Summoned
by Rainy Kaye
Chapter 1
I dislike having to murder someone. Kidnapping is worse. At least when I setup a kill, I know what's coming. No connections, no honesty, no surprises. Everything I say and do are just steps to luring in my victim. Once the victim falls right into the trap, the next move is swift: crushed windpipe, fatal concussion, or a good ol' fashioned headshot.
Kidnapping, on the other hand, is a little trickier. First, the victim has an opportunity to respond. I don't like this. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they manage to alert the authorities. And sometimes they escape, usually by inflicting bodily harm on me.
Dead people don't retaliate.
The second major difference between killing and kidnapping is my conscience. I get in and out with a kill. We have no chance to bond.
Abductees require a little more one-on-one. As much as I try to keep the switch turned off, I can't help but listen to their pleas and demands. And I usually realize I'm a jerk.
That's exactly where I find myself one late afternoon in June. I prefer doing this at night, but moreover, I would prefer not doing this at all.
Instead, I have a belligerent nine year old girl sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda Accord, shackles on her wrists and ankles and a small stuffed bunny on her lap. She's eying me in a way that makes me self-conscious. Like I'm the bad guy.
Probably because I am the bad guy.
“My dad will shoot you!” She glares at me. “He has lots of guns and knows how to use them good. He'll shoot you.”
Right now, that feels more like a mercy than a threat. I focus on the road and say nothing.
“But you won't die, and he'll call the police, and you'll go to jail!” She rattles her chains like a new specter trying out the haunting thing.
And she keeps rattling them.
I clamp my jaw and tighten my hold on the steering wheel.
The clanking grows louder. From the corner of my eye, I catch she is shaking the chains at me. She's nine. She's angry. This is all she's got.
It's annoying as shit.
“Okay! Stop it!” I reach for the middle chain to still her.
She shrieks. High pitched, icepick to the eardrum shrieks.
I snap my hand back to the steering wheel. “Please stop.”
She shrieks louder. Dear God.
“Enough!”
She silences. Her eyes are fixed on me though.
I'm supposed to be the bad guy here. Probably a good idea to say something bad guy-ish.
I got nothing.
My conscience sneaks in, whispering questions about what is going to happen to her after delivery.
Ransom, I decide. She will be held for ransom.
Truth is, I will never know.
I bet she is in a lot of extracurricular activities. Star of her class, ringleader of her friends, exasperation to her parents.
They don't know she's missing yet. She was heading home from school when I cut her off at a crosswalk, slapped the chains on her in the backseat, and peeled away. I am a pro at this.
Unfortunately.
If I didn't know better, I would think she was too. She sang. In the backseat. At the top of her lungs. The Song That Never Ends.
Come to find out, that song never ends.
Ever.
So we struck a deal. She would stop singing, and I would let her ride in the passenger seat.
It was a compromise. Her first offer was that I let her go.
Nice try, kid.
She juts her chin. “Where are you taking me?”
“A big house.” I bat my hair out of my eyes. “A mansion. With lots of expensive things. There's maids and cooks. Huge yard with a pool that might as well be a lake. Has a waterfall and everything.”
“Is there a pony?”
“Well, there's—” I stop and glance at her.
She's fuckin' with me.
I groan and slouch in my seat. Not very bad guy-ish, but I think she's already figured out I'm a poser.
“Look, just be quiet, will ya?”
She starts screaming again.
Mental note: bring a gag next time.
The thing is, I'm not afraid of the cops. They're more of a nuisance than anything.
Want to scan my record? Go for it. Leo Hartz is clean.
And my real name, Dimitri Hayes? I do not exist.
I don't have fingerprints—they were seared off—and any of my DNA in the federal system links to long discarded aliases.
Thanks to me, cold cases litter the desks of investigators across the nation.
I frown. Hopefully another file isn't going to be added soon.
The city gives way to desert: packed dirt, patches of dry brush, and a few tall cacti. Purple mountains stand against the empty sky.
After ten minutes or so, I roll down her window a quarter of the way. We could both use some fresh air.
The drive isn't over yet.
Despite her shackles, she manages to push herself up on the door and wedge a hand in the crack. The stuffed bunny rolls to the floorboard. She ignores it and tries to force the window down farther. Probably thinks she can leap out. Wouldn't surprise me if she tried.
“You need to sit,” I say, voice even.
“I'm planning my escape,” she says, matter-of-fact.