INK: Abstraction Page 3

  He stops and lowers himself to his knees. “This isn’t what I wanted for you, my love. There are different things in store for you.”

  His hand caresses along my jaw and there is remorse in his eyes. I can’t process what all of this is or what’s happening. I can’t tell if he’s going to let me go or kill me. Either way, I wish he would hurry up and make a decision and just fucking do it.

  Carl! I shout in my mind. Reaching out to him to tell him that I’m with Glass and I’m in very real danger. When I first saw the detective I thought he had found me and was going to untie me. But as the scene plays out it becomes painfully apparent that he has no intention of letting me go. Now I know it was him who kidnapped me. He’s the one that’s been torturing me, and with every fiber of my being I know that he’s going to be the one to kill me.

  Carl’s voice doesn’t come. Glass’ labored breathing is close enough for me to feel the heat of it on my ear. “Now, I have to decide what our next move is.” He leans into me harder and braces himself on the wall behind me. “And there will be no more visits from your little friend.”

  The knot on the gag finally comes free and I pull it off. “Please, just let me go home.” I say it barely audible for fear that I will only incite him.

  My begging is answered with a hard slap across the face. “You are home.”

  My muted whimpers get lost in an unintelligible tirade of Glass screaming. I can’t understand what he’s saying. He stops and turns to me with hollow eyes. “This has all been for you.”

  I’m cowering against the wall trying to make myself smaller to avoid being hit or cut again. Figuring out what the magic words are to get him to let me go is my only chance. “Please, no one has to know. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just please, please let me go.”

  He slides backward on his ass and leans against the wall next to me. He sits there staring straight ahead unblinking for several minutes. His face is completely drained of color. I don’t dare say a word or push it. In my mind I keep trying to reach out to Carl.

  Carl, please, I need you. It’s Glass. Glass has me. Please Carl. There's only the sound of my labored breathing. I look over at Glass. His expression hasn’t changed. Still afraid to make the slightest noise or movement, I study him in his semi catatonic state, watching his chest heave dragging air in and out.

  My mind is racing and the finish line is that door. All of my focus and will are drawn to the exit, to my freedom, to a chance at survival. In small movements I start working the binds on my ankles to undo them. They are tied in some sort of knot that would give Houdini a run for his money. After yanking, tugging and scraping at the rope for a while it finally starts to come loose. One thought is playing on a loop in my mind, “If I can untie them, I can run.”

  The last strand of bloodied rope eases through the final loop that frees my right ankle. How can I possibly get out of here without him noticing my movement? Do I take it slow and hope that he doesn’t notice me? Or I do race this devil to the door?

  The slow method seems like the best option. If he doesn’t notice me moving my chances are better. I’m tired, hungry and weak. There’s no way I could outrun him. I take in a deep breath that I know I’ll be holding until I reach the door. I start to move slowly and quietly, crawling across the floor.

  When I’m halfway to the door I get to my feet and tip toe across the room, watching him for a reaction. He doesn’t notice me. I turn around and put my hand on the knob, when he grabs me by the hair and pulls me backward.

  Agonizing shrieks are forced from my lungs as pain shoots through my head and down my neck. He’s showing no mercy as he bends me backwards unnaturally. In this moment he illustrates the full scope of his brutality.

  The sound of my back hitting the metal wall of the shed is disconnected, until the wave of pain catches up to it. Glass puts one hand around my neck, lifting my feet off the ground until our eyes are level. My lids seal closed and my head turns away from the cruelty in his gaze.

  “Let me tell you something, you little cunt. This is not how it’s going to happen. You are not taking me down like this.” He’s so close I can smell the hot wings and gin on his breath. He throws me down in the middle of the floor and I crumple in defeat. He spits on me then drags me by the hair back to the chair and throws me down. The chair tips back and I hit the back of my head on the concrete floor, hard.

  My survival instinct has come alive and I’m kicking and flailing my feet. He grabs hold of my ankle, pushes it back against the leg of the chair, and fastens it with a zip tie. He repeats the process with the other leg and rights the chair. Then he ties my hands and leans down in front of me. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you yet, but I promise you’ll be the first to know.” He replaces the gag on my mouth and stands to walk out the door. Glass looks back at me over his shoulder with a fiery hate that bores through me as he leaves.

  Hopelessness floods my being. I was so close to getting away. But I didn’t make it. I didn’t get out. Tears free fall down my cheeks and sting my neck when they reach the skin that is raw from his grasp.

  I cry out audibly for Carl, Dad, Eli and then Aiden. Somebody, please. There has to be some way I can get out of this.

  Chapter Three

  Miranda Should Remain Silent

  Eli

  “She’s alive.” Carl sits up, making the announcement. All of us in the room exhale the collective breath we were holding. Somehow I’m unable to feel joy, there’s relief, but no joy.

  “Do you know where she is?” Harry leans in closer to Carl.

  “No, she’s...” Carl hesitates and I can see him candycoating his answer, “she’s blindfolded.”

  “Is she…” Harry starts but can’t finish his statement.

  “Strong, Harry. She’s getting through it.” Carl puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

  “So, she doesn’t have any idea where she is?” McNab asks.

  “No, but I did tell her certain things to look and listen for.”

  “Does she know who took her? Does she know about the security guard?” I ask, exchanging a glance with Trish.

  “No, she doesn’t know who took her or what happened. The last thing she remembers is getting out of her car at the parking garage. Then she was blindfolded and tied.”

  “Okay, so this is good. We know she’s alive, we know she’s able to communicate. This is some real hope.” Harry is trying to put a positive spin on it. Frankly, I’m glad he’s trying to, because I need something to hold on to.

  “We’re still left with the same problem of how to find her.” It dawns on me that I’ve bought this hook, line and sinker.

  “She’s in some kind of garden shed from what she said about the smells. She also indicated she’s feeling temperature changes but that they aren’t unbearable.”

  “Carl, why don’t you rest up. Maybe now that you’ve told her what to listen for she’ll be able to give us some other indications where she is.” McNab walks around the couch. “Harry, let’s take a look at the likely suspects and figure out who has access to a garden shed and is in a remote area. We can rule out neighborhoods and areas with frequent air traffic. It may not be a good lead, but perhaps we’ll get lucky.”

  “It could also lead us to other theories.” Harry heads for the makeshift command center on the breakfast bar. “We can also try to pinpoint a general location and set up a target area.”

  “Fuck, Eli, is any of this going to help her really?” Trish wraps her arms tight around herself as though it will protect her from the truth.

  I shrug because I really don't know. I give her a look that says I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

  Carl gets up from the couch and starts for the bedroom. With Harry busy setting up a search perimeter I’m able to get Carl and McNab’s attention. I tick my head toward the back porch. We all head for the door.

  Once outside, I’m ready to demand the truth from them, get an idea
of what they think her chances are at this point. “Carl, that was great what you did for Harry and Trish, but I want to know the truth. How is she doing really?”

  Remorse clouds Carl’s features and McNab’s expression quickly mirrors Carl’s. He inhales deeply, shaking his head. “She’s alive and that’s the most important thing right now. Knowing that we are looking for her rather than just her body goes a long way for her being able to hold on.”

  “Carl, seriously, don’t bullshit me. What’s going on with her?” I step in closer. “Harry’s setting up some search perimeter that is based on, what, nothing?”

  “Eli, calm down. She’s being held captive right now. Her general state isn’t going to be good.” McNab positions himself closer to Carl. “This is good for Harry, he needs to feel like he’s doing something.”

  “Carl, please, I need to know. Do you think she’s going to make it?”

  “I think we need to find her soon,” Carl answers, looking down at his feet.

  “Is she being…hurt?”

  “Yes, she’s weak. Very weak.” He inhales, really feeling his next statement. “She’s also in a lot of pain. I don’t know what he’s doing to her, but she’s in rough shape.”

  “How much longer do you think she can last?” McNab's voice hitches on the regret in his throat for having to ask the question.

  “I don't know, but it seems he’s giving her some kind of liquid supplements and water. So he’s not starving her. He's keeping her alive for something.” Carl has an uptick in his voice. Understandable since this is the closest thing to hope that we have.

  “So she knows that it’s a man that has her?” I ask cautiously, since I know I’m about to tread on dangerous ground.

  “Yes, she’s certain it’s a man, but he’s disguising his voice,” Carl answers.

  With my jaw set I look straight into McNab’s eyes. “So we can rule out Miranda?”

  McNab is taken aback by my question. He thinks for a moment and looks at me with a hint of satisfaction. “So you took what I said to heart.”

  “Yes, I did. I’ve seen some epically weird shit since you showed up. So you can bet I’m keeping an open mind. I don’t want to miss anything.” I wait for a response from him. “But you didn’t answer my question; can we rule her out?”

  “I think we can.” He pauses in thought. “For now.”

  “Unless she’s not working alone,” Carl interjects.

  “Right,” McNab answers, nodding. “But I don’t think she would bring another person in on this. It’s too risky.”

  I’m reminded that I have many unanswered questions about Harry and Miranda. “So what’s the deal with Miranda?”

  Carl and McNab exchange a look. “I’m not sure—”

  I cut him off; I don’t want to give him an opportunity to dance around the answer. “McNab, I want to know what’s going on. I can’t help her if you don’t level with me.”

  McNab sits on one of the patio chairs. “Sit, Eli.”

  That seems a little too easy. “Okay.” I take a seat.

  McNab steeples his hands together, looking for the words. “Where to start?”

  “Start with Miranda,” I demand.

  “Miranda Salvo.” He looks heavenward as though he were asking for help from God to explain this. “I met Miranda right after we started the agency.”

  “Agency?”

  “Yes, Paranormal Transmissions. We started the company to help people dealing with paranormal and otherworldly issues.” He continues. “We were working a possession/haunting in Ohio when I met her. A family of four moved into a house that was laden with negative paranormal energy. It quickly went from just a haunting to a full-on possession.”

  I’m doing my best not to express my doubt, deciding it’s best to just let him continue and stay quiet.

  “The woman started beating her children. Completely out of the blue she was abusive, started drinking and was behaving in ways she never had before.” He leans back in the seat, the regret in the memory playing in his voice.

  “Before moving into the house she was a Sunday School teacher, a PTA volunteer, and she didn’t drink, smoke or do drugs.” The remorse in Carl’s eyes is haunting.

  “So her husband called us when she went off the rails and he had exhausted all other efforts. She was doing drugs, drinking and quit all of the activities she was doing with her kids. When we got there, she was in jail for assault. She had apparently stabbed a convenience store worker.” McNab tells the story.

  “So she went off her meds. It happens, what’s so paranormal about that?” I ask, only seeing the story of someone who had a mental breakdown.

  “This was more than a breakdown, Eli, this was different,” Carl interjects.

  “When she attacked the convenience store worker she was screaming at him in Thamudic.” He looks up at me for impact.

  For a few minutes I try to remember where I’ve heard the term “Thamudic” before, but I can’t seem to place it. “What’s Thamudic?”

  “It’s an ancient Arab dialect,” Carl deadpans.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Eli, I hold a doctorate in linguistics.” Carl's demeanor turns smug. I've never seen him like this.

  “No, I mean, how do you know what she was saying at all?”

  “Oh, because when we reviewed the security tape of the attack I was able to identify the language and it was confirmed by a professor at Ohio State,” Carl answers.

  “Okay, so that’s a little weird. But I fail to see how this is all paranormal.” I seriously doubt that every strange happening can be linked to something mysterious.

  “Eli, the other thing we found when we reviewed the video tape is that when she was stabbing the clerk her eyes were completely rolled back in her head.” McNab raises his eyebrows to drive the point home.

  “It could have been a seizure. People do unexplained things when they are having seizures all the time.” I dispel that explanation.

  “You just don’t want to get it, do you?” McNab looks at me with frustration.

  “This just sounds like a strange string of events.” I await their rebuttal.

  “We launched a full-scale investigation. We worked day and night looking for information and explanations. It’s always best if we rule out all of the mundane possibilities before we delve into the paranormal.”

  Carl stands from his chair and begins pacing behind McNab.

  “That seems wise,” I offer.

  “After exhausting every other possibility we started digging deeper and discovered that the last four families that lived in that house had experienced some sort of upheaval or tragedy.” McNab has a genuine expression of remorse.

  “What kind of tragedy?” I’m intrigued, but I’m not buying it just yet.

  “Eli, the sort of tragedies isn’t what’s important about this story. The important thing is what we learned about Miranda,” Carl offers.

  “She showed up on the scene and offered to assist us with the investigation. She had a real smooth touch and came off as harmless. We were really convinced that she genuinely was there to help. Even Carl wasn’t able to read her, which was slightly suspicious, but we were so focused on the case we didn’t actually care.” Carl looks at McNab with admiration as he tells the story. They exchange a glance when McNab pauses.

  “She talked to me about the organization she worked for and said that they were looking for people like me and that I should learn more about it,” McNab recalls. “I met with them while Carl continued the investigation. I went to Chicago. Miranda didn’t join me, I went alone, and while I was occupied with them, she eliminated the threat.” McNab wraps the story up too quickly, and I still have unanswered questions.

  “What do you mean she ‘eliminated the threat?’”

  “She killed her.” Carl walks further from where we are sitting as though he were ashamed to be near us.

  “Killed who?” I ask.

  “Miranda killed Mrs. Wilson, the c
lient’s wife,” McNab says softly.

  “She killed her. How do you know this?” I’m dubious at best.

  “Because she was the only one who had access and opportunity; she also as much as said that she did,” Carl says, drawing closer.

  “But why would she kill her? I really don’t understand.” I really don’t get what they are trying to tell me.

  “Because this organization is bad news, they work under the guise of the “greater good,” when in fact all they are doing is murdering innocent people and then possibly exacerbating the problem. They seem to think that when something has been bound to a person the only real way to unbind and stop the activity is to kill the host or the beacon, whichever the case may be.” McNab is adamant.

  “What do you mean by beacon?”

  “A beacon is someone that is attracting spirits, demons or angels,” Carl informs, though I’m sure he knows I’m not going to believe this.

  “So Harry is involved in an organization that sanctions killing people if they have a problem?” I don’t believe it.

  “I honestly don’t think Harry is aware of what’s happening, I believe that.” McNab defends him. “I think Harry was brought in as a control. My guess is that he’s brought in to solve a crime in the event that there is any other explanation other than possession or some other paranormal activity.”

  “So Harry doesn’t know?”

  “No, and I have to figure out how to tell him that Miranda should not be trusted. That she was likely sent to investigate and eliminate if necessary.” Carl sits next to McNab with worry clouding his eyes.

  “So what’s our next move?” I ask.

  “We watch. No move, just watch.” McNab’s beaten down by the impotence of the situation.

  “Well, if there’s a chance she would try to hurt Shay I’ll do what it takes to protect her,” I assert.

  Carl’s eyes wash me in pity. “Eli, this is a little more than I think you could handle. But rest assured I’ll be watching Miranda, and now that I know how she operates, I'll be able to protect Shay from her.”