4. The Gathering Storm
Chapter four
The Gathering Storm
L ucas
I landed deftly on the street behind Emelia's apartment building, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.
Evading her security measures had been herculean, a challenge I almost didn’t succeed at, but securing the ‘Eternal Lovers’ painting made it worthwhile.
I pulled off my black jacket and flung it aside, leaving on the olive green T-shirt I had under.
Then I flung the ski cap I had on and ruffled my hair. Now I looked like every other New Yorker and blended seamlessly into late-night crowds—just another anonymous face in the New York bustle.
Instinctively, I glanced backward. Just as I was about to keep moving, a flash of raven hair caught my eye; Emelia burst out of the lobby in silk pajamas under a loose-fitting sand colored coat, her gaze locking onto me.
My, but this girl was persistent! And I was beginning to find it irresistible.
I picked up speed, weaving through groups of drunken revelers. Clearly she had no intention of making this escape easy.
"Stop! Thief!" she yelled, shoving people aside recklessly to keep up. I laughed aloud—her ferocity was admirable!
Darting across streets, I paused at a red light to meet her glare with a defiant wink before scaling a parked semi's cargo hold effortlessly.
We dashed through neon-bathed plazas and shadowed alleys. She mirrored my parkour maneuvers, using intricately carved awnings and flagpoles to her advantage when she could. Who was this woman?
I mean, I knew who she was, but I had no idea she had trained herself this well.
Finally I paused, winded. I taunted her about her hurt ego and gave her a gracious bow, which she answered by flinging a dart from her watch.
Nice try—but I easily snatched it from the air and tossed it aside.
I sighed. This chase, as charming as my pursuer was, had gone on for long enough. I had to distract her long enough to escape unseen.
"Evelyn, stop chasing ghosts. If you want the truth, go to Pier 23 at noon tomorrow. Ask for Axel, say you're investigating Project Nightfall."
As expected, she froze in shock at the fact that I knew her real name and anything about her past. I tossed a flash grenade and vanished swiftly, leaving her stunned face behind as I dodged out of sight.
I fully intended to keep pursuing the legendary treasure. I would simply disappear with the painting and find the treasure for myself.
As I paced my steps, running through the streets of Soho, my mind continued to return to Emelia. Her skills and tenacity intrigued me now. I had never met a woman as determined as she was in my entire life.
Perhaps our paths were meant to intertwine after all. She was a worthy adversary and would make an outstanding partner in crime. If only.
I looked forward to crossing wits again with her. I hoped soon.
Out of nowhere, a black van screeched to a halt only two inches front of me. Three men with heights and chests like bouncers jumped out, grabbing me with strong arms.
Before I could react or defend myself, a bag went over my head. I was shoved inside the van and my head pressed down to the floor.
Someone gripped my hands and bound them with zip cuffs.
Fear gripped me for the first time. What the hell was going on? What had I gotten myself into by taking on this job?
The van moved forward in a screech of tires. I forced my thoughts to focus. After a few seconds, I began to breathe steadily again and hastily made several alternative plans to escape at the first opportunity.
First, I needed to know who or what was behind this kidnapping.
After twenty minutes, the van veered off the street and into a dirt road, then after what felt like another fifteen minutes, pulled to a stop.
I was shoved out and escorted into a cold, dusty place. Obviously a warehouse of some sort.
The bag was removed and I found myself facing a powerfully built man smoking a cigar. Two armed guards flanked him.
"Lucas Thorne... you've made quite a name for yourself as a cat burglar." His voice was like gravel. "Unfortunately, your recent activities have complicated certain affairs."
I straightened defiantly. "My affairs are my own. Who’re you to dictate my targets?"
He slammed a fist down. "Arrogant fool! You were supposed to steal the painting and simply deliver it and walk away. When you were a no-show, the dynamics of a simple transaction completely changed. Now, you wormed your way into matters too large for the likes of you!"
One of the men punched me in the midsection. I doubled over then straightened up, right into his jaw.
He stumbled backwards at the unexpected assault. Clenching a fist, he made to send me a blow.
"Not so fast." The gravelly-voiced man stopped him. Growling, he put his hand down. I jerked toward him as though I would attack.
The man shook his head at me. "Stubborn as you are, you're still of some use to us, Mr. Thorne. Unfortunately."
He jerked his wrist and the guard I’d hurt smiled leeringly. He grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the warehouse wall.
Before I could brace myself, a massive fist ploughed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
I doubled over, wheezing, but they grasped my shoulders and hurled me to the concrete floor.
A steel-toed boot crashed into my ribs and I cried out in pain. The blows rained down relentlessly, stomping and kicking any vulnerable spot as I curled into a protective ball.
When I tried crawling away, they grabbed my leg and dragged me back across the harsh ground.
"Had enough yet, pretty boy?" one of the goons taunted. I spat blood at his shoes in useless defiance.
This only enraged them further. They hoisted me up and held me defenseless as their leader watched impassively.
I braced for more pummeling but he raised a hand and the guards paused. "We require your talent for... one more delicate task," he repeated calmly, as if my mangled body wasn't dangling between his henchmen.
Barely coherent through the pain, I just managed to rasp, "And if I refuse your demands?" before a final brutal fist to my shattered ribs took the last fight out of me.
"Then we may be forced to visit that lovely cryptographer who's taken such an... interest in your activities. I trust I've made myself clear?"
Rage boiled within me but I had no leverage. "Crystal," I spat bitterly. "But you'll get what's coming..."
I never finished my threat as one of the men plunged a tranquilizer dart into my neck. The warehouse faded swiftly to blackness.
One thought echoed before oblivion - just what had the ‘Eternal Lovers’ gotten me into?
A rough kick to my ribs shocked me awake. A paunchy NYPD officer stood over me in an alley. "Hey pal, no loitering here," he ordered. I shoved past him aggressively and took off running without looking back.
I had to get off-grid and formulate a plan. With Emelia's life potentially at risk, I felt trapped in this web of deceit until I could unravel it.
I vanished into the chaotic crowds, just another anonymous face while turmoil brewed beneath.
I only ever entered my apartment through the fire escape stairs, then went in through the window.
This time, it took me twice as long as usual and finally, I threw myself through the window and stumbled across the room.
I gingerly lowered myself onto the couch. It felt as though every part of me was on fire.
I lay there until I could muster the energy to have a cold shower. After that, I injected myself with fluids and the nutritional support my body would need for quick recovery and stumbled into bed.
The next time I opened my eyes and checked the time, it was 4:35. I’d slept clear through almost 24 hours.
With a bad headache and throbbing ribs, it took three agonizingly slow days before I was able to sit up for long periods.
I was sitting at the kitchen Island, forcing a cup of chicken soup down, when my doorbell rang.
I tensed, grabbing a small pistol from the side table. I peered through the security camera to see only a large manila envelope laying on the floor.
Using prongs, I dragged it in and spilled the contents across my coffee table.
There, fanned out, were surveillance photos of Emelia—outside her apartment, exiting the auction house, going in, and at her workstation.
A clear threat. She had nothing to do with this! I cursed myself for provoking forces that now pulled her into this unseen web.
Clearly, these shadowy figures meant business and harm would surely come to Emelia if I refused their demands.
The note had only five words. Get it or she dies.
As much as it galled me, I had to complete this coerced heist. An innocent life depended on it now.
But I had another problem. Emelia herself. I knew there was no way Emelia wouldn’t have tripled security after the last break-in. Trying to crack that perimeter again would be nearly impossible.
Then it hit me—the direct approach was best. The next day, I picked up a guest pass at Bartholdy's as a British tourist.
Donning tweed pants, an ascot, and 101 other effects, I became just another sightseer browsing the upcoming auction collection.
I limped exaggeratedly through each gallery using my cane in which I’d stored equipment, taking care to seem elderly and harmless.
The greying moustache and comb-over wig completed my foolproof disguise... or so I hoped.
Now I only needed to get close enough to the painting to steal it. Getting out would be simple enough.
Timing it carefully, I waited until the crowd's focus was on a tour guide describing a sculpture exhibit.
I slipped away and shuffled closer to the central ancient artifacts wing. I continued to limp. If caught, I could always claim I’d been looking for a bathroom.
I kept my fedora low whenever I passed security cameras, shuffling along like any other elderly patron here to appraise the upcoming lots. As long as I avoided direct sight lines, my disguise should’ve held.
Approaching the prized exhibits hall, I scanned for guards. Just one by the gilded entrance, distracted by his phone.
My opening. I slipped inside soundlessly, years of training taking over.
And there, spotlighted on a marble plinth, was the target I’d been forced to acquire: Van Gogh's ‘The Night Sky’. I admired the swirls of blue and gold calling to me from across the chamber. I swung the cane under an armpit, and walked steadily toward destiny.
Until a familiar figure stepped out from a column, arms crossed. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Emelia warned, eyes flashing. Of course, she had somehow seen through my cover.
I paused, rapidly calculating options. Could I appeal to her conscience? "Evelyn, you shouldn't be involved in this... Just walk away and let matters unfold. They are beyond our control."
"I don't know how you know it, you bastard, but I never want to hear you call me by my birth name again. And for your information, I walk away from no one," she retorted. "You're just another criminal here to be stopped. And it’s happening right now."
I sighed. "You don't understand," I implored. "The powers in play here care nothing for either of us. Put me away and someone else takes my place. Please... don't risk your life for this."
Emelia's face hardened. "I have an obligation to do what's right, no matter the cost. Consider yourself under citizen's arrest. Now, step back from the painting!"
I shook my head sadly. "You have no idea what 'right' is in this case. If you did, you’d let me walk with what I came for."
Turning swiftly, I sprinted for the side exit before she could react. The sound of pounding footsteps told me she had given chase. Emelia was as close to ‘terminator’ as they came. I’d never seen anyone quite like this.
But, I had no time for her games now. I had to lose her so I could save her life!
I burst out of the building onto crowded streets. Weaving through tourists, I led Emelia on a reckless obstacle course down blocks and through oncoming traffic.
I leapt nimbly as a gazelle over taxi hoods while she followed without breaking pace.
Spotting construction scaffolding ahead, I raced up the steep side ladders to dizzying heights.
Emelia copied my climb tenaciously. I paused and looked down at her, shaking my head. I had to admire her stubborn determination, misguided as it was.
Reaching the roof, I sprinted and rolled straight off the edge without hesitation, firing a grappling line mid-fall that jerked me to safety.
My feet had just hit the next building over when Emelia also jumped and grabbed the line, rapidly gaining on me again. She was good... but was she good enough? Time to find out!
The chase intensified over fire escapes and across parapets. I dropped through open windows, scaling narrow stairwells inside.
But always those footsteps echoed behind, driving me forward. Clearly subtlety was over—only my peak athleticism could shake her now.
But first, I had to distract her. Could the same trick work a second time?
I paused atop a skyscraper ledge, admiring Emelia's unrelenting pursuit. "Impressive, but we both know only one can claim the prize in this chase," I called over my shoulder.
"I don't care about your prize—only bringing you to justice!" Emelia shot back. Clearly she thought me just another common criminal. If only she knew the deeper forces at play.
I had hoped to protect her, but with my window for escape closing, I needed to spur her investigation elsewhere.
"Tell me, does the name Silas Rothermean mean anything to you?" I asked. Emelia narrowed her eyes warily.
“Shut up, you bastard. Shut up!”
She looked really mad. “You sent me to find one Axel even though you knew nothing would come out of it.”
I froze. My lead had been legit. “Nothing? What did he tell you?”
“Exactly what you’ve been telling me,” she yelled, frustration etched all over her voice. “To stay out of it or I’d get hurt.”
“I’m sorry, Emelia. But if he said that, it’s probably for your own good.”
“You condescending bastard!” She pulled a gun and took several purposeful steps toward me.
“How dare you tell me what’s good or not good for me? I should blast your arrogant head off right now. Raise your hands over your head or I’ll do it, God help me, I swear I’ll shoot you down.”
“I’m sorry, Emelia. I’m doing this for you, you must know that.”
With that, I leaped off the ledge, and rolled onto the ledge on the next floor. I jumped to my feet and crossed to the ledge of the next building.
I ran down the fire escape and into the streets, noting that there was no sound of a certain pair of feet running after me.
I continued to run, pacing myself, the sound strangely lonely without the lovely Emelia Price’s pursuing steps.
I had failed the heist, so I had to find another way to protect Emelia.
And hopefully, keep myself and her off the trail of forces that wished her harm.
Two black sedans screeched from around the corner in pursuit. So much for losing my blackmailer.
I zipped through alleyways, make daring leaps between cars and over fences.
Still they followed, ruthless and relentless. I had to escape at all costs or there was no way I could protect Emelia.
Emelia may have foiled this attempt, but if I were to keep her alive, I couldn’t let them catch me. Her life and mine were potentially hanging in the balance.
Shots fired from the cars, and I zigzagged behind anything that could act as a shield.
The chase intensified, my parkour skills against their brute force. But I was cunning and desperate—a potent combination. Today would not be the day I let sinister forces catch up to me!
Looking up, I spotted my chance - an activated crane lifting girders high up between buildings.
I sprinted and leapt with perfect timing, catching the metal bar mid-swing. The sedan skidded to a stop below as I swung up out of reach, clinging tightly as the crane lifted me stories high.
The man on the passenger’s seat got out of the car.
Our eyes met and something seemed eerily familiar about his aura. The way his coat flapped in the wind. The peculiar way his skinny legs angled. The tilt of his hat.
Realization made me almost lose my grip. It was the same man who’d been on the roof the night of my first heist.
Now there were two different people after me? Not to mention Emelia who I was sure would do anything now to see me behind bars. Left to her, I could rot in jail for life.
I swung off the crane and landed smoothly in the next street. Straightening my suit jacket, I blended in with New York’s ever filled street crowd.
For now, I had slipped fate's clutches once more. But with Emelia searching for answers and ruthless enemies at my back, I knew our paths would entwine again soon.
The adrenaline ebbed as I disappeared into the city's shadows, and my mind drifted back through the years... to a rainy night when my destiny was forever altered.
I was just nine, a shy student who loved to draw and had no friends. My sketches and paintings were the only joy I knew, a private world of beauty.
My parents were always busy; both of them did the same job, and when they were home, sat huddled over strange encryptions and writings.
Sometimes they’d explain to me what they were doing. Other times, especially on nights they spoke in whispers, they’d send me to my room.
I never minded because it meant more time to bring my ideas to life through my painting.
Then one night, just like that, my world turned up-side-down.
We were having a quiet dinner when faceless men came barging through our door with drawn weapons.
Swift as a gazelle, my mother grabbed me by the waist and flung me into a secret closet they’d built only six months ago.
“Baby, don’t come out no matter what you hear.”
“Remember everything we taught you. Go to that address.”
Shaking with fear, I’d clung to her and begged her not to leave me.
“Shh, you’ll be alright. I love you.”
I hid, paralyzed yet shaking like a leaf, in the closet as I listened to them tear through our home, seeking something while demanding my parents to hand it over to them.
Then came the sounds I've never been able to forget—cries and pleading as my parents were brutally gunned down for reasons a child couldn't comprehend.
Helpless, I sat in the dark closet, trembling in a growing pool of blood seeping under the door.
When the police finally arrived, the killers were long gone, and didn’t leave any fingerprints.
My life was broken beyond salvage, and my faith in justice was shattered. After the trials and questions, I disappeared into the streets, orphaned and alone.
In that cold world, my paintings became my only comfort, reminding me of the family I had lost. Until they too were taken from me when I was caught stealing food and art supplies for survival.
Bereft of all beauty and purpose, I channeled my pain into honing skills that let me take back what this ugly world had robbed.
No vault or museum could stop me from reclaiming the beauty and justice that was brutally torn away from me.
So began my life blurring lines between admiring art and strategizing thefts.
It never occurred to me to go to the address my mother had given me, but I had memorized it in case I had an emergency.
But behind every heist was the trauma of helplessness and loss that drove me to daring acts few could conceive.
The past never leaves us. Even now it haunted from the shadows. But the present always calls as my quiet steps led me away from everything that hunted me still, as though I could ever escape it.