Nowhere to Run - Chapter 13

Evie curled up on the mattress on the floor.  The room must have dropped ten degrees in the last hour and she was getting cold. The cement floor and walls gave the room a damp chill and Evie guessed it must be getting late. She didn’t know if she had been lying here one hour or three. It seemed like forever. No one had come since that awful man shoved her in here hours before.  After searching the room as best she could in the dark she hadn't moved again from the mattress.  Clinging to it almost like a life raft adrift on a sea of turbulent waters. There was no light switch or windows or furniture. Just this mattress and the darkness. 

     Evie shivered, would they were going to give her a blanket? Probably not. So what if she froze? They were going to kill her anyway. There was no telling what would happen when they came to get her. Mr. Creepy-man had plans for her and she knew they weren’t good.

“Michael will come. He has to.” she whispered into the darkness. And said it again and it felt good. Like a mantra.

“Michael will come.”

She echoed it again. Softly at first, then louder. Almost like a song of comfort, she repeated it over and over. It had a soothing effect, steadying her breathing and easing the tension that knotted her neck and shoulders.

“Michael will come.” And she began to believe. Rocking slightly, back and forth, willing him to come.

“Michael will come.”

****

     Janerone tensed.  His highly toned senses felt, rather than heard someone enter the room.  Standing at the window watching the men search the yard, he didn’t have to turn around. He knew.

     “Dimitri.” He said evenly.  It wasn’t a question, he knew no other man who moved with such cat-like grace.

     “Surprised you’re still running with the vermin squad, Ned.”

     Ned Janerone turned slowly to face his old ally. His hand moving to reach inside his coat.

     “Keep the hands in plain site Ned. You know the drill.”

“And I’m surprised you’ve been running this long Dimitri. Or should I call you Michael Connors? Is that the name you're going by now?” Janerone lowered his hands. “You knew we’d catch up to you eventually. No one quits the Team.”

     Michael chuckled. “I quit. You could too. Together we could go to the press and spill the beans.  Certain things made public could bring the whole Team down.”

     Now, it was Janerone’s turn to chuckle. “We’d never make it and you know that. It was just dumb luck you’ve evaded the Team this long. It’s over Dimitri. This place is surrounded and you’ll never make it out alive.”

     The slight smile left Michael’s face. He was through with games. He had to get to Evie. “Where is she?”

     “Safe, for now.”

     “Where is she?” he repeated raising the gun to aim directly at Janerone’s heart, his eyes hardening like steel flints.

     “Down stairs” Janerone said, a twisted smile lifted his lips. “But you knew that. You do remember what was downstairs, don’t you?”

     “Take out your handcuffs.” Michael ordered, not wanting to waste any more time on this meaningless patter. He had to get Evie out of here. “And take off your tie.”

     Janerone hesitated and then, with one look into Michael’s cold eyes, he complied. Following orders he laid spread eagle on the floor as Michael pressed the gun to the back of his skull, quickly disarming him.  Within minutes, Michael had Janerone handcuffed and his feet binded together with the tie. Then bringing his hands and feet together behind him, he secured them quickly.  When he had him hog-tied in this position, Michael searched Janerone one more time, taking the money clip and slipping it into his own pocket, “This will come in handy. You just get paid?”

     “You’re not leaving here alive.”

     “I know you too well, Ned.” He said as he pulled a switchblade from Janerone’s boot and another smaller blade in the hem of his jacket. You always had a fondness for arsenals.  You haven’t changed a bit.”

Michael tucked the weapons away on his own person. “Now, if I remember correctly...”

     Michael rummaged around in the kitchen drawers.

     "Where do you keep the tape, Ned? I thought there was always some duct tape or something around here.

     "Go to Hell, Dimitri."

     “Hey, no harm, no foul” Michael said as he patted him on the head.

     Then spotting an apple lying among the disarray on the counter Michael took it and pried Janerone's mouth open. Using the apple to lever the lower jaw open as far a possible, he rolled the apple into Janerone's mouth. Gagging him just as effectively as tape. Janerone grunted angrily as Michael eased open the basement door and descended.

    The corridors were even more confusing then he remembered. When he was part of this, he avoided the basement. He wasn’t into ruthless interrogations. He left that to those with no conscience. Like Bart.

Michael was betting Evie was still in the holding cell.  If they wanted to use her to flush him out, they had to keep her alive, right? He doubted they would resort to torture this early in the game, but then he remembered Black Bart and his penchant for pain. Michael moved little faster. 

     The holding cells were airless, little rooms that completely deprived a person of all senses. No light, no noise, nothing. The idea being, if a person was left there long enough, they would be more willing to talk. And if not, Bart stepped in and convinced them.

     The thought of Evie in a cell like that was like a knife through his heart. She didn’t deserve this.

I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry, he thought as he made his way to the cells. Sorry for dragging you into this mess. 

Even though, she had been a real trooper through all their running he still thought of her as fragile. She barely came up to his chin. A wisp of silky, blond hair and long legs. Just the thought of Black Bart’s dirty hands on her made his skin crawl.  He came to the end of the corridor and listened.

Absolute quiet.

     Taking a deep breath, he turned the corner, gun first. The lights were dimmed almost to nothing. The faint blue strip of tiny lights that ran along the floor offered very little illumination. But he could see all the doors were open except the one at the end and there didn’t seem to be anyone guarding that cell.

How odd, he thought. Where was the guard? Something’s wrong.

Uneasiness crept over him. It would have been against procedure to leave a prisoner unguarded. Even if it was someone as harmless as Evie.

A faint murmuring came through the overhead speakers. The words so soft he couldn’t make them out. Michael edged carefully down the hallway to the first cell. Penlight in one hand, Glock in the other he swung to face the room. Swinging the penlight across the room and back again.

Empty. He took the other two rooms the same way. Both empty.

As he reached the forth doorway and the murmuring became clearer. It was coming through the speaker right above the cell. All the rooms were wired so it would be easy to tell when a prisoner was ready to crack. He recognized Evie’s voice. It almost sounded like she was singing the same words over and over. 

“Michael come for me. Michael come for me.”

“I’m here, babe.” He whispered as he twisted the dead bolt and slowly slid it back.  As he cracked the door he heard her clearly now. His light played around the room, finding her on the dirty mattress, curled into a ball.

“Evie?”

“Michael come for me, Michael come for me.”

     The monotone of her voice had him worried, she sounded so disconnected. He had seen prisoners in this exact same condition. Disconnecting from reality due to extreme stress. He knew he had to be careful with her.

Slowly, he pushed the door wide. “Evie, I’m here.”

     “Welcome Dimitri.”

Michael froze. That chilling voice came from behind him and he'd know it anywhere; Bartholomew Long. “Damn!”

     How stupid could he be?  Letting his guard down like that! Not watching his back. He had been too obsessed with Evie and it made him sloppy.

     Michael turned slowly to face his adversary.

     “Bart.”