78
Kylie felt the car engine shut off, but she continued to feign sleep. Through slitted eyes she saw they were in a shopping district, a mass of people boiling out of a London Underground stop called Camden Town. She exhaled in relief. There was no way the bearded man would try to stuff her back into the trunk in front of all of these people, and the ride locked up was more horrible than she remembered, every bump jarring through her body, the darkness mixed with the smell of exhaust. With Nick gone, her courage was sliding away, replaced by a sense of helplessness.
Last night, she’d felt the car rumble onto another ferry, the air horn blaring in the dark. Once on the far side, they’d driven for about thirty minutes, then had stopped. She’d waited for the man to release her, but he did not. She’d lain in the trunk for hours, hearing the man shift inside the car, and realized he had pulled over somewhere to sleep. Eventually, she’d drifted off herself, lost in her despair.
She was awakened by the trunk opening and daylight spilling in. Squinting her eyes, she’d been allowed to get inside the vehicle with him, but he had left her hands bound. They’d begun driving again, and she’d leaned her head against the window and pretended to sleep, afraid to ask the man where they were going. Afraid to find out. Postponing the inevitable, but it had arrived all the same.
He shook her knee, saying, “We’re here.”
She sat up and said, “Where?”
“London. Look, I didn’t like what was going on back there. Taking soldiers is one thing, but taking you crossed the line. I’m going to pass you to some people who will get you home. Okay?”
The words alarmed her, making her want to turn back the clock. To climb back into the trunk. She didn’t believe him for a second. He didn’t know it, but she’d heard the conversation he’d had on the phone and knew that whatever this was, it wasn’t about helping her. In a quavering voice, she said, “Why don’t you just let me go?”
“You’ll run to the cops. I can’t have that. These people will hold you until Seamus is done, but they won’t hurt you.”
She began to tremble but nodded tentatively, pretending to believe.
He pulled out a knife, and she recoiled against the window. He said, “I’m going to cut your hands free. Please do not attempt to escape. You won’t make it.”
He sliced the flex ties on her wrists and said, “See that pub over there? We’re going inside, and I’m going to get you some food. The men I’m talking about will meet us there in a couple of hours.”
At his words, she realized she was ravenous. She glanced out the window and saw a two-story establishment called the World’s End.
He said, “Anybody asks about your bruises, make something up. I don’t think anyone will, though. It’s early, but that bar has people who look like you in it all the time.”
She nodded, waiting on him to tell her what to do. He exited the vehicle, circled around, and opened her door. He said, “Remember, no tricks. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
She got out and they crossed the street, threading through the traffic. He held the door for her, and she entered a giant pub that seemed to go on forever, put together with what looked like spare parts and salvage, with no two tables alike and heavy metal music blaring. He pointed to the back, saying, “That way.”
She walked past one bar and entered a large back room with a huge skylight. In the center was another bar, with a balcony seating area above it. She saw a sign for the bathrooms on the right and said, “I really need to go.”
He considered, then said, “Okay, but no tricks.”
He followed her down a short flight of stairs, stopping in an alcove, the men’s room on the right, the women’s on the left. She opened the door and found it empty. Devoid of any help. One more blow to her dwindling courage. She immediately looked for a method of escape, but saw it would be impossible. The only window appeared to be welded shut and was five feet off the ground.
She couldn’t believe how filthy the place was. No seats on the toilets, graffiti all over the walls, and water on the floor. She settled for relieving herself, hovering over the stained toilet. Back outside, she found Colin waiting for her. He pointed to the upstairs balcony. “Up there. Sit at the back, against the wall. I want to see them coming.”
They paused at the bar, a woman behind it with dreadlocks and a ring through her nose, a chain running from it to a hoop in her ear. Colin said, “You guys take euros?”
“Nope. Pounds only.”
He dug out his wallet, producing a credit card. “Run a tab. I’ll start with a Guinness. She’ll have a glass of water. We’ll both take a couple of baskets of fish and chips.”
The lady swiped his card and handed it back, saying, “Fifteen minutes for the food.”
While they waited on the drinks, Kylie considered what he’d said about wanting his back to the wall and wanting to see the men coming. It meant they weren’t exactly friends.
It was the reason he’d stopped here, in a large public place. He wanted the crowd to keep the men in check. After all, if they were such good buddies, and he had her safety at heart, why not just drive to their house? Why meet in a bar?
Colin handed her a glass of water and led her to a circular metal staircase, telling her to go first. The rungs were so narrow she felt as if she were standing still and turning in a circle. They reached the top, the balcony completely empty, deflating her. Driving home her lack of options. She’d again hoped to see someone. To give her a chance, no matter how small, to communicate her status.
He pointed to a couch against the wall, a small table in front of it.
He said, “I’m going to get the food. I’ll be right next to the stairs. You come down, and I’m going to hurt you.”
She said nothing, sagging back in the worn vinyl cushions and putting her head in her hands, her thoughts swirling about.
Nick’s face came into her mind’s eye, and she wondered if he was still alive. The last, vicious kick he’d taken replayed over and over, his head snapping back, his body dropping straight down. She began to weep in small, silent hitches.
She was now completely and utterly on her own. Nobody was coming to help.
She thought bitterly of her uncle, the man she’d placed so much faith in. He had failed her. She knew it wasn’t fair, but the blame filled her nonetheless. He and his pack of friends, all bragging about what they’d done on operations while she hid on the periphery, listening. She’d always believed them but now realized it was just the adoration of her youth. She rubbed her throat, feeling the absence of her pendant. An allegory for her misplaced trust.
Her uncle’s friend swam into her consciousness, and for the first time, she felt true betrayal. She was so sure he would come, like a child believing in the tooth fairy, that the realization he didn’t care crushed her will to continue.
The small bit of weeping grew, the jagged hitches so great she couldn’t breathe.