Chapter 21
Ryder
I have no idea what just happened, but I do know that I woke up on the cold bathroom floor with a raging headache. My neck hurts and I find a small dart sticking out of my skin. Is this a fucking tranq? Once I get my bearings, I stand up and look at the red mark on my neck. Who the hell shot me? I turn to leave the bathroom and realize how quiet it is. Shit, my head is not working right at the moment. “El?” I call out as I make my way around the bed. A now smashed laptop and both USBs scatter the desk and floor. Even worse, there’s no sign of Elara. Bastard knocked us out and took her.
My mental processes are slowly coming back and I feel the anxiety and guilt setting in. I ensured that we weren't followed. We took a random car and ditched every electronic that could be used to track us. This isn't the FBI. This is someone bigger than the bureau, and I couldn’t protect her. We’ve been so focused on getting Elara to safety that we put Bardot and his murderer on the back burner. We both let our guard down. But my mind keeps circling the fact that I let my guard down. In doing so, I couldn't protect her and she ended up getting kidnapped.
The rising rage quickly drowns the anxiety. Someone took my girl from me. Someone is going to die. I’m typically not an impulsive guy, but love makes you do crazy things. Wait, what? Nope, shut up, Ryder. Now is not the time to be doing that. Excuse me while I shove that thought in a lockbox and throw it into the void that is currently my mind. We’ll come back to that later.
I go from tiptoeing around the room to crawling around on the floor with a magnifying glass I found at a drugstore down the street. If someone walked in right now, they’d probably think I was on drugs and I’m on the floor searching for the Percocet my crazy ass dropped. I am not on drugs, only anger is running through these veins. If the FBI would get their heads out of their asses and realize how insane it sounds that Elara could commit all this shit, I would have already called in search dogs. But as I mentioned, THAT’S NOT A FUCKING OPTION… I’m a little on edge if you couldn’t tell.
I’ve yelled “Ah ha!” at multiple different pieces of who knows what I found on the floor because of how desperately I’m grasping at straws. I don’t know what anesthetic was in that damn dart, but I feel like I’m going nuts. My mind keeps veering to thoughts about if El is okay and I have to shut them up every time because I don’t want to think otherwise. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. I know she wouldn’t want me thinking like that, but it’s kind of hard not to blame myself.
I lie down on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Just having an existential crisis, no biggie. Maybe floor time will help me. The carpet is soft and plushy… I think that tranq got me high because I’m petting the carpet and don’t know why. I suddenly get hungry and shoot straight up. As I’m getting back on my feet, I see something by the door. I walk over and I find sand or something in the shape of a barely visible footprint. I go over to our little kitchen and grab a spoon and a small bag. Yep, I definitely look like a druggie now with my little bag of powder. Granted, it’s not white, but still. Once I get all of it in the bag, I grab all of our stuff and head downstairs. No way in hell we’re coming back here.
I probably shouldn’t be driving right now, but what’s one more reckless thing? I haven’t run anyone over… I think. I had to google where I can test this because I really don’t want to walk into a pharmacy with it and get arrested. That’s not on my to-do list today. Luckily, I found a lab about ten mi les away and as long as they don’t ask too many questions and it costs less than $200, we’re golden.
Thankfully, since I’m technically not the fugitive here, my badge can help me out. Wow, who would have thought I could get help from the FBI for once on this trip?
I explain I’m working on a case, classified of course, and I need to get the substance tested. They happily oblige and don’t ask any questions that I can’t answer. Thank fuck. Now I just have to wait.
???
Insert the ‘ one eternity later’ card from SpongeBob SquarePants because that’s how long it feels like it’s been since I gave them the bag. This area is small and I’m the only one here besides the two employees, so I didn’t expect it to take this long. I’ve asked a few times about it, but all I get is “the machine is still deciphering” or some bullshit.
I probably seem like an impatient asshole to them, but I don’t particularly care right now. I just want to find El. The only good thing about waiting is that I think the effects of the tranq wore off so I can think clearly and coherently again. No more petting the carpet. I can’t help but pace the room because sitting down and calmly waiting is not going to happen right now. I’m too anxious and I can’t sit still, I tried. So, ?it’s either pace the room or rock back and forth in the corner.
I nervously crack my knuckles just as a tech walks through the doors into the room. I think I scared the guy when I basically ran up to him because he looks at me like I’m a rabid raccoon. “It took a bit for the machine to figure out the substance,” yeah, no shit , “but it seems to be sawdust mixed with dust mites.” I thank the tech and head for the car. Sawdust and dust mites? That’s it? That can literally be anywhere.
Something Elara said suddenly flashes in my head. “ It’s fucking dusty in here.” I remember her saying that at the warehouse where Bardot was killed. It may be a longshot but it’s still a shot I’m going to take.
I stop at a gas station and buy some coffee that tastes like shit, but it’ll keep me awake for the ten-hour drive I’m about to do. But, as long as I stay on the back roads like when we drove up here, I may knock that time down a little.
I have to question how the hell I didn’t get pulled over because I made it to the warehouse yard in seven hours. The universe is on my side today; I guess. Fine by me.
I don’t think this guy is dumb enough to keep El in the warehouse where Bardot was, but I’m not putting anything past him and I’m checking every single building, top to bottom. When I reach the second floor of the third building, I glance out the window and realize that I can't see into the warehouse next door. I couldn’t see inside very well the last time I was here, but I could see a little and now I can’t see anything. I run back down the stairs, darting for the next door. It’s no surprise that it’s locked, or barricaded maybe, so I body slam the door a few times, getting it open the fourth try.
Please be here, El.