Running feet splashed alongside the heavy patter of rainfall in the waterlogged alleyway....
STORY
Running feet splashed alongside the heavy patter of rainfall in the waterlogged alleyway. Rising panic was mingled with a terrible, knowing dread. Just another turn to the left and he knew what he’d see, and what he hoped against all hope to not be true this time. But like every time, there she lay, illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of a shabby streetlight, mired in muddy rainwater and blood. Heart pounding, carrying an unspoken grief, he woke from the nightmare to the soft ticking of the bedside clock and the familiar darkness of his room.
*****************
Looking out the window at the dark sky dotted profusely with the white, gold, red, and silver of city lights, he patiently sipped his drink. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. The calm of his posture, the steadiness of his gaze, and the gentleness of his movements belied the inner restlessness. Maybe he’d finally be free… it all depended on what might happen this evening.
For a moment, his mind flashed to her, in her long deep blue gown, jasmine in her hair, turning to look back at him over her shoulder, smiling as she left some party or the other. As suddenly as the fragment of memory emerged, it slipped away, leaving him here, now, so far away from what felt like another life.
Just as he reached for his phone, its sharp ringing cut the silence.
“Yes?”
“We have him.”
“Where we agreed?”
“Yes.”
“I’m on my way.”
He took a deep breath. This had been a long time coming. His reflection looked back at him, haunted, but with a flicker of something approaching an aliveness he hadn’t felt for a long, long time.
*****************
In a dimly lit abandoned warehouse, on the outskirts of the city, a detective found himself bound and gagged. Marcus didn’t bother to struggle against the restraints, knowing it was probably useless. He’d been left alone, his abductors guarding the entrance of the windowless, single entry building. Sleep-deprived from his multiple overnight shifts recently, angry, confused, and afraid, he wished this were some wild imagining of his.
In the relative noiselessness, he heard the distant sound of people talking, and then the door to the warehouse opening. The two abductors from earlier in the evening untied him only to restrain him to a chair across from a rickety wooden table and a second empty chair. Marcus wondered why they’d removed his gag. Were they going to interrogate him about some investigation of his? Or threaten him over one of his cases? Briefly, he considered shouting for help. It wouldn’t be much use, he knew, they were probably well away from anyone who could hear him and offer assistance.
There was silence and stillness for what felt like an interminable age. Despite the underlying panic, Marcus found his eyes growing heavy and his mind drifting off into a sleep of oblivion. Darkness. Blankness. Nothingness… and then there was the scrape of a chair being pulled back, and his eyes snapped open again. As his mind reoriented to the situation, he experienced a shock of recognition and bafflement.
“You?” he croaked, his mouth dry, throat parched. “What – Guy?”
“Hello, Marcus.” Guy offered him a thin smile, his calm infuriating. “Need some water?”
“What is this, you smug—-“
“Now, now, Marcus, let’s not go around saying uncouth things. I can think of a number of interesting adjectives for you too, but I’d rather not stoop to childish name-calling.”
“You’re talking to me about name-calling when you’ve got me tied up in this God-forsaken place? What are you? Some kind of crime lord, masking as a civilised member of polite society? I never could trust you.”
Guy arched an eyebrow, “Crime lord? Really Marcus, I didn’t think you were a man given to flights of fancy. The reason we’re here will become clear to you eventually. For now, humour me – I have some things I’d like to ask you. Cast your mind back in time to ten years ago, before you moved here. When you were still starting out as a rookie detective in your hometown. Do you recall that first case of yours that made headlines?”
Guy’s inscrutability was disconcerting. Why would he be asking him this, Marcus wondered. Ancient history. Nothing to do with Guy, or who Guy had seemed to be – what was all of this about?
“The fire at the Richards’ home.”
“You do remember.” Guy looked into his eyes, intently.
“Yes.”
“Do you also recall how that ended?”
Marcus hated remembering this. He’d been to see her, because he knew she was close to the Richard’s son, John. If anyone could’ve known where the young man was, it would have been her. She refused to help him, of course. She wouldn’t even entertain the possibility that her friend could have been responsible for the fire that killed his family.
“Don’t you dare go after him, Marcus! This is madness. He would never…”
“But he did, even if you don’t want to believe it. He did.”
“I know he didn’t.”
“That’s hardly evidence.”
“I’ll never forgive you if you insist on pinning this on him.”
“Don’t. This is more important than what you feel for him.”
She’d flung the engagement ring at him, as he left. She stayed true to her word.
Marcus sighed, “Yes, I remember. The son was the prime suspect, and he managed to disappear before we could pick him up for further questioning. What does that have to do with us right now? Are you going to tell me that was you? Like some predictable revenge film?”
Marcus saw now the likeness, and loathed him more than ever.
“Yes, but I think on some level you’ve known for a while who I am. Who I am is only part of the reason why we’re here.”
To be continued…
