Chapter 26
26
M ACKENZIE
The entire city is ready for New Year’s Eve, and excitement beams in the air.
As much as I planned to stay home and not walk the streets of Manhattan, here I am, walking midtown to meet Kayla and a couple of her friends, whotraveled from Wisconsin and booked a hotel room here.
Their plan is to spend the evening in Times Square.
As much as Kayla insisted I should join them, I know I’ll go crazy if I have to spend the night with a million other people.
But I’ve said yes to having lunch with them not far from their hotel.
These past few days have been unusually quiet.
Shortly after arriving home that night––the last one I spent with Callan––I wasted about an hour writing, deleting, and writing again an email to Mrs. Goodman.
Reluctantly, I sent it, and she replied the following day, reassuring me that I was still on the schedule for a second job interview in a few short days and I probably would get an answer on the spot.
Her answer helped me not to stress over my bills these days, but it couldn’t pull my mind away from him.
He went silent and that was that. It was predictable.
I meet Kayla and her friends at the restaurant, and we have cocktails, pumpkin soup, and shrimp ceviche before walking into a French place and eating crepes with fresh strawberry sauce, ice cream, and dollops of whipped cream.
Time flies, and I say goodbye to the girls and call a taxi to go home at around six.
Traffic is fierce, so it takes me forever to get back.
Once we enter the streets of Brooklyn, things change.
Very few people are on the streets, and rarely cars roll by.
I ask the driver to drop me off at the park, only because I want to go there.
I wanted to do that all these days, but every time I was headed in that direction, I turned around and told myself I shouldn’t do it.
I’m convinced Callan came back to me the night he’d given me a ride and dropped me off not far from where I am right now because, firstly, he noticed the sadness on my face when I left. And secondly, he wanted to smooth things out with me.
Something made him change his mind, so he followed me around or put someone to do it for him, and he knew where I was.
He knew I was in that Italian store and wanted to have a few more moments with me and make it look like it hadn’t been the heartbreaking separation that it was.
And his ploy worked.
I felt so much better when I got home, that I chided myself for being a dramatic queen and a silly worrywart.
For taking everything so seriously.
For thinking that he had put little hooks into my heart and I’d be forever bound to him.
Much of that hasn’t changed.
Not so far, it hasn’t.
These past few days, the idea of him has haunted me all the fucking time.
He was with me when I slept, ate, and showered.
I couldn’t not think about him.
I couldn’t not have him in front of my face.
I couldn’t not hear his words in my head.
The fact that he’d made a forbidden thing out of us drove me up the wall.
The fact that I agreed to do that with him didn’t change how I felt about us in the slightest.
I have become obsessed with him, but not for the best reason.
It’s like he’s next to me, and I can’t touch him, and then he pulls away from me. Over and over again.
I climb out of the cab and wait for the driver to pull away.
The city has sucked in all the noise of the New Year’s Eve celebration, leaving streets like this to the hands of silence.
A few dimly lit windows glow behind the trees while the cars that haven’t been moved in a while look like snow-capped hills.
The snow crunches under my boots as I take a few steps, hands tucked in my pockets and eyes trained on the park.
A woman, a kid, and a dog leave the park as I near the entrance. She tosses a glance at me, offers a faint smile, and, after a moment of hesitation, wishes me a Happy New Year.
I wish her the same.
No one knows what the New Year will bring. All we do is hope for the best.
I enter the park but stop not far from the entrance and look around. A few lights glimmer in the dark, but it’s not enough to dissolve the gloomy, dreary feeling.
The snow looks gray in the dark, and the trees have the appearance of frozen giants.
I’d take a few more steps, but something stops me. There’s no one in the park. Not a soul.
It’s usually a safe area, but for some reason, my hackles rise, and unease trickles down my back.
Why am I so stressed out about an empty park?
Why shouldn’t I be?
Most people are someplace else. Getting ready for the New Year’s Party.
I try to calm down.
There’s nothing to worry about. I’m close to the sidewalk. If anything looks suspicious, I just turn around and leave.
Frankly, I shouldn’t be here, but I’m caught in an overwhelming battle of conflicting feelings.
On the one hand, I want to be here, reliving the moments I had with him.On the other hand, something tells me to go home.
I do the opposite.
After carefully scanning the area and finding nothing that could trigger a flight or fight response, I walk down the alley.
A bench nearby makes me flirt with the idea of spending a few moments there. I inch closer and check the wooden bench.
It’s covered in ice, so that’s a no for me.
Finally, I decide to turn around, exit the park, and go straight home.
There’s nothing for me here.
I won’t find him here.
And nor will I find anything connected to him.
Zipping my eyes away from the bench, something catches my attention. I freeze and look away.
A few good feet from where I stand, a group of trees blocks the access to a clearing.
You have to go around to reach that open area. And just as I’m getting ready to leave, something dark––it looks like a man’s silhouette––slips from behind the trees and walks to the clearing. I peer into the distance, struggling to catch sight of that man again.
If indeed it was a man, the way he moved as if he was hiding was positively strange.
No longer interested in trying to locate him and absolutely determined to get the hell out, I spin around and rush away.
The branches crackle in the wind, and the snow crunches a little louder than it should have, and I’m no longer sure it’s only the sound of my frantic steps.
The thought rattles me to my core.
I move quickly as the exit seems to pull farther away from me with every step I take when a random thought prompts me to glance over my shoulder.
My hair stands on end as two burly men make a beeline for me.
I take off running while they close in on me, coming from two opposite corners of the park as if rounding me up, and my worst fear materializes when I finally reach the exit.
Two cars await in front of the park, and two more men bark orders at each other, getting ready to block my escape and grab me.
For a moment, the scenic view of the park becomes my worst nightmare.
I can’t believe that feet away from where I struggle to maintain my calm and not lose my mind while looking for a way to save myself, I spent my first night with Callan.
Right behind these men, there is the spot where he had parked his car, opened my thighs and made me come while setting the first rule we both broke later.
I was never supposed to touch him, and then I did.
And now I’m running for my life.
Suddenly, everything clicks in my head.
My neighbor, her weird visitors, Callan’s way, the men who were supposed to watch me.
Where are they?
Where the fuck are they?
Where?
None of the men trying to block my exit seem to have this weird idea in their heads that they need to protect me.No way, these are his men.
And now I wish I had insisted on finding out what Callan’s secrets were all about.
What made it so dangerous to be with him?
Had I known more about that, I wouldn’t have been here tonight. And perhaps I wouldn’t have stepped into this trap. I would’ve stayed away from this area.
What am I supposed to do?
Frantically, I look up the street.
The first building with a few lit windows and possibly someone willing to call the police to save my butt is a block away from here.
And even if I made it there, the entrance would probably be locked, and these people would grab me before I had the chance to scream for help.
Cryptic words move between the men in front of me before they charge at me.One clasps my shoulder, the other aiming for my head as I pivot at the last moment to fend them off and slip past them.
The men behind me quickly close the distance between us, their heavy steps more menacing by the moment.
I don’t scream.
Strangely, for once, I don’t panic or waste my energy with useless calls for help.
I use my light frame to my advantage, swirling around and moving away, yanking my shoulder out of the man’s grip, and slipping my head out of my beanie.
They both growl with frustration before swearing at me while the two men in the back bark at them.
“Fucking piece of shit,” one of them blurts behind me, sprinting after me while I run for my life.
His hand lands on the back of my neck, and terror barrels through me.
“Freeze, you little cunt,” he says, struggling to stop me. “Put a bullet in her legs,” he suggests to someone else, and that’s when I begin to scream.
If there is anything I know when it comes to danger, it’s that I need to pull away from it as fast as I can.
No matter how much they plead with me or threaten me, I won’t stay or comply or listen.
Sadly, the distance doesn’t work to my advantage, and despite screaming and possibly being seen as I’m being attacked by these four men, no one comes to my help.
“Leave me alone,” I push out, zig-zagging so they can’t catch me.
“She’s much faster than I thought,” one of them grumps behind me, panting.
“She’s a fucking dick,” the other man replies before I zip across the street, almost falling and, luckily, slipping by an oncoming car.
“Don’t let her get away,” another voice says as they fight their way around the slow-moving car, one of them plopping his fist into the hood.
Unaware of the danger, the driver pulls the car to a stop, walks out, and argues with them before staring at the barrel of a gun.
He quickly vanishes inside and makes himself scarce, veering his ride away as if chased away by death.
This is much worse than I thought.
Sneaking away behind a row of unmoving cars, I stay out of their sight for as long as I can, trying to find a secondary street and get lost.
“Where is she?”
Looking up and down the sidewalks, I realize I can't fool these brutes.
If I make a run for my building, they’re going to catch me or shoot me, whichever is more convenient, before I reach the next block.
Maybe this is not the best moment to think about it, but I wholeheartedly resent the idea of going to that park in the first place and getting melancholic about stuff I can’t bring back.
I crawl on my hands and knees, checking the men’s sleek shoes visible behind the cars.
“She’s here. Don’t worry,” a fourth voice says, a calmer one. “She’s not as stupid as she looks,” he says, a weird brand of humor in his voice.
Normally, I’d take offense at that. But now, given the precarious situation, I’ll let it slide.
“If you see her, shoot her,” the same voice says, and I gather he’s their boss.
“He won’t like it,” a man says, referring to someone who’s not here with them.
“He didn’t say he wanted her alive. He wants to make a point. Her corpse would do. Point made.”
They laugh like they’re not talking about me. A human being, still very much alive.
Who the fuck are these people? And what is wrong with them? What have I done to them?
And don’t they know I’m here, listening to them?
They probably do, and they purposefully push that garbage out to intimidate me.
I move away from them, still hiding between the cars, before reaching the end of the block.
Having no choice, I push up and look around.
They’re casually walking in the middle of the road without a worry in the world, convinced that they can get me.
To be fair, not much can stop them.
The street is deserted.
Whoever is home is also probably in front of the TV, snacking and drinking. I doubt anyone can hear me.
My building looms in the distance, but it’s not close enough to risk sprinting in that direction.
I feel like I’m running out of options. And I sure am.
If I move to the building next to me, they will see me.
If I run away, they will catch me. That’s why they seem so calm.
They knew I’d have no way of getting away, which makes me think they know where I live.
But Callan said I’d be protected.
Well, he probably didn’t think I’d be walking around the neighborhood and practically falling into these people’s hands.
I need a diversion to buy some time, so lacking a real sense of how dangerous this really is, I straighten up and turn around to face them.
A parked car separates us when I find my voice and speak.
“Who is he? Who wants me dead?”
The first two men, who have talked before, slow down and close in on the car.
I pull away from it so I have some room to maneuver in case they lunge at me or something.
“I don’t know any of you,” I say, losing some of my oomph.
The two men are wearing dark jeans, hoodies, and leather jackets and look at me with freakish eyes.
I don’t need to have a degree in psychology or a PhD in reading people––not a real thing––to notice their contempt for me.
It was all a trap.
The casual dialogue.
The wicked humor.
There was no authentic humor, only stupid words to make me believe I stood a chance.
One of them makes a clipped gesture at the other to block my retreat while he zips around the car.
I dash away, fall into a pedestrian––who has popped up out of nowhere and immediately becomes the victim of the two men’s wrath––and cross the street without ensuring that no car is headed my way.
I hear the screeching noise of a car coming to a full stop next to me and even press my hand to the warm hood when commotion ensues behind me.
They come in hot, ready to yank me, shoot me, or toss me under another passing car, so I don’t have time to stick around and find out which one is going to be.
They argue with the car’s driver, and bullets fly, and then more voices participate in the altercation as this is no longer a casual encounter on the street.
All I know is that despite the things happening behind me, I still have people after me.
Heavy footfalls follow me closely, and men argue behind my back.
Someone’s body hits the pavement with a thud, and I run even faster.
My building comes into sight, and hope flickers in my chest.
My lungs hurt, and my legs are sore, yet I can’t stop.
The footsteps trail closer, and I push forward with all I have.
A hand lands on my shoulder, heavy like a boulder, and I almost feel a fist coming my way.
My head tilts to the side in avoidance, and my arm flies out, trying to push the assailant away.
More steps join the race, and I tear away as if hunted by the wolves, which isn’t that far from the truth.
A growling curse tears into the air before another body hits the pavement, and this time, I hear the distinct, clear sound of a machine gun with a silencer.
At any other time, this would be the perfect moment to pass out. But if I do it now, I might never regain consciousness.
Silence follows me only for a few seconds before footfalls trail me at a worrying, steady pace.
The distance closes between us with every second. And I start screaming. Again.
“Leave me alone. Please. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
No sound. Nothing. Only the menacing steps.
It’s like my building has finally decided to move away from me with every step I take.
I won’t make it.
I won’t fucking make it.
And I’m so close.
I want to stay alive.
So I scream at the top of my lungs. Hysterically, I cry out. Hoping that someone might hear me.
And then an arm coils around my neck, and a gloved hand smelling like musk, tobacco, and leather rips my voice from my lips.
I fight the aggressor with all I’ve got, but even so, he easily drags me to the side despite my fists flying and my legs kicking.
And between two buildings, almost cutting off my oxygen supply, he peels his hand away from me, spins me around, and crushes his lips onto my lips, finally silencing me.