Chapter 4
Niamh (Jessie), 11
“Niamh, what do we do? Niamh, fuck!”
Tammy panics beside me while our abductor fills up the car with gas. He’d flashed his gun at us just before he got out of the car, warning us that he would need to punish us if we tried anything ‘funny’. I can’t answer her though, I’m too scared to voice anything, and my mind is a scramble of mismatched thoughts all fighting to be heard first. “Niamh, for God’s sake, say something!”
I watch silently as the man who took us slides back into the driver’s seat and shoots us with a friendly grin. Tammy quickly returns to her seat, and we look back at him with stunned expressions.
“There’re my girls,” he says, then breathes out happily as he studies each one of us. “I got you both some candy, here you go.” We both tentatively reach out for the sugary treats, trying our best not to make any sudden movements that might piss him off. “Well, go on, eat!”
Tammy eats some of hers, whereas I stare at the rather unappetizing bar of chocolate. I feel so sick, the mere thought of eating is enough to make me empty my stomach onto his leather seats. However, I feel his eyes on me, the smile on his face beginning to slip into a frown, so I take the tiniest nibble. It’s enough to placate him and he soon turns back toward the windscreen and switches on the engine. With fear spreading through every part of me, I watch as he pulls away from all the normal people at the station, carrying us further away from familiarity and safety.
He drives for what feels like hours, all the while Tammy and I hold hands in silence on the back seat. The car ride is smooth…too smooth. My car sickness is building up to the point whereby I won’t be able to hold it in any longer.
“Mister? Sir?” Tammy breaks the silence with her pleading words.
“Yes sweetheart,” he says with a syrupy voice, sounding very much like a father figure from a Disney family flick, “but call me Daddy.”
“Er, yeah, Daddy,” she says, the word clearly causing a bad taste in her mouth, “I think Niamh is going to be sick.”
“Oh, Christ,” he says in a fluster, momentarily breaking his sugary act, “er, ok, hold on, sweetheart.”
We pull over in a small town, which is just as grey as the one we left behind, the one we call home. Our abductor, Daddy, flaps as though he’s never been in the company of a sick child before. He opens the door and pulls me out by my arm, his grip is a little too tight for comfort. He then locks Tammy inside of the Mercedes and drags me into a public restroom where I proceed to chuck my guts up. So much so, I’m shaking afterward. Daddy helps me up after there’s nothing left to expel from my stomach, but I’m left light-headed and have no choice but to lean back against him.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers with sheer delight in his voice, “Daddy’s here to look after you. Let me make you feel better.”
I grimace but only because he can’t see how disturbed he makes me feel. When we re-enter the street, someone is looking inside the car at the backseat. Daddy gets twitchy at the same time as hope begins to bloom inside my chest over a potential rescue. Before I can lift the corners of my mouth into some semblance of a smile, he marches me roughly across the road and up toward the nosey onlooker.
“Is this your daughter?” the concerned-looking lady asks him. “She’s very upset but I can’t make out what she’s saying.”
“Yes, they are both my daughters,” he replies rudely, tightening his grip on my arm. “She’s fine; my other daughter here, is just a bit carsick. Now, if you don’t mind, we have to get going. Their brother is waiting for us at home.”
“Oh,” she replies, though she clearly doesn’t look happy about the state of us both. She’s even less impressed when he shoves me back into the car with Tammy. He slams his door closed with a thud and then zooms down the street and away from the hanging floral baskets and carefully decorated shop fronts. But more importantly, he drives us away from our potential escape.
Tammy begins to cry at the same time as I look into the rear-view mirror which reveals just how Daddy is feeling over what just happened. He’s eerily silent but obviously fuming. I try to reach for Tammy’s hand, but she whips it away and curls into herself. Daddy adjusts his eyes to look at her, sneering in such a way, I get a horrible feeling deep inside of me.
A few moments later, just as we reach the outskirts of the town, Daddy screeches the tires to a sudden halt. I sit bolt upright as he gets out of the vehicle with a brewing rage. He marches over to Tammy’s side of the car, and she looks at me in terror. We grip onto one another but when he opens the door, he grabs her arm and pulls her away with such force, I can’t keep hold of her clammy hands.
Tammy screams as he pulls her out onto the grassy bank and throws her down. He then leans his face in against hers, his teeth bared, and a maniacal look in his eye.
“Go!” He eventually growls through his teeth. “I don’t want you, you’re a bad girl!”
“W-what?!” she stutters before glancing at me for a short moment.
“Leave!” He roars so loudly, we both jump in fright. She looks at me as I begin to panic, with my heart racing over the thought of being left all alone with this terrifying man.
“N-no, not without Niamh, she’s my best friend!” She begins to shudder with tears, looking as though she’s contemplating the fact that she's been given an out, but in order to take it, she will have to leave me to him. It’s a shitty position to be in, but right now all I can think is, ‘Don’t leave me!’
“Go or I’ll punish you,” he growls at the same time as he flashes the gun he keeps in the waistband of his faded jeans.
She looks at him, then at me with horror written all over her face. She starts to step away, but he suddenly pulls her back with a grip on her shoulders, causing her to gasp.
“But if you tell anyone about me or your friend, I will come after you, and I will kill your mommy, your daddy, your two brothers, and then you. You understand me, Tammy Baker? You understand, little girl, I know everything about you and your family. I’d be able to find you in seconds!”
With the whites of her eyes doubling in size, she nods slowly before stepping away and making a run for it, not once looking back at me, the best friend she’s just abandoned. Daddy throws himself into the driver’s seat and then looks at me with the same sugary act as before.
“It’s ok, darling,” he grins, “she wasn’t really your sister. It’s just me, you, and your brother. He’s going to be so pleased to see you, sweetheart!”
He turns back to face the windscreen and starts the engine, all the while I try to curl up as small as possible. I try my best not to let my cries become audible to the madman in the front of the car.
_____
Jessie, Present
It’s nightfall when Warren pulls up outside of a rough-looking bar on the outskirts of what appears to be the desert. A neon sign flashes up ‘Diesel’s Bar’ just above where rows upon rows of motorbikes line up in front of a wall of windows. The noise coming from inside is loud and rowdy, mainly through chatting and laughing, and I instantly want to run and hide from the masses of people.
Warren opens my door and invites me to get out the conventional way, but when I refuse to move, he sighs and then hauls me over his shoulder. I’m carried to the front door where he opens it with his booted foot. The effects of booze, smoke, and loud noise infiltrate my senses with such an impact, I want to throw up. People start to notice us as he walks through the crowds who automatically part the way for him, not even questioning his actions or the fact he has a woman thrown over his shoulder. Instead, they laugh and cheer in such a way, I wonder if this is a regular occurrence for him.
“Phoenix!” They cry out, slapping him on the back, but he just keeps on moving through the throng without any hint of a pause.
“Nice one, Phoenix! Show her who’s boss!” They chorus as we approach what must be the bar. Still, he says nothing, whereas I’m now trying to cover my face with my hands, being unable to bear their eyes on me.
“Boss,” the barman says when Warren finally puts me down on the floor.
I’m still unsteady on my feet when Warren pulls me tightly into his side, no doubt pre-empting my attempt to flee. But I know the score, I know there’s no point in trying to run. The barman, who looks just as big as Warren, seems unperturbed by his boss having a woman thrown over his shoulder in the middle of a crowded bar. He simply looks me up and down and smiles in a friendly way. It’s too familiar, too exposed, so I instantly look away. Not because he was creepy in his observation of me, but because I don’t do people, particularly loud and confident people who frequent bars like this.
“Who’s this?”
“None of your business right now, Aiden,” Warren says bluntly to him, to which the younger man grins like he has seen this sort of thing a thousand times before and has learned to just accept whatever Warren says or does. “Don’t disturb us and don’t let Javier know I’m back yet.”
“Sure,” he replies with a casual shrug. “Your uncle left earlier today, and won’t be back for another week; he told me to tell you.”
Warren pulls his lips tightly together and then shuffles me out into a living area behind the bar. I’m shocked by how homely it looks, as if someone has tried to put a feminine touch to such a masculine atmosphere out the front. I notice photographs lining the walls, but I don’t look at them properly, instead, I pull back into the safety of a dark corner.
Hiding away, I watch Warren head over to the kitchen and put the kettle on, cursing under his breath when he notices the dirty cups sitting inside the sink. He looks far too big to live in this cozy little cottage set-up; it’s almost comical. He then moves out toward the couch that sits in front of my dark little hiding place, though his giant frame makes it look more like an armchair for him. He gestures to the armchair to the side of the couch, and I reluctantly take it as an invitation to sit in it.
“Would you like tea or coffee, Jess?” he asks politely.
“Tea please,” I murmur, only because I’m incredibly thirsty.
“Sure,” he says and gets up again. “I’ll have to get some milk from the bar. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Where would I go?” I sigh, to which he nods and heads out toward the noisy front, leaving the room to feel suddenly cold and empty.
Wanting to move away from this uncomfortable sensation, I pick up a framed photograph of a man who looks to be in his thirties, probably not much older than Warren is now. He’s sitting with a young boy, a boy who I suspect is my new host. They’re both perched on top of an old motorbike, both looking extremely dusty, but so happy, I feel a bit emotional. He looked like he was a sweet boy, one you could see was going to break hearts when he was older.
Warren bursts through the door and catches me red-handed, so I shove it back as quickly as I can before rubbing my empty hands together and looking away from his accusatory eyes. I listen as he stomps around the kitchen to begin making drinks for the both of us. He’s heavy-handed, but not purposefully, it’s just a consequence of his size. I wonder if it irks him at all, just as my anxiety frustrates me; my apprehensiveness betrays the life I should be living.
“Thank you,” I utter when he places a plain white mug in front of me.
“You’re welcome,” he replies as he sits down on the couch again, sipping at what smells like coffee. “It’s me,” he says, and I hear a hint of a smile coming through his voice, so I look back up to see if I’m right.
“How old?” I ask, feeling brave when I see he is smiling.
“Eleven; my father would have been around thirty-five,” he says and stares at the photo with a sense of nostalgia.
I look away when I hear that age, an age between childhood and adolescence, when the world is still set out for you to discover. But for me, it was an age of abject fear, a stealing of innocence, and I suddenly feel bitter toward him. Why did he get to have the childhood I was so cruelly denied?
“Who are you?” I finally ask, prompting him to look at me with such intensity, I almost wish I hadn’t said anything. “Really?”
“My name is Warren Flynn, but everyone calls me Phoenix,” he says matter of factly, but I don’t miss the hard swallow of nervousness beneath his beard. “I own this bar but do a little private work on the side.”
“Private meaning you kill people?” I ask bluntly.
My past life has taught me not to skirt around the issue, for trouble will find you no matter how careful you are. He merely shrugs; a rather blasé attitude to wiping away someone’s life.
“Not for a long time now, but yes, I have killed people…if they deserved it,” he explains, “hence why I won’t be killing you.”
“Wow! A hard stone killer with a conscience,” I can’t help saying, “a Robin Hood of assassins. How do you know I don’t deserve it?”
“I know all about you ‘Jessie’ Greene,” he replies with confidence, just as Daddy had with Tammy when he revealed just how much he had been studying us. “You wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone do anything deserving of death.”
“What else do you know?” I ask in little more than a whisper, for I’ve barely been living since I returned home. I have to wonder what he’s managed to find out.
“That you were taken,” he says with what looks like sympathy swimming around in his eyes, “
at eleven years old. You and your friend, Tammy Baker, were walking home from school when a man in a black Mercedes car pulled up to ask for directions.
After your friend gave him such directions, he invited you in for a lift back to your house on top of the hill.
You didn’t want to accept, but your friend, Tammy, was tired of walking up that hill in the rain.
So, against your better judgment, you got in. Only, when he reached your house, he never stopped to let you out.
Instead, he drove away with you, and told you both to call him ‘Daddy’. Some hours later, he stopped to help you go to a nearby restroom, where Tammy tried to get help from the nearest passerby.
He caught her and drove away with you both.
Just outside of the town’s border, he stopped again, pulled Tammy from the car, told her to go, but then threatened her entire family if she breathed a word of it to anyone else.
You, on the other hand, remained in the car; you were forced to go with him alone.
You didn’t return home until six years later; a silent, ghost of a person, too afraid to be alone for fear it might happen all over again. This isn’t that, Jess, I am not him, and I won’t do anything that isn’t for your own safety.”
For a moment or two, I simply stare at him, lost in so many thoughts, I have no idea which one to say first. He continues looking into my eyes, patiently waiting for me to respond with something other than silence.
“Well, it’s very easy to find interviews to read for gossip, Mr Flynn,” I finally reply, the bitterness seeping through each and every word. “But Tammy only hung around for the first few hours of my abduction. Neither you nor she have any idea what happened during those six years.”
“Neither am I pretending to, Jess,” he says softly, “that last part about being afraid is through observation alone. You may have got away physically, but mentally? You’re still there, still trapped inside the darkness of your own fear. I can’t blame you, Jess, no one would, but why do you refuse to seek help?”
“To listen to strangers tell me it’s all ok. To hear them say I have nothing to worry about. What the fuck do they know? What do you know?” I snap, letting it all out for a complete stranger to hear. “No one knows how it feels apart from other poor bastards who have had their childhoods ripped away from them! We’re all lost; I may as well have been murdered that day; it would have been kinder.”
“I may not know what it’s like to be abducted, Jess, but I do know what it’s like to have your childhood cut short and to witness things no child should ever have to,” he says rather cryptically before looking at the floor with a long and heavy sigh. “Look, let’s save this for another day. We’re both tired and I need to convince you that you’re safe with me, that I’m doing all this to help you.”
“Really?” I scoff. “What was last night then? Was that for my safety too?”
He smiles in such a way, I’m not sure if he’s proud or embarrassed about last night. In the end, he shakes his head and gets to his feet, seemingly ignoring the question. I choose to let it go because he’s right, I’m suddenly exhausted, and need time on my own.
“Come on,” he says, turning around to invite me out into the back of his small living area, “you can have Lou’s old room. She has a tiny bathroom, but at least you’re self-contained.”
I hesitate for a moment or two, wondering whether to go with him or not, but then my tiredness reminds me that the promise of a soft bed is too tempting to refuse. I push myself up onto my feet and walk slowly to him, placing my hands inside my back pockets at the same time as he lifts my bag off the floor. He then leads me down a small corridor before stopping at a nondescript door on the left-hand side where a single bed lays perfectly made-up and with a few teddies scattered across the pillow.
A pretty dressing table sits in front of the window which overlooks a small, paved area that houses empty crates and beer kegs. On the wall opposite the window is another door that leads into a modest-sized bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower. There are a few pictures of an attractive girl, a female version of Phoenix. Some of them show her posing with a boy of a similar age, Hispanic in looks, and with a cheeky expression. They look cute and happy together.
“Is this your sister?” I gesture to a photograph where the boy and girl are about nine years old. They look besotted with each other, both with silly grins on their faces.
“Yeah,” he huffs.
“And this is?” I point to the little boy.
“Her friend…at the time.”
“Is this who she’s married to?” I smile at them looking so happy; I can appreciate how life is supposed to go for normal girls. “They look sweet together.”
“No,” he replies bluntly and with no offer of anything else besides that simple answer.
“A man of many words aren’t you, Mr Flynn?” I ask with sarcasm before going over to press the surface of the mattress to test its firmness. Though I have no idea why, probably just to get over the awkwardness of the situation. Last night he was taking my virginity, tonight I’m being given nothing but monosyllabic answers.
“We make a perfect pair then don’t we, Miss Greene,” he says with a small curling of his lips, then folds his arms and leans against the door frame. I merely sigh and sit on the bed, just waiting for him to leave. “Last night shouldn’t have happened…I’m sorry.”
“So, why did it?” I push because I can’t say I feel at all good about my first experience being nothing but a regret to him. He seems to smile over my need to carry on this line of questioning.
“Honestly?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, to which I sulkily shrug my shoulders and nod my head. “Because you are a beautiful woman, and I’m weak-willed. Sometimes I’m seeking comfort just as much as you are, Jess Greene, and your body was offering that to me. Now you; why did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
I purposely give him nothing more than my usual go-to answer, because anything else is too hard to say out loud. Why didn’t you scream? Why didn’t you try and escape? Why didn’t you shout out what was happening when you were in public? But when I see the disappointment in his eyes, as well as reasons unknown to me, I feel compelled to give him something more, if only a snippet. “Because I wanted comfort too.”
He smiles tightly, as if embarrassed again, then pushes himself upright and wishes me goodnight. When the door is finally closed on me, and I am left on my own, I pull up my legs and hug them close to my chest. I suddenly feel alone and sad about the fact that he left.