Chapter 16
Jude
THREE MONTHS LATER
I heard the sound of letters dropping to the floor at my front door. The sound always made my ears prick up and my eyes open fast.
I rolled out of bed, glancing at the clock on the wall as I did.
8.30 AM.
I'd only been sleeping for a handful of hours, but it didn't matter. That sound always woke me up, no matter what.
I didn't expect anything, I never did any more. In fact, I never did in the first place. She'd told me she'd call me, but she hadn't. I'd expected to hear her voice on the phone soon after she'd left, but I didn't. So when I checked the post every morning, hoping to see a letter, a postcard, a note of some kind, from her, it was always more in hope than expectation.
So it was on this morning. Two letters, two bills.
I laughed ironically. One was a cell phone bill.
It had been just over 3 months since she'd left town, since I had been kidnapped and dragged to that f*cking cellar to be beaten and scared the shit out of. I genuinely thought that was it, that I was going to die, or rot in that dank prison forever.
When they set me free on that cliffside I could barely move for an hour. I just lay there, under the sun, my arms outstretched, and gazed up at the blue sky. I remember laughing with relief, laughing with the knowledge that I'd won, that I'd beaten Conor O'Brien. Amy had escaped, and I'd be seeing her again soon. I didn't care what he told me, what he said to me before leaving me in the dirt. I was going to see her again, and nothing was going to stop me.
Nothing, except her.
I never heard from her. I waited for days for her call, excited to hear about where she'd gone, when we might meet again. But she never called me, she never sent a letter or even tried to get in touch.
I racked my brain to think of whether I'd given her the right number to call me on. I started to think that maybe something had happened to her, that something had gone wrong. Then, as the days turned to weeks, I realized that maybe, just maybe, she'd done the same thing she did the first night I met her.
Maybe she'd come to her senses. Maybe she'd realized that it was too risky, that we could never have a relationship like this. I couldn't decide whether she might do that for herself, retracting back to the closed off, introverted girl that I'd met; or whether it was for me, to protect me from her father, to protect me from myself, from my own desire for her.
So when I heard the post that morning, there wasn't anything inside me that expected anything from her. No, I'd begun to give up that hope, lose the belief that she'd ever contact me again.
With everything that had happened, however, that might just be a good thing.
….
It was later that same afternoon that I found myself behind the wheel, cruising through town towards my poker club.
I'd spent the previous half hour or so talking with Crash, as per our usual Sunday business catch up. Over the last few months he'd been keeping a slightly closer eye on me, ever since the whole situation with O'Brien blew up in my face.
I'd told him about what had happened, of course. Frankly, he needed to know.
When I did, his reaction was mixed. On the one hand, he was furious with me for not leaving it with Amy, for staying involved after everything that had gone on. One the other hand, however, I knew that all he wanted was to keep me safe, and that if O'Brien took another step against me, he'd have to take action.
It was interesting to see how Crash was becoming more like our father as his responsibilities grew. Only a couple of years ago he'd have flown into a rage and probably done something he would have regretted, Conor O'Brien or not.
Now, though, there was something different about him. He'd learned to control his anger, bottle it up inside, seek revenge in his own way and on his own terms. It's exactly how my father had been with anyone who wronged him. He was calculating and shrewd, and Crash was becoming just the same.
These days, however, when I met with Crash, there was an extra element to our discussions. He was interested to find out whether Amy had got in touch, to see if I had any plans to visit her, or vice versa. When I told him 'no', there was no hint of a lie in my eyes. I think, on the contrary, he could tell from my disappointment that she hadn't been in touch.
Every time I told him I could see the relief on his face. He wanted me to stay away from her as much as O'Brien did. The last thing he needed was for me to rock the boat with the most dangerous man in town, a man who already harbored a deep resentment towards our family.
But, call me selfish, call me what you want, I didn't care. Whatever the stakes were, they weren't enough. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to hear that she was OK and that she'd managed to escape the clutches of her dad for good. I wanted to touch her and smell her and feel her hands on me.
Above all it was the not knowing that got to me the most. If she called to tell me that she didn't want to see me again, or that she thought it was too dangerous for us to be together, I'd understand. I'd disagree, but I'd understand.
But no. I heard nothing. No sight or sound of her for over 3 months. I think, in the end, that was probably enough of a sign in itself.
….
When I turned round the corner of the street and began to cruise towards my poker club, however, my heart beast faster than it had for months.
A car was parked outside, a car I recognized, or thought I did.
I drove faster, further up the road, inching closer to get a better look.
I'd thought at times I'd seen Amy's car, her white Porsche convertible, zipping around the streets of Branton. One time I'd even taken chase for a few blocks before realizing that it was a fat guy behind the wheel, not the hot red head I'd fallen for.
But this was different. The car was outside my poker club. That can't be a coincidence, surely?
Yes, it is it! It's her car!
I noticed the number plate as I got closer. I'd never taken time to memorize it or anything, but it just jumped into my head. I must have clocked it subconsciously, locked it deep in my mind.
It is her car! Amy's at my poker club!
I pulled up to park just behind it and quickly jumped out and towards the entrance to the alley.
Within a flash I was rushing through the main door and casting my eyes down into the room, excited to see her, to hear what had been happening, to find out what her damn excuse was for not getting in touch earlier.
The door must have closed behind me with a heavy thud because everyone looked straight up at me from below. I stood at the top of the metal staircase, looking down and scanning the players for Amy.
No, she wasn't there. There were no women there at all, only men. There were four I knew quite well, and one I didn't. He'd been here once before, but I barely remembered him.
A frown hit my face as I opened my mouth and called down into the room: “The white Porsche outside, whose is it?”
The new guy put his hand up. “It's mine Mr Logan.”
I moved down the stairs. “That's your car? The Porsche is yours?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
I glanced around at the confused faces, looking at me as though I'd gone mad. Maybe I was going mad.
“Mr Tiller, if I'm not mistaken?” I asked.
“Henry Tiller, yes.”
“Would you mind stepping into my office for a moment?”
He looked slightly worried.
“It's nothing, Henry, please, it'll only take a moment.”
He nodded and stood up from the table as I quickly moved towards my office and shut the door behind him.
Had I got it wrong? Was I wrong about the number plate? Did I just want it so much that I'd made it all up?
“Is there a problem Mr Logan?” he asked as I perched on the end of the desk in front of him.
I shook my head quickly. “Not for you, no. I just need some information.”
“Information?”
“About that car. Where did you get it from? You didn't buy it new, did you?”
His eyebrows arched down. “Well, erm, no. I bought it second-hand, from a used car dealership.”
My breathing intensified, my words growing quicker. “And when? When did you buy it?”
“Um, a few months ago...not long at all....”
“Three months?” I asked quickly, staring at him.
“About that, yeah.”
I slid back off my desk and into my chair, the words settling in my mind.
It was Amy's car. She must have come back into town....sold it, or sold it before she left. But why? Why would she do that? No....she wouldn't. She was on her way out, she'd have escaped first, then sold it somewhere else, once she'd put distance between herself and the city.
Unless.....maybe she was forced? Forced back into town...
I could feel my heart rate increasing by the second, my eyes growing more intense as the thoughts ran through my mind.
Had her father forced her back? That's why she hadn't called....that's why I hadn't heard from her. Not because she didn't want to, or because she was protecting me. No, she hadn't contacted me because she couldn't. Maybe she'd been caught just like I had?
“Is everything OK Mr Logan?”
I arched my eyes up to see Henry looking at me, an apprehension on his face.
All I could do was nod, slowly, and gesture to the door for him to leave.
No, everything was not OK. Everything was far from f*cking OK.
It must be him. Was he keeping her in the mansion? Had he done anything to her, hurt her? No, he wouldn't do that, not to his own daughter. But then, the guy was a psycho, so who knows what he was capable of...
I heard the door open and Henry start to walk out.
“Wait,” I said, looking up. “Where is this dealership?”
He thought for a second before answering. “Denver Cars, across town.”
Denver Cars, I knew the place.
And I was about to pay a visit.