The Hostage (25 page)

Shit, where was snake head? I want to get the fuck out of here.

He fumbled his fingers, tapped a toe and looked out the window through the sheer curtains. He turned back to the stove. 2:14pm.

Sirens sent up a shrill din from the distance. It didn’t surprise him. In this neighborhood he was sure they’d hear sirens all the time. I’d hate to be the guy they’re looking for. He thought back to the one time he had trouble with the law. It was an old girlfriend issue in high school. They’d planned on eloping. Taking off, getting married and living in her country. Four months before they were to leave his girlfriend had disappeared. Police investigated it. He was questioned relentlessly. There’d been some kind of incident. A fight, a struggle and Drake had been knocked out. When he woke Monika was gone.
Back to Hungary
, he thought. Months later she was located alive in Budapest and the case was filed. He could still remember the intense hours of grilling by the cops. At times they had said they didn’t believe him. That he was lying and he knew where she was. They asked about the scuffle. Why was he found unconscious? But most of that evening was blocked. To this day he could only remember that they had gone to park by the lake to talk. To discuss their plans to leave. He never saw her or heard from her again. That was twelve years ago when he was eighteen and she was seventeen.

Police sirens always messed him up since those days. As if they were coming for him. At times he would say to his friends as a police car approached, “There’s my ride.”

The clock on the stove read 2:18pm. What the hell? Where was he?

The distant sirens had gotten closer. It sounded like they were pulling up outside. Drake got up and went to the dining room window. Without going onto the balcony he could see four Toronto Police cruisers speeding through the rain and slowing to take the turn into the access for the building he was in. It sounded like more were already here. From where he stood, the four cruisers disappeared from view under the ledge of the balcony. He stepped back from the window wondering who would garner such a response and what they might have done.

Nagging doubt made him consider if it was for him but he knew it couldn’t be as his dad had set this meeting up. The guy knew what Drake was here for and the deal was about to be completed any second. No way there was a problem.

He stepped around the table and entered the kitchen. 2:22pm. He’d sat for over ten minutes. That’s it. This was taking too long. If the guy was on the phone or watching the television, Drake was going to be pretty pissed. Maybe the bald fucker was smoking up first.

Drake felt nervous.
No I’m fucking scared
.

He had come here to do a deal and he had stated as such. His part was over. He wanted to leave as fast as he could, walk the six blocks to the other side of the mall and drive back to Mississauga where he would feel more comfortable in his own apartment.

He passed through the kitchen and stood by the main apartment door. After a moment of pause, he called out.

“Hello?”

No one answered. Did the guy have to take a shit or something? This was taking too long. He walked forward and stepped into the living room. A unique set of couches had leopard skin blankets tossed across them. The shag carpet looked like it was from the seventies. A widescreen T.V. sat on the wall like a painting.

“Hello? You still around?”

No answer.

“I need to get going. Can we speed this up?”

His shirt had dried a little, but the dampness stuck to his skin making him shiver. He wondered if he should put his jacket back on as it wouldn’t have completely dried yet.

Where was the bald guy? This was agonizing. How could it take so long?

More sirens were pulling up out front. What the fuck was going on? Now he was feeling more and more distressed. Something was wrong. Drake felt the urge to just leave. Get the hell out of there. Now.

Maybe the cops were coming to bust the bald guy? Maybe after all the deals he’d done, someone ratted him out? Perfect. On the one day, the one deal Drake needed, the bald guy gets busted. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Great fucking timing.

Okay, one more try. “Hello. Anybody home?”

The bedroom door sat ajar. Maybe the guy was in there still getting ready. He walked by the couch and headed for the door.

He placed his mouth near the crack in the door and tried one more time. “Hello?”

A nasty smell emitted from the bedroom.

“You all right in there?”

After still getting no response, he touched the door and slowly opened it.

Horror gripped him and held fast. Dizziness swooned through his head and his stomach clenched at the same time. Without being aware of it, Drake spun on his heels and ran for the bathroom door that stood open. He didn’t make it. Vomit spewed forth and hit the wall beside the bathroom. His breakfast gone forever, he turned back and stumbled to the bedroom door again.

It had to be a joke. There was no way this was possible. He needed to confirm it. For the rest of his life he couldn’t live another moment coupled with the thought of what he just saw. If it was real, therapy was right around the next corner. If it was set up for whatever reason, then he could leave here knowing there’s a lot of sick people in the world.

At the bedroom door he stole a glance inside. Everything seemed real enough. This was no stage prop. He’d never smelled anything like it before, but if he had to guess, the smell was real too.

A woman lay naked on the bed. She had been cut open like someone had performed a vivisection. Her innards were pulled out and scattered around the open skin of her stomach. Blood had seeped from her vaginal area indicating to Drake that she was alive when that area was abused. There were bruises about her face and neck. Deep purple and red marks could be discerned surrounding her nipples. In the few seconds Drake stared at the body on the bed, he could tell that she had been beaten, choked, raped and then stabbed and cut open.

Who could do such a thing? Who would want to? A deep sadness darkened his consciousness. He felt sick again. His legs were weak and his hands were trembling against the door frame. How could a human being do this to another? Humans were nothing but animals.

He needed to leave. He had to get out of this apartment. There was a murder scene here. He had nothing to do with it.

Thinking became a chore. What next? He ran for the front door to grab his jacket and leave. But wait. What about the vomit? He had to clean that up first. Although wouldn’t that look suspicious? If they ever found out he’d been here and then he’d taken measures to conceal that fact he’d look even more guilty. It could take years to sort out.

No one had samples of his DNA. No one had his fingerprints anywhere. There was no way they could tie him to this apartment, let alone the building. This part of Scarborough was new to him. No one would recognize him or know him. The best thing to do was get the fuck out.

He reached for the door handle but stopped when he heard shuffling on the other side. He wondered if he would pass out from being too nervous as he edged close to the door to look through the peep hole.

What he saw paralyzed him.

Four Toronto Police Officers stood on the other side of the door. One of them was motioning with his hands to someone down the hall to continue forward. Then he pointed at the apartment door of 1408.

Behind which stood Drake Bellamy and a dead female.

He had to do something. He needed to leave. He’d done nothing wrong. The bald guy killed the girl, not Drake. The cops’ job wasn’t to play the judge and jury. They would arrest him and let the courts figure it out. He couldn’t spend the next year in jail waiting for that to happen. It wasn’t fair. He’d done nothing wrong.

Fuck it.

Paralysis broken, he made a decision.

Drake turned from the door, grabbed his jacket and ran for the balcony. Behind him, he heard knocking. Then a cop yelled, “Toronto Police, open up!”

Drake moved the curtains aside and unlocked the balcony door. His fingers were wet from the jacket. He couldn’t maintain a solid grip on the lock. He tossed the jacket onto the nearest couch, wiped his fingers on the leopard blanket beside him and turned to yank on the lock.

It snapped open as the police knocked again.

Drake slid the door aside quietly and then the screen door. A table and two chairs were on the balcony. He moved the table nearer to the retaining wall separating the neighbor’s balcony from the one he was on and climbed onto it.

A loud bang emanated from inside the apartment. The police were attempting to break the door down.

Certain only seconds separated him from being caught, Drake got up on the table and looked around the edge to the other balcony. Being careful to not look down, he managed to get a full view of the mountain bike and golf clubs that this neighboring tenant stored on their balcony.

He heard another bang from inside the apartment behind him. The rain poured down past his shoulders. He put his foot on the railing and tested it for good measure. With only seconds left, Drake lifted off the table and fully stepped onto the wet ledge of the balcony one hundred and forty feet above ground, his hands gripping the cement partition as best he could.

Then he looked down.

It was unavoidable. His balance wavered as his hands struggled for purchase.

Fourteen floors up and he could count eight cruisers parked in front of the building.

In the seconds he stood there he also saw a cop looking up at him. The cop raised his arm and pointed. Other people were looking up now too but Drake had something else more important to deal with.

His feet were slipping on the wet railing.

He spun towards the other balcony as best he could and reached for the far side. As luck would have it, his hand found a piece of cement jutting out. It gave him something to hold onto as leverage. His right foot came around and plunked down on the neighbor’s railing at the exact moment his left foot slid off the other. Without delay he hopped down onto the floor of the neighbor’s balcony and relative safety.

A large sigh escaped his lips as he realized that he almost met the Grim Reaper.
 

More noises could be heard from the other apartment. They must’ve gotten inside. How was he going to get out of here? They were right next door. The cops would be watching every door in the hallway. A cop had seen him jump to this balcony. He would radio up to his fellow officers what he had seen.

It was over. He had tried to run but they caught him.

“Damn,” he said as he slammed a fist into his palm. “I forgot my fucking jacket on the couch back there.”

He grabbed the balcony door to see if it was locked. It slid open with ease. Under normal circumstances he would be happy with this fortuitous break but he was in their trap as sure as being mired in quicksand.

Unless…

He quietly ran through the apartment, heading for where he thought the bedroom was, with no regard for the fact that someone could be home. If his plan didn’t succeed, whether someone was home or not mattered little. Yet the fact the apartment was empty affirmed in him that his chances of getting out of here were increasing.

In the bedroom he located the closet, grabbed two random T-shirts, changed into them one on top of the other, tossed the damp shirt he came in on the floor and ran back into the living room. He got to the apartment door and looked through its peep hole to the hallway. A cop ran by the door. Then another. They had the floor covered. This was going to take brains, courage and a ton of luck.

He turned from the door and screamed at the empty living room.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment? Get outta here. How did you get in?!”

With his right hand he smacked his face hard enough to leave red marks.

“Heh, what the—”

He smacked himself again. Then with both hands he reached up to the collar and ripped the outside T-shirt a little.

“I’m calling the police if you don’t leave right now,” he yelled to the empty apartment.

Then Drake ran and body-checked the door.

A moment later he unlocked and opened it.

Three Toronto Police officers stood there staring at him. One of them had his hand up with a container of pepper spray in it. The other two had their hands on the butts of their guns.

“Where did you guys come from? How did you get here so fast?” Drake paused and stared back. He breathed in and out like he’d just ran a marathon. If only they knew it was his nerves and heart rate causing him to nearly collapse. “Don’t just stand there. Do something. Some guy jumped onto my balcony from that apartment,” Drake pointed in the direction of the snake head drug dealer’s place, “and accosted me in my own home.”

Two of the officers reacted. They brushed past Drake and into the apartment behind him. He stepped aside and moved down the hall a bit, holding his face where he’d been slapped.