The Hostage (28 page)

With quiet precision and deft hands he lifted the door and eased it along its track.

Something about what he was doing felt too easy. An idea formed in his head. The bald guy had more purpose than framing a random person for murder. The meeting was set up by Drake’s dad. Once the police had captured Drake, as the bald guy had wanted because he would’ve had limited foresight into Drake escaping, he had to know that Drake would explain everything. He’d start with his father and they’d come and pick up his dad to sweat him too. An investigation would’ve ensued and Drake would’ve gotten a lawyer. In the eyes of a jury, doubt that Drake murdered the girl in apartment 1408 would’ve been established. A proper rape kit at the hospital would reveal no Drake Bellamy DNA anywhere.

That led Drake to believe the bald guy was up to something else. Something deeper. But why had he been at Drake’s apartment? He had to have been there when Drake was asleep on the couch. If the guy wanted him dead he could’ve killed him right then.

That explains why he missed when firing his gun. He wasn’t aiming to kill. His goal was to have the police called. Once they showed, all the pieces of the puzzle would fall together and the authorities would know the name of the man in the dead girl’s apartment in Scarborough.

But that took him back to square one. What would be bald guy’s end purpose if it was just to have Drake picked up by the cops? Nothing made sense. The only thing he figured from all of it was that the bald guy did have a goal and that goal was to make Drake’s life miserable. Or worse, he was trying to ruin his life.

Drake stepped into the dark kitchen and stopped. He listened for any kind of movement or other noises. Nothing. He couldn’t even hear his mother’s rhythmic breathing from upstairs which was a common sound throughout the house unless her bedroom door was shut.

His parent’s bought the house when his mother was three months pregnant with Drake. He was born there and lived with his parents until he was twenty-one. For nine years he’d been on his own. In the twenty-one years of living in this home he knew every square inch, every hiding spot.

His parent’s kitchen furniture hadn’t changed in over seven years so it was easy to navigate the table and not hit one chair as he made his way into the center of the building where he would find the stairwell.

Again, one more stop to listen to the house. Nothing.

Maybe I should have a weapon. Maybe I should be more prepared.

He shrugged his shoulders, touched the bannister and began taking each stair one at a time.

It wasn’t a hot night but sweat threatened to fall into his eyes. He wiped it away with his free hand. When he did he could smell the orange Dead Head shirt that he still wore. It reeked of sweat and fear.

He made it to the top of the stairs and saw the door to his parent’s bedroom was shut. That was unusual. When they were alone they always left it open.

Two things to consider now. If the bald guy’s purpose was for Drake to be picked up by the cops, then they were on their way here within the next half hour or so. They wouldn’t drive from Mississauga. They would radio ahead and other police officers would race to Hunter Street and surround his parent’s house with him in it.

The other thing to consider was the closed door. There was a very high chance that someone was already here. Or had been here. It was of odd character for their bedroom door to be shut.

Did that mean something had happened to his parents? Was he about to enter another bedroom and discover more bodies and have the police pulling up out front?

Couldn’t be. If that were the case then who were these people? How could they know so much about him? Thinking back to an earlier time in the evening he could come up with no names or no reason for this assault on his person. He had no enemies to speak of and as far as he remembered he’d wronged no one.

He realized that standing there contemplating and deducing wasn’t getting him through the bedroom door to his father’s bedside and to the answers he so desperately needed. It was also a form of procrastination. Drake felt fear in his veins.

Truth was though, if he did walk into their bedroom and find anything other than both his parents having a fitful sleep, he would go crazy. That would be the last straw. Bald guy hadn’t seen that side of Drake yet. He would stop at nothing to make sure the fucking bald asshole paid a deep price for his crimes that superseded any laws.

No one fucked with his parents.

Drake looked down at the hand on the bannister as it shook like he had developed a sudden case of Parkinson’s.

With nothing left to lose, he walked briskly across the hardwood floor, grabbed the doorknob and swung his parent’s bedroom door wide open.

He shuffled into their bedroom too fast colliding with something that sat in his way on the floor. His balance gone, Drake stumbled forward waiting for the footboard of the bed to crack open his skull. He hit the floor before stumbling as far as the bed. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He groaned as he rolled onto his back and reached for the wounded shoulder.

A soft light flickered on, illuminating the room into an amber existence.

“Dad?”

Drake rolled onto his side and made to stand but stopped when he saw what had tripped him. Someone had deliberately laid a suitcase on the floor two feet from the bedroom door.

Who would do such a stupid thing
?

“Get up.”

At the sound of the voice Drake turned his head so fast that his neck snapped.

“I said, get up. We haven’t got much time.”

A man sat in the corner of his parent’s bedroom on his mother’s reading chair. Years ago she had put a recliner in the corner under a lamp so she could read into the evening on those nights where she suffered from insomnia. It also kept her close to dad as she always professed that every hour she had left on this green earth it had to be spent with her man, her rock.

The loss of Drake’s normal life within the last twelve hours coupled with almost being shot before coming here fueled his anger. Seeing a stranger in his parent’s bedroom was enough to drive him to violence. But seeing that stranger sitting in his mother’s chair, the chair she may very well die in within the next few months drove Drake over the cliff of absolute rage.

He got to his feet and started across the floor.

“Hold up,” the man said. “Sit down on the bed so we can talk.”

His steps held purpose, his gait determined. Drake recognized the moment the man in the chair understood Drake’s intentions.

Not three feet from the man, Drake saw his arm snake down to his waistband and come back up with a gun held firm in his hand.

At the second the gun was leveled at Drake’s face, he was on the last step that brought him an arm’s length away.

With speed he wasn’t aware he possessed, Drake swung with his right hand, smacking the weapon so hard that the gun was knocked from the man’s grasp before he got his finger inside the trigger guard.

Drake allowed his right hand to continue on it’s path to the left after hitting the gun so he could get a large swing on the way back.

It all happened so fast that the guy in the chair had almost no time to respond. Drake’s right hand came backwards across the man’s face with a loud resounding smack. In response to the hit the man’s face shot sideways. Drake grabbed his shirt about the collar with both hands, half lifted him up and yelled an inch from his nose, “What have you done with my parents?” Spittle flew from his clenched teeth.

“Unhand me or your parents die a brutal death. Worse than the cancer eating away at your mother. I assure you.”

Drake mentally stumbled. A myriad of questions screamed through his consciousness. Who were these people and how did they know so much about his family?

His breathing had taken on a raspy, guttural sound. Small strings of spit fought through his clenched teeth. He had never felt so much power and weakness at the same time. In that moment he knew he could tear this man apart but at the same time he would be guilty of what the cops were hunting him for and he would put his parent’s lives in danger if he was to believe what this guy said.

He also knew that these people had a plan. If he continued this cat and mouse game fueled on rage he would lose. He needed to regroup, think about everything. Find their weaknesses. Get an ally in the police department. Find a lawyer. Buy a gun. He needed to do anything other than allow these people to surprise him all the time.

He released his grip and let the guy’s shirt go.

“Where are my parents? Who are you people?”

The man stood up, walked over to the fallen gun and retrieved it. To Drake’s surprise the guy put it back inside his waistband.

He turned to address Drake and smiled as he rubbed the side of his face that Drake had just backhanded.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Attila and I can see you haven’t figured anything out yet, have you?”

“Is this where you tell me what’s going on? Is that the master plan?”

The man raised his right index finger and waved it back and forth like he was telling a little boy that he had done wrong.

“No, no, no. You have to figure it out on your own. This goes deep. Very deep. It has been in the works for over a decade.”

The man spoke with a slight accent. It wasn’t one Drake could place readily but it was one he recognized. The guy also resembled the other asshole with the snake tattoo on his head.

He decided to guess as though he knew what he was talking about.

“What did I do to your family that was so wrong? Why are you and your brother doing this?”

He hit a nerve. The man standing before him cocked his head a little. His eyes narrowed as he stared back at Drake.

“I’ve never been to Europe,” Drake continued. “As your name suggests, you’re from Hungary. You and your brother and his fucking snake tattoo must have the wrong guy. You’ve made a mistake.”

Drake could tell by the stare that he was hitting every note perfectly. Without protesting, this guy confirmed everything Drake had said. But what did that mean? It was true, he’d never been to Europe. So how could he have wronged their family? Why him? What was he missing?

“I see you’ve been thinking about your situation. You have come up with a few theories.” He stepped back in front of the chair, his arms loose at the sides. “I will tell you that you are going to pay dearly for what you did. No one can be allowed a free pass. Not for the crimes you committed. My brother Laszlo and I will see to it.”

They really did have the wrong guy. There was no way he did anything severe enough to anyone to deserve this.

“Where are my parents? What have you done with them?”

“They’re safe. We have no beef with them. In days, when this is all over, they will be returned to their lives completely untouched. I knew you would come here to ask questions of your father. I thought it would give us a chance to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You and your brother are murderers.”

The guy raised his finger again and waved it back and forth.

“It is not I who is the murderer. It is you.”

Those words shook him. What was he saying? Drake hadn’t killed anyone. They really did have the wrong guy.

“Now I’m
convinced
you have the wrong guy. Turn yourselves in and we’ll consider this a little case of mistaken identity.”

The man cleared his throat and spat a disgusting glob onto the floor in front of Drake’s shoes.

“You stand before me only because I want you to suffer. Otherwise you would already be dead. Don’t push me. I’m the wrong guy to push.”

Drake stepped back. He was out of his element and he knew it. Some of the anger was wearing off. A part of him was wondering how to get out of here and the other part was wondering
if
he would get out of here.

The man stared at him with such malevolence that Drake almost looked away.

“This will all be over soon. Your parents will survive but what happens to you may kill them. My brother and I have a few more surprises in store.”

Drake took another step backwards. “But why me? You haven’t explained what I did to you. Tell me what it is and maybe I can fix it.”

“There is no fixing what you did. There is only fixing you because of it.”

The man stepped closer causing Drake to move away again. He had cleared the end of the bed and was walking backwards toward the bedroom door.

A distant police siren wailed in the night.

They were probably on their way to Hunter Street to pick up one Drake Bellamy at his parent’s house.

“The police will be here shortly. Go with them. Tell them anything you want about my brother and I. It won’t matter. You will spend the rest of your life in prison being somebody’s bitch. Your life is over. Without murdering you, I have killed you.”