Deadly News: A Thriller (9 page)

Fe was near, but Abby couldn’t focus on her. She had been expecting a bullet, or something horrible to happen. Now she didn’t know what to do. “Okay, now what? I’m here.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You just wanted to confirm? You seemed to know—” she stopped herself. She shouldn’t be volunteering anything. He should be the one talking.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” Abby was more confused than anything.

“You heard me. If you are still wearing anything in the next ten seconds, you know what will happen.”

“No!”

“Seven seconds.”

Abby spared a glance at Fe. “Fuck!” She kicked her shoes off, then fumbled with her pants. Goddamn they were tight; a sock came off as she removed them. She dropped the phone as she reached back to unclasp her bra. How long had that taken? The bra fell next to the phone, and she picked the latter up. “All right, you creep. Is this what you wanted?”

“Ten,” he said. “Ah, Abby, you failed.”

“No! I’m fucking naked, I have nothing else to take off.” But even as she said this, she felt the sock still on her foot.

“Your foot, it is covered.”

“Please.” She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

“Since you ask so nicely, maybe we can work something out.”

After a silence, Abby said, “Like what?”

“Look down and to your left. Do you see that bench, in the park?”

“I think so. I see
a
bench in
a
park.”

“That’s the one, I’m sure. In twenty-two minutes, we are going to place your friend Ecks here, there.” A pause. “It’s up to you whether he’s alive when we do.”

“He’s with you? Let me talk to him.” Abby couldn’t believe it. It had to be a lie, why would they give him back so easy?

“If you want him alive, then you are going to do exactly as I say.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be easy, and at the same time, it would be so simple.

“What a freak,” the thirteen-year-old says. She shudders. “So he was just some perv.”

“No,” Abby says. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that was the point. You’ll see what I mean when I tell you the rest, what they had other people do, how the things connected to other events in those people’s lives. How they used anything awful to their advantage.”

“So he just had you,” the man with the suit jacket asks, then pauses. He continues, “Stand in the window? Like, I don’t know. That seems weird.”

“No shit,” the scruffy man says. “Haven’t you been listening to the story? Everything about this guy is weird. Man, just describing the way he talks.” He cringes. “I had to deal with people like that.”

Everyone turns their attention toward him, including you. Even the doctor looks alert now.

“Why?” the champagne bottle woman asks.

He licks his lips. The room is very hot, but not humid at all. “I was an orderly, at a mental hospital.”

“You worked with crazy people?” The thirteen-year-old laughs. She’s had far too much to drink, you think. She shouldn’t even be drinking.

At this thought, you wonder why everyone let her, why no one even tried to stop her. It hadn’t seemed so odd, you suppose, not until you think about it.

“Crazy’s not a polite term,” he replies. He sighs. “But yes, I did. We didn’t have many criminals, but we did have a few. Mostly psychopaths. Their recidivism rate is almost one hundred percent, you know, so once caught they’re basically under care for life.”

“So this guy, he was a psychopath?” the thirteen-year-old asks Abby.

The doctor responds, “He does sound like he could be. Detached response. But most psychopaths, if they have a personality at all, are charming.”

“Nothing charming about this guy,” the girl says. “He did get your clothes off though!” She laughs, far too loud and with too much enthusiasm.

Abby doesn’t seem upset by this. “I don’t know what he was. I’ll probably never know. I’m okay with that. If I never have to hear his voice again, never have to—”

Everyone’s looking at her.

“Have to what?” the woman who hasn’t spoken asks.

Abby looks at her, tilts her head, frowning.

You try to glare at the woman without attracting too much attention, but she doesn’t seem to take notice.

Abby rubs her eyes. “Nothing.” She falls silent, staring into the dwindling fire.

Thank God, you think, the fire is going out. “Fire’s finally dying,” you say to fill the silence.

“Oh,” the man with the suit jacket says, jumping at your words. He quickly glances around, the motion jerky. He then stands, places his jacket on his seat, and leaves the room.

You stare after him, your mouth slightly open. What is he doing?

The thirteen-year-old echoes your thought. “Where’s he off to?” She glances around. “Hey, where you going dude?”

But he’s already out the other door and into the other room.

You hope this isn’t one of those situations where people start going crazy, like a drowning person drowning their rescuer, or someone stuck in a burning building fighting with the firefighter that’s trying to save them. You wonder if you should go after him. If that’s what’s happening, it’s probably Abby’s story.

Even if it isn’t, it can’t be helping. It’s even beginning to make you paranoid.

The man comes back into the room—saving you from having to make a decision—holding a bundle of papers, or books maybe, it’s really dark in here now. That probably is why they started the fire in the first place. Makes more sense than being cold; the dark can be scary.

He tosses what looks like an old paperback onto the fire. “No jokes,” he says, as it starts to burn.

“Jokes?” the long-haired man asks from his spot on the ground.

“Nazi jokes.”

“Why would we make Nazi jokes?” the champagne woman asks.

“I’m burning books”—he gestures to himself with his free hand—“I’m German.”

“Hm,” the doctor’s wife says. “It’s not that obvious.”

“Come on, blonde hair, blue eyes. My build?” He crumples some sheets of paper and tosses them into the fire.

The thirteen-year-old squints at him, leaning forward in her seat. “You’re blonde? I like blonde. You don’t look blonde though.”

“I’m a dirty one.”

“Me too,” the girl says. You don’t like the suggestion there, but say nothing.

The man gets the fire roaring before the scruffy man finally stops him. “Jesus brother, don’t gas us.”

He scowls at the scruffy man, whose face remains blank. He shakes his head and returns to his seat.

Finally, the scruffy man bursts out laughing. “Oh, your face, priceless, man.”

The other man sits and places his jacket back in his lap. You notice now that it actually doesn’t match the rest of his attire. In fact, it looks too small to even fit him. There’s a dark patch on one side, surrounding a tear.

“Now that we can see, finish your story.” The champagne woman says. “All we’re missing is some sand to throw on the fire.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “it is pretty warm.”

“Oh, no. I meant, that show.” She looks around the fire, as if for support. “You know, where they meet in the woods, sit around a fire and tell ghost stories?” A look of great concentration comes across her face, then she almost shouts, “
Are You Afraid of the Dark?
”

“Oh yeah,” the scruffy man says. “I used to watch that when I was a kid.”

“That sounds cool,” the thirteen-year-old says.

“Yeah, I used to love it. I think this is better though.” Then his smile drops. He looks at Abby. “I didn’t mean, you know, it’s bad—” He stops talking.

Abby shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The doctor’s wife is examining the now empty bottles, apparently expecting one of them to not be.

You’re glad you stopped drinking when you did. The wine that’s in your stomach seems to slosh around inside you.

“Do you guys want to hear the rest? I think you need to hear what happens, but I can skip—”

“You’ll skip nothing!” the thirteen-year-old interrupts. “So, you’re standing naked in your window like a rock star. What happens next?”

Abby smiles. She begins the story again. The smile fades from her face.

When Abby didn’t respond, the voice on the phone said, “Are you listening?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“Do you have a pen?”

“What? I don’t know. Yeah, it’s a hotel.”

“Write this down—no, have Fe write this down. She looks quite surprised.”

Abby turned to Fe, who she had forgotten about, and who did indeed look surprised. Giving up any pretense that she was alone for the sake of her mysterious caller, she said to Fe, “Get pen and paper.”

Fe stared.

Abby made a shooing motion.

Fe responded by going to the room’s desk, and grabbing her note book. When she got back, she stood in front of Abby, notebook and pen in hand, ready to write, but looking blank.

“You can put me on speaker, it will make things easier.”

Abby did, and he immediately began again before she could even say ‘Okay’. “Fe, you will handcuff Abby, then send her down—no wait. First you will handcuff her, then you will remove her sock, then you can send her down. She will exit the hotel, cross the street against traffic—she will not cross when it is safe, but when it isn’t—then enter the park and lie on the ground next to the park bench.”

Abby’s stomach dropped as she recognized the scenario.

“Once on the ground, she will place her handcuffed hands above her head. You will then exit the hotel room when you see she’s completed this.” He recited it like Abby imagined furniture instructions would sound if read out by a bored actor.

Fe initially had been writing, but she was stopped now.

“No, I guess you don’t need to write the rest down, Abby there knows exactly what to do.” A chuckle. “But you, you need to pay attention. Once outside, you will strip-cuff the handcuffs to the park bench. Then her right ankle. Once that is done, you are almost as well. All that remains is to move her left foot as far apart from the right as it will go,” slight pause, “and then,” he said, with a smile in his voice, “well, I do not need to spell it out, Abby knows the rest. You had ten seconds before. This time, you have ten minutes. Do not run. You should have plenty of time, but only if you leave now.”

There was silence, then Fe said, “You’re insane.”

“I would think you would know better than to insult a hostage taker, Detective Fe Heighton. That you would have learned your lesson.”

Fe opened her mouth like she was going to respond, but nothing came out.

His description of what he wanted her to do— All Abby could think about was that photograph of the crime scene, how she had looked. Exactly the same. Except, this time there would be people around, and he left out the worst part. That was the part Abby was worried about. If she had to embarrass herself to save Ecks’s life—it wasn’t even a choice. But what Fe would have to do, if she managed everything else, after she strapped Abby down—Abby didn’t think Fe could, or would. It definitely couldn’t be legal.

“I will let you two get on with things, then. Oh, but before I go, here’s some motivation.” There was a woman’s voice on the line, in the background, then someone sounding very confused asking “What?”

The man responded by saying Abby’s name.

At this, the same voice that sounded confused shouted “Abby!”

Now Abby was certain: It was Ecks. “Ecks? Hello? Are you all right?” Abby’s eyes burned. She didn’t know how much she was suffering, how much not knowing if he was still alive was hurting her, until his voice brought relief.

“I’m fine. God, they were talking to you? Don’t do it, Abbs.”

“Ecks…”

“Don’t do it. Whatever they promised, it was a lie.”

“I assure you,” the original man’s voice said, “it is not. Do what we ask, and we will do as we promised. Ecks here is safe and sound. We’ll even give him a knife, so he can set you free.” A pause. “Actually. We probably can even get him a handcuff key. Yes, I think we can do that. Now, it’s your choice, Abby Melcer. We don’t want to force you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

The line got quieter, like he was taking the phone off speaker. The man sighed into the phone. “Such a boring question, that. No matter, for now all that does is that your timer starts”—slight pause—“now.”

“But you said twenty-two minutes. You’re just going—” she again stopped herself. If they wanted to get themselves caught, good, she’d let them.

She looked at Fe, thought
I’m bait after all
.

“Hm,” the man said, musingly. “How long ago did I say that? That is a good question. Do not worry about us, we’ll make it. I hope you do, too. Injecting what I have here,” he tsked, “it’s messy.”

“You promise he’ll be okay if I do what you say?”

“Nine minutes, forty-seven seconds, forty-six, fort—”

The line went dead.

Abby looked at the phone. 5:46. In five minutes her entire life had changed, everything she thought she knew, her illusion of safety, of agency, destroyed. Because she didn’t have a choice right now, not really. She could do this, and maybe Ecks would be alive the next time she saw him, or murder him, and that wasn’t a choice, not for anybody who deserved to live.

And they don’t,
she thought. And that was something else that wasn’t a choice, vengeance.

“Don’t worry,” Fe said, grabbing Abby’s jacket from the chair and draping it over her. “You don’t have to do that.”

Abby threw the coat off. “Stop wasting time. Cuff me and take off my sock.”

When Fe just stared, Abby took her own sock off and threw it on the bed.

She suddenly wanted to pick up her jacket, put it back on. But she’d have to take it off again, and somehow that would just make it worse. “You have cuffs?”

Fe shook her head.

“Is that a yes or a no? Come on! Ecks’s life is”—she laughed—“literally on the line.”

“Abby, this. You shouldn’t give in… Their demands, it’s—”

Abby grabbed the other woman by the shoulders. “Stop. Cuff me, now. I’d do it, but he said to have you; I don’t want to risk anything.” She thought about the sock, prayed it wouldn’t matter. Too late now.