by Emily Bishop
Isaac changes the topic back to the night ahead of us. We’re close to departure time. We go over our supplies, and I tell him what I know about the house, given the satellite images I was able to bring up during my search earlier. We talk about the best ways we might be able to get in to listen in on the conversation, and Isaac has some surprisingly clever ideas for how to go about it.
“You’re in the wrong profession,” I say. “You should have been a spy.”
He laughs, and it’s a warm, gentle sound. It contradicts with the fierce strength of the rest of him, the warm gooey center of Isaac that no one knows about but Buster and me. We’re in on a special secret – the man Isaac is beneath the muscle, behind that daunting scowl.
It’s beyond comforting. My chest blossoms with warmth at the thought of it, and my feelings slowly continue to reveal themselves to me, even if I’m not ready to show them to the world. Not until we’re safe. Then I can go about my life and start something new. Hopefully with Isaac. Hopefully without fear, ever again.
“I don’t think I would have lasted long as a spy. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly blend into a crowd.”
“And how do you expect to tonight?”
“By not being seen at all. I can be silent when I want to. I can sneak when I want to. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. That is why I would fail at a job that involves lying day in and day out.”
“Fair enough,” I say, scooping up the last of the sauce with the chicken on my fork and taking my final bite. I sit back in my chair, full and comfortable.
“That was delicious. You are impressive, my friend.”
He nods at my compliment, scooping up our dishes and setting them in the kitchen sink before returning to the table. He glances at his watch again, and I ache to look at my phone. I’ve gotten so used to having it with me, it feels like a phantom limb, like a part of me is missing. I don’t particularly like the feeling. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that I rely way too heavily on technology.
Once this is over with, perhaps I’ll just get a landline, and call it a day.
I’m about to tell Isaac that we should get going when the world around us goes completely dark. One minute, I’m staring at Isaac’s handsome face, and the next, I can’t see a damn thing, not even my hand before my eyes.
“Isaac?” I say, and I curse the little shake in my voice.
“It’s all right, I’m right here. Give me your hand.”
I stand up slowly, my hands skating along the top of my chair, the table, slowly making my way across until I bump into Isaac’s warm body. I slide my hand down his arm until I’m able to lace my fingers in his, my heart beating a mile a minute.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
I live in the city. Even if the power went out in the apartment, the lights from outside, the buzzing of the world around us, would still be happening. There is no light. There is no sound. Isaac guides us in the direction of the window, pulling back the curtain as we stare out into the street below.
All around us, the entire city block is shrouded in darkness. Every streetlight, every apartment building is cast in black.
“Do you think they’re doing this?” I ask, and I shift a little closer to him, seeking his strength.
“I don’t know. Could be a regular old power outage but we just don’t know. Let me go grab a flashlight.”
“I’ll check downstairs and see if anyone knows of anything,” I say.
Isaac holds my hand tighter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I pull my hand from his, that old sensation of stubbornness rising as I move to do as I please. “I’ll be fine, Isaac. There’s no way they’re powerful enough to blow out the entire city. It has to be some kind of power grid issue. Relax.”
“You’re telling me to relax at a time like this?” he demands.
I step closer toward the door, making my exit. “Okay, don’t relax but let me do this and then we can figure out how to get to the house without light or technology. Deal?”
“No,” he says but I ignore him and step out into the hall anyway. A small crash and a mumbled curse sounds behind me. My hand finds the bannister, my feet seeking each step as I struggle to find my way in the dark. There are voices outside, and I reach the bottom step finally as I slowly make my way forward.
“Scarlett! I found a light. Come back up so we can do this together.”
Staring out into the shadows, I decide that he’s right, turning to find the staircase in the dark. A meaty, sweaty palm wraps around my mouth then, my body pulled into the chest of a stranger. I scream but the sound is trapped in the padded, salty palm of my assailant. I’m dragged to the front door before it’s opened and a cold gust of wind dances along my skin, goosebumps rising for more than one reason.
I bite the flesh of the hand covering my mouth as hard as I can and a man curses as he flinches away for a fraction of a second.
“Isaac!” I scream. The hand is wrapped even tighter around my mouth before I’m tossed haphazardly into the back of a van. The engine growls as the vehicle pulls away, taking me with it.
All I can do it hope that Isaac heard my scream, and somehow has a way to follow me. Otherwise, they finally win out, and I’m dead.
21
Isaac
Light from my flashlight pours down the stairwell as I make my way to Scarlett.
“Isaac!” Scarlett screams.
My apartment door is still propped open, and Buster bolts out of the living room, barking wildly, sprinting down the stairwell ahead of me before I can follow close behind. I fucking knew she shouldn’t have wandered off alone! Why does that woman never listen to me?
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, the front door is ajar, and Buster is chasing the back of a black van as it drives around the corner, disappearing into the gloom.
I chase after it, my feet pounding into the ground as I fight the urge to scream her name, and thus give myself away. They could have guns. I don’t feel like getting shot tonight, now that I have a woman to save. I catch up to my dog as the van turns another corner, the two of us sprinting as fast as we can after it.
I’m blinded as we turn another corner, the next block ahead of us fully powered and lit up like the Fourth of July. Jesus, they’ve shut off power to only our block, and I’m filled with rage-tinged fear. I don’t like being afraid. It only serves to drive up my anger, and I pick up my pace as the van continues to weave through traffic, the driver uncaring of any parked cars that it skims as it drives by.
We see a red light up ahead, and I almost grin, knowing that the vehicle will have to stop. It doesn’t. Instead, it plows through a busy intersection, weaving through cars as drivers sit on their horns and gesture wildly at the van careening away down another street. Buster and I wind our way through the stopped cars before they start moving again, the two of us of one mind as we charge down the street after the speeding van.
Where the fuck is a cop when you need one?
My legs burn, lactic acid city, but I press on, built for this. What the fuck have I been training for if it isn’t this exact situation? Buster pants loudly but he’s not giving up either, the two of us pushing the limit as we fight to get closer to the van. It manages to stay just far ahead enough to be out of reach, and when it turns another few corners, Buster and I are chasing the darkness, Scarlett lost to us. We finally stop.
“God damn it,” I spit, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. Buster stands next to me, whimpering as he stares out into the distance, trying to pick up the scent of the van again.
“It’s okay, bud. We’re going to get her back.”
Buster’s tail sinks between his legs as he continues to whimper, and I kneel down to comfort him, not realizing just how close he has gotten to Scarlett.
“Hey, we don’t quit, right? This battle is won, but the war’s still going. Let’s go back home and see if we can pick up any clues there.”
Buster whines, the p
itch loud and sad as he continues to stare out in the direction he thinks Scarlett went. I don’t have the heart to make him move just yet. Instead, I place my arm around him and speak softly, assuring him that everything is going to be okay. I’m talking to him like one of the people I save, trying to comfort him even knowing that we’re running out of time. The more time we waste feeling sorry for ourselves, the longer Scarlett is in the hands of those psychos.
There’s a chance that she won’t survive that long.
A sense of urgency pulses through me, and I press Buster to start walking so that we can get back home. I don’t have much to go on at this point but there has to be something in her apartment that can lead me to the house they’re meeting at. That has to be where they’re taking her. It has to be.
I try to make the tone of my voice soothing but Buster continues to sulk all the way home. I have us jog back to save time, and he keeps up even with his tail between his legs.
We get to the front door, and he doesn’t want to come inside. I leave the door propped open for him even as I peel my eyes in the darkness for anyone else looking for trouble. I’m ready for a fight. In fact, if I could beat the shit out of someone right now, it would help.
Not seeing anyone to pummel, I press open Scarlett’s panel and find her key still hidden there. I’m glad now that I didn’t tell her to hide it better as I open her apartment door and step inside, looking for anything that might help. I’m kicking myself for not asking for the address to the place. All I know is what it looks like but that hardly helps. It could be anywhere.
I flash my light around her apartment, looking for anything that will give me a clue as to her whereabouts. I have to assume they’ll take her there, because otherwise I have nothing to go on.
Buster’s nails clop into the main entryway as I continue my search. If any danger presents itself, he’ll let me know. I scan the living room, seeing the plug to the television dangling against the wood floor. The last thing I need is some evil asshole turning on the screen and flashing images of a tortured Scarlett at me.
What if I addressed them directly? I know they’re watching the place. The chances of them hearing me are pretty good. Just as soon as the idea presents itself, I dismiss it. That puts the power directly into their hands, where they can see me, they can hurt Scarlett while I’m powerless to do anything about it, and then they can disappear just as soon as they showed up in the first place. That plan holds no merit, so I move on.
I sift through her bedroom, combing through the side table drawers and finding nothing but some unread books and a journal with a pen tied to it. If this was any other time, I’d be tempted to look inside. Did Scarlett maintain her journal over the past few months? Is there anything useful that might be tucked away inside? It might actually have a clue, and I untie it, opening it up and sifting to the last entry. It’s a little invasive but these are desperate times. I can apologize for reading Scarlett’s private thoughts after I save her.
I read through a few passages but I’m disappointed. There’s nothing here that will help me. It’s mostly reflections on cases she was working from last spring, the dates no later than April.
I slam the book shut and don’t bother replacing it in the drawer. I’m running out of time, and so is Scarlett. I head back out and start searching in the kitchen, desperate for anything I might find as I sift through junk drawers, making my way toward the far counter. My eyes land on a notebook pad, and I glance at it, seeing the top piece ripped off.
I stare at it, thinking.
I flash the light closer to the bottom and I can just see the imprint of an address that she wrote before tearing off the piece of paper. My pulse pounds in my temples as I carefully retrace the address she wrote, knowing this has to be it. Anger and desperation are flowing through me as I step back out into the hall.
“I’m doing this one on my own, Buster. Come on.”
I take the stairs three at a time, leading Buster to my apartment and locking him in tight before I bolt back down the staircase and out the door. I pull my phone from my pocket and turn it on, not caring what those fuckers hear. I’m walking across the street to my truck as I pull my keys out with my other hand, the address burning a hole in my pocket.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Yes,” I say, opening my truck door and sliding in, turning on the car. “My girlfriend has been kidnapped. I have an idea where they’re going, and I want backup.”
“Sir, can you please be a little more specific? Is anyone in immediate danger?”
“Yes, and they might be dead if we don’t act now.”
I tell her the address where I’m headed.
“Something will be going down there one way or another, and I’m going to need backup.”
“Sir, I advise you not to put yourself in harm’s way. This is something for the police to handle.”
“Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t care. I’m going to meet them there, and I’ll look forward to having some backup.”
“If you could just stay on the line…”
Before she can finish, I hang up the call. I don’t have time to talk to her while I drive. I tap the address into my navigator before I have a thought. I should confirm that this is actually the place, so we’re not headed toward a dead end. I type the address into a search bar in my phone and look for images, seeing the stately Victorian on my screen, just as Scarlett described.
A sense of finality washes over me as I pull onto the street and drive as fast as I fucking can, the lights on my block flickering on as I leave them in the dust.
22
Scarlett
The van cashes along, my body is tossed from one side of it to the next as it speeds down roads I can’t see. I throw myself against the back door and palm around in the darkness, finding a latch. I wrap my hands around it, jerking it up and down as hard as I can to free myself, preparing to throw myself from the vehicle if it means being free.
I’ll take a broken limb over death at this point.
I let out a frustrated growl as the door refuses to budge, somehow locked from the outside. The van makes another sharp turn and I’m thrown to the other side, my back slamming against the wall as the air leaves my body, leaving me stunned. I crawl back toward the other side, finding the latch again and using it as an anchor, holding on for dear life.
Oh, God. What have I gotten into now?
I focus on my breath, desperately trying to keep calm as the van slows, taking on a more leisurely pace, just going for a regular old drive. No one able to suspect that there’s a hostage in the back. I press my face up against the door.
“Help!” I scream. “Someone help me, please!”
My voice sounds ragged and tinny, and it echoes back at me, letting me know that I’m the only one who can hear. I continue to cling to the latch, thinking about what I can do when they pull open the door. Maybe I can surprise them, jump out, and sprint off for my life. A memory of a shadowy alley swims across the darkness of my sight, a chain link fence, a man in a black mask.
Somehow, I don’t think running worked for me the first time. I imagine they won’t want to make that mistake again. My heart pounds, my blood hot even as I’m pressed against the ice-cold metal of the van, my fingers aching as I hold onto the door for dear life.
Dear life. How I’ll miss you.
I steel my nerves, angry with myself for even having such a thought. I’m Scarlett Smith. I’m not going to give in that easily. I’m going to fight until my last fucking breath. I don’t have a choice now. The van slows, making one last turn, then stops.
I have no idea where we are but I can guess. As I’m planning my escape, the door flies outward, my frosty fingers losing their grip instantly.
Fuck.
“Aw, she was going to try and ambush us. So cute.”
The patronizing voice is rough and deep, from a man that I don’t recognize. He looks down at me before raising his fist and backhanding me across the face;
my eyes fill with black spots as he drags me out from the back of the vehicle.
“That’s for biting me, bitch,” he hisses in my ear. His breath is hot and moist, and it sends shivers down my spine.
“There’s more where that came from,” I say, kicking my leg back to try and land one on his balls. He leans back and laughs at my efforts, and I’m torn between fighting my way out and crying in despair.
“Let’s get you wrapped up a little tighter then, shall we?”
He wraps his beefy arms around me, the smell of his body odor sharp against my nostrils as he pins me to him, my arms against my side. He squeezes tight and the air leaves my body, suffocating me for a minute before he finally releases, my breath coming out in ragged coughs.
“Oh, yeah. This is going to be fun. You’ve earned what’s coming to you now, after getting away last time. I can’t wait. If you scream for help though I’ll have to drive a knife into your side right now, so don’t do it, okay?”
His voice is eager, and I want to kick at him again but he’s simply too strong. He turns me away from the van and the back of the Victorian house, Chantel’s dad’s house appears. Another man opens the back door and my captor drags me inside. If I’d wanted to cry for help, it is too late now.
I’m carried down a floral-scented hallway, the smell reminding me of a funeral as he finally opens a side door, dragging me inside.
“I think we might have time for a quickie before the meeting starts, don’t you?” he asks, shifting his hand up to grope my breast.
My heart fills with terror. I know that I’ll likely be tortured before they finally do away with me, and I prepare to make my last stand.
“I don’t, actually.”
My captor turns, still groping me as we both stare at Gareth. His stony eyes land on the hand cradling my breast before he looks back up at the man behind me.
