Chapter 42
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
ANDREA
“Where is she?!” My fingers are so tightly clenched into my palms the tips start to lose feeling. I peer through the apartment window again, down the street, and STILL no sign of Cindel. The security system is armed, but it seems she left hours ago.
I specifically told her to stay put. I went back out to see Moyra; this time we met at the bus stop. In her hand is a suitcase. She’s leaving town for a bit, but she wanted to meet in-person one more time.
“I know who you work for, Andrea,” she announces as I walk up and sit beside her on the bench. “The way you carried yourself, even before you spoke, I knew who you were employed by.”
I lower myself to the bench, allowing her to continue without interjection.
“He was such a good student. Always wanted to find all the possible information, before delivering the story. I still use some of his papers today, as examples.” Moyra scans the people around us.
She has on gloves and a hat, almost in an attempt to stay anonymous.
Hidden. She smooths out her knee length skirt with her hands.
“Your time is valuable and since this will be the last time we meet, I will cut right to the chase.”
I cross my legs and lean forward toward the uneasy woman.
“My ex-husband was assigned to Theo’s case. I overheard what he said on the phone.” Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “He was paid off to report it as a suicide.”
I sit for a while. Long after the Greyhound pulled away with Moyra inside. My phone buzzing nonstop; however, I just can’t bring myself to answer any of them.
I make a pit stop at the barber shop and ask my contact if he can get the squad car number for Officer Kent and send it over as soon as he could.
Eventually, I get home to find Cindel MIA.
Of course, nothing is ever that simple. A police cruiser pulls up and parks by the curb, adjacent to our building, as I check out the window again for my principal.
My phone vibrates and I check right away, hoping for signs of life from Cindel. It’s not her.
Barber Contact: E3.
Glancing down at the squad car, a giant E3 is stickered atop the roof. “Hello Kent.” I want... No, I need to ask him a thing or two.
I go to the apartment door and yank it open to find someone on my doorstep. Rookie move! I chastise myself for not being armed, but also for not checking the peephole before stepping foot outside.
“Cindel isn’t home,” I blurt, slamming the door on the unwelcome guest.
A leather cowboy boot, trimmed in turquoise, prevents the door from latching shut. Pressing my back against the threshold, I push with all my might to shut the door, only for it to be catapulted open by a very unexpected force. I hit the wall, falling to the floor.
“I think we’ll check. Just to be sure.” The unbalanced redhead above me coos with an unnerving smile.
An entourage of suited men, pour into my home. The shortest of the men, kisses Mairead on the cheek as he enters. Patrick Murray… or should I say, Paddy Muscles. The years haven’t been kind to him.
One of the brutish men lifts me up by the arm, then proceeds to guide me by the clavicle to my own living room.
The thud of the lock resonates through the room as Mairead shuts the five of us inside.
In this moment, I’m grateful for Cindel’s absence.
Mairead immediately makes herself at home, grabbing an apple from the fridge before plopping down on the couch.
Her outlandish outfit of clashing western with blue sequins is such a contrast to the muted colors of our living space.
Fruit in hand, she produces a rainbow butterfly knife and begins to flick the blade open and closed, with her free hand.
Clearly, I’m outnumbered, but optimistic I’m not outwitted.
Making a quick assessment of where everyone was situated, I determine the best course of action and act swiftly.
Slamming my heel into the top of the large man’s foot who still holds me, he instinctively releases his grip.
I make a beeline for my bedroom and lock the door.
My room is the best option, as I have more weapons than any ordinary kitchen.
Before I can reach the Glock beneath my bedframe, a foot comes flying through the flimsy-hollow door.
“Shitty construction,” I groan. With the useless door now opened, I commence throwing whatever is within reach at the intruders who are now piling into my bedroom.
The tips of my fingers graze the polymer-frame just ahead of hands seizing my ankles and pulling me out from under my mattress.
Learning their lesson the first time, now TWO brutish men bring me to my knees before Mairead and her father.
“Daddy, I like this one… she’s feisty.” The other man beside them, has a folded white cloth in his hand and I know exactly what is coming next. Tapping into those core muscles, I push and thrash in an attempt to break free from their hold and get the hell out of here.
All I manage to do is kick over my lamp, causing the globe to shatter around us. All at once, the colorless material comes into view, draping over my nose and mouth. I try to hold my breath but it is no use. Dark swallows my vision.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, my limbs feel like they’ve just completed their twentieth rep and need to rest. My head throbs and I attempt to focus on my surroundings.
Beige walls, vintage office desk, dingy couch, and every ceiling corner is laden with cobwebs.
Where the fuck am I? I’m alone, in some remote location.
There’s a good likelihood this is the last room I see before I die.
Like a flipbook animation, flashes of the events leading up to this moment come back to me in succession.
“Fuck,” I blurt. I’m bound to a wooden chair, and for all I know, my roommate could be facing the same fate, in an adjacent room. What if they’ve had Cindel for hours? Regardless of my languid extremities, I twist and pull, in an attempt to free myself, but the knots are just too tight. “Arrrghhh!”
Facing a wall lined with awning windows, I scan the room for anything that can help me escape or tell me where the hell I am.
A layer of dust coats every surface. It is clear this building has been abandoned for some time, verified by the fifteen-year-old, yellowing newspaper that suppresses the only natural light.
To my relief, the neglected place smells of fish like the Boston Harbor. At least I wasn’t taken far. I hear footsteps. I’m out of time… the door screeches open and in saunters a petite psychopath in leather boots.
Mairead’s smile never falters. Just pleased as punch to be here.
What I wouldn’t give to have an ounce of that dopamine trip she’s perpetually on.
This time, no beefed-up penguins escort her, which means I might still be able to get out of this.
She’s yet to say a word… unhurried Mairead circles me.
Without warning, she stops before me, straddling my legs, and lowers down to sit on my thighs.
She runs her fingers through my short bob with a surprisingly tender touch. I recoil.
“Your hair is pretty.”
Considering the situation, how I was just chloroformed and brought to a random location, her behavior is unsettling. I can’t help but notice the way her iridescent nails catch the fluorescent light. They appear to match her butterfly-knife from earlier.
Her bottom lip juts out before she takes a giant breath in through her nose.
“I wish we would have met under different circumstances, but here we are.” Her hand shoots up to hold my jaw.
Nails slightly digging into my skin, she gives my head a little shake moving even closer to my face.
“We need to talk about that Lombardi roommate of yours.”
Normally, when someone kidnaps and restrains you, your concern should be for your own well-being…
I however don’t have that luxury. My energy is always focused on Cindel.
Every second wasted in this room could be her last. I have to get out of here…
I have to find her! Tipping my head back as far as possible, I thrust my face forward making perfect contact with Mairead’s nose.
She topples backward, clutching her nose.
Gradually her eyes travel up from the floor to my face.
I wait for screaming or a slew of curse words…
but neither come. Lately, nothing seems to ‘present’ as it should.
Mairead begins to laugh maniacally, turning away only to pull a compact out of nowhere and examine the damage.
She smiles at her reflection. Snapping the mirror shut, she rises before me with such resolve, I actually find it hard to swallow.
She’s fucking certifiable. Blood stains her teeth as she beams down at me, like I’m the challenge she’s always wanted.
I can’t help but wonder… how many victims have suffered at her hand? Does she always play with her food?
“Get it over with!” I spit.
She clicks her tongue. “And here I was putting all this time into your roommate… only to realize that you are much better. I do love how everything always seems to work out in the end.”
I’ve officially kicked the hornets' nest. As the feeling of impending doom sinks in, adrenaline floods my body, and I wrench at my restraints with everything I have. “Stay the fuck away from Cindel!” I snap.
Hands on her hips, she inclines forward, mere inches from my face. Her tongue glides over her top teeth, cleaning the red from her smile. “Or what?” she taunts.
To my surprise, the door to the reckoning room bursts open, sending dust swirling around us.
Patrick Murray enters, setting a wooden box on the desk while casually puffing on his cigar.
His gaze shifts from me to his daughter, and he nearly rolls his eyes.
“Leanbh… what have I told you about getting too close to the captives?”