What the Heart Needs (32 page)

But then a boot struck out and landed in the center of her stomach, sending her rolling and knocking one of her dining room chairs over. Frantically she looked up searching for anything she could use to defend herself. She grabbed the lamp next to her couch but before she could hold it upward, it was knocked from her hand and flew against the wall.

Then the intruder kicked her again, sending her sprawling onto her back. Before the pain even sunk in, they were on top of her, sitting on her chest, their knees pinning Hannah’s forearms to the floor. Hannah struggled but then the person’s gloved hand reached into their pocket and pulled out a needle and removed the protective tip. Hannah found her voice through the fear then, rising, screaming out for help but the sound didn’t carry as she had hoped. But then the needle was in her neck and she saw only darkness.

She struggled toward consciousness later, feeling like she was deep underwater. Everything felt slow and far away. She saw only darkness, felt the confines of a small space. Her body was jostled to and fro and she realized with sudden clarity that she was in the trunk of a car. Her eyes strained against the dark and she saw the emergency pull put into place for children who got stuck. Her hand rose up to it, but her arm felt heavy and numb and she couldn’t get her fingers to grab it, slipping off of it again and again uselessly.

Hysteria flooded her system, feeling the car slow down and finally stop. A door open and shut. Footsteps. And then jiggling of a key in the lock.

The trunk opened and the figure was there again, still concealed by their mask. She tried to scream but her mouth opened and shut with no sound. The person reached again into their pocket, drew out another needle, and she was once again spiraling to nothingness.

Hannah felt the drugs wearing off many hours later. She woke up slowly, hazy and disoriented. There was a soreness in her shoulders and back and she moaned against it, her eyes still closed. There was pain in her stomach where she had been kicked and her scalp twinged. Then there was the sharpness of the glass in her hands, more acute than before and she realized her hands were clutched together.

Her eyes shot open as she realized her hands were tied behind her. Her senses came back all at once, sharper than usual. There was a tightness over her mouth and face, covered with something so she couldn’t scream. Duct tape, she assumed. Her legs were sprawled out to one side awkwardly, the hard cement floor cold through her thin cotton pajamas. She pulled them back toward her body, cringing at the pain. There was something round and hard against her back. She tilted her head upward, seeing what she was tied to. A grey support beam. The kind you only find in basements.

Hannah’s eyes shot around, taking in the thick concrete walls, the tiny rectangular windows that showed only darkness. There was a staircase to a far corner, the steps steep and irregular. A washer and dryer against one wall. A tool bench on another.

If she could get her arms free and get to the bench, she could find something to defend herself, hide until someone came, and attack. Escape. She had to escape.

By the time someone even noticed she was missing, it could be too late. And even if Elliott noticed her absence, he would probably attribute it to their rift. Her only hope was Tad. Tad knew what was going on. Tad knew about Xander Rhodes. And, she had to face it, Xander was her only chance at being found.

But she couldn’t just sit and wait to be discovered. It would probably never happen. She was her only hope.

She pushed her legs up underneath her, leaning heavily onto the support beam. Her legs were waking up from falling asleep, pins and needles, weird pusling and standing on them required more effort than she was used to. Once standing she arched around the beam, looking down at her hands. Duct tape. Hannah let out a cry, muffled by the tape across her lips. She could have tried to maneuver her hands to untie knots. Tape was a whole other issue.

She rubbed her wrists up and down against each other, the tape pinching and ripping at her skin as she did so. But loosening. She just needed to get it loose enough to slip out of.

A short time later, feeling more like hours as her skin on her wrists and hands turned raw and tears streamed unabashed down her face from pain, she heard a door upstairs slam shut. Footsteps across the floorboards. Walking down toward the side of the room where the stairs were. And then the door flew open, feet scraping down the steps. Hannah felt her breath getting stuck in her lungs like something heavy was settling on her chest.

Then a bare light bulb came on in front of her, turned on by a pull tab. She squinted at the light, her eyes blinking suns behind her lids. She squinted against it. She needed to see. She needed to know who had been making her life a living hell for months. Who hated her so badly she wanted to kill her.

Hannah didn’t know what she was expecting. A random passerby from work. Or a complete stranger. Even Dan. But her eyes widened and what little breath she held in her lungs escaped her nostrils audibly at who was standing before her.

Sally.

Nineteen

Elliott had called her twenty times by morning. He went to voicemail over and over. His texts went unanswered. But she didn’t pick up. He showed up at work, trying to focus on his tasks as the hustle and bustle of the office went on around him. And Hannah didn’t show. He had expected to see her there, stubborn and prideful. Her eyes shooting daggers at him. Calling him Mr. Michaels in a tone that suggested she really wanted to call him a rat bastard.

But by ten o’clock he had given up hope of seeing her there. Perhaps ever again. He had royally screwed up and Hannah was not the kind of woman who forgave easily.

There was a frantic knocking at his door and he felt his heart stutter, praying it was her. But the door burst open and Tad rushed in looking frazzled, worried. Frantic even. Every bit not the Tad he was used to seeing everyday.

“Somethings wrong,” he said, his voice high pitched, breathless. At Elliott’s raised eyebrow, he went on. “Something is wrong with Hannah.”

Elliott sighed. He knew Hannah and Tad were close. He definitely knew by now that they were… together?

“We had a fight Tad,” he said, his voice quiet.

“What? No,” Tad said, walking closer, his eyes wide. “No I mean something is wrong. I know she never told you about what has been going on…”

“What has been going on?” Elliott asked, rising from his seat, concern building.

“Someone is stalking her.”

“What?” the word exploded from him like a curse, like an accusation.

“Come here,” Tad said, leading Elliott into Hannah’s office, brushing the contents of her desk frantically onto the floor to reveal the carving underneath. “It’s been going on for weeks. Threatening notes. Emails. Graffiti on her parking space. They took pictures of you and her together. Call her a whore. Tell her she’s going to die…”

“Jesus christ,” Elliott said, savagely. Why didn’t she tell him? Why would she keep it all to herself?

“That’s not the half of it, Elliott,” Tad said, Elliott’s name sounding clumsy on his tongue. “They broke into her house. Stole her pet. Drew a picture of her dead on her living room wall. That’s why she ran,” he rambled on. “That’s why she went to her hometown. But they followed her there. They cut her brake lines.”

“Oh god,” Elliott said, sitting down on Hannah’s chair, his head in his hands. He wasn’t a man prone to worry. Anxiety was never a part of his life which he structured to always have control. But all his control was slipping out of his hands and he felt like he was spiraling into some awful unknown.

“She’s gone,” Tad said after a moment. “I’ve been calling and texting. She’s not responding. Something is wrong.”

Elliott stood up suddenly, turning over the chair as he did so. “I’m going to her apartment,” he announced and looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

They showed up at her door a few minutes later, finding it cracked open slightly. Elliott threw the door open and froze for a second. Things were scattered around like a struggle happened. The horrible bloody mural on her wall. And a man standing in the middle of the mess. The same man he had seen Hannah whispering with at work before. The one with the scar and menacing appearance. The one who practically had danger tattooed across his forehead.

Elliott flew at him, knocking him to the ground, shouting and trying to get a punch in. “Where the hell is Hannah?” he spat out, his fist finding a place in the man’s stomach.

Xander pushed Elliott off him, hissing as he took a fist to his side.

Then there was Tad, getting between them. Yelling something that Elliott couldn’t hear through the blood raging in his ears. And he watched in horror as his own fist landed squarely into Tad’s face. Blood burst from his nose and Tad’s eyes widened, his hand grabbing his face.

“Shit Tad. I’m sorry. That was meant for this jacka…”

“He’s Hannah’s private investigator,” Tad spat back, pulling his shirt up over his face to stem the blood flow.

“What?” Elliott felt his anger draining from his body, leaving nothing but the worry. The bone-deep fear for Hannah.

“Xander Rhodes,” Xander announced. “Hannah hired me a couple days ago. Asked me to look into her stalker. There hasn’t been much to go on though.”

“What the hell are you doing here then?” Elliott asked, looking around the apartment, his breath hitching when he saw the streaks of impossibly red blood from the floor of the kitchen to the living room. Hannah’s blood. She was hurt. She was hurt and it was all his fault.

“I sent her a text last night. I told her to come meet me. That we needed to discuss some things. When she didn’t answer by this morning, I got concerned. I came to check on her and found the place like this. The police are on their way,” he said, sounding annoyed that they needed to be involved.

Elliott paced the floor as they waited, half listening to Tad and Xander talk about what they each knew. Comparing notes. Trying to figure out the puzzle. While he paced in all his uselessness.

The police came later, weapons drawn and forcing them to put their hands up until Xander announced himself and the guns disappeared. They talked about the case. Asked countless questions of all of them. Wasting time as Hannah was somewhere hurt. Without him. Scared and enduring god knew what while he answered questions about their relationship. Did he know anyone who would hate Hannah so much? Did he screw over any one recently?

No. Yes. People often hated him. It was a part of his job, his personal life. He jotted down names on the pad the officer supplied, knowing it would lead nowhere.

Then suddenly Tad’s voice rose above all the others, sounding nasal from his broken nose. “Oh my god. Oh my god,” he said, his eyes shocked.

“What is it, sir?” one of the younger male cops asked, looking as if he didn’t expect it to be anything of signifigance.

“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to link things up. Xander said to focus on work. That it seemed internal because of the emails and the notes and the desk and the parking spot. Everything pointed to work.”

“What is it Tad?” Elliott spat, impatient.

“I know who it is. I cant believe I didn’t see it all before. She was out when Hannah left that week. When you were gone. She has literally never been out of work before…”

“Tad, focus,” Xander said, his voice sounding patient but concerned.

“She was out of work today, Elliott. Didn’t you notice?”

Elliott’s mind flew about the day’s events but he couldn’t link the connection that was so clear to Tad.

“Elliott. It’s Sally. Sally. She’s got to have Hannah.”

Elliott felt the surprise punch into his stomach as he realized that Tad was right. Sally had never missed a day of work before. She had always been there, a constant figure just out of the corner of his eye for years. And she hadn’t been at her desk all day.

“Oh my god,” he said, his eyes wide. He grabbed for his phone, tapping furiously.

“Now isn’t the time to check your email, man,” Xander’s voice drawled.

“I’m logging into the employee records. I’m getting Sally’s home address.”

Twenty

It was Sally. Hannah’s brain couldn’t quite accept the fact, despite the woman standing there in front of her. Sally? Why would Sally hate her so badly?

Just then Sally’s face twisted in an awful smile, a laugh rising out of her. Making her sound crazy. “Yes. Me,” she answered the question in Hannah’s eyes. “You never suspected me did you?” she smirked. “I couldn’t let you have him,” she said, throwing her hands up. “You didn’t deserve him. I thought a few notes, a few awful office rumors would send you packing. It worked on all the other whores.”

Hannah felt sick to her stomach. All the assistants. All the girls she and Elliott and everyone else in the office figured had left because he was such a demanding boss. All the girls that she had figured ran off because Elliott screwed them and tossed them aside. All those girls were scared off by the very person who hired them. Sally.

“But not you. No. You harlot. Got one taste of him and you wanted more and more and more. But you didn’t deserve him,” she spat, walking toward Hannah so quickly that Hannah wondered if she planned on smacking her. “I have been there from the beginning. I have been the one to stand by his side. See to his needs. Help him. Guide him. I’m the one he should be with!”

Hannah watched with growing concern as Sally paced, looking at the floor, mumbling only half-coherently. She was crazy. A screw had come loose somewhere in Sally’s brain. And her life was in this madwoman’s hands.