Chapter 3

fyi: missing persons, implied alcohol use, threat of violence

Sunday

“Hi, Mr. Robertson. I got into a car accident over the weekend and will be hospitalized for a couple days. Cameron is here with me. I am asking for you to please allow us to postpone our test. Sincerely, Vienna.”

It’s a bad lie, and I know it. But I send the email to my teacher anyway, knowing that there’s no way in hell that I’m going to be going to school or work tomorrow. At this point, I don’t really care about the upcoming test. Nor do I care about sleeping. I need to make a plan, and I need to make it fast. Based on the thoughts of the police officer that I was able to “overhear”, Cameron’s life could depend on me acting quickly. Any second wasted, any moment of inaction, could be deadly.

I’m in danger too, and I know it. But right now I’m at home, I’m alive, and I’m not in captivity. Instead, I’m sitting on my couch in front of my laptop searching the police officer’s name in hopes of finding a lead.

The name on the badge was S. Morrison. So far though, I’m having no luck finding any information about anyone with that last name. There are no articles mentioning her, and nothing on Facebook. I know that I’d recognize her face immediately if I saw it. There would be no mistaking those dark eyes.

After almost an hour of getting nowhere, I give up and close my laptop. There’s one more avenue I can try. I unplug my phone from the charger next to me and dial my mom’s number. She picks up after a few rings.

“Hello? Vi, is that you?” She’s drunk, I can tell by the way she’s slurring her words.

“Yes, mom, it’s me. I won’t keep you long, I just have a question.”

“What question? Where are you? You haven’t come to visit me in weeks.”

“I’m at home, ma. I need to know the phone number for that cop friend of yours – that one you dated a few years ago. Remember him? Tony, I think?”

“Tony? Why do you want his number? He’s a douche.” I hear glass breaking in the background and the phone apparently drops, since all I hear now is the crashing of the phone hitting linoleum and my mom cursing up a storm in the background. After almost four minutes, she picks the phone back up again.

“Are you still there?” she says, with more than a hint of agitation in her voice.

“I’m still here. Give me his phone number and I’ll let you get back to your drinking,” I say bitterly. “I know you have it – the number.”

“Fine. I’ll text it to you. Come visit sometime.” She hangs up without saying goodbye.

I sigh and wait for the text. She sends it almost ten minutes later. But I have it, and I hope to all that is good and holy that Tony answers. I dial the number.

“This is Tony,” a male voice says after one ring. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Uh, hi Tony, this is Vienna. Barron. I know it’s been a while….”

“Vienna. Why are you calling? Did your mother put you up to this? Tell her to leave me alone, I have a wife and a baby girl now and she’s invading my privacy.”

“No. She didn’t. I needed to talk you you. It’s urgent. I’ll be quick, I just have a question….”

“What’s it about?” This man had never been one to beat around the bush. He’s a cop, after all.

“An officer came to my apartment last night to ask about a domestic disturbance. Something seemed fishy. I thought she might be a fake cop. I hoped you could tell me if she works with you.”

“Tell me the name.”

“It was S. Morrison. She was tall and had black hair.”

Silence.

“Tony?” I ask after receiving no response.

“Meet me at the park bench that faces the river on the north side of Riverbend Park at 1300 sharp.” His tone changed completely. He sounded almost scared.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Just do what I say.” He hangs up.

I contemplate my options for about thirty seconds before deciding my best choice would be to do what Tony said and meet him at the park in about an hour. I really have no other leads.

I check the travel time on my phone’s GPS to find out when I should leave. I find out it takes about twenty minutes to get to that section of the park, which is more isolated than the rest of the city park. It overlooks a river and is usually pretty serene.

I decide to leave early and wait for him there, since all I’m doing is sitting anxiously around my apartment. I get into my car, deciding to leave both my phone and Cameron’s at home since everyone knows they’re basically tracking devices that happen to make phone calls and send texts.

I drive quickly, going a little too fast around the corners of the large apartment complex. I almost hit a newer model black BMW, waving at the driver to apologize before continuing to speed through the complex.

I get to the park a little over thirty minutes early, and after finding the correct park bench I decide to walk around the nearest track for a bit, trying to calm my nerves.

When 1:00 comes, I’m already sitting on the bench. I look around for the somewhat-familiar face. He and my mom dated for about seven months nearly five years ago. It didn’t end well, but I’m pretty sure my mom still has a thing for him. He and I never spoke much, but since I was still living with my mom at the time, we did see each other when I was home. That was rare, though; I was usually at Cameron’s.

I see him coming from my right. He’s walking quickly and wearing a tan collared jacket. He looks distracted.

“Vienna,” he said as he approached. “How are you?”

“I’m good, how are–”

He interrupts, speaking quickly and quietly. “Susan Morrison worked with me. She was one of the best police officers I knew. She was kind, intelligent, just.”

“Was?”

“Three days ago she went missing. Nobody has seen or heard from her – well, except for you, apparently. You said that was last night?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “I’m worried. She is not the kind of person to leave her son. Besides you, the last person who saw her was her ex-husband, who now has the child. She normally wouldn’t allow that to happen. She hates that man.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I’m not sure, but there was something –” Tony’s phone dings. He stops mid-sentence to check the text message. His eyes dart back and forth, reading the text message multiple times before looking back up at me with the best poker face I have ever seen.

“It’s good to see you, Vienna. Go home now.” And just like that, he turns around and walks away.

“Wait!” I shout. But he ignores me, and he’s walking so quickly that he’s gone before I even figure out what to say.

I get back in my car, feeling defeated. At least I have a name, though. And I know that something strange is happening. I wonder how she is connected to Cameron’s disappearance. And I wonder how the hell I’m going to find my friend.

By the time I get home, I feel exhausted. I haven’t slept, and even though it’s not even 2 p.m., all I want to do is pass out on the couch. I quickly exit my car, focused only on getting inside so I can lay down.

As I approach the door, I feel a sense of impending doom. I shake it off; I would only expect to feel that way with all that is going on. I go inside and take off my jacket and shoes, putting them away before heading to the living room.

The moment I hit the couch, I hear it. If “hearing” is the right word for it. It’s unmistakable – someone is in my apartment, and their thoughts are invading my mind.

“Come on… walk into to the bathroom. We’re already behind schedule. I need to get this shit over with.” His thoughts are so loud and clear it’s as though he’s sitting right next to me.

I dare not move. I’m pretty sure the only thing I can hear is the beating of my heart. My thoughts are racing, but there’s one thing I know for certain: someone is here to kill me, and they’re hiding in my bathroom.

Chapter Four

FYI: violence, attempted murder.

My mind is going a million miles per hour. I’m frozen in place, sitting on my couch, fully aware that there is a killer hiding in my apartment waiting for me to walk into the bathroom so I can meet my doom.

I wonder what his plan of action is. A thousand possibilities float around in my head, some of them worse than others. My mind focuses on the worst ones – I’m now wondering why I watched so many serial killer documentaries in the past, since those horrific scenes now feel a little too real to me. I wonder how long I have until he comes out of hiding and just goes for the attack. I wonder what will happen if I try to leave. And I consider what could happen if I call the police, scream for help, or try to fight.

I’m not trained to fight; I push that option out of my head quickly. There’s no way I can hope to win a fight against a trained killer.

I have only one option – I need to leave my apartment immediately, and I cross my fingers that I can make it to my car before he catches up to me.

The moment I manage to stand up, however, I hear footsteps coming from the bathroom. I quickly grab my phone and Cameron’s, as well as my car keys, and I sprint to the door. My apartment is small, though, and he makes it to me quicker than I can get to the door.

I get a half-second look at him before he’s on me. All I really notice is a large, muscular man with a shaved head and blonde mustache swinging his arm at me with a syringe in his hand. He’s wearing a paramedic uniform. I don’t have time to wonder about that. His arm is coming at me fast; he’s doing a right hook towards me, and I duck out of the way just in time. And then I lose my balance and fall backwards.

Before I can get up, he grabs a handful of my hair and swings at me with the syringe again, this time downward; it hits my trapezius muscle. I’m full of adrenaline and don’t really feel anything, but I know he just injected me with something. Nothing is happening yet, though. So while I’m still conscious and alive, I do the only thing I can think of – I pull my keys out of my pocket and grab them tightly in my fist, and the next thing I know, I’m stabbing at his legs in a desperate attempt to get him away from me.

It works – a little bit. He lets go of my hair and takes a step back. I use those couple of seconds that I just bought to stand up and get my bearings… and then something weird happens.

I begin to sense everything he’s about to do right before he does it. It gives me just enough of a heads up to where I know to duck when he swings at me, and then to kick him in the balls when he raises his hands for a choke. The moment he decides to reach for his gun, I already know about it. And that’s when I know there’s just enough time – while he’s drawing his weapon – to open the door and make a break for it.

I run down and almost trip at the bottom of the single flight of stairs, but I am able to make a little headway before I hear him come out of the apartment. My car is just a short distance away… I check to make sure I still have my keys, which I do. And then I run and pray to whatever god might be listening.

The hitman doesn’t shoot, and I know from his thoughts that it’s because it would draw attention to him. Instead, as my hands are shaking and I’m fumbling with the lock on my car door, I can sense that he’s walking at a normal speed, and instead of directly coming after me he’s walking to his car.

I manage to unlock my car door and I get in and slam it shut at the same time that I start the car and put it into reverse. I almost hit a pedestrian as I pull out, but I don’t have time to do anything about it. I speed off, tires squealing. A few seconds later, I see a black BMW tailing me.

I run over the curb as I hit the road and almost hit another car. As soon as I know I’m not going to crash into anything for the time being, I pull out my phone and call the only person that I can think of who might be able to help – Tony.

He doesn’t answer. I leave a voicemail, my voice quivering – “Tony, it’s me. Someone’s chasing me – someone’s trying to kill me – I’m heading to the police station. He got me… injected something… I need help. Please help me. I don’t want to die. Please help. Please help.” I’m panicking. Adrenaline is going full-force.

I toss my phone on the passenger seat and I check my rearview mirror. The killer is two cars behind me – I can see him swerving side to side to get around the car behind me. I hit the gas and change lanes, cutting someone off, and I hear them honk but it sounds like it is coming from very far away.

I start to feel sleepy all of a sudden, and I know at that moment that it’s from whatever drug he injected me with. The police station is eight minutes away, and I don’t know how much time I have left before the drugs knock me out, or worse. I just keep driving. That’s all I can do.

After about five more minutes of trying to outdrive the hitman, the drug starts to kick in more. My vision begins to blur and I start seeing double; all I want to do is go to sleep. A little voice in the back of my head tells me to keep driving… I’m almost there…

A sudden jolt knocks me out of my stupor. Somehow I managed to make it to the police station without remembering how I got here, but my car is halfway in a ditch on the side of the road. I don’t see the black BMW anywhere.

My eyelids are heavy, I can’t feel my body, and the only thing I am aware of is that two gunshots just rang out in the distance and I don’t even know if they were directed at me.

***

Later

I’m sitting on my bed at my apartment, staring at the wall in front of me. I’m not sure how much time has passed. I’ve probably been sitting here like this for at least a couple hours, maybe more. I haven’t moved. My brain is playing the attempt on my life over and over again in slow motion. I’m not sure how I made it out alive.

I was discharged from the hospital not too long ago. I don’t remember how I got there, I just remember waking up in a hospital bed super confused. I don’t remember what time I was discharged, and I’m not even sure what day it is right now. I just know that they told me I was stable and uninjured other than the fact that the hitman gave me an injection of some concoction that knocked me out. After that, I was questioned by the police, but it’s all a blur. I don’t remember much of the conversation. Except one thing. My would-be killer had made it about five blocks past the police station before one of the officers caught up to him, slammed into the BMW with his armored car, and put two rounds into his head.

I was told that I’m safe now. I don’t feel safe. Especially not here. As soon as I can make myself move, I plan on going to Cameron’s parents house and telling them everything – including what happened with Cameron – and asking if I can stay with them a while.

Some time later, that’s what I do. I still have my car – it didn’t sustain much damage in the ditch – so I drive to Cameron’s and knock on the door. I’m dissociating but I’m pretty sure I’m crying when his mom answers. She looks at me in shock, maybe horror.

“Vienna! What’s gotten into you? You’re a mess!”

“Mrs. Finch. I need to, um, talk to you. It’s important. You might want to sit down, I have bad news… Can I come in?”

She looks at me with a face that closely resembles disdain. “No you may not. You need to go.”

“…What?” I don’t comprehend what’s happening.

“You need to leave right now. Cameron told me not to allow you to see him. I’m not sure what you did to upset my son, but he doesn’t want to see you. You need to go.”

“What?” I repeat. “You’ve heard from him?!”

“Of course I have,” she snaps. “He came home right after work. He’s been here since yesterday. And he’s kept himself shut up in his room and barely speaks to us. He won’t tell us what you did, only that he doesn’t want to see you. I sure hope you’re happy.” And just like that, she slams the door in my face. And I just stand there, stunned and sobbing.