Goodbye, Kate, page 14
Presumably that’s why I don’t have anyone who I consider a best friend. It’s never bothered me because I don’t know any better. The only examples of the stereotypical BFF relationship I’ve ever seen has been on TV or in books. I never felt the need for it myself, until I met Simon.
Simon became my best friend. He understood my personality from the offset. He did a lot of the talking at first. He persevered, kept turning up at the restaurant, until I’d eased into his company. When I did talk he seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. He would listen to me talk about random fish and sea creatures without sounding bored. He’d let me whine about my aching feet or difficult customers after a day at work. With Simon, words started flowing effortlessly from my mouth, maybe even what you’d consider pointless chatter. It wasn’t pointless anymore because I wanted him to hear every thought that crossed my mind, just like I wanted to hear his.
Shame his were a pack of lies.
So, yes, wimp. That was me. Was being the key word. I haven’t turned into a master warrior, I’m not even sure I could defend myself if attacked again, but I’m not as afraid as I know I should be when I’m taken down a level and hauled into, what I suppose, is my ‘waiting room’. I felt sick with nerves the day I started my new job. The prospect of making new friends or screwing up was almost overwhelming. Yet, here I am now, about to be paraded in front of a group of men who want to use me as a slave, or worse, and I feel…nothing, really.
I’ve not dismissed the possibility that knowing Lincoln will be there, if Liliana was indeed being truthful, has made me feel safer. But…I don’t think that’s it. I think, in all honesty, I’m just done. This experience, the things I’ve learned, has changed me somehow. Standing here with the awareness I might be free soon, I no longer feel like a victim. I don’t want justice for the abuse I’ve suffered. I want revenge.
I’m not a victim anymore.
I’m a perpetrator.
A hunter.
I don’t want these men to spend the rest of their lives in prison, with a bed, meals, a dry roof over their heads. I want them to pay.
I want them dead.
I can only wonder if this is who I’ve been all along. Vengeance must be in my blood, passed down from the genes of my father. Perhaps my dad, Simon, Maurice, everyone I’ve ever known, aren’t the ones who’ve been pretending. Maybe I’ve been the one lying to myself. Darkness like I’m feeling right now doesn’t just appear like an inconvenient rash. It’s been inside me, festering, growing, waiting for the opportunity to break free.
Kate is the odd one out now.
Maybe it’s time for her to die, too.
“You.”
I turn slowly towards the direction of the voice. ScarLips is standing by the door, broad and intimidating, as always. Except, I won’t be intimidated anymore. I refuse to think of his hands on my flesh or his repulsive breath in my ear. Instead, I imagine him bleeding out on the floor, begging for mercy before those devious narrow eyes of his close for good.
“Come.” It’s an order, not a request.
While leaving the room, I take mental notes of everything I see under the assumption this is the room I’m supposed to wait in later for Liliana. I pay the same attention to detail to the exit route and the corridor he leads me along. Every step I take is stored in my mind, every door we pass, every person or object I see. I imagine I’ll be marched back here like a cow to slaughter anyway but, just in case, I want to be familiar with the place. It’s rather astonishing how different things are on these upper floors. Such opulence and comfort rests on top of the squalid prison drenched in piss and mould below. Clearly, I wasn’t taken by some petty backstreet criminals like I first thought. Whoever arranged my abduction is of immense wealth and power.
Just like my father.
Just like me.
How have I not seen it before? I’ve spent my entire life living as a meek and mild girl-next-door when my dad has given me every opportunity to live the ‘high life’, so to speak. I’ve never had to work, get a mortgage, obsess over bills, yet I chose to because of some ridiculous notion that I needed independence. I wanted to make my own success while never being brave enough to actually do it.
But I’m a Fletcher. I could be living like these men, only I wouldn’t use my privilege to destroy innocent people. The darkness gene may be inside me, but I’m not wicked. I would use that darkness to extinguish vile creatures like the ones who brought me here and save my power for helping victims like Giulia.
“Where is Giulia?” My voice is loud and brazen as I walk one step behind ScarLips. He can’t hurt me, not right now. Given that Liliana made such an effort to disguise the bruises on my legs and arms with make-up, I’m guessing battered goods don’t fetch as much in the saleroom.
His face twists at an angle to look at me as we walk, that slimy grin as present as ever. He cackles like a movie baddie and looks away again. “Rotting.” The way he rolls the R on his tongue makes the word sound even more callous.
Rotting…literally? Or rotting like I was in that hole?
“She’s dead?”
His body comes to an abrupt halt before spinning around. His hand flies into the air as if he’s about to whack me right across the face, but then his palm settles on my cheek. “Silly whore thought she could steal drugs from the boss.” He looks…amused.
Sick bastard! “But…”
“No more questions.”
I was wrong. He can still hurt me. He can kick me right in the stomach…with words.
Giulia is dead.
That fucking animal!
Searing rage fizzes through my veins but I fight like hell to ignore it. His time is coming, but it isn’t now. There’s something more important I need to do first. Getting out of here.
We come to a stop next to a set of arched doors. There are people on the other side. I can hear their chatter and movements.
We must be here. This is it.
ScarLips grabs my arm, pinching the skin so harshly it makes me hiss from the smart. “You pull any trick, you join your junkie friend.” He says it as if the threat will petrify me, but it doesn’t. If I’m dead I’m worth nothing.
I don’t reply. I simply wait for his grip to loosen and then yank myself free. Pushing the doors open, ScarLips walks in first before pulling me into the room by the wrist. Holy shit. The place is set out like an actual auction, with rows of chairs facing a tall white plinth. Just like the rest of the top floors, the room is luxurious. Deep-pile burgundy carpet with matching curtains, gold chairs with red cushions, artwork decorating the walls.
“Stay,” I’m ordered like the dog I’ve become after being hustled into a corner.
Of course, I do. Liliana’s warning rings loud in my head. Do not look at him. I tell myself I won’t even scan the room, but I can’t help it. I need to know if it’s true, if he’s found me, if he’s here to save me. If I see him I will look away, stare at one of the other men. No one will know.
Dragging in a slow, deep breath, I raise my head. There must be sixty men and a handful of women sitting in those chairs. I can’t bring myself to focus on their faces, not yet. If he’s not here the determination I’ve mustered will become nothing but internal bravado. I let my gaze sweep over the chests of tonight’s ‘guests’.
Too fat.
Too narrow.
He’d never wear mauve.
Boobs.
Too wide.
Holy shit… That hand. Those long fingers draped so precisely over that knee. That’s his hand. Lincoln’s. Oh my God, Lincoln. I look down at my chest before I dare check the face of the hand’s owner. My heart is thrashing against my ribs making it incredibly difficult to maintain even breaths. Do not look at him. But…I have to. I need to know.
Swallowing the lump of hope in my throat, I look up again.
It’s him.
Oh, Dear God, it’s him.
He catches my eye and I want to break down and cry. The emotion I feel makes no sense. He lied to me. Destroyed my life. But in this moment, he’s all I can see, all I can feel in this entire room. I feel like I’m tied to him by an invisible rope and it’s pulling and tugging, trying to bring me closer, but it’s caught on something. The resistance is killing me.
He snatches his gaze away as quickly as he offered it, leaving me feeling lost and hopeless. Which is ridiculous. I know why he’s here. I’m going to be okay. But not soon enough. I want him now. I want to snuggle into that expensive black suit and cry into his crisp white shirt until I’m one-hundred years old. I want him to hold me, keep me, protect me. Goddammit, I’m no Fletcher. I’m a scared little girl who needs a man, that man with those long fingers, to rescue me.
A firm tug on my arm snaps me back to my miserable reality. ScarLips is manhandling me again. What else is new? He’s so rough that I bite the inside of my lip to prevent the yelp that wants to escape. If he pulls any harder he’ll rip my shoulder clean from its socket. “Head up. Look pretty.” His voice is a low growl, in keeping with the animal he is.
I do as I’m told and concentrate. Making a conscious effort to ignore Lincoln, I focus on the man behind the plinth. He’s quite small in stature but wears the same mean face as the others. He looks smarter, though. Wealthier. He has an air of refinement about him. People respect him, I imagine. Although, he’s probably bought or killed for that respect. He talks with a booming voice as he refers to the images being projected onto a screen behind him. Pictures of crates that are bursting at the seams with terrifying weapons flash up one after the other.
Every so often a bidder, or scumbag as I prefer to call them, will nod or wave a little board in the air. What could they possibly need so many guns for? There must be a whole army’s worth in those photos. They could use a different one to pop off every criminal rival they have and there’d still be enough left over to start another world war.
The guns are none of my business and I don’t understand what the man is saying, so I turn away. There’s a girl in the opposite corner from me, being held by another one of these fucking beasts. She looks younger than me, twenty at the oldest, and she’s terrified. Her small body is shaking. We’re dressed quite similar, both plied with make-up that doesn’t suit our skin. She must be for sale, too. Christ, that thought comes so casually to my mind. It pops into my head as flippantly as a buy-one-get-one-free deal at the supermarket.
A bell rings, stealing my attention. The images have disappeared from the screen and one of the men from the chairs approaches the plinth. He and the speaker exchange words, shake hands, and smile, fucking smile, before he returns to his seat.
A trickle of anxiety begins to creep into my chest as I wonder if I’m next. I don’t let it overpower me, though. I’ve come this far. I won’t give up. When the girl from the opposite corner is dragged in front of the plinth, however, I’m not sure if the breath I blow out is one of relief or frustration. It’s not my turn, but I want to get it over with.
Again, everything is alien to me. It sounds like she’s being introduced, or talked up like a promotional special, but I can’t know for sure. She stands nervously with her head down until the pitted-skinned ogre grabs at her chin, forcing it upwards. I look out to the scum in the chairs and see the first one raise their little paddle. It’s a woman. The bloody women are bidding, too. I stare at her with nothing but fiery hate in my gaze, wishing I had the power to burn her with it. She disgusts me. They all do. One after the other, the paddles keep rising. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Human beings…bidding...on other human beings. Men and women, eyeing their prospective ‘goods’ up and down like this poor girl is a slaughtered pig in a butcher’s shop.
I want to cry. I feel the tears coming. Stinging. Burning. Desperate to claw their way from my eyes. But I don’t let them. I don’t even risk blinking in case it gives them consent to spill.
The room falls quiet. The bidding seems to have slowed down. Does this mean she’s sold? There’s been no bell. The man at the plinth starts talking again, using his hands to ramp up the excitement in the room.
“No! No! Please!” The girl’s cries draw my focus straight back to her. She’s been turned around and bent over, and PittFace tears her knickers from her body.
I feel sick. Physically, violently sick. I screw my eyes closed and bite on my tongue until I taste blood. I can’t watch what they’re doing to her, but nothing can stop me hearing the sound of her flesh being slapped, or the jovial tone of PittFace’s voice while he does it.
It’s the following cry that breaks me completely. She doesn’t shout or plead again, simply cries. Her sniffles glide through the air, straight into my ears, etching themselves into my memories forever. I’m in so much pain. For her, with her.
And then ScarLips laughs. I don’t know what at, but the wretched sound of his sickening chuckle pierces me like a bolt of lightning, sparking a storm of rage and courage deep within myself.
“Get the fuck off of her!” The words burn my throat as I charge at the bastard who’s got his filthy fingers splayed across the girl’s naked rear.
Within a second the noise in the room intensifies and I feel strong hands on my shoulders. I have no idea where my strength comes from, but I kick back with the pointed heel of my shoe as hard as I can, freeing myself long enough to rain punch after punch into ScarLip’s face. I’ve made him bleed. Wow!
He overpowers me soon enough, after wiping the blood from his lip on his fist, but I don’t stop kicking. I’ll never stop kicking.
“Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!” The word comes out automatically with every writhe of my arms and kick of my legs.
And then I’m released. The shock blinds me for a moment, making me stumble. When I blink back into the room I hear a sharp crack, followed by the thud of ScarLip’s body dropping to the floor.
“Lincoln!”
Lincoln takes ScarLip’s gun from his jacket before immediately dragging me behind him without a word. Lincoln is all that stands between me and death. The room closes in on me. I can’t breathe. A gunshot rings, making me squeal and shut my eyes. The room is filled with yells, cries, banging furniture and stampeding feet, and then another gunshot. My whole body jerks in reaction as an acrid smell floods the air. Gun smoke? Fire? The noise is deafening. It hurts my ears.
We won’t survive this. What have I done?
“Kate.”
My body won’t move. My eyes won’t open. My muscles have frozen where they stand.
“Kate!” Lincoln’s voice cuts through the turbulent air.
I focus on it, only on it.
He’s here.
“Kate…” He picks up my chin with his thumb and index finger.
I open my eyes and see another body - PittFace - the one who had his grubby hands all over that poor girl. He’s bleeding from the chest. Blood soaks his clothes. It’s so dark. So much.
“Kathryn!”
Shaking my head quickly, I remember to focus on him. Only him.
“I need you to run. Go with Liliana.”
Is she here? I can’t take my eyes off him to look.
“Go, Kate. You’re my tough girl, remember?”
Tough girl. The words pierce my heart, stopping it for what feels like a lifetime.
“Lincoln!” I yell so loud his name breaks on my lips, warning him of the man raising his fist behind Lincoln’s head.
Lincoln spins and ducks, jabbing the bastard right in the balls. “Run, Kate!”
I don’t want to. I can’t leave him when he came here to save me. They’re going to kill him! “No!” But he’s moving further and further away. I don’t understand. “Lincoln!”
“He can take care of himself. This way. Quick!” Only when I hear the sound of Liliana’s voice do I realise Lincoln isn’t moving. I am. Liliana has been pulling me backwards, her fingers wrapped tightly around my forearm.
I didn’t even feel her.
“Come on!” she scolds. “You will get us killed!”
The pain of her hand on my arm finally registers and I have no choice but to leave with her. Turning my back on Lincoln, for what I assume is the last time, I start to run. The fight behind us fades into the distance, the grunts and thwacks getting quieter and quieter until they disappear altogether. The gunfire, however, that noise remains no matter how far and fast we run. Every bang makes me fold into myself in fear, almost tripping me up. The ridiculous shoes don’t help. Not only am I not used to wearing heels, these ones are at least a size too big. After snagging a heel on the stair carpet, I give in and kick them off before picking them up and carrying them.
Liliana leads me down two flights of stairs. When we reach the bottom she extends her arm, pushing me against the wall. She has a gun in her hand now, too. I didn’t see her take it out or pick it up. She’s so fast. They all are. Just like they’re all armed. I’m surprised any of them have lived this long.
“The next floor is where you were brought in. Remember it?” she asks, her voice an urgent whisper.
I’ll never forget it.
I just nod.
“We will turn right at the bottom of the stairs. It is straight line to end and then you will see steps to door where you arrived. There is—”
“Wait…” I interrupt, shaking my head. “Why are you telling me this?”
I don’t understand why she’s wasting time. It’s quicker for me to just follow her.
“In case we get separated. There are guards down there. I will need to fight. You will run. Yes?”
“N-no.” My head is still shaking from side to side. I can’t seem to stop it. Why is everyone leaving me? “No, I c-can’t.”
