by C. C. Ekeke
He chuckled in delight at their reactions. “We’ll make sure everyone gets what they want,” he concluded. “You and your friends get your freedom, and my boys get fed.” Vishal turned on his heel and walked out of the container. As soon as the door closed, the sound of the heavy lock from outside slid into place.
Quinn exhaled the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She felt less weary and circled the container, scouring for any opening in the metal walls. “There has to be a way out,” she murmured while she searched. “I’m not waiting for that bastard to let us go. We can look for weak spots and find the others—”
“Quinn.”
Annie’s flat tenor stopped Quinn in mid-stride. But her best friend’s lifeless gaze gave Quinn genuine chills.
“I know how to read people,” Annie went on in that same dead voice, an ironclad certainty saturating her words. “Especially scumbags like Dan and Vishal. We’re not getting out of here alive.”
Chapter 3
“I’ll admit,” Annie confessed with a drunken smile, swaying a little while she walked, “the gator nuggets were good shit.”
The group stepped outside into bustling streets, a yellowish crescent moon hanging low in the heavens.
Quinn exchanged amused looks with Devon. They both giggled but said nothing.
Katy Horn had no such restraint. “Told ya, Annie!”
Annie gave Katy a death glare. “You made your point, Kathryn,” she chided with a dismissive hair flip.
Quinn and her friends had chosen Jacques-Imo's with the alligator meat right outside Bourbon Street. Everyone had gotten dolled up despite Jacques-Imo's not being a five-star restaurant. The food had been delicious, the company even better. The drinks had flowed like water. Annie eating any alligator meat had taken tons of convincing and plenty of alcohol.
The six girls were chatting and laughing their way down the lively French Quarter, stopping every so often to snap over-the-top selfies. Wherever Quinn looked, New Orleans brimmed with history and magic. The classic architecture of certain shops, the hypnotic jazz floating out from many high-rise windows on each side of Bourbon. Even the air itself was different. An Old-World city dropped into the New.
Quinn was feeling buzzed, comfortably stuffed, and high off the company of her college friends.
It was hard not to feel good when she and her squad were turning heads everywhere they walked in downtown NOLA—Devon especially. At times, Quinn couldn’t help but stare.
Devon looked like she’d been poured into her tight black jeans and matching suspender crop top flashing a tease of her flat tummy, those loose blonde curls bouncing with each step. She wanted to be seen.
Fortunately, Devon was wearing flats or else Quinn would’ve looked like a toddler next to her statuesque friend.
On another note, their interactions remained civil—jovial even. Nothing had been resolved, but Quinn knew tonight wasn’t the time to work those lingering issues out.
“I’m hoping for a Papa Voodoo sighting tonight,” Krista said to Quinn, eyeing one of many occult shops they passed. “That would be so bomb!” Krista had always been a huge super groupie.
“That’s about as likely as vampires being real,” Devon chimed in and patted a deflated Krista on the shoulder. “Papa Voodoo’s not some random street corner magician doing card tricks for money.”
“Dev’s right,” Quinn agreed. “He’s probably out doing…uh…” She paused, combing her brain for the right words. “Magical superhero stuff.”
Devon stared back. “The future of journalism right there, y’all,” she teased, pointing at her.
Quinn aimed a kick at her obnoxious friend.
Devon nimbly danced away with her big, booming Texas laugh. Quinn had missed hearing that laugh.
Annie was already in Mardi-Gras-party mode after several drinks at dinner—and some pregame drinking before leaving the rental. She was wearing the shit out of her tight jeans and red halter-top. Several shiny bead necklaces of differing colors hung around Annie’s neck as she dished out hugs for the girls and catcalls to random strangers.
“I bet my friends are hotter than yours,” Annie bragged loudly at a sturdy-looking man walking by who she considered hot.
“I’d rather be your friend, mon chere!” he threw back and blew her a kiss.
Quinn guffawed at the stranger’s corny rebuttal. Devon, Katy, and the others collectively groaned.
Annie, however, turned sharply and started giving him the eye. She then wolf-howled at the man with a flirty toss of her hair. Bad pick-up lines were like catnip to Annie when drunk.
Quinn rolled her eyes and dragged Annie away before she could prance after her prey.
“Remember that hot boyfriend back in San Miguel named Johnny?” Quinn chided her.
“Relax, Mom,” Annie groused while being led back to the group. “I’m just making nice with the locals.”
Quinn sometimes envied Annie’s fearlessness in social settings. What she didn’t envy was the small lake of alcohol her BFF often consumed when out and about.
The scrumptious smell of fresh beignets wafted Quinn’s nose when she and her friends passed by Café Dumont. On her suggestion, everyone scurried inside to grab those sweet treats.
“Where to next?” Monica asked, wiping sugar powder off her cheeks later on.
Annie stopped and produced her cell. The glowing screen illuminated her furrowed brow as she scanned tonight’s itinerary. “Preservation Hall,” she confirmed after a few moments. “That fusion jazz club.”
“Lead the way!” Quinn gushed, clapping. Checking out NOLA’s jazz clubs topped her to-do list.
The growing rowdiness of the dense crowd meant that they were nearing Frenchmen Street, New Orleans’ jazz epicenter. The air crackled with excitement and laughter, competing jazz flowing from various clubs lining both sides of the street. To Quinn and Annie’s chagrin, Preservation Hall had too long a line. Some world-famous jazz musician was performing tonight. And none of the girls wanted to wait outside, let alone be packed like sardines once they got inside.
After some quick searching, all the major clubs looked insanely packed, to Quinn’s dismay. And she didn’t care to just barhop while visiting New Orleans.
“What about Blue Nile?” Krista suggested, waving her phone for everyone to see. “It’s a block away.”
“Let’s do it,” Quinn agreed.
“Same,” Annie added.
“Let’s move,” Devon encouraged, gesturing ahead.
When Monica and Katy agreed, the group weaved through rivers of humanity until they found a glowing sign with the club name and a crescent moon.
Quinn took in Blue Nile, finding it rather snug to be honest. Pale azure light from an eponymous sign cast its glow across the interior. The live act was another local band full of funk and soul, strumming and drumming their hearts out with a mix of pleasure and pain on their faces.
Annie, Krista, and Monica parked at a table with their drinks, slaves to the energetic and chaotic jazz beats. Katy was leaning against the bar chatting up two gorgeous men. One wore preppy attire, thick brown hair and a V-neck, and was fair-skinned and boyishly handsome. The other was bald and brown-skinned with a well-trimmed beard. For as long as Quinn had known her, Katy Horn loved every second of the male attention she attracted. Tonight, Katy put on a show, giving these boys her sexiest smile and playing with her hair.
Quinn found herself in the rear beside Devon. This was the first time they’d been away from the larger group. Even among a crowd and the enjoyable performance, the tension between them became oppressive and awkward.
That saddened Quinn. Nothing would be fully resolved unless one of them made the first move.
Quinn turned her head in the tall blonde’s direction to break the ice. “What have you been up to since leaving the military?” she asked loud enough to be heard over the music.
Devon swiveled her head, flowing locks spilling down her shoulder. Under the pale-blue glo
w, she appeared surprised at Quinn starting the conversation. Devon recovered and straightened her posture. “Investment banking,” she answered flatly.
Quinn leaned away. “Banking?” A desk job sounded nothing like Devon. Then again, two years can change anyone. “Doesn’t seem active enough for you.”
Devon laughed and shrugged. “I kinda stumbled into it.” She stared ahead blankly, sipping on her drink.
Quinn knew that expression, which Devon made when she was hiding something.
“Are you happy?” Quinn inquired, pivoting around to face the other girl fully.
A fulsome smile pulled at Devon’s lips. “Yeah,” she replied. “The job’s a perfect fit. And they’re paying me stupid amounts of money.”
Quinn had to laugh. “I bet. After those commissions.”
“QB!” Annie’s shout turned heads, as did her dance moves. She was on the main floor stomping her feet and shaking her shapely hips to the rhythmic jazz. Annie had on that familiar duck face look whenever she was really drunk and really feeling herself while dancing. “Get your cute little ass over here!”
Monica remained seated, swaying with drunken laughter.
Krista joined Annie, watching Quinn with mock warning. “You better or else she’ll come get you.”
Quinn blushed at the stares focusing her way. “Gimme a few minutes,” she called back.
Turning back, Quinn caught Devon eyeing Annie with great interest.
“And you?” The veteran forced her gaze back on Quinn. “Annie’s kept me updated on you working at SLOCO Daily, which is awesome.” Devon seemed genuinely proud.
Quinn found her reaction pleasing for some annoying reason. “Thanks.” The tension between them went from heart-tugging to mildly uncomfortable.
By this point, the band was speaking to the audience after finishing one song, giving a well-received story about its origins.
“Which reporting beat are you on?” Devon asked, her blue eyes probing into Quinn’s soul.
“None.” Quinn glanced away from Devon’s intense stare. Yet their nearness remained magnetic. “I’m still a Social Media Specialist.”
“Oh.”
Quinn winced at how glum she’d come across. “Don’t get me wrong,” she amended, waving a hand to emphasize her misstatement. “I love SLOCO Daily. It’s a wonderful opportunity, and I love my coworkers. And…” She offered a puckish smile. “I’ve been able to copyedit certain articles, shadow reporters, and write mock articles.”
“Really?” Devon said, leaning closer. “How?”
“The editor-in-chief got me in and took me under her wing,” Quinn replied. “Her plan is to find me a junior staff writing job soon.” She told the well-worn tale about the Brown alum who had connected her with Helena Madden last year. Then came the informational interview with Helena and her boyfriend, Jono McGowan, which had gone amazingly. A few months later, Quinn had gotten a job at SLOCO Daily.
By the time she’d finished, Devon was smiling and clapping. “Nice.”
“Yeah…” Quinn nodded, always happy to discuss her great love, journalism. “Now Helena’s given me an opportunity to write an article. It’s the big break I’m looking for.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Devon gushed. “Of course you’ll knock that outta the park.”
Quinn’s face warmed. “Thank you,” she said in a small voice and stared down at her shoes.
When she looked up again, Devon was watching her. No glee graced her old friend’s features.
“Quinn…” she began.
Quinn’s blood ran cold. Oh crap… She opened her mouth to stop Devon from ruining the moment.
“About homecoming a few years ago,” Devon blurted out, her voice ragged. “How I acted was terrible.”
“Dev,” Quinn replied, the music blunting her volume. Past resentments from their last conversation bubbled in the back of her throat. “We don’t need to go there tonight—”
“No.” Devon cut her off with a swift hand chop. “I’m the reason we haven’t talked in like three years.” As she spoke, eyes grew shiny with unshed tears, her Texan drawl more prominent. “For how I distanced myself from you during senior year when you were dating Billy. And then I laughed when you told everyone that you two had broken up.”
“Devon…”
“And what I did afterward…” Devon kept pouring her heart out, hands over her chest. “I crossed a line. I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.” Her words were so raw, so vulnerable. “If you never forgive me, then I understand. But I hope that you will.”
The confession left Quinn reeling. “Ah…” For several moments, Blue Nile, the jazz, the merrymaking faded away as old memories roiled to the forefront. She and Devon had met in the start of freshman year, both living on the same floor. The (former) pothead from New England and the hardcore Christian debutante from West Texas became instant best friends. But around junior year, when Quinn was in a serious relationship, Devon had started distancing herself. Despite Quinn’s best efforts, Devon just pulled further away until they barely spoke at the end of senior year.
The last time Quinn had hung out with these five was homecoming the year after everyone had graduated. A few precious months had passed since her excruciating breakup with Billy and all NYC job prospects had fallen through. And when Quinn had mentioned her breakup, Devon had chuckled.
That flippant reaction had set a bomb off in Quinn. Within seconds, she’d ripped into Devon, leading to a brutal screaming match that had left scars on Quinn’s soul.
Now, Devon was reopening those old wounds in public. Quinn massaged her temples to regain composure.
“Ah…I…” She did a double-take. A familiar mix of panic and maternal concern took over. “Shiite.”
Devon frowned in confusion. “What?”
Quinn pointed to the dance floor. “Annie’s in beer-goggle mode.”
Annie was grooving and swaying to the music…her arms draped around the neck of a well-built man, clearly Southeast Asian by his swarthy skin. The way she drunkenly grinned and gazed up at him, they looked like a couple. When Annie got drunk, she got sloppy. And when she got sloppy, she got very handsy with randoms. This wasn’t the first time Quinn would had to cockblock one of Annie’s drunken decisions. And by Devon’s pained gaze, she remembered this. “Ah shit,” she grumbled. “C’mon.”
Quinn marched forward, grateful for the intrusion despite her annoyance at Annie. A quick glance revealed Monica and Krista nowhere to be found. Then she spied them at the bar with Katy, all chatting up those cute guys from earlier.
Quinn rolled her eyes and moved toward Annie.
“Excuse me,” someone called out, catching Quinn’s arm.
She yanked away, which spun her around to face whoever had grabbed her. “Not interested—” Quinn got one look at this guy and her brain turned stupid. “Hey…”
Standing before her was a tall drink of handsome carved out of granite beneath his polo and slacks. At a glance, Quinn could tell he was biracial. Blue Nile’s lighting spotlighted his beauty, with just enough facial stubble to not look douchey.
And those piercing grey eyes.
And he smelled amazing.
That hit all of Quinn’s buttons at once, stuffing her brain full of cotton balls.
Devon sauntered over, staring this guy up with sex-glazed eyes. “Howdy.”
Her sudden interest in this guy jarred Quinn out of her sex daze. But only momentarily. Coherent thoughts were currently a challenge.
“Dan,” the handsome man greeted, displaying pearly teeth. Gawd… “I noticed you girls from across the club.” He studied Quinn and Devon with a voracious onceover. “You two are fucking sexy.”
That pick-up line would’ve earned an eyeroll from Quinn. But Dan’s delivery sent a warm shock through her system.
“You’re not unattractive either,” Devon drawled, batting her eyelashes.
Dan scratched the stubble covering his jaw. “Is that a Texas accent?”
Devon beamed at the acknowledgment. “Sure is!”
“Love me some Southern charm,” Dan cheesed back.
Quinn found this back-and-forth flirting odd and bothersome. So now she cares about guys’ attention? She scoffed and stepped in front of Devon. “I’m Quinn,” she announced, then gestured half-halfheartedly behind herself. “That’s Devon.”
Dan shook both their hands with a strong, firm grip.
“Let’s grab some drinks,” he offered, “with my friends. That’s Vishal.” He gestured to the man making out with Annie. “Martin and Allan.” Dan nodded at the two hotties near the bar that Krista, Monica, and Katy were pawing at.
Why Quinn was so drawn to someone she’d just met made no sense. Then again, she didn’t care why. “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied.
Chapter 4
The swinging light overhead cast a pale glow over the plate of uneaten eggs, sausage, and toast in the middle of the cell. The aroma had seeped into the stale air.
Quinn and Annie never touched the food that Vishal had left. Who knew what sedatives these monsters had placed in there?
Annie sobbed for hours, her head on Quinn’s lap.
Quinn stroked her distraught BFF’s hair while processing their grim fate.
The gruesome stories she’d read about siphoner victims gave her all kinds of chills.
Growing up outside of Boston, she’d sometimes debate with her friends over which superhero they'd rather be rescued by. The choices came down to the Vanguard, Titan, Lady Liberty, the “personification of New England” known as Brother Jonathan, or Boston’s superhero team American Alpha.
Those memories felt innocent and naïve right now.
In this nightmare she and Annie found themselves in, Quinn knew no one was coming for them.
Not the police. Not Papa Voodoo. Not DCC.
The realization chilled Quinn to the bottom of her soul. However, dying here scared her more.
Dying before she became a news writer, or had the chance to fall in love again.
