by Kim Briggs
Around one a.m., the infomercials take over. By three a.m., Di considers purchasing a set of giant commercial-grade stainless steel stockpots with her mom’s “borrowed” credit card but decides against it, because 1) she doesn’t plan to make ten gallons of spaghetti sauce at once, ever and 2) she doesn’t have the storage space under her bunk. It never crosses her mind, and it barely crosses mine that she’d alert Homeland Security and a half dozen other groups, including the Organization of our whereabouts.
Ben and Coda search every street, every pizza shop, and every bar they can get into around the greater Asheville area. They even crash a half dozen parties at the campus, including a sorority pledge night.
Christian’s phone cuts right to voice mail. Panic swells in my chest. My heart threatens to explode. My brain wants to search the streets. I can’t even... I can’t even imagine what happened to Christian. What horrors, what torture is the Organization exacting as we speak?
Somewhere around six a.m., the phone shatters the silence of the apartment. Nothing like the interruption of a jilted sleep to throw you into an adrenaline hyper-drive. Di gets the phone before I do. She glances at the caller ID. “Hello?”
As she listens to whoever’s on the other line, she sadly shakes her head “no” as she watches me. “Let me check.”
“It’s Frank. They’re releasing him in an hour. Do you want to come with me to get him? We’ll be back by eight, and then we can figure out our next move.”
“No, you go. I’ll stay here just in case.”
“Frank, we’ll be there by seven. See you soon.”
“We? I’m not going. What if Christian shows up? No, I gotta be here. You can’t go either. The cops know your name. They’ll wait at the hospital and arrest you the moment your foot hits the sliding door.”
“True, but I’m not going in the front door. Can I borrow that baseball cap you wore the other day?” she asks as she yanks on a pink—yes, pink—sweatshirt.
I scowl at her. “Di, a pink sweatshirt and a baseball cap are not exactly the best disguises.”
She winks at me. “You’d be surprised. Besides, I’m not going in. Ben will get him but you’re coming with us. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
I cross my arms. “I’m not going.”
She sighs as she picks up the phone. “Stubborn,” she mumbles. “Ben, hey it’s me. You guys close?”
She listens watching me, as if the moment she turns her back, I’ll disappear. A pause. A laugh. “Great. I’ll meet you at the corner.”
“Coda will be here in less than five minutes. In the meantime,” she says and drops her Taser in my hand. “You flick this button to turn it on.” She points to a switch on the side. “It’s fully charged, so it’s ready to go if you need it.”
She shoves a canister in my front pocket. “Here’s an extra cartridge in case you need it—load it here,” she says and tilts the Taser sideways to show me the cartridge slot. “Easy,” she nods, as if to reassure me that anyone can do it, but I’m not so sure, “and brush your teeth. You’ve got wicked dragon breath.”
I set the Taser down. With my luck, I’d probably taser myself before somebody else. She glances back at me on her way out the door. “Coda will be here any minute, and Starr, Christian will be alright. He’s tough.”
I nod as I blink back tears. I don’t want him to be tough. I don’t want anyone to be tough for me. I’m tired of having to be tough.
The moment she’s gone I brush my teeth. I even wash my face and brush my hair. No need for the world to suffer from my poor hygiene. I should probably change too.
On my way to my room, I notice a manila folder on the kitchen island. Di must have left it for me. I pick it up from the wrong end and pictures fall out. I swoop down to pick them up.
Christian with Sami. Christian with Jody. Christian with Sami and Jody. Him kissing Sami. Him kissing Jody. Sami with only a bra on and Christian doing things with her.
The pictures cascade back to the floor along with the pieces of my heart.
Chapter Ten
Di
“The fucking bastard! I am going to kill him,” Frank says, tossing the pictures back on the floor.
I pick them up and leaf through them. Sami in a black lace bra with matching thong straddling Christian’s lap. Jody in a tight red corset sucking his neck. Them both smothering Christian with their bodies.
I never thought he could do such a thing. He’d never cheat on Starr. Never. But here it is in living proof. The pictures don’t lie.
I grip them tight. “I guess the girls got out of jail. Friends in fucked up of places.” On the floor, next to where we found the pile of pictures, I find my Taser. I slip it back into my rear pocket for safe keeping.
Christian barrels into the room with Jude following close behind. “Whazzz going on?” He says, as he tries to drape an arm across Frank’s shoulders. Frank steps out of the way, and he smashes headfirst into the corner of the sofa and drops to the floor. He doesn’t get back up.
Frank lunges at him. His white knuckled fists fly through the air clutching Christian’s shirt. “Where the hell have you been, you fucking bastard?”
Christian doesn’t move. He doesn’t react to Frank. Choked snores fill the room.
Ben kneels over his prone frame. “Is he passed out?”
“Yep, looks that way.” Jude laughs.
Fucking laughs.
Coda glares at him. “What the hell did you do to him?”
Jude pulls his hand to his chest as if aghast. “Me? I didn’t do anything. He’s the one who wanted to go out last night. He’s the one who said he was tired of being cooped up. I tried to talk him out of it.”
A hiss fills the room. In surprise, I search the room for the source before I realize it’s me.
“No, no, seriously,” Jude says, backing up. “He convinced me to go to some club he had seen on the internet. He ordered shots of whiskey, one after the other. When he started to get really loose, three or four girls dragged him to the dance floor.”
Coda cracks his knuckles. “Sami and Jody?”
Jude’s eyes go wide. “No, not them. I wouldn’t let him anywhere near them. I wanted to leave but he refused. Said he was having too much fun. Said he was tired of being cooped up at the apartment with Starr. I tried to drag him away a few times but he fought me. He can be a real prick when he’s drunk,” he says, rubbing his jaw as he glares down at Christian’s passed-out frame. “I didn’t want to leave him, and I had no way of getting in touch with anyone,” he stares ruefully at each of us, as if it was our fault we didn’t give him a phone, which of course is true. “We went to some afterhours party. He disappeared once we got there. I finally found him passed out on a bed. I managed to drag him to the car and get him here, but he’s still loaded.”
Not one iota of Jude’s story makes any sense. Not one iota. I scowl at him. “Christian wanted to go to a club to drink?”
“Yes,” he says, never breaking eye contact.
“Christian doesn’t drink,” Ben says.
“Well, he wanted to last night and believe me, he drank.”
Frank tightens his fists. “He’s going to wish he hadn’t.”
Jude’s mouth turns down. “Ya got that right. You should have heard what he was saying about Starr. I would’ve broken his arm if he weren’t so drunk. Where is she anyway?”
“She’s gone,” Frank snarls.
He reaches his hands up almost touching the ceiling as he yawns. “Gone?”
“This morning Coda got here less than five minutes after Di left to pick me up and she was nowhere to be found. All we did find were these.” He shoves all the pictures into Jude’s hands.
Jude doesn’t even glance at them. “Did she go for a run? Or a walk, maybe?”
“We have no idea, but I doubt it. She was worried sick about Christian. She wouldn’t leave,” I say.
He tilts his head at the photos he barely even looked at. He probably took them, the fuckin
g double crosser. “Even after she saw these? And if she heard what he said about her, I wouldn’t blame her for leaving.” He yawns a giant, exaggerated one. “Frank, would you mind if I take your bed for a bit?”
He flicks his hand in the air. “Go ahead.”
“Where’s Starrrrrrrrr?” Christian mumbles from the floor.
“She’s gone,” Frank spits at him.
“That’s craaazzzziiiieeee,” he moans into the carpet.
Ben tilts his head for us to follow him into Christian and Starr’s room. He quietly closes the door. “Christian doesn’t pull stuff like that. I know he changed a lot after his parents died, but he didn’t change that much.”
“I agree,” Coda says. “No way.”
“Well, look at him now,” Frank snaps.
I squeeze his arm. “Keep your voice down. I agree with Coda and Ben. Christian and I were straight edge—no alcohol, no drugs. We used to make fun of people in his condition.”
Frank rolls his eyes. “People change all the time.”
“I’ll tell you what I would like to do. I’d like to get a urine sample,” Ben says.
“You think he was drugged?” I whisper.
“Only one way to find out,” Ben says. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about that asshole. What about Starr?” Frank says. “Are her sneakers still here?”
I check under the bed and the closet, anywhere and everywhere a pair of sneakers could be. “No, no sneakers.”
“I would love to kick his ass right now,” he says with a longing in his voice. “But he won’t even know what’s happening. I’ll wait ’til he’s stone cold sober and then kick his ass.”
I rest my hand on his arm. “Before you do anything, let’s wait for the lab results.”
“You think he was given something too?” He shakes his head, disgust rolling off him. “He’s still guilty regardless of what he might be on. He hurt Starr. He deserves to feel pain.” He cracks his knuckles, then stretches his arms behind his back—a warrior preparing for battle.
“You better take a raincheck on any ass kicking for a while. When that morphine wears off, you’re going to feel like you were at the bottom of the mosh pit.”
“I’m not afraid of a little pain,” Frank says.
“Wait a few hours, then we’ll talk. Let’s go see how the urine collection is going.”
***
Christian can barely lift his head, let alone walk, as Coda and Ben drag him to the bathroom. I don’t even want to know how they’re planning to get him to stand on his own and pee in a cup. I’m curious about a lot of things, but that my friend, is not something I ever want to see.
“Hold him!” Bang. “I said hold him.” Crash. “How do we ...? Oh, never mind.”
When the collection is complete, they drag him back out. Christian lifts his head and grins stupidly at us before they drag him into his room.
“That is not something I ever want to do again,” Coda says, shaking hee-bee-gee-bee style. “Ick.”
Ben walks back into the bathroom and returns with a clear plastic cup filled with dark yellow liquid.
“Ewww,” I say. “Don’t even think about bringing that over here.”
“I need to get a lid. It’s just urine,” Ben says. “It’s no big deal. I do need to get this to the lab though.” He stops and looks at the clock. “If I leave now, I might be able to get results by this afternoon. I have a few strings I can pull.”
“Get out of here then man,” I whisper.
He glances at us. “Are you guys going to be alright while I’m gone? There is a very good chance headquarters is compromised.”
“I’ll stay with them,” Coda says brandishing his muscles.
Idiot me never thought headquarters might not be safe. Some covert operative I am. No signs of struggle present. Nothing out of place. Nothing missing, well except for Starr.
“What are we going to do about Starr?” Frank says. “We need to find her.”
I’m not willing to believe that anything bad happened to Starr or that the Organization is ready to bash in our door. “It’s only been a couple of hours. Maybe she did go for a run. I didn’t find her sneakers.”
Frank’s brow knots.
I raise my hand as if I’m answering his question. “Let me go double check.”
Since the first time I saw Christian at Beans, I’ve considered him drool worthy—that is until I actually saw his drool all over his pillow. His gagged snores don’t win sexy sleeper either. I tiptoe around the room, peeking under the bed, in the closet, and every corner. I’m not willing to admit, to accept, that she’s gone. She can’t be. She’s our rock. Our Starr.
“Anything?” Frank says from the hallway.
“No, nothing.” I don’t know what I was hoping to find. The riddle to her disappearance rocks me to the very root of my core.
“He hurt Starr. He deserves to be hurt as much as she was.” He slams his fist into his palm. “More.”
Chapter Eleven
Starr
Music blasts through the speaker. I jump away, half expecting someone to grab me. I can see Christian on the other side of the club, standing with Jude. I shout to get his attention, but the music’s too loud and I’m too far away. Sami pushes him into a chair. She straddles his legs. She smiles at me—a cruel, knowing grin before moving her hips against him. His head falls back—unconscious, in ecstasy, I don’t know. Jody runs her hands through his hair. Her chest hovering inches from his mouth. Jude points at me. Christian, Sami, and Jody laugh as they follow his gaze.
My body jerks with a start. My eyelids feel heavy, as if someone hung fifteen pound weights from them. I fight to open them, but it’s like I’m looking through cotton balls. Balling my hands into fists, I rub my eyes, my face, trying to wake up.
When I finally come to, I wish I hadn’t. I remember what I saw. I remember what Christian did, and now that I’ve seen it, I can never un-see it.
I burrow my bound hands under the blankets, and let grief consume me. It is a greedy beast.
“Starr, you disappoint me.”
I freeze. I know that voice. My mind shifts rapidly to the events after my discovery of the pictures. A noise. A struggle. A rag on my mouth. A black pillowcase over my head. Then nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“Get her up,” he orders.
The blankets disappear. Anger replaces the sadness. I thrust my bound wrists at him. “You happy now?”
General Treadwell stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed and his cruel, knowing smile. Next to him is a young carbon copy of himself. “Winning is very satisfying.”
“You won nothing,” I growl.
He leans over the bed and yanks on my zip-tied ankles. “I disagree with that statement.” The thin plastic cuts into my skin. I clench my jaw. “In time,” he says, releasing me, “you’ll thank me.”
“How could I thank someone who uses the cliché of chloroform on a rag?”
He squares his shoulders. “If my men used chloroform or ether, you’d be puking, suffering a severe migraine, or dead. We only use clichés, as you call it, when we want a specific result, but you won’t be learning the subtle differences between Desflurane versus Isoflurane or the toxicity of various poisons. No, we have something much less lethal for you.”
Before I can reply, he turns to leave the room, but he’s not going to have the last word if I have anything to say about it. “You’d like to think so wouldn’t you, but I won’t be here long enough to see your plan through.”
He laughs, “I highly doubt that. We will discuss the finer nuances of my plan for you later.”
He struts out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Damn him.
I collapse against the bed. My mind’s going a thousand miles a minute. I need to free my wrists and ankles, and then I can get out of here, but where will I go? I can’t go back to headquarters—not with Christian there, not after what he did to me. No, I need to ge
t far away from here, far away where no one can find me—not the Organization, not my grandparents, not the team, and not Christian. Definitely not Christian.
Sitting up, I glance around the room. The beige walls remind me of the color Mom used to paint the walls of our rental house when we first moved to Webster. For her, the colors symbolized a fresh, new start but not ready to commit to a more permanent living arrangement. For me, it meant a loss of freedom and a broken heart. Ten years have passed, and nothing has changed. At least for me.
The furniture reminds me of the antiques Mom and John used to hunt for every weekend. A way to make the fresh, new start more permanent. When I was young, I used to go with them. We’d stop at a coffee shop just outside Webster for cinnamon buns and chai tea. Then they’d meander down backcountry roads in search of the perfect piece to fill their new house. We’d get lost half the time but that was okay because we were together—the makings of a new family. At fourteen, I stopped going. My school commitments and afterschool activities began to seep into the weekends, plus I wanted to hang out with my friends—first Di and Frank, later Sami and Jody. I never realized that the time I spent with Sami and Jody, time I thought I was spending with my best friends, time I can never get back, meant nothing to them. I traded homemade baked goods and time with my mom for two girls who hated me. Now, I may never get to see my mom again. I never realized what a poor judge of character I am.
The floor creaks. Thomas picks up the quilt he ripped off me and tosses it across the foot of the bed, watching me all the while. He sits down in the wingback chair in front of my bed and crosses his arms.
“Where are we?”
No answer.
“Any idea where we are?”
Still nothing.
“I appreciate your help,” I add.
My interrogation techniques are limited. What with the zip-ties around my ankles and wrists, I have only my words, and I’m not sure Treadwell’s clone can even hear me. Sometimes actions speak louder—like a kick to the groin, for instance. I wonder where Sami and Jody learned their techniques. Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly where they learned them or at least Sami. She was born with the innate ability to destroy.
