Parker 05 - The Darkness (2 page)

pattered against the windows as Paulina unscrewed one

of the bottles and took a long, deep sip.

The driver flicked on his blinker and pulled into traffic.

He headed uptown. The only sound Paulina could hear

was the rubber squeaking of the windshield wipers. The

only smell that of the car's leather.

"Good day, miss?" the driver asked.

"Better than some, worse than others," she replied.

Traffic was bumper to bumper, and the car inched along.

Paulina began to grow restless. As much as she hated taking

the subway, she probably would have been home by now.

"You think there might be a faster route?" she asked,

leaning forward slightly when the car stopped at a red

light. The driver turned around, grinned.

"Let's see what we can do."

The driver made a right turn, and soon the car was

heading east. When they got to First Avenue, Paulina

could see signs for the FDR Drive north. He pulled onto

the on-ramp and headed uptown. The FDR tended to get

flooded during heavy rain, but Paulina didn't mind chancing that to get home quicker. She watched the cars out-12

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side, eyes widening as she saw her exit, Sixty-first Street,

appear in the distance. Yet instead of slowing down and

pulling left toward the exit ramp, the car sped along, bypassing the exit completely.

"Hey!" Paulina said, leaning forward again. "That was

my stop. This isn't NASCAR, pay attention."

"My apologies," the driver said, "I must not have seen

it."

"No kidding, Stevie Wonder." Paulina cursed under her

breath. The next exit wasn't until Ninety-sixth Street,

and then he would have to loop all the way back downtown. Just like Ted Allen to hire a car service and get a

driver dumber than a pile of bricks.

Traffic moved along steadily, and Paulina sighed as

they approached the Ninety-sixth Street exit.

"Exit's coming up," she said, making sure to remind him.

"Got it, thanks, Miss Cole."

As they approached the exit, Paulina noticed the car

was not slowing down at all.

"Hey, will you slow down? What the hell is wrong

with you? You're going to miss it!"

The car drove right by the exit without slowing

down one bit.

"Where the hell are you going?" Paulina yelled. The

driver did not answer. "I'm calling Ted. You'll work as a

brain surgeon before you ever work our account again."

"Put the phone down, Miss Cole." The driver's voice

had lost all of its pleasantries.

"Screw you. Now I'm calling the cops. Forget our

account. Your ass is going to jail." She took out her cell

phone and flipped open the cover.

"If you ever want to see your daughter with all her

limbs intact, you'll put the phone down right now."

The Darkness

13

Paulina's mouth fell open in a silent scream. Her

daughter...how did this man even know about her?

Paulina's daughter lived with her first husband, a loser of

a man named Chad Wozniak. He was a good father, an

aspiring architect who never progressed beyond the word

aspiring.
He was a good man, a decent man, but not a

provider. That's what Paulina had wanted for her family,

but in the end she had to do what Chad could not.

Abigail. She was twenty years old. A junior in college.

A 3.7 average, captain of the soccer team at some allgirls' school up in Massachusetts. She and Paulina barely

spoke. Maybe once every few months, and usually only

when Abby's checking account ran low. Abby was beautiful, even if sometimes this budding young woman

seemed like a stranger to her own mother.

"You're a sick monster," Paulina said, closing the phone.

"Don't be like that. We're almost there."

The driver took the FDR to the Triboro Bridge, pulling

off once they'd arrived in Queens. He skidded around an

off-ramp, took several turns in a neighborhood Paulina

did not recognize, and slowly eased into an alleyway

bookended by two buildings that looked like they were

about to collapse. Paulina could see nobody, hear nobody.

She was all alone with this man. Through the rain and

desolation, nobody would hear her if she screamed.

The driver exited the car and walked around to the

backseat. Paulina locked the door from the inside. She

heard a click as the driver unlocked it with his remote.

Before she could lock it again, he threw open the door,

grabbed Paulina by her coat and spun her into the mud.

Wet slop splashed into her face. Paulina felt her eyes

grow warm, anger rising inside of her. She launched

herself at the man, her nails bared to rake at his face, but

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he merely grabbed her by the neck, held it for one horrible

moment as he stared into her eyes.

Then Paulina felt him press something against her

side, and suddenly she felt a scorching pain worse than

anything she'd ever experienced. Her body twitched as

she screamed. She lost control of her bladder, then

dropped facedown into the mud. Paulina looked up to see

the man holding a Taser, smiling.

"I wouldn't do that again. I can smell your piss."

Paulina could feel hot tears pouring down her face. She

was on her hands and knees, caked in grime, and her

body felt like it had just been plugged into an electrical

socket. She slowly got to her knees, managed to stand up,

her breath harsh and ragged.

"What do you want?" she cried. "Money? Sex?" She

shuddered at the last word, praying he didn't, praying

there was something else, something that wouldn't leave

a scar. Pain she could take, but that kind of pain would

never leave.

The man shook his head. Holding the Taser, he reached

inside his overcoat, rain beading down the dark fabric.

The water spilled down his forehead into his eyes, but the

man who called himself Chester hardly seemed to notice.

He removed something from his pocket and held it out

to Paulina. She focused her eyes, then gasped.

It was a picture of her daughter, Abby. She was at the

beach, wearing a cute pink bikini, standing in front of a

massive hole she must have dug in the sand. The photo

looked fairly recent, within the last year or so. Abigail's

eyes were bright and cheerful, her skin a golden brown.

Abby. She looked so joyful.

Her daughter.

"Where did you get that?" Paulina yelled.

The Darkness

15

"Do you really need to ask? I had a dozen others to

choose from. You really should tell her to be careful of

what photos she posts on the Internet."

"You're a freak," she spat. "What the hell do you want?"

"I want you to listen to me very carefully," the man

said. He stepped closer, still holding out the photograph.

Water droplets landed on the photo but he didn't seem to

care. "A long time ago, I fought in a war. I fought alongside men and women who were like my own blood. Then,

one day, we found ourselves trapped. There was one man

I fought with who was like family, closer to me than

anyone. He was like a daughter. A mother. A brother."

Paulina shivered.

"That day, we found ourselves fighting for our lives. And

all of a sudden, out of nowhere, someone throws a grenade

at us. I was out of harm's way, but the grenade went off right

beside this man I cared about. I remember looking at him

after the smoke cleared. He blinked his eyes, looked around

like he was just confused. The only thing I remember more

than his eyes was the splash of blood beneath him. Right

where his legs had been blown clean off."

Then, in one fluid motion, Chester held the right side

of the photo with his thumb and forefinger, tore off a

piece and let it flutter to the ground. It landed in front of

Paulina, speckled by rain and mud.

"This is what your daughter will look like when I cut

off her legs."

Paulina felt her stomach heave, her mouth opening, her

eyes burning as she cried. She reached out for the photo,

but was too weak to do anything.

"Blood has its own smell. It makes you want to vomit.

And imagine what happens when you see that much

blood coming from someone you love."

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He gripped the picture, and ripped off another piece.

Again the shred fell, twisting in the rain.

"This is what your daughter will look like when I cut

off her right arm."

"Please," Paulina whispered, her throat so constricted

she could barely talk. She closed her eyes. "Stop. Just stop."

The man stood there, holding the mutilated picture out

for Paulina to see. "Open your eyes," he said. Paulina

shook her head. "Open them!"

She did.

"I have something for you," the man said. "I want you

to take it home with you and I want you to read it."

"What?" she said, blinking away the tears.

"When you've read it, I want you to write an article for

your newspaper based on the information contained

within. Your article will run this Thursday. If it does not,

for any reason whatsoever..." The man took the photo and

ripped off a piece. Then he dropped the tattered photo into

the mud.

"I will cut off your daughter's head and send it to

you in a box."

He walked over to Paulina, and before she could react

he grabbed her by the hair and thrust the Taser into her

side. Again Paulina shrieked, and again she fell into the

mud, panting.

"If you don't do what I say, before I rip your daughter

apart I will burn her in places only her mother knows about."

The man took an envelope from inside his jacket. It

was sealed in plastic. He gave it to Paulina.

"This is the last you'll hear from me if you do what I

say. If you tell anyone, I will tear Abigail apart limb by

limb. If you go to the police, I will know you did and I

will burn her body after I kill her. I will
know.
I'll burn it

The Darkness

17

so thoroughly they won't be able to identify a single piece

of her flesh, and the last time you will ever see your

daughter whole is in photographs. I will save her severed

limbs and leave them on your doorstep." The man paused,

watched the blood drain from Paulina's face. "If you live

up to your end, your daughter will be able to live the rest

of her life like a normal girl. She will be blissfully ignorant of what happened tonight. Otherwise, she will know

a pain of which you've only felt a fraction of tonight."

"Please," Paulina mewled.

Chester looked at the remains of the photograph of

Abigail on the beach, her smile wide like a small child. "If

not, the only bliss she'll know is whatever happens to her

soul after she dies."

Paulina took the plastic, turned it over in her hands.

Then she looked at him, confused.

"In there is everything you need to know. And make

sure you don't lose the piece at the bottom."

Paulina looked at the bottom of the clear folder and

saw what appeared to be a small, black rock, no bigger

than a pebble.

Paulina sat there, crying, sniveling and drenched. Chester

stared down at her, rain dripping off the tip of his nose.

"For your sake, I hope your daughter doesn't have to die.

Terrible thing to lose one's family. But that's up to you."

By the time she looked up, the driver was back in his

car. Then the engine revved, and he was gone. Paulina sat

in the rain, mud staining her dress brown.

She watched him go, waiting to make sure he was

gone. Her body was racked with pain, and she could

barely stand. Her hands felt like they'd held a battery from

both ends, and when she dialed the car service it took

three tries to get the number right. When the operator

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asked where she was, Paulina had to walk ten minutes just

to find a street sign.

"What the heck are you doing way out there?" the

man asked.

"Just get here, fast," she said before hanging up.

It was half an hour before the car service arrived.

Paulina huddled under a nearby tarp to stay dry. The

driver, a short, thick man with a bushy mustache, got out.

He looked her over, his lip curled up. He was as confused

as she was.

"Miss," he said, "are you okay? Do you need me to

take you to the hospital?"

"Just take me home," she said. "And help me up."

The driver bent down, put his arm around Paulina and

helped the shuddering reporter into the backseat of his car.

As he drove away, the man said, "Don't worry, miss.

I'm taking you home. Everything's okay."

Paulina looked up at him, slimy mascara stinging her

eyes. And she thought,
No. It's not.

2

Monday

New York City exists in a perpetual headwind. If you

live here or work here, you can either lean into the wind

and brace yourself, moving forward a step at a time,

keeping pace with the other people who are doing the