by Powers, Jade
Taking the paper in hand, Hannah cleared her throat. Her mouth was parched and the words felt as if they were pushed through sandpaper.
“My name is Hannah McKay,” She said, reading the paper. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frightened that the place for her name was a thick line for her to fill in. They didn’t know who she was, which probably made her more expendable. On the other hand, her mother was a high profile attorney, so if they had known her name, she’d probably be killed as retribution to her parents for some court case.
She thought about saying, “Don’t save me. I’m already dying,” but when she glanced to the man in the business suit, her eyes fell slightly over his shoulder to his henchman. Scarface was cleaning his fingernails with that sharp knife and staring at her throat as if he wanted to tear it out. He carried death in his eyes.
She continued, “I will be killed in twenty-four hours unless the instructions for opening the power of the statue are released.”
Lifting her head, Hannah held out the paper and with a tilt of her chin said to the man in the suit, “But we all know you’re going to kill me anyway, so I don’t see what you hope to accomplish with your little video.”
“Why would I kill you? You’re nothing.”
Hannah swallowed. She sometimes felt like nothing, especially next to a pair of parents whose success she could never hope to match. His words hurt, because she agreed with him. She said, “I’ve seen your face. You’re a high profile person by the cut of your suit. You can’t afford to let me live.”
“Clever. Not half enough. If you cooperate, you’ll be dropped off at the hospital after suffering a near-fatal overdose. Miami is full of drugs. No one will believe a junkie. If you cause trouble, well, the morgue is plan B.” He stepped out of the room with final instructions to his henchman, “Get that video to Drake and let me know his response. I’ll have that son of a bitch yet.”
She started with the gate, checking for weakness. The iron bars were spaced too closely together for her to squeeze through or under. The gate was sturdy with no give when she tried to force it open.
After pacing the room for an hour looking for tools or a way out, Hannah pulled back the blanket on the bed, inspecting the sheets. They appeared clean. She felt exhausted. She had no concept of time or how long she had been gone. Her roommate was going home for the weekend. No one would miss her right away.
Pulling off her sneakers, she climbed onto the bed, grateful that she wore shorts instead of jeans. She stared at the wall, thinking through possible scenarios. She fell asleep for a few hours. When she opened her eyes, she was wide awake and anxious. Hannah put on her shoes. She lifted the mattress, looking for something to use.
The boredom was oppressive. Every day counted. Every day mattered. She hated that her last days on Earth would be filled with concrete and darkness. Hearing footsteps, she moved toward the front of her cell. One set of footsteps click-echoed the way a pair of high-heeled shoes would.
Hannah was surprised to see a beautiful woman.
This time Scarface held a gun to the back of the woman. She was Hannah’s age, maybe a few years older. She wore a sequined cocktail dress that glittered even in the dim light of the cells. On her index finger was a diamond rock that screamed ‘kept’ wife. “Hannah, this is Courtenay. She has five hours unless her husband bails her out.”
“You are a fool to cross him,” Courtenay spoke with the deep sultry timbre of an enchantress.
When Scarface opened the door to Hannah’s cell, Courtenay tilted her chin up slightly and sniffed. She breezed past Hannah as if she didn’t exist.
“You ladies get along. It’s only for a few hours,” Scarface holstered the gun and locked the gate.
“Is Drake your husband?” Hannah asked quietly. She felt shy in the presence of this super model with the perfect face and sleek body.
“Drake?” Her laugh was deep and mellow, like an aged whisky. “No, Sweetheart, my husband is Thornton Masterson the third. ”
A name Hannah had never heard. Hannah said, “They kidnapped me because of a statue of a dragon. They say it is missing instructions or something. They said Drake’s name a few times.”
“The poor bastard,” Courtenay said. Sitting on the bed, she carefully unhitched the strap of her two-inch heel.
“Why?” Hannah stayed near the gate, peering into the hall beyond. There wasn’t much to see. Hannah was trying to decide whether someone listened just out of sight.
“The fellow might be as rich as a small country, but he’s socially awkward, shy. It would kill him to have someone kidnapped because of him. We sat together once at a dinner. The poor man didn’t know what to do with his fork.” Courtenay sighed gratefully as she dropped her second shoe, “I hate these things.”
“Why do you wear them then?” Hannah asked.
“Image. Most of society floats on the surface. The sooner you realize that, the better you’ll get along.” Courtenay said.
Hannah wished that Courtenay was lying. Her mom said about the same thing to her two years ago. Then it was, Hannah, you’re gaining a little weight. You have an image to maintain. No daughter of mine is going to accompany me into society as an elephant.
Those words stung even now with the recollection. Words can break a soul. Hannah asked, “And Drake didn’t fit the image.”
Courtenay laughed and patted the bed beside her, inviting Hannah to sit, “Darling, Drake is hot. He fills his shirt and the women who want to talk to him fill the room. And then he opens his mouth and no one can understand a word.”
Hannah joined Courtenay on the bed. She bit her lip and asked, “So you think he might actually give them what they want?”
Courtenay shrugged, “I’d say you’ve got a better chance than I do...and Drake has never even met you.”
“Don’t say that.” Hannah said softly, “I’m sure your husband will save you.”
“Not for the asking price. These men are powerful and rich. People who are that rich don’t want more money...they want more power. No, my husband will want to find another way to get me back.” Courtenay played with a jewel-encrusted bracelet, her tan arms perfect.
Hannah hated herself for feeling so jealous. Here was a society wife with a perfect body, a perfect life who had someone who actually knew she was missing and might do something about it. In Hannah’s world of heroes and romance, no husband would ever leave a wife dangling on a precipice. She knew Courtenay would be saved. She only wished she had a handsome husband to rescue her.
The five hours passed quickly now that Hannah had company. Courtenay even surprised a few laughs out of Hannah when she spoke dryly of her husband’s penchant for key lime pie. “You would think he’d go for chocolate at least once. Not Thorn.” That was Courtenay’s pet name for her husband.
And then Scarface was jangling keys and opening the gate. He stood back, gun drawn. He said, “Courtenay.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her legs pressed tightly together to avoid giving him a show, Courtenay slowly drew the first heel onto her foot. She was precise in her movement and Hannah wondered what it would be like to have such perfection. Her heels clicked as she walked to the gate, smiled at Scarface and turned to Hannah, “Good luck. I’m sure Drake will get you out.”
“You too,” Hannah smiled. It was so weird, like they were two sorority sisters parting for summer break or something. Not that Hannah was ever in a sorority or ever would be, but she could imagine it.
Hannah sighed as the clicking heels faded, as a door opened and shut.
The gun shot shook her to her core. From the cell, it sounded like three loud bangs. Hannah stuffed her hand in her mouth to muffle her own scream and started to cry, “Oh, my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.”
She hadn’t really believed that Scarface would kill either of them. I mean, there was thinking it might happen and trying to prepare for the worst, and then there was the chilling moment when imagination met truth and reality collided with hope. Now she w
as stuck with reality. These men were not just kidnappers. They were cold-blooded murderers.
Sinking down onto the bed, Hannah wiped her tears. She wasn’t prepared for Scarface to come back, to jangle the keys. He said, “Your turn.”
The worst was that satisfied joy in Scarface’s expression. He actually liked killing. He liked the power of it. He strutted like he was the damn president. Pulling the gate open, he reveled in his power over Hannah. She crumpled in on herself, made herself small while she planned to drive her fist into his throat.
He jammed the gun under her left shoulder and she cringed forward. It was as if she could feel death in that muscle. It actually twitched with the need to escape. He growled, “Move.”
“Why? Are you going to shoot me, too?”
“In another twelve hours. Just now I want to see the expression on your face when you see your friend. Her husband didn’t waste any time. He said no.”
She heard footsteps behind and Hannah realized that there were stairs that led to the hallway. Someone was unlocking a door behind them, also a good thing to know. Hannah turned her face, looking over her shoulder to see who was coming. She got a stiff jab to the soft spot under her shoulder blade, “Eyes forward.”
“You’re not supposed to take her yet,” Geek-boy’s voice quavered and Hannah swore he was more nervous than she was.
“I’m just showing her around,” Scarface said. Hannah could do without the tour, but she realized that every piece of information she gathered about the place might help her escape.
“The boss didn’t say to do anything to this one,” Geekboy said.
Hannah felt the tension in the muscles of Scarface as the gun slipped from her shoulder. It was her chance. The quiet place in the depths of Hannah’s soul acknowledged that this was probably suicide. The intelligent part of her soul also knew that it was her only chance.
With a speed she barely knew she possessed, Hannah rocked back, striking the back of her head against Scarface’s nose. She stepped with all of her might on the instep of his foot and jabbed him with a rear blow to the stomach.
He wasn’t close to down. Had it not been for Geekboy, Hannah would have died. Scarface threw her down, reaching for the gun while she crawled away. Geekboy cried out, “You can’t kill her yet.”
Hannah pushed up from the ground, looking over her shoulder. She was face to face with the barrel of a gun and a pissed off bad guy, but Geekboy was almost on top of him, a strange savior. She ran zigzag down the hall, ignoring the sounds of fighting behind her. She dashed around the corner, pushing open the door.
The sight of blood and the smell gagged her. She backed out and shut the door. She was trapped. She pushed open a second door on the other side of the hall. It was a security room with camera feed and a leather chair. This room also had a pair of bunk beds.
She shut the door, throwing the three sets of locks on the door. The gun went off again. Cringing, she ran to the window. Pulling herself up, she looked out, intending to break the glass and climb out. That was when she realized that she was on the third story of a building surrounded by palm trees and manicured gardens, a rich estate belonging to someone who could afford to ‘disappear’ people.
Looking along the outer wall, Hannah noted that the outside wall was a sheer drop down and the fall would be deadly. Her lips pressed tightly together, Hannah returned to the monitors. One monitor displayed the gruesome scene of Courtenay’s death, another the ongoing struggle between Scarface and Geekboy.
Geekboy, whose advantage of surprise was gone, had lost and was now facing his own execution. He was holding a shattered arm, blood pouring around his fingers while he begged for his life. Hannah didn’t need sound to know what was happening. She turned away from the monitor and focused on finding something useful, a weapon that might save her. She had no illusions about her chances once the men outside found a way to break into her safe room.
She hovered, waiting, but never heard the gun shot. Turning, she watched the monitors. Scarface dragged Geekboy into one of the cells. Turning from the monitor, Hannah investigated further and found a storage closet with office supply shelves and reams of paper. There was a trap door on the floor with a knob that someone would have tripped over if it was located anywhere but in a closet.
Someone on the outside would know about the trap door. Gritting her teeth with no idea what to expect, she yanked up the trap door. The space below her was absolutely dark, but she could see the top rung of a ladder. A quick scan of the supply closet didn’t yield a flashlight and Hannah had no time to look. She closed the door to the supply cabinet and carefully set her foot on the top rung.
Swallowing her fear, Hannah searched for the next rung down with her foot while she leaned over the floor. Once she had a firm hold, she went down another rung and another into the darkness. After she had gone down seven rungs, there were no more. She stretched her foot toward the ground, but there was nothing below.
Hannah eased her hands down a rung, knowing full well that if this were a great chasm she could in no way depend on her upper body strength to haul herself back up the ladder. As a matter of fact, she would fall and likely die. Hannah didn’t have a choice. There were two ways out of that room, and two ways in. Sooner or later, Scarface would be looking for this very room, and Hannah was determined to be out of it or dead at the bottom.
When her foot touched the floor, Hannah gasped and let herself drop. Her legs were shaking so hard she could barely stand. Hannah trailed her fingers along the wall hoping to work her way toward a door. At least the wall felt like standard plaster. Until she touched the wall, she worried that she might drop herself into another concrete cell.
Her thigh bumped into furniture of some sort. Hannah used that as a guide and worked her way around. When she found the wall again, her fingers slid across a light switch. She flicked it on.
Her eyes watered and she squinted for a minute while she adjusted to the light. She was in a bedroom with a king sized bed of cherrywood. The bruise on her leg was caused by a vanity. Hannah ran for the door, putting her ear against the wood in the hopes that she would hear if someone was on the way. After hearing nothing, she carefully turned the knob and pulled it open as softly as possible.
The hallway was thickly carpeted and looked every bit like a regular house. Hannah wondered if house guests even knew that people were caged over their heads. She bet they didn’t. She shut off the lights and slipped out into the hall.
Her heart beat double-time as she walked the hallway waiting to be discovered. She heard the sound of a helicopter. It grew louder. Hannah heard a voice on a walkie-talkie, “We have an intruder into the private apartments, over.”
“Arm yourself for more. Drake and his friends just landed on the roof with hostile intent, copy?” The footsteps were coming closer.
Hannah pushed open the door a few spaces down from where she escaped. This was a lovely room open to the sun, light and airy. Carefully shutting the door behind her, she stepped into the room. Not a great place to hide, but then no one would expect her in a room as bright and cheerful as this.
The door muffled the sounds of the walkie-talkie, but she heard the other man say, “She won’t get far. Blue team, you’ve got Drake. He’s on the roof. Give him everything you’ve got.”
Stuffed full of shimmering dresses and fur coats, the walk-in closet turned out to be a great place to hide. In one corner of the closet nestled among the coats was a black trunk. Hannah sat on the trunk and then pulled her legs up. She adjusted the coats to hide her from the door. The hardest part was waiting...and knowing how long to wait.
The blare of the walkie-talkie sounded again and again as each room was searched. Hannah held her breath when the guy on the walkie-talkie reached the room she was hiding in. She heard the door to the main room open, and then the door to the bathroom. Hannah hadn’t shut the door to the closet and regretted it. She held her breath and waited, knowing that if he sighted her, she would never know until
it was too late.
When the footsteps faded, Hannah nearly sobbed in relief. She listened as he roamed further down the halls. She heard shouts in the distance and gunfire. Her legs itched to run, but Hannah forced herself to stay silent. As long as she could hear that walkie-talkie blaring, Hannah knew she was in danger.
The fight moved into the house, and Hannah regretted her perch in the closet as the sound of boot steps and exchanged gunfire drew itself into the hall where she was hiding. This time when the door, opened, Hannah cringed. The firm footfall was somehow less hesitant than the man who had searched before.
The closet door was pulled further open, and Hannah shivered as the man walked into the closet. A deep voice said, “I know you’re hiding in there.”
Hannah swallowed once, feeling frozen. He might have been bluffing. She waited.
Suddenly, he ripped away the coats, exposing her hiding place. Hannah was looking at a soldier in full gear, helmet, goggles, everything. He held his hand out to her, “We need to go.”
She cringed back, “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home.”
The warrior pulled off his helmet, and Hannah’s heart stopped. He was handsome. He said, “I’m not the enemy. I’m here to get you out.”
He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. His hair was reddish gold with silver strands interspersed throughout his hair. His eyes were blue or violet. It was hard to tell in the light because they seemed to change with his movements. He said, “I’m Drake. Let’s go.”
She licked her lips. Drake? That was the name of the man they were after.
The plaster above her head exploded with the rat-a-tat sound of a weapon. Drake grabbed her around the waist and threw her on the ground. She found herself flat on her back, his body warming hers. He smelled delicious and she felt a spike of longing, of need.
His breath tickled her ear.
She heard another burst and then a thud. It felt close...very close.
In her short life, Hannah had only kissed two men, well, two teenage boys. Neither time did she ‘go all the way’. With the cancer diagnosis, Hannah felt every moment slipping by. She was alive and intended to stay that way for as long as possible.
