by Abigail Cole
I round the table in the centre, rolling my wrists and twisting my back. Catching sight of myself in the two-way mirror, I can see why so many people looked upon me with such distaste. Even I’m appalled by my own reflection. My once-white shirt is covered in filth and blood which I’m going to guess is mine judging from the line of disposable stitches running across my temple and into my right eyebrow. Many of the shirt’s buttons have been ripped off, my belt is missing and I realise I’m not wearing shoes. My hair resembles a bird’s nest while my eyes are more bloodshot than green right now.
The door to my left opens to reveal a short Latino woman, seemingly with a chip on her shoulder if her rigid posture and grimace are anything to go by. Her navy uniform hugs her frame tightly and a shiny badge sways from her thick black belt. A similarly dressed male cop I recognise from somewhere trails in behind her and shuts the door.
“Master Hughes, is it? Take a seat.” The Latino points to one of the collapsible chairs around this side of the table. Not having much of a choice, I fall into the closest chair despite the pain shooting through my back. My head is spinning slightly but I keep a calm expression on my face. Sitting opposite, she opens the brown folder she carried in and places it on the table. A mug shot I don’t remember having taken is clipped to the inside cover, apparently before I was cleaned up since a blood smear covers my right cheek.
“Hughes as in Nixon Hughes? He owns the mansion up in Brookhaven?” The male cop asks. I nod slowly, trying my best to place his thinning hair and rounded belly. He makes a low whistle and smirks at me. “I didn’t even know he had a son. I wonder what your old man would make of your overnight accommodation here.”
“If you manage to contact him, feel free to ask.” I reply bitterly, ignoring his previous comment. Little Latino, as I’ve decided to call her, clears her throat to regain control of the conversation.
“Master Hughes, you’ve been arrested for damage to private property, possession of drugs and assaulting a police officer. These are very serious charges.” Staring at the picture on her file, I search my brain for the events that led me here. There was the emo hooker and her drugs, the fat rich guy and the mirror. Sliding my eyes to the male opposite me, a smile pulls at my lips. I remember him now.
“How fortunate you were so close by. What were you doing in Hellhole, Mr-“ I lean forward to read his nametag, “Phallus?”
“It’s Phillis you little shit, and I was undercover hunting for scum like you.” He sneers, something resembling pink icing stuck in his overbite. Rolling my eyes and crossing my arms over the disgustingly soiled shirt I’m still wearing, despite however long I’ve been here, I lean back and ignore the rest of their waffling. Little Latino plays good cop and tries to reach my conscience as I laugh internally. I couldn’t give less of a shit if they locked me up and threw away the key. In fact, it may be preferable since my life is rapidly swirling down the crapper and, bonus, I wouldn’t have to see Avery for a long time.
“Don’t say another word,” the door bursts open with a loud clang. A bulky, dark haired man in a pinstripe navy suit strides in with a black briefcase in his hand. Chunky gold rings adorn his meaty fingers, a shiny gold watch to match poking out from his cuff. He casually takes a seat beside me, not seeming phased by the glowers he’s receiving from across the table.
“Who the fuck are you?” I finally break the silence. I place him around mid-30s as his blue eyes slide to me.
“Jeremy Charlton, your lawyer.” He extends his hand which I hesitantly shake, still confused as to why he’s here.
“Did my father send you?” The easy smile on his face doesn’t falter, but he doesn’t answer my question either. Opening the leather briefcase, he pulls out images on PC Phallus raving it up in Hellhole and slides them across the metallic surface.
“My client was detained while the arresting officer was intoxicated, which makes his statement inadmissible in court. For all we know, you could have planted the drugs on my client in a bid to boost your career,” he glares accusingly at the sweating man across from him. PC Phallus blubbers and grunts incoherently in anger, his face turning a beetroot red. “As the son of a billionaire, I’m certain you wouldn’t want your boss to find out about this, so why don’t we agree that my client walks out of here with his record intact and he, in return, will not press charges.” My attorney cocks his eyebrows at me in question to his statement, so I shrug and nod. Following his lead, we both stand and exit the room without another word.
Ignoring the still present scowls as I stroll across the building, noticing my phone in a clear evidence bag on the edge of an empty desk. Swiping it, I push the double doors leading onto the main street outwards and breathe in deeply. The crisp air outside fills my lungs, the sun peeping around tall buildings. Charlton clears his throat as I begin to walk away, gesturing for me to slide into the black limousine parked against the sidewalk. His driver, dressed in a black suit and flat cap, flicks his half-finished cigarette to the floor and squashes it beneath his shiny loafer.
“Since when do attorneys offer to see their client’s home or ride in limos?” I question. He pulls the door open with an easy smile, waiting for me to duck inside before following and slamming the door shut. The driver takes his seat up front and rolls up the dividing window in the centre.
“I’m not your attorney and you’re not going home.” Charlton chuckles as the limousine lurches forward and speeds away from the precinct.
∞∞∞
Pulling into a curved driveway, the vehicle circles a fountain to pull up beside a huge mansion. Twice the size of the one I grew up in judging from this angle. The curved doorway is surrounded by exposed, grey brick while the rest of the building is covered in a rich wood color. Darker grey tiles lie across the roof, which are visible by a sloped garage alongside the house.
Following Charlton out, I step onto the concrete and stretch my neck. Except for two toilet stops, we have been in the limo all day, allowing night to have nearly fallen. Thankfully, the mini bar was fully stocked and my road trip companion was friendly enough, filling me in on the Lakers/Celtics game last night and directing the driver to the closet drive thru, so I wasn’t bothered where I was going. Another mile between me and my old life is nothing but a blessing in my eyes.
As soon as I close the door, the limo pulls away towards the garage. Two hugely muscled guys dressed all in black exit the mansion and make a bee line for me. Charlton steps aside as I’m roughly patted down, although where or what they think I’m hiding, I don’t know. I removed my tattered shirt in the limo, so Mr Handsy only has my trousers to grope, my phone hanging loosely in the side pocket. Grunting, he slowly rises to his full height and stares down at me. His brown eyes assess me closely for a short while, then gestures to follow as he turns away.
Small lanterns either side of the main door flicker to life in the fading light of the sky as I pass. A vast staircase fills the centre of the hallway, gold banisters complimenting the sparkling chandelier high above. Open archways either side of the hallway lead further into the lower level, the same cream glossy wood flooring throughout. The guards lead the way toward the right, Charlton’s shoes clicking loudly beside me as we stroll behind.
Meandering through a seemingly unused living room, Mr Handsy knocks upon a mahogany door and waits to be permitted entry. Once a voice sounds from within, he pushes the door open but nobody moves. All sets of eyes turn to face me, Charlton giving me a nudge with his shoulder so I enter the dimly-lit room.
I’m plunged into darkness as a click signals the door closing behind me. Straining my eyes, the outlines of a sideboard and desk tell me I’m in an office as I shuffle towards the armchair I noticed while I still had the light of the hallway to aid me. Finding the velvet material with my outstretched fingers, I round the chair and sit down to focus on the shadowed figure across the desk. Only the occasional orange glow from a cigar and his heavy breathing alerted me to his presence, as well as the air of danger he’s shrouded i
n.
The silence stretches between us, my impatience starting to flare up but I bite my tongue. My instincts are telling me, despite the obvious cloak and dagger routine, this man isn’t someone to trifle with. His watch ticks with each passing second, a rhythm I start to twitch my toes along with. Shifting forward across the desk dividing us, the man flicks on a lamp that stings my eyes momentarily.
Blinking to clear the spots from my vision, I settle upon the figure before me. His thinning slicked-back hair is a pale shade of grey, his skin scared with years of drug and alcohol abuse. Also topless, blurred and faded tattoos litter his sagging frame that must have once held muscles to rival the guards outside put together. A horizontal scar lies across his upper left side, judging by his age probably from a pacemaker being inserted. Fear freezes my blood flow like liquid nitrogen as I consider that this man could be a future glimpse of who I’m going to become.
“I’ve looked forward to meeting you Wyatt.” His croaky voice fills the air, shaking me from my internal panic.
“How do you know my name? Why am I here?” The answering chuckle I receive is anything but reassuring. Lifting the lid on a personalized cigar box, a capital P showing through the glass on top, he slides it towards me in offering with a metal cutter. I shake my head slightly, more focused on what he has to say.
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you learn who to keep tabs on. I’m man enough to admit Nixon Hughes almost had me fooled, along with the rest of the world.” Creasing my eyebrows, I wonder which one of those sentences to focus on first. Has this man had his goons follow me, and if so for how long? And how does he know my father?
“Forgive me, you seem to know a lot about me but I’m unsure who I’m speaking with.” I tread carefully, not wanting to become one of his guard’s punching bags today. I haven’t minded coming here, but suddenly I think I may be in over my head and don’t have a way to get back home. Hell, I don’t even know where I am.
“Where are my manners? Ray Perelli.” He announces, as if the name should mean something to me. My blank expression causes him to frown. “He really didn’t tell you anything, did he?”
“Who?” I ask, utterly lost now. Fatigue is starting to seep into my bones, the headache I’d managed to shake taking hold again. A bath and comfy bed would do me wonders right about now. Leaning forward into the light, his faded turquoise eyes contain a surprising amount of venom for his age.
“Your so-called father took something very precious to me long ago. There’s a war coming between our families, and you have a choice to make, son. You’re either with me or against me, and trust me when I say – you don’t want to be against me.”
Avery
“Meg!” I scream in excitement. “Oh my god! I’ve missed you so- wait, why are you calling me from a blocked number?” Darting into my room, I lock the main and bathroom doors and throw myself back onto the bed. My hair spills all around me as I twist strands through the fingers of my free hand.
“It’s a long story and I don’t know how much time I have. Something weird is going on Ave, my mom is acting so shady and this house is like a secret lair or some shit. The cupboards are stocked with food and water for months so we never leave. I don’t know what’s got mom so spooked, but this is more than just worry for my safety.” Her voice comes out in a rush of hushed whispers. My eyebrows crease as I try to understand what she’s talking about.
“Wait, you’re not on holiday having the time of your life?” Her scoff sounds through the headset. Sensing I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, I shift my arm to fiddle nervously with the hem of her grey college sweatshirt, that I happen to have paired with my cropped lycra pants today.
“Absolutely not. I’m so bored and I want to see you. Hopefully, I can convince mom to let us leave soon.” The sadness in her voice magnifies my own. At least when I thought Meg’s absence was due to her having a lovely time away, I was able to console myself with thoughts of her travelling, climbing mountains or riding an elephant or something equally exotic and ridiculous.
“Hang on, rewind. Where exactly are you?”
“In some overly fancy beach house in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. We drove through California, but that’s where I lost track. What’s strange is my mom knew the way here without needing my phone’s sat nav, not that there’s any signal to use it anyway. She’s normally terrible at directions.” Her voice trails off in thought, apparently hearing how odd it all seems now she’s saying the words out loud.
“Dammit, it’s not even like I could find you if I tried. Surely the beach is nice though right - if it’s not a pebble one and the sand is the right texture. We both know you’re a complete sand snob.” A small breathy chuckle echoes in my ear, causing me to smile slightly. A lump is rising higher in my throat but I focus on keeping my tone light and even, not waiting her to know how lonely I am without her.
“Oh, it’s a perfectly soft consistency. But it’s just not the same without you. I wish you were here Aves. There’s no technology either, not even a crappy old TV. If I have to play Monopoly one more time, I’m going to scream.” The fact Meg isn’t holding back her feelings is more than telling something really isn’t right.
“But you’re calling me so there’s at least a phone. How come you didn’t call sooner if you were this unhappy?” I try not to sound bitter, but my voice holds a trace of accusation that I internally berate myself for.
“That’s the thing. I just found this creepy panic room hidden behind a false door. There’s a laptop here, maybe I can find a clue as to where I am.” I hear the tapping of keyboard keys and clicking of a mouse in the background. I desperately want to help her, but I feel so useless from here. Mentally clutching at straws, a glimmer of an idea filters into my mind.
“Oh, I think Dax knows some hackers - it’s how he found me at the tattoo shop that time. Send me an email, I’ll see if he can get an IP address or whatever from it.”
“Oh god,” she quickly changes conversations, the usual light tone to her voice returning, “I’m being so selfish! How are things with the guys? Wyatt behaving himself?” Unable to hide my scoff this time, I roll over into my stomach and push my hand into my hair.
“Wyatt’s MIA. I’ll fill you in when you get back, but I haven’t seen him since about the time you left. The guys are fine, except Huxley who’s struggling to readjust to normal life.” I sum up as basically as I can, not wanting to burden her with my issues when she seems to have so many of her own right now. It’s rare for Meg to talk so much so I’m more than happy to be the only one offering advice for a change. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I’m fine and will be waiting here for you to get back. Please try to enjoy your time away, for the both of us. You’ll be longing to go back when college starts again in September.”
“Only if you’re with me. I love you.”
“Love you Meg.” I disconnect the call, a single tear falling down my cheek. All this time I’d been holding onto the hope that at least my best friend was having a lovely summer, but it turns out she’s as much at a loss as I am. It’s always been this way between us though, almost as if we can sense the other’s emotions. If I’m ever having a rough day, Meg will instinctively know to call or visit.
I hold my phone for a little while longer, waiting to see if an email might come through. By the sounds of it, something is definitely wrong with wherever she is staying. A panic room, no signal and Elena knowing her way without need for directions – all very suspicious. But what can I do other than lie here like a lemon and hope she comes back to me soon?
Sighing, I push myself back to my feet and head for the bathroom. Twisting the key and pulling on the handle, the door bangs against a heavy weight on the other side and a groan sounds. After hearing a shuffling inside, I’m able to open my door fully to reveal Huxley. Chocolate brown eyes land on me without a trace of apology as he teases a green and black stiped tongue piercing between his white teeth. His blonde waves are way past his shoul
ders now, giving him a lion’s mane vibe that I would be digging if it weren’t for the scowl on his face.
“Who were you talking to?” Huxley crosses his arms over a clean white t-shirt, refusing to back down despite being caught snooping. His stance widens in green checked pyjama trousers with bare feet poking out from beneath.
“Erm… excuse me?!” I ask in disbelief. Who the hell does this guy think he is? “That’s absolutely none of your business.” My face transforms into a mask of anger, letting him know just how much he is royally pissing me off.
Sighing and rolling his eyes, as if I’m the problem here, Huxley props his hip on the marbled counter. “How can I keep you safe if you withhold information from me?”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe!” I shout for what seems like the hundredth time this week, flapping my arms about. I’m seriously done with having this conversation over and over. I’ve been more than patient, trying to coax his stubborn ass out from the walls he’s built around himself. At one point, I was sure there was a romantic connection between us but that’s well and truly fizzled out now. Sighing with exasperation, I turn to leave when his deepened voice finds me.
“I took a bullet for you.” There it is. The ultimate guilt trip card he’s been playing for weeks. If I could change anything about that day, I’d have gladly jumped between Huxley and said bullet - and I would have had twice the balls whilst healing too.
“Oh, did you? You haven’t mentioned it before,” I look over my shoulder to say, my voice laced with sarcasm. Pulling the door shut between us, I walk straight out of my room, knowing he’s less likely to follow this far from his new-found comfort zone. First, he insisted I continued to sleep in his bed, then it was sitting on the counter while I showered and now, he’s listening to my phone calls. Well fuck that. I’ve never belonged to anyone, and I’m certainly not going to play girlfriend now – especially when I don’t even get the make-up sex after these petty arguments.
