the gruff voice say something else, just out of her hearing range.. He was clearly the leader of the little band. She felt the whisper of something land on her lap and then the yank of cord against the tender skin of her ankles and wrists. About the only thing she had going for her right now was that during the transfer her blindfold had slipped and now she let her head lull back as though she didn’t have the strength to support it another moment. Through the barest of gaps she could make out the group of men, now standing in the eerie glow of a desk lamp.

  “We sure this is her? I thought she’d be, you know, prettier,” a skinny man asked. Charisma was almost offended, but then again, she was wearing a blindfold, dusty clothes, and tied to a chair. There was a fairly good chance she actually did have the capacity to look prettier.

  “Yes, this is her. For sure,” the third man answered with confidence. “Did you see those legs? Everything they should be.” A sudden new fear swept down her throat and into her stomach. That was something she hadn’t yet considered. She felt more vulnerable than she had just a moment before, as though her body were on display for these men and they could take whatever they wanted. It was already perfectly clear there was little she’d be able to do about it. He nodded in the direction of the skinny man, then looked towards the burly man Charisma assumed was the proud owner of the gruff voice before continuing, “We might as well give the man a call, let him know we got his lady.” There was a substantial pause before anyone moved and Charisma imagined there was an understood protocol where a lack of vocalized disapproval from the big man was active approval.

  The skinny man suddenly burst into motion, yanking a cell phone out and flipping it open. “Don’t forget to use the codes,” the other man said before turning to the gruff man. “Can’t trust him to remember those things, you know. Needs constant reminders.” He shook his head slowly, the epitome of the anguished father with a less than stellar son. His attention turned from the other men to Charisma, who, up until now, had hoped she might never become the focal point of their scrutiny again. “Now little girl, what should we do with you?”

  Charisma groaned in response. Or tried to. Her mouth was cottony. The gag was still firmly in place. She definitely didn’t have the ability to be gruff in response. Something about her extreme captive status would make that role pretty laughable. She had to work with what she did have, though, and she wasn’t sure if playing dumb or being cooperative was the best way to go. Her mind clutched at what other options she might have at her disposal. There was apparently some small chance that they weren’t entirely positive of her identity. It might be something she would be able to exploit. Deny, deny, deny. Or she could cooperate and beg for mercy. Whatever she did, or didn’t do, there was no guarantee of her safety. If they wanted her to be silent, well, there was only one way to ensure that.

  The skinny man launched into conversation from the corner of the room. Charisma could make out his whiny voice, interspersed with assenting grunts. “We picked up those groceries. We’ve got them in the refrigerator now. Don’t worry, they’ll keep ‘til we get home.”

  Charisma tried to remain impassive, but it was difficult. Her code word was groceries? How ridiculous was that? These masterminds couldn’t come up with something else? She couldn’t be a priceless work of art? She got to be perishable goods? That thought stopped her short. Maybe she was just perishable goods to them. She wondered if they thought they were being watched, or maybe worried that their phones had been tapped. Why else would they need a code? Then again, even if they weren’t being watched it was probably poor taste to announce of the phone that the helpless kidnapped woman was safely had and in restraints. At least there was a phone she could potentially have access to. Not much, but it was more than she had had before.

  “Frankie, you stay with the girl. I’m going to go out for food. Don’t worry, I’ll bring some back for you. Fuck, I’m starved. You tell Benedict everything’s under control if he asks. I’ll be in touch with him after I grab some takeout.”

  “Might as well take Freddie with you, Dom.”

  The burly man chuckl
ed. “You kidding? I’ve spent all day with the two of you. He can stay here and keep you company. I need a break”

  “Why you have to be like that?” Frankie whined to Dom’s retreating back. His only answer was the sharp sound of the door closing, and one less man in the room with Charisma. “Fuck that piece of shit, Dominic.” Frankie grumbled once Dominic was well out of earshot and he could say whatever he wanted without fear of repercussion.

  Benedict and Dominic? Freddie and Frankie? This was something straight out of the Sopranos, straight out of every stereotype in the book. Charisma swallowed hard. This was not her life; this was a nightmare. This was a horrible, made-for-television movie starring none other than herself. She had nearly convinced herself that this was all it really was, something she would surely wake up from. Then she would roll over in Jared’s big bed, her heart beating maniacally and she could cuddle up against his warm, hard body. She would wake him up, she decided, so she could tell him all about this horrible dream and he could wrap his big arms around her and comfort her, tell her he would never let that happen. Dammit. That definitely was not going to happen and there was no real use in wishing for it now. Oh, why did she leave the house? Frustration welled in her; her whole life had been one stupid decision after another. One of these days she deserved to get something right. Freddie and Frankie were whispering in the corner of the room, not even paying attention to her. Just another day on the job.

  Charisma was wallowing in the remains of her life when her attention was violently redirected to the two men left in the room. “Get out of my face,” Frankie said to Freddie, apparently letting testosterone get the best of him for a moment.