by J. A. Huss
My phone buzzes in my pants so I walk out of the room and take it out so I can tab the accept button. “Yeah.” I don’t get service up here. Not regular service anyway. This is a local network I rigged up when I first bought the place.
“You have a message, Mr. Case.”
I put it on speaker and go grab a pen and notepad from the coffee table. “Go ahead.”
“Sasha called three times.”
I put the pen down and scrub that hand down my face. “What’d she say?”
“She says she really needs to talk to you. Should I patch you through?”
“Sure. Buzz me back when you get her on the line.” I end the call and sit down on the couch. She’s the last person I need to talk to right now. I stare at the fire for a few moments and then my phone buzzes again.
I press the speaker as I take out my knife and start carving into the wood of the coffee table. “Sash,” I say, trying to sound upbeat.
“Where have you been? I’ve been calling.”
“I’m in the mountains. No service.”
“Obviously. I need you to look something up for me.”
I scowl and take her off speaker. “Why can’t Ford do it?”
She laughs. “Please. He’s the last person I want to know about this.”
“The answer is no. Anything else? I’m real busy.”
“Why? I just want a background check on a guy.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Ford can definitely do that, kid.”
“Yeah, but if Ford does it, he’ll go too far. He’ll have people follow him and stuff. And then he’ll show up and scare the shit out of the guy. And I might like this one.”
Fucking Ford. “I can’t, OK? I’m not near my gear. I’m…” I think about Sydney in the other room. Should I tell Sasha? No. Not yet. Not until I have answers. “I’m not gonna be near a computer for a few weeks, probably.” She’s silent on the other end. “Sasha?”
She sighs. “I thought you were done working?”
“I am,” I lie. “I’m just taking time off away from shit. Call me in a few weeks if you still like this guy and I’ll help you out.”
“Hmph. Well, I got into grad school. And I already got an internship for the summer. Just lab stuff. But it’s a good start.”
Sometimes I do wish she was my kid. Then these proud moments would be the result of me instead of her normal family. But if I was the one who’d kept her, she’d be all kinds of fucked up by now. “I never doubted you, brat. I’ll call you in a few weeks and we’ll celebrate.”
I end the call before she can say anything else and then throw my phone onto the couch and pick up the guitar. I start strumming that song again. It’s soft and slow. Reminds me of that year all the shit hit the fan.
I hum along with the melody, the meaning behind the words taking over for a little bit.
Happiness is not what you think, this song reminds me. You spend your whole life looking for it, but you can’t find it. It’s not a thing. It’s a state of mind.
My fingers continue to strum as I think about the words and then I stop and set the instrument aside.
Way too depressing.
I get up and turn out the lights and then dress so I can go check the property. Make sure that fuck Garrett didn’t really set me up. Of course, it’s been ten days, but old habits never die.
I get my winter gear on and step out into the cold night air. In the summer you can hear the river from here. But it’s frozen over now and will be for at least three more months.
I don’t like it out here in the winter too much. But this cabin is the perfect place to kill a girl. That’s why I brought her here, after all. I will kill her. She’s Garrett’s weapon and she needs to be neutralized. It’s not my fault he did this to her. It’s not my fault she’s so fucked up..
My feet crunch along in the snow as I think about that for a moment. Sydney Channing is probably gone. Her mind is very messed up. And if I tell her just how badly she’s been used, it might complicate things.
I really need to keep this simple. I pat my pocket looking for smokes, shake one out, and light it up. If I go back in there and tell her what I think is going on, things will not be simple. Things will become more than complicated. I’ll start something I might not want to finish.
If, on the other hand, I go in there and cut her throat? Well, then things get real simple.
Maybe Garrett is looking for her right now. Maybe I can take her somewhere and parade her around to get his attention. Make her bait.
I take a long drag of nicotine and blow it out as I consider my options. When the smoke is finished I toss it down into the snow and stub it out. I start the snow machine in front of the cabin and patrol the outer perimeter of the property, checking for tracks. Garrett. Wolf. Mountain lion.
All predators.
But the only tracks out here are mine.
When I’m satisfied we’re alone, I park the machine in front of the cabin and walk back inside. My mind is made up.
Simple is definitely the way to go.
I need to be with Sasha. Do that little job for her. Make her happy. I need to catch up to my friends and get a life. Put this shit behind me.
It’s time to kill Sydney Channing and move on.
Tonight.
“Things have meaning because we give them that meaning. Everything. From the song in your head to the photos in your phone. They mean things. For me, they just mean a little more.”
– Sydney
The phone call throws me. Sasha Cherlin. I’ve heard a lot about that girl but I’ve never actually met her. Seen her, back when she was a little girl. Heard about her. And maybe, if I’m honest, wished I was her on more than a few occasions.
Her life might’ve gotten off track—fucked up is a much better way to put it—but she had a real father growing up. She was never hidden away. She was never…
Stop, Sydney. There is no point in going backwards. Now you have to think about…
The music throws me again. I’m tied to the table still. His drug cocktail isn’t working as well anymore. I’m getting a tolerance for it. But it’s still good enough to take me out of things.
But the music. Of all the songs in the world, my killer has to play that song?
Did he hear me play it? How long has he been watching me? He said the whole time. But if that’s true, then he knows I haven’t seen Garrett. So it must be a lie.
I hum the song and in my head I can hear him humming along with me. Or maybe that’s really happening.
It’s hard to tell in this dark room. The sink is not dripping. I don’t even know when he left the room. All I know is that I heard the phone ring and then suddenly I was staring up at the ceiling. He had his…
Oh, God. The image of him straddling me. Taking my mouth that way. I sob. Not because I hated it, but because I loved it. I’ve dreamed of him and now here he is. And I despise myself for wanting him. I loathe myself for saying yes, even though I can’t say no.
The music stops. A few minutes later I hear a door close. Did he leave? A little while after that I hear a snow machine.
I struggle against my bindings. They are tight, but they are also damp from the hose and I’m a small person. My hands are tiny and my wrists are narrow. It won’t take much to slip through. And the ties are leather, so they give more and more as I wriggle them back and forth, desperately trying to get free. They give a little, but not enough.
Hurry, Sydney, my mind urges. Hurry, before he comes back.
I start to breathe hard. Panting, almost. My heart is racing with the thought of escape.
But then I stop. What will happen if he catches me?
Not anything worse than if he comes back in to find you still here!
I wriggle some more, and bit by bit, the tether around my wrists becomes large enough for me to slip my hands through. I sit up, getting dizzy from the drugs. But I push that down and reach for my legs. They are cuffed in leather with buckles, so those are much e
asier.
When I’m free, I stand and feel my way to the door. It’s locked. I feel around the perimeter of the room, my hands scraping across the rough wood of the walls, until I come all the way back to the door he uses to enter and exit.
No windows. Not even one that is boarded up.
And I’m naked. It’s winter. Freezing-ass cold outside. So what did I really think I was going to do? I scoff at my stupid plan. Escape? Naked? This thought alone is enough to make me shiver. The room is colder than it was. He must’ve let the fire die down. I feel my way back to the stone hearth and kneel down on the rug. It’s warmer here, but not by much. I press myself up against the metal that separates me from the heat and let out a sigh.
I give up. Maybe I can lie? Or maybe he will come to accept the fact that I don’t know anything? Or maybe—
A door slams on the other side and I know he’s back. His boots thud across the floorboards. There’s some crackling of the fire on the other side and then a burst of heat, letting me know he’s put more wood on the fire.
Just give him what he wants, Sydney.
But I don’t know anything!
The floorboards creak under his weight as he nears the side of the room where the door is. The latch jiggles and I take a gulp of air. But it doesn’t open.
Instead he walks away. A few minutes later I hear the guitar again. That song.
How can this killer create something so beautiful?
My eyes grow heavy as he plays it over and over. Like it’s on repeat. Before I know it, I’m humming along.
“Of course lies play a part. That’s the most beautiful part of the dance. The courtship you have with your own lies.”
– Case
I play the tune over and over again, never stopping. I’m on a loop, my fingers picking the strings, sliding over the frets. Making that squeaky sound that I love.
I want to kill her. I really do. I want to make this all end and let it go. Move back to civilization. Go see my friends and their kids. Move on.
I want all those things. And killing her is the quickest and easiest way to get there.
But Garrett. I don’t think he wants me to have the happily ever after. And if I kill her… well, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Just wondering when he will show up.
He’s not dead. Sydney has the information I need. I’m so close. I’m so fucking close. All I have to do is wait it out. Tell her what I think and wait for her to crack.
And she will crack. Could even crack tonight. And then I can kill her and leave. Finish the job.
One last job.
I laugh. My fingers continue to play, but I laugh. That’s what they all say. Just one last job to set things up for retirement.
Hell, I don’t need the money. Everyone else’s last job made sure of that. We all became richer than God with that last job. No, I don’t need money. I just need peace. And peace runs directly through Sydney Channing.
I stop strumming as I accept my situation.
She’s not the prisoner here. I am.
The fire has long stopped crackling and that’s probably why I notice it. Humming. From the other side of the hearth.
I put the guitar down and walk over there as quietly as I can, leaning in as far as I dare with the flames.
Yes. She got herself free and she’s on the other side humming along to my music.
I lie down on the rug and listen to her. Eventually it dies off, like she falls asleep with the tune still on her tongue.
I stay there. Still. Thinking. The fire is lower now, ready for more wood. But I don’t feed it. Instead I stand up and press a button on the wall.
The metal partition separating us slides up and then there she is. For the first time since she got here I can see her in the light. The soft flames make shadows that dance across her face. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. Her hair is dark and long. She’s on her side and it falls over her shoulder, shielding her bare breasts. Her skin is a milky white even though all her other features are dark. Her eyes, her hair, her mind.
She’s very dark. Illegitimate daughter of a US senator. Hidden away, either to keep her safe or to keep Channing safe. Or maybe she’s just always been a pawn? Isn’t that why the illegitimate ones go missing? To use them later? By either side. I have to admit, I have not thought about the Company in a very long time. I know Channing was a part of that secret organization set up to run the global economy. And I know that makes Sydney a Company kid, even if Channing was never married to her mother. And I know all that shit with Sasha eight years ago was Company business too. Hell, if Sash wasn’t on my side, I’d take her out as well. What she knows, what she can do—that shit is scary as fuck. But we took care of them. You can’t shut down a global organization with one attack, we knew that, but we took out the highest people in the organization.
But people got away. Not everyone died that night. James had a brother who was not at all interested in leaving his prime position in the Company. They had a father too. Still alive as far as I know.
Harper had a brother as well. And I’m sure nothing that happened to him since that day has been easy. Not in a you’re-my-prisoner-and-I-own-you kind of way, like I have going here with Sydney. But in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for way that turns a perfect hostage situation into a Die Hard action film.
And Sasha. We killed her uncle that night, but he was inconsequential. The last of her real family died the year before. But there are others. Low-level scum existing around the frayed edges of the organization.
So no. We didn’t get them all. Some of them got away. And some of them have agendas, I’m sure. But Sydney is part of something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet. I need more time. Because I know I’m on to something. I know I’m getting close to something. But most of all, I know I’m missing something.
And isn’t that ironic? I ask myself as I look across the flames to her perfect naked body. It glows a warm shade of gold from the low fire. Isn’t it ironic that this girl and I have something in common?
Things are missing.
She lets out a long breath and turns over on her stomach, inching a little too close to the fire for my liking. I don’t need her rolling over into the flames while she sleeps. And I’m too damn tired to stay awake and babysit her.
So I push the button on the wall and the metal plate slides back down. It makes a little noise as it hits the stone that it didn’t make when it went up, and I wonder if that woke her.
I listen for a noise on the other side of the fireplace, but there’s nothing. So I go back over to the couch and pull the bearskin rug over top of me.
Something is not right about this.
Something is very, very wrong.
Later I wake. The fire is down and it’s cold in here. I get up and throw a few logs on, then go piss in the bathroom.
I bet that bitch needs to pee. Probably shit too. I zip up my fly and walk over to the door that leads to the utility room that leads to the prisoner’s room. I knock.
“What?” she says from the other side of the door.
“I know you untied yourself. Move away from the door, to the far corner. Then call out once you’re sitting down so I know where you’re at.”
I half expect an argument. Surely she must be thinking she has the upper hand right now. She got out of her bindings and there were no immediate consequences.
But that’s not because I’m going soft. It’s because those consequences are about to upend her world. My words will ruin her life.
And I can’t wait.
“Ready,” she calls.
I open the door and flick the switch on the wall since I don’t have my night vision on. She throws up a hand to cover her face, blinded.
“Stand up, walk over here, and get on your knees in front of me.”
“I can’t see,” she says.
“You’ll manage.”
She crawls over instead, looking down at the floor to keep the light out of her
eyes. Her long hair sways across the concrete, picking up bits of dust as she goes. When she gets to my feet she kneels and sits back on her butt. But she never lifts her eyes.
Her breasts are a nice size. Not too big, but certainly not small. Somehow she has positioned her hair so that once again it drapes over her nipples, shielding herself from me. She clasps her hands in her lap and bows her head as she waits.
It’s not what I expected. I expected more of a fighter, to be honest. Company kids, even the hidden ones, tend to be violent when pushed. But if what I think about her situation is true, then it might all make sense.
“Do you remember what happened last night?”
“You raped my mouth,” she says back without emotion.
“No,” I laugh. “That’s absolutely not what happened.”
“I was under duress.” And now she does lift her head. And she doesn’t even squint as the light hits her eyes. They are not as dark as I thought. In fact, they are a lot like mine. She blinks as I stare at her. Mine might be more yellow than green, but hers are more green than yellow. “And I know more about you than you know about me. I know you’re a genius. Recruited to computer science at Stanford at sixteen. You turned them down. MIT at seventeen for robotics. Turned them down. And at your high-school graduation in Boston, no fewer than sixteen colleges and universities from around the world showed up to offer you a spot. And you turned them all down to join the army as an enlisted man.”
I smirk at her. “Someone in this room has a stalker, Sydney. But it’s not me.”
“Ha. Ha,” she says back. “My point is, I know you’re a smart man, Merric Case, AKA Merc. AKA Number… wait, what number did they give you again? Oh, yeah, you never really had one. They lied. You were only on the job so they could keep tabs on you and get you to kill off as many Company kids as—”
I slap her across the face and she goes reeling. She hits the floor so hard for a moment I think I cracked her teeth. “Get to the point, bitch.”
She looks up at me again, blood coming out of her mouth. “You raped me. You know you raped me. And I’ll sit here and lie to you all you want. Tell you everything you want to hear. But you raped me.”
