Take Me in the Dark (9 page)

I lean back, breathing harder than I should, the comforting weight of my cello leaning against me. I’m not a very experienced singer. If I was, I would have moved or at least done something to give the audience a more interesting show. I hadn’t done anything except close my eyes and sing. I should have at least made use of the water bottles the stage crew left next to my chair, but I didn’t. My throat is sore.

I look out for the first time, but can’t see anyone. The spotlight is still shining in my eyes. I tuck my chin into my neck and lower my cello.

The sound of applause and chairs being pushed out erupts, conjuring within me an odd blend of self consciousness and relief.

It’s over. I can go home
.

I glance around, trying to see where I can leave the stage, but it’s hard to think with all that light in my eyes. It’s hard to see. The stage is so big. I focus on packing away my cello as people begin to shout things from the crowd.

Something touches my shoulder—a dark figure. I hear a soft, reassuring man’s voice. “That was beautiful.”

I murmur thanks as I look up, finding the announcer’s happy face smiling down at me. I pick up my cello and stand.

“Take a bow,” he says.

I freeze.

“They expect it,” he continues.

Reluctantly, I comply. I don’t understand why my cheeks are so hot as I do it. Why something that is so routine—in fact, it marks the end of every performance—feels so wrong in this instance.

I finish bowing. The man’s hand moves to my back. This time, nothing about him feels soft or reassuring as he leads me off the stage.

The next act is lined up and ready to go on stage—three blonds in elegant evening gowns.

“Good luck,” I murmur.

“Thank you.” They grin at me, then at each other. “We hope we do half as well as you did!”

Bernard appears at my side and raises his eyebrows. “Oh sorry…” I begin, but the girls aren’t listening; they’re being escorted offstage.

“Let me,” Bernard says, taking my cello from my hand. “We should get out of the way.”

Without another word, Bernard swerves left and leads me down a small staircase. Caterers and waitresses rush up and down, knocking their trays against my arms. He stops in front of a small door with the word office engraved on the door in gold lettering.

“Come on,” the voice of an older woman says.

Bernard shrugs as he opens the door. An older woman with angular, lime green glasses and a silver pixie cut glares at him. “Were you really even thinking of making me get up and come over there, Barnie?”

“Don’t know what came over me, Bea.”

“I know what came over you,” Bea mutters, pushing her glasses to the tip of her nose. She opens a drawer to her left and begins to leafed through it. “Let’s see here. Laura, isn’t it?”

It takes a moment to realize she’s talking to me. “Uh, yes ma’am.”

“Ma’am,” Bea laughs. “I must be getting old. And don’t either of you reply to that statement. It will just insult me.”

“She’s difficult to deal with when she’s insulted,” Bernard whispers.

“Hey, I’m old, not deaf!” She groans as she leans over the desk. “Here’s your check, sweetie.”

My hand slides over a cream linen envelope.

Bea leans back and sets her spectacles straight. “You can check it if you’d like.”

“Oh,” I swallow. Though it feels gauche, I part the unsealed envelope and peek inside.
$2,000
. For a moment, I don’t breathe. The money doesn’t seem real yet. It doesn’t feel like what I just did was worth $2,000.

“Did you have fun, sweetie?” Bea’s soft voice cuts through my thoughts. I realize I’m standing in the middle of this woman’s office, gawking.

“It was wonderful.” I’m realizing that I’m toying with the edges of the linen envelope and tell myself to stop.

“I’m glad. I’ve heard good things about you, wish I could have seen it.” With that, she returns to her work.

Something about her comment doesn’t sound right. “Wait, didn’t you see us at the Guchenberg?”

Bea’s perfectly manicured eyebrows frown at me. “You think I was invited to that?” she flashes a bright smile. “I just organize these events, hun. I don’t go to them.”

Bernard was grinning too. “Yeah. They’d call the cops if she showed up.”

Bea gasps in mock outrage. “What the hell is up with you tonight, boy?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bernard’s grin deepens as he backs away to the door. “We should probably go. You can escape, but I’ve got to deal with her all night.”

I feet refuse to follow. Bea didn’t see me at the Guchenberg. So who invited me to sing? And why did they want me to come alone? “Um, Mrs Miller?”

Bea turns her attention to me. “Yeah sweetie?”

My toes curl. I’m suddenly nervous and I don’t understand why. “If you didn’t ask me to come here…do you know who did?”

“One moment.” She opens the drawer again and searches for my file, then pulls it out. “Well, look here. I’ve got your social, the name of the contact for your school, your home phone number…huh.” She bites her perfectly painted red bottom lip. “Sorry hun. Don’t have that information. But they were probably with the group that asked for you at the Guchenberg, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I was just wondering, it’s nothing.” I wish I could believe my own words.

Bea lifts her emerald fountain tipped pen and starts scribbling something on a piece of torn off paper on the desk. Her mind is already on her next project. “So. There’s a reception for you guys downstairs. You’re welcome to go mingle with the other performers, or I can call a car for you and you can go home.”

I hear Professor Cade screaming in my ear to go, mingle and make contacts that could lead to future projects. A part of me wants to go as well. They invited a diverse bunch and everyone seems really talented. I mean, there are talented people at college too, but there’s an insular, academic feel to college groups. They don’t feel as permanent, as knowledgeable, or as desperate. And besides, if I go I might learn more about how these people even got a gig like this, and discover the identity of my anonymous benefactor.

Still, there’s another voice that’s louder than Professor Cade’s. It’s as seductive as it is frightening. It’s one that shares the same accent as my…well, let’s just call him my mistake…and even if nothing else did, that alone would make him dangerous.

But that isn’t even close to being it.

I shiver, thinking of being close to him again. Being cornered by him. Looking into those cruel, cold eyes.

“I’m pretty tired, I think I should just go home.”

Bea raises her brows. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”
Never been more sure of anything in my life.
I didn’t want to give that creeper another opportunity to do…whatever it was that he wanted to do.

“Alright hun. I’ll call a driver for you and have someone bring your stuff. Bernard, escort her to her car.”

“You got it.” Bernard glances over at me. “Ready?”

Ready? Was that it? Could I really just walk away? Wait, why the hell did I think I couldn’t just walk away! It would be normal to walk away in a situation like this. I’d finished a job; I should be able to walk away.

Bernard and I say goodbye. He’s silent as I follow him through a series of winding passages before emerging from a small door on the side of the yacht.

No one is outside. Loud pop music echoes from the main hall. Light streams from the ship’s windows onto the deck, making the wood glow as if it were burning. Some of the light even stretches across the ship’s edge to the water, illuminating gentle waves.

He holds my hand as we make our way across the bridge. The Christmas lights and the biting cold remind me of how close we are to the holidays. Maybe because of that, I squeeze Bernard’s hand.

“Is everything alright?” he asks without stopping.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Tonight’s felt like a fairytale, almost. Everything is so pretty.”
It would have been perfect if that weird dude wasn’t here, and if I wasn’t still thinking of him…

Bernard says nothing. A man leans against the front of the long, black limousine, smoking a cigarette. Bernard leaves my side and retrieves my purse from him.

“Wow, you guys are fast,” I murmur as he hands it to me. “I thought I’d have to wait for my things.”

Bernard nods. “Do you need anything else?”

I slip my check into the purse. It’s still swimming in receipts as usual. The last-minute touch-up makeup Dolly flung in there is at the bottom. I unzip the interior side pocket and find my wallet and phone. “Um, yes. Thank you, again.”

Bernard nods, opening the back door. He places my cello on the floor, then helps me inside. “Then I’ll be going back. Have a good evening.” With that, he shuts the door and turns.

The driver stomps on his cigarette and hops in the car.

I open my purse again and pull out my phone. Now that my show is over, I need to contact the girls. “Um, I live near Jullian.”

The doors lock.

Well, guess he already knows where we’re going. I mean, why shouldn’t he? The people here seem to have everything under control. Still, some sort of a response would have been nice…

I sigh and swipe my finger across the screen of my phone.

Nothing.

I do it again. Still nothing.

Weird. I thought for sure I’d turned it to silent before the show. I hit the on button.

Nothing.

What the hell? It was fully charged when I left. I
know
it was.

I turn on the overhead light and pound that on button. Dolly is going to kill me if she knows I let my phone run out of batteries—and it is precisely because of that fact that I know I’d fully charged it. The bars were full before the performance. It had only been a few hours.

Something weird was going on. Did I get it wet? I turn the phone over. Maybe…

My hand slides into the an empty space.

The battery is gone.

“Uh, Sir,” I yell to the driver, “we need to go back. I think I dropped my battery somewhere.”

He keeps driving, saying nothing.

A sliver of panic slides up my chest. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

He doesn’t even react.

My hand shakes as I unbuckle my seatbelt. The car lurches forward, throwing me into the glass wall between me and the driver. “Shit!”

He doesn’t even turn around. I know he heard that. I grit my teeth and pound on the window. “Hey! We need to go back! I forgot something!”

He turns left smoothly, going forward at a safe and legal 15 mph.

“Hey! I know you can hear me!” My wrist hurts from banging against the window. “Hello? Hello!”

He doesn’t respond.

I shake.
This can’t be happening. There has to be some explanation. Maybe he’s deaf. Maybe I’m dreaming—I
was
worried about this concert. Wake up, Laura. Wake up.

I shut my eyes, then open them. Everything’s the same, except I’m even more panicked now and we’re going in the opposite direction of Jullian.

“We’re going the wrong way,” I whisper as realization sets in.
He knows we’re going the wrong way. He already knows.

“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.” What’s the first rule about not getting abducted?
Don’t get in the car. Whatever you do, try not to let them get you in the car.

“Fuck.”

I hit the switch that controls the locks on the car. Nothing happens.

It must be controlled from the front.

“Oh fuck.” I grab the door handle. Of course it’s still locked. Why did I think that would do anything? Hysteria sets in with a pathetic whimper as I latch onto the handle harder, throwing my entire body forwards and back in a futile attempt to force it open.

Steady your breath, Laura. Think.
My chest is heaving. If I don’t calm down, I’m going to hyperventilate. There has to be a way out.

I glance out the window. The glass is tinted. So tinted I don’t think it’s legal. I should have noticed that before I’d gotten into the limo. But hadn’t the glass on the first one been dark too? What the hell was going on?

We stop at a red light beside another car. I slam my palm against the window and scream.

It’s a fifty-something cab driver with overgrown sideburns and bags under his eyes. Even though it’s freezing he has the window down so he can rest his elbow on the side of the car.

“Help!” I throw my shoulder against the door, rocking the car. I continue shrieking, pushing my face against the window and slamming it with my fists.

The cabbie doesn’t even look my way. The light turns and he continues straight. We go left under the piss-yellow streetlights and into increasingly unpopulated streets.

I scream again. Could the driver not hear me? Are these windows so dark that no one outside can see anything inside?

Kick out the fucking windows, Laura! Break down this shit!

I don’t realize how stupid that impulse was until I’m on my back and beating the window with my shoes so hard that one of my heel pops halfway off.

Dolly loves these shoes
, I think. And then I realize I might never see Dolly again. That I might never see anyone that I love again. That the only reason why I should worry about ruining her shoes is because I needed shoes to run. And even that was debatable. I could barely even walk in heels. Why the hell had I worn them again?

I snatch my purse and cello off the floor.
Stay positive, Laura. You can’t change the past.
I need to look for an opportunity to escape. When the car stops, maybe, and the driver lets me out.

Crouching, I survey my surroundings. Empty warehouses and crates litter the scene. There’s no longer a specific road. Everything is paved over. Dotted lights flicker from across the bay. No stars—too much light pollution—but that was to be expected. There were places to hide if I could get away.

If.

The car slows. I reach for Dolly’s fan and grip my cello case tighter.
Sorry grandpa. I love you. I love this cello. But I might not see it again after tonight. It’s the only weapon I have, and I’m going to fight.

Adrenaline courses through my body, making me feel stronger and more powerful than I really am. I try to harness it. To not allow it overpower my judgment.