Miss No One

by Mark Ayre

  "If only you would act it," Ben said. He forced a bitter, angry edge into his voice, but Abbie heard the misery hiding beneath. In his own twisted way, he really believed he cared for her.

  Abbie didn't smile. Nor did she feel any sense of victory. In many ways, she hated this.

  "It's time for a change," she said. "Time I found a way to balance the jobs my dreams send with some kind of normal life. I'm going to give it a go, and I'm going to make it work."

  "I wouldn't count on it," said Ben. "See how Bobby feels when you can no longer pay the mortgage or when you're in prison."

  Abbie said nothing. Maybe Ben wanted an argument. It certainly seemed that way. But Abbie was tired and fed up. She was in the middle of an important job, the threat of arrest hanging over her head like a dying tree, ready to collapse at any second. She needed this entanglement with Ben to be over.

  She said nothing. Keeping the phone to her ear, Abbie forced herself to turn away from the playground and continue towards the toilet block. She knew Ben was waiting for her response, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

  At last, he realised he wasn't going to get to her.

  "You know my number," he said. "Soon, you'll realise what a terrible mistake you've made. Bobby will be gone. You'll lose your home and any sense of financial security. Lost and alone, you'll realise we are and always will be your only friends, your only allies, your only family. When you call, prepare to grovel. As you're family, we may take you back in the end, but we'll remember the way you've hurt us, and you should be mindful of that when you dial. We won't take you back easily, if at all."

  It took an incredible degree of self-restraint not to rise to these words. To fight the urge to bite back, to give Ben a piece of her mind.

  Abbie took a breath.

  "Goodbye, Ben."

  There was another pause. Abbie could almost hear Ben thinking of what else he could say, how else he could hurt her. But there was nothing.

  The line went dead.

  For a few more seconds, Abbie held her phone to her ear then, as though it was partially stuck to her face, she dragged the handset away.

  For years, Abbie had arrived in these towns alone, had acted alone to save the lives she needed to save. The people she met undoubtedly saw her as a loner.

  But there had always been a safety net. It wasn't until Ben hung up at the end of that final conversation that she was entirely alone for the first time.

  How would she cope without the support she had for so long taken for granted?

  It was time to find out.

  Fifteen

  Forcing her legs on, Abbie made her way towards the toilet block shrouded in despair.

  Had she done the right thing?

  She knew if she had acquiesced to Ben on this, she would have surrendered any hope of having a life. For the rest of her days, she would have been nothing more than a sword of judgement, acting without emotion to save the innocent.

  On the other hand, given the action she had taken, what would happen if Isabella died?

  That seemed simple. Abbie would die as well.

  She needed distraction—something to take her mind off Ben and the decision she had made. Pausing in her pursuit of the non-moving toilet block, Abbie fixed in her mind the idea that what she needed was a lead.

  "Abbie. Abbie, is that you?"

  The definition of paranormal is events or phenomena beyond the scope of ordinary scientific understanding. Though it was hard to see how Abbie's prophetic dreams did not fall under this definition, a lack of evidence precluded Abbie from believing in other paranormal abilities such as telekinesis, telepathy, or clairvoyance. Although she often talked to her dead sister, Abbie did not think it possible to communicate with the deceased. She appreciated her habit of talking to Violet was a method designed for her own comfort rather than anything else.

  Nor did Abbie believe she could force events to happen by sheer willpower alone.

  Coincidences did happen. When Abbie turned to see Gary jogging towards her, she didn't for a second believe she had conjured him with her wish to find a lead and therefore distract herself from her conversation with Ben. After all, she hadn't seen a shooting star, nor was it her birthday.

  Gary's arrival was probably a coincidence, but Abbie wouldn't rule out something less straightforward. She was loathe to use the phrase divine intervention. Still, could Gary's arrival not be down to whatever it was that ensured Abbie always stumbled upon key people and events relating to the innocents she was trying to save when arriving in a new town as a perfect stranger?

  After some thought, Abbie decided it was probably best to leave this unanalysed, lest she go mad.

  "Hello, Gary," she said. "Fancy seeing you here."

  "I've been looking for you," he said.

  "Let me guess. Your conscience got the better of you. You couldn't sleep for thinking about how you bore false witness. Jesus would be disappointed."

  To his credit, Gary hung his head and looked ashamed. Whether because he felt guilty for incriminating Abbie or for making Jesus sad, she couldn't tell. His cheeks flushed, and his neck reddened. But there was something beyond the shame. Something lingering in his eyes. Something he was trying and failing to repress.

  "I have a couple of priors," he said. "I was carrying some stuff I shouldn't have had."

  "Drugs?" Abbie guessed. Gary looked to the floor again but nodded. No subterfuge there.

  "Detective Ndidi said, if I didn’t do what he asked, he’d get a judge to make an example of me. I’d be locked up. They’d throw the book at me.”

  As Gary said this last, he flinched and raised his hand as though to protect his face.

  "You do realise the book thing's a metaphor, right?" Abbie said.

  Gary stared at her, his eyes uncomprehending.

  "You do know what a metaphor is?"

  Gary's expression twisted into what Abbie guessed was his thinking face. It looked uncomfortable and underused.

  "Anyway," she said. "Ndidi promised if you claimed I attacked you and him rather than him attacking you, and if you signed your name to a statement saying the same, he'd ensure you escape jail time?"

  Gary nodded. He was a decade or more younger than Abbie. Right then, he looked a decade again younger than that.

  "And you chose to trust this man who had wordlessly attacked you an hour before? You chose to sell me out for the man who might have killed you if not for my intervention. That right? Need to get my facts straight."

  For the third time, Gary dropped his head. Each time he seemed to droop a little lower. By the fifth or sixth occasion, he'd look like a scarecrow folded at the middle.

  "I made a mistake," he said. "I was afraid. Afraid of jail time and afraid of him. I know it ain't right, selling you out, but it was just me and him in a room, and I would have done anything to get out of there."

  "I understand," said Abbie. "He got in your face and pushed you for an answer. He laid out the situation and didn't give you time to think about what was right or the implications of your actions."

  Nodding like a bobblehead in the wind, he said, "Yeah. Exactly."

  "Which was intentional," Abbie continued. "Had he given you time to think, you might have realised there was every chance it was in his best interest to keep you out of jail."

  His head snapping towards Abbie's, Gary's eyes widened in confusion.

  "Because he wanted to attack you," Abbie continued. "And he can't very well do that if you're locked in a cell, can he?"

  Gary's skin paled. Abbie didn't believe he would have worked this out even if Ndidi had given him a year to think over every conceivable possibility. The truth was, Gary wasn't all that bright.

  But now he was thinking about it, and he was afraid.

  "Why did Ndidi attack you?" Abbie asked.

  Having frightened the younger man, Abbie thought he might be well-shaken enough to spill on this topic. But though he met her eyes again and seemed to consider the problem,
he eventually shook his head.

  "We need to talk,” he said.

  "We are talking."

  Again, he shook his head. It was clear he wanted to say more, but he appeared to be frozen to the spot, his tongue trapped in his mouth, his voice box closed for business.

  He kept looking around. Perhaps Abbie mentioning Ndidi's motives in getting Gary off jail time had not been the wisest move.

  Glancing over the frightened man's shoulder, Abbie could still see the parents and adults playing in the park. The time was nearing three in the afternoon. Somewhere, Isabella remained bound and frightened and alone. How long before she decided no one was coming to her rescue? And would she be right?

  "This way," said Abbie.

  Without explanation, she put a hand under Gary's elbow and led him towards the toilet block. He seemed a little startled by the move but didn't resist nor ask any questions. Abbie didn't need to apply any pressure. She touched his elbow and walked, and he came right along with her.

  "I need to know why Ndidi attacked you," she said as they reached the toilet block. They were now beyond the sight of anyone in the park. Abbie didn't intend to do anything to Gary she wouldn't want others to see, but still, better to be on the safe side. Especially seeing as Kilman would soon be pounding the streets, seeking Abbie.

  Gary was again shaking his head. That whole lanky form trembling.

  "What are you afraid of?" Abbie asked. "If you're worried about Ndidi finding you, I wouldn't. For one thing, I can protect you. For another, he's got other stuff on his mind right now."

  "His daughter," Gary whispered.

  "Yeah, exactly," said Abbie. She still had her hand on his elbow. As the words slipped from her mouth and realisation clunked into place, she let go. "You know about Isabella?"

  The previous night, or early that morning, depending on how you looked at it, police officers Franks and Evans had driven Abbie and Gary to the station. But while Abbie had stayed overnight, Gary had made his false statement and left. By the time Ndidi learned about Isabella, Gary was long gone.

  "How do you know?" she said.

  He was looking at the grass, at his boots. The trembling hadn't stopped. Maybe instinct had convinced Abbie to lead Gary away from those playing in the park, into the shadow of the toilet block.

  If so, instinct had been spot on. When Gary refused to answer or look at Abbie, she grabbed his arms and shoved him against the block wall.

  His back then head hit the brickwork, and he cried out. Tears appeared in his eyes.

  "Did you have something to do with Isabella's kidnap?" Abbie asked, trying to keep her voice calm, her tone measured. "Were you there when she was snatched from her home, her au pair murdered?"

  And still, Gary wouldn't speak. Abbie was holding onto her temper but could feel it slipping through her fingers.

  "You were looking for me, weren't you?" Abbie said. "I suggest you tell me why and what you know before I lose my temper. I'm a woman. Maybe you think a beating from me isn't as frightening a prospect as one administered by Ndidi. Let me tell you, at my hands, if I lose my temper, you'll experience levels of pain so great, merely imagining them would send Ndidi weeping to his mother."

  This was dramatic. It was difficult to argue it wasn't overstated. Abbie had some experience making people suffer, but even she was unsure she could administer to Gary quite as much pain as she had implied.

  It didn't matter. The threat worked its magic. Gary would not be calling Abbie's bluff.

  Dragging his eyes from his boots, the lanky teen looked into Abbie's face, if not directly into her eyes. He took a breath, forced himself to talk.

  "I had nothing to do with Isabella," he said. "But I think I know where she is."

  Sixteen

  Gary led Abbie from the park. She followed him for two turns before grabbing his arm and leading him in the opposite direction to which he wanted to travel.

  "It's this way," he protested.

  "Not yet it isn't."

  Following his declaration, Gary had again attempted to shut down. Abbie now knew what she had seen lingering in his eyes: fear. He was afraid of what Ndidi might do and what might happen to Isabella. Hours ago, Ndidi had assaulted Gary. Now he was again under attack, this time from his conscience.

  "I'm not a good person," he'd said when Abbie had pressed him on his claims, had tried to determine how much he really knew, and how involved he was. "I've always been in trouble. Was never good at school. Got suspended all the time, and I was into dealing before I was a teenager, I think. Or it was pretty close."

  He had paused, seeming to think it over, as though he wanted to recall the exact date he had sold his first bag of weed to his first punter.

  Annoyed, Abbie had pinched his elbow.

  "Doesn't matter," she had said as Gary squealed. "Keep the story moving."

  "Yeah, right, sorry," he'd mumbled. "So I been involved in dealing for years, and I know some pretty sick people. I'm a bad guy like I said, but I ain't evil. Or, I never wanted to think I was evil."

  In the toilet block's shadow, Abbie could hear but not see the playing children and their watchful parents and guardians. The innocent laughter recalled to her the plight of Isabella, who might never laugh again.

  "You're not evil," Abbie repeated. "Fine, now why don't you take me to Isabella. You can talk on the way."

  Still, Gary had hesitated. Fear was like a chain around his ankles, holding him to the spot.

  "Which way?" Abbie had asked.

  Gary said nothing.

  "I know you're afraid. Tell me which way."

  "I'm not evil. I've worked with evil people, but I'm not like them. I don't want anything bad to happen to Isabella. But I'm scared."

  "Right.” Abbie punched Gary in the stomach.

  He bent at the waist with a cry, then crumpled to his knees. As he held his stomach and took deep breaths, Abbie crouched beside him.

  "I think you're probably a nice guy who's got himself wrapped up in some bad shit over the years. It started when you were young. Before you knew who you were as a person, some crooks got their claws into you and, by the time you realised what you were becoming, it was too late. That's all sad. It's regretful. Unfortunately, right now, I don't have time make you feel better, and you don't have time for this self-loathing, self-examination thing. An innocent child is in danger. If you know where she is, it's about time you got over yourself and got over your fear, if only for as long as it takes to take me to her. You understand?"

  From the ground, still holding his stomach, Gary nodded as Abbie rose.

  "Good. Now get up, and let's get moving."

  It took another few seconds, a couple more deep breaths, then Gary released his stomach, clutched the wall, and forced himself to stand. By this point, his eyes were red. The tears glistened there, and one ran down his cheek.

  Fighting a wave of guilt, Abbie closed her eyes.

  "I'm sorry I hit you," she said. "I'm agitated, wound up. I can't face the prospect of failing Isabella, you know? Also, I twisted my ankle last night, and it still aches."

  This almost drew a smile from Gary. He looked at her, dried his eyes, and forced himself to stand straight.

  "You ready?" Abbie asked.

  He was. Sort of.

  He led the way across the public ground and didn't speak again until Abbie grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the direction in which he had been trying to walk.

  "It's this way," he protested.

  "Not yet it isn't."

  They made their way along another road. In the distance, Abbie could make out the top of the dealership. All that glass and chrome. She had no intention of going back. At least not yet.

  "Where are we going?" Gary asked once Abbie released him. "I thought you didn't want to waste any time."

  "This isn't a waste of time."

  "Then what are we doing?"

  They made another turn. Abbie spied her car halfway along the road and set off towards it.
>
  "So far, you've done nothing to make me believe I should trust you," said Abbie. "That's my car, up there. I'm going to arm myself, then we'll head to wherever you think Isabella's being held, but before I risk my neck going in, I need to know more."

  They reached the car. Abbie unlocked the door and removed from beneath the front passenger seat both of the handguns she had acquired during the dealership battle. Neither did she offer to Gary, slipping one into her waistband, covered by her top, and one into her jacket.

  Straightening up, closing the door and locking the car, she saw Gary staring at her, as though he could not quite believe what he'd seen.

  "Not so experienced with guns, huh?" she said. "If we exclude from the conversation water pistols."

  Gary flushed again. said nothing.

  "That's my detour done," said Abbie. "Why don't you lead on."

  Over the space of a few seconds, Gary managed to gather himself. With a nod, he turned on his heel, found his bearings, and walked.

  Abbie let him plod along in silence for a while before re-raising her question. Pressing the point.

  "Tell me everything you know about Isabella's kidnap. Tell me how you know. Most importantly, I need you to reveal why you think she's where she is and who you think might be with her. I need to know what I'm getting myself into."

  Was that true? Some deep part of Abbie accused her of being less analytical than usual. She was demanding answers of Gary, but only once they had already set off towards his destination.

  She needed a distraction. Was she risking walking into a trap for the sake of forgetting Ben and what life would be like from now on?