25 Hour Watch

 

Pt. 1: “Nameless”, Pt. 2: “Nightmares”, Pt. 3: “Respite”, Pt. 4: “Illusion”, Pt. 5: “Role”

            It was hot. Hotter than any stage light and with no relief, beyond the occasional shady outcrop or scraggly clump of scrub oak that sprung up here and there across a backdrop paved in powdered dust. Even if the tiny patches of eighty-degree relief had been large enough to fit her sore and sweaty body, she had no time to take advantage of either.

            Her first option after slipping behind the hastily pushed aside window screen had been the truck stop across from the motel. It seemed too risky a move, though, what with Jonny and his driver close by and no telling who might be passing through, or whose side they would take under pressure. Because Jonny would apply as much pressure as it took, outbidding Laine with every available bargaining tool, physical and financial.

            Instead, she planned to retrace their route north, staying a good distance from the highway to prevent Jonny and his associates from spotting her amidst the filmy heat mirage that shimmered several feet high in every direction. That kind of caution would also prevent anyone else from helping her, but she couldn’t play around. Not with her life on the line. While hiking in cocktail dress and heels toward some out-of-the-way residence was hardly a delightful challenge, until a better plan presented itself…

            The harsh desert landscape hindered her progress more than anything, except for the very important fact that she had only a vague clue where she was going. Escaping bleak Jamul to hide behind the lines of jagged boulders that made up SoCal’s rugged border landscape? Child’s play. If, of course, child’s play involved blisters from shoes designed for short-term wear—most definitely not for cross-country endurance rambles.

            Ducking down into a stone strewn ravine, Laine glanced grimly at her dusty, chaffed raw feet. The strappy shoes would have to go. Selecting a sharp slab from the bric-a-brac pile at her feet, she wielded the rock like a knife. Two sharp jabs shredded the material from her dress a few inches above the knee. She tore until the circle of silky material dropped free, then further divided the cloth in two. Next, she twisted blue cloth around each sore foot until it covered them like an ugly pair of too-thin moccasins. Hopefully, the fashion creation would function better than her heels.

            Laine grimaced as she stood. Bits of fractured rock dug through the cloth and after a few experimental steps, she sighed in frustration. Heat and sharp edges dug into her already aching pads as if she had been stomping about barefoot. This wasn’t going to work after all.

            Shielding her face with a hand, she looked up the ravine in a vain search for salvation. Rescue was not in the books; that was for sure. But there, a few feet up the incline, grew a few scraggly Manzanita bushes. An idea formed quickly in her head. Gingerly climbing up the incline, she plucked several large handfuls of the tough, rubbery leaves. Then she unwound the material from her feet and layered the leaves across the length of cloth that served as a sole. This time, after double-square knots once more secured her makeshift shoes in place, the tentative footfalls felt workable, if not comfortable.

            Highway 94 lay somewhere to her right, at least half a mile by her rough estimation. She would stick just this side of the ridgeline, following the twists and turns of the road as best she could until she reached some part of civilization Jonny wasn’t liable to be watching. Admittedly, a whole lot could go wrong along the way. She had no food, no water, no protection from the sun. This set the strict time limit for when her strength would give out at a matter of hours. Longer, if she could add any of the three necessities to her assets.

            Not much of chance of that unless a country club was hiding over the next hill.

            Which left her with no choice but to move on and quickly. This was SoCal, for goodness sake. There had to be a residential area somewhere nearby.

            But if there wasn’t…

            Determined to make it through the nightmare, Laine set out across the rocky hills. She wished she could keep the highway in sight, part of her afraid she would wander too far off course and become completely lost. Then Jonny would win anyway.

            She moved as quickly as she could, feeling like molasses oozing in the hot pre-summer sun. Per usual, not a single cloud drifted across the solid cerulean sky. Sweat dripped from more pores than she felt a person should rightly possess until her clothes were drenched. Not even the tiniest breeze wandered by to create an illusion of coolness, or wick the perspiration away.

            Already, her skin felt oven-baked and her mind drudged along amidst a numbness that matched the paled sensation in her feet. If she had feet, because she wasn’t convinced. Still, she kept on. It was the only thing she had. It was the only thing left to do.

            Dust rose in miniature clouds when her feet struck the ground. She learned to pick her knees up high, or else risk a stubbed toe or damage to her fraying moccasins. The sun pressed down, relentless in its assault until she felt it like a physical pressure. Hunched, dried out, and necessarily mindless, she marched below the ridgeline, a zombie with one purpose: survival.

            After what felt like three times the two hours her crystal-faced watch told her had passed, a sprig of hope dangled tantalizingly in the future. A few miles in the distance, the tail of a gravel road meandered out from behind several tall, lumpy boulders. This was good new on its own. More important was the three-story cabin at its end. That became her destination, regardless of what the highway somewhere on her right-hand side chose to do.

            With luck, the cabin possessed a working phone. She’d settle for water and food. Shoes too.

            Also pants.

            A mirror, on the other hand, she could do without. Mitchell would have a fit if he saw her now. She was the polar opposite of public-ready.

            With a clear destination in sight, the distance felt all the greater. Her brain knew she could make the cabin, but the heat had her body fighting for every inch. Rest sounded like the best idea ever. Except that if she sank to the ground, even for a moment or two, she would not be getting up. Not on her own accord.

            She could no longer remember what had possessed her to hike across civilization-proof desert in the first place. The truck stop had been the smarter choice, the one that fell inside her limits. This? This was something that belonged in movies, where crewmembers waited just out of sight with shade tents and drinks with ice.

            It hurt to think about that. Hurt to think about anything beyond the task at hand. No, hurt to think period.

            She climbed, she slipped. Scrapes covered her legs and the palms of both hands. The ragged bottom of her cocktail dress chaffed at her thighs. Every inch of skin was covered in dull grey dust, accented here and there by rivulets of muddy sweat streaks. Her hair had come loose from its mass of pinned blonde strands, clumps of which dangled across her cheeks and curled down the back of her neck. The sticky smell of hairspray clung to each follicle, its scent sickening in the heat.

            She studied her path in fleeting glances between short, exhausted strides. Light from the afternoon sun glinted harshly off glass as she honed in on the building that could save her. It was larger, grander than expected. Lots of large windows and stained wood planks that labeled it a retreat for someone with dollars to spend. Someone who valued their privacy.

            Good. At the moment, she did too. No one would look for her here.

            At what felt like forever, she stumbled onto the foremost step. It took all her effort to drag herself upward toward the door. She knocked. And then she sank down.

            Resting her cheek on her bloodied knees, Laine waited. Her watch read half past seven.

***

            “Dammit, where is she?”

            Mitchell Jansen was furious. His ire translated easily via the nearest cell tower, blasting Kevin Briggs with each expressive syllable. If Merrimac hadn’t been snoozing against the passenger seat window, Briggs would have made him take the call. Instead, he let his partner rest while he broke California law. Driving under the influence of technology. Too bad the Chief didn’t trust BlueTooth devices, despite advances in encryption security.

            To be fair, Briggs didn’t blame him.

            “Sir, we’re working on it. You’ll know the minute we have a solid lead.”

            “Then why the damned hell are you halfway to San Diego when the evidence is right here?” the manager demanded in a tone of unrelenting iron. “These police people aren’t working near fast enough. I need you boys hitting the grey area they can’t. All angles. I want my singer back seven and a half hours ago. I don’t care the hell what it takes.”

            “Porter and Mercier can handle things fine from your end. We need to be in position to move as soon as we have something to move on.”

            “You’re so sure Jacy’s down south?”

            “We think—”

            “To hell with what you think. They never should have gotten through your people anyhow.” Jansen sighed heavily. “Look, give me results. If you don’t have anything by the morning, you get your butts back to L.A. Damn border’s too big as it is. You’ll do more good here.”

            “But we—”

            “By morning.” The connection cut abruptly, leaving Briggs with a silent phone pressed between his ear and right shoulder and a slightly dazed expression. They couldn’t possibly clear this up in less than twelve hours. Not unless they had a more exact location. And that seemed unlikely at best.

            Even if they knew exactly where to look, Mer’s body wasn’t up to speed, couldn’t react fast enough if the situation turned physical. A bullet had scraped past his chest just hours ago, his brain still swelled from its hard knock against the floor. The ex-cop’s instincts might have come through intact, but that wouldn’t be enough. He belonged in a hospital. Except that would leave Briggs without any backup, and the singer in just as much trouble as before.

            Damned whichever way he looked at it.

            Once more, a tired sense of despairing disbelief curtained his mind. The utter helplessness was overpowering in its intensity. He couldn’t begin to plan their next move. He didn’t even have a damn clue where they were headed. Just south toward Tecate.

            “We don’t have twelve hours.”

            Startled in spite of himself, Briggs glanced to his right. Though Merrimac’s eyes remained shut and he hadn’t shifted positions, there was no mistaking the wry humor in his very much awake voice.

            “Thought you were asleep.”

            “Just thinking.”

            Briggs sighed. “Enlighten me.”

            Material rubbed together with a soft sha sha sound as Merrimac shifted to run his hand along the bulky bandage that wrapped around his chest. “Jensen’s kidding himself. If we don’t have our girl twelve hours from now, we’re not getting her back at all.”

            Not alive, leastwise, but neither of them needed to hear that certainty voiced.

            “She’s smarter than a lot of people give her credit for, and I can’t see her buckling under the pressure. She’ll wait for them to make a mistake. Maybe she draws attention to herself, maybe she leaves some sort of message where someone will find it. So long as she’s conscious, she won’t go without a fight.”

            Briggs shook his head. “This is crazy. We can’t just count on her to do something and hope we get the memo. She isn’t trained for this sort of situation.”

            Merrimac smiled grimly and stared out toward the light beginning to fade from the dusky sky. “Survival’s a funny thing.”

***

            Water. She needed water. And also something else. Something she needed to do. Something important that would help her survive. But at the moment, she couldn’t for the life of her recall what that thing was.

            All she could see was darkness, silent and profound, as if her eyes had quit functioning in protest of bodily abuse. Slow at first, tiny lights appeared at the corners of her vision, softly winking above her head until black faded to indigo and varying shades of deep grey. Darker shapes appeared. Enormous serrated silhouettes that dipped and jutted in every direction. Hills. And at her back the cavernous porch.

            Unable to suppress the groan that pushed free as she carefully raised her torso from smooth planed pine, Laine waited for her brain to resettle. No one had answered the door. She was fairly certain she had knocked.

            Fairly certain. By no means positive.

            Purposely ignoring the distinct possibility that the owner might not be at home, she dragged herself six inches closer to the door and knocked again. Loudly.

            A minute passed, then another and another. The door remained shut. No sounds from within betrayed the presence of another human being.

            Plan B was rapidly becoming a reality. However much she preferred not to undertake Project B & E, there appeared little choice. No one would blame her for breaking into a deserted house when it was a matter of life over death.

            She tried to climb to her feet, but her abused body staunchly rejected the command. That initial attempt left her laid-out in a crumbled heap on the planking. Rough wood pressed against her sun scorched cheek, the grain abrasive and yet soothingly cool. Her chest rose and fell beneath her in shallow pants. Every cell begged for hydration.

            Her gaze snagged on the closest window. What she needed lay beyond it. She could be inside within the minute, honing in on a working faucet.

            That thought was the system override key. Mindless except of her goal, she crawled on bloodied palms and scraped raw knees until she could pull herself half-standing, half-careening onto the windowsill ledge. Then she bent her right elbow and threw it hard against the glass pane.

            The force of the blow surprised her, especially when it pulled her weight along with it, sending her toppling amid shards of shattered glass. Several long seconds later, she landed with a hard thud on smooth granite tile.

            Pain hit next. First from her shoulder’s collision with solid rock, then her right calf from its dragged descent over the jagged sill, before the sharp explosion of her elbow strike finally caught up. Grey settled over her vision as nerve-endings screamed their protest.

            The part of her mind that still functioned didn’t care a whole lot about that. She was in. She was one step closer to making it through.

            Water first. Then whatever.

            She stumbled to her knees. A nearby chair gave her something to cling to as she took a moment to get her bearings. Almost nothing of her surroundings registered. Unimportant. Her mind saw no direct access to water, instead instinctively focusing on a door that led through into a room with just visible counters that belonged in a kitchen setting.

            One foot dragged forward, followed by the other. She was upright now, although her hands grabbed for the back of a couch as she passed, their grip slipping along the distressed leather. She made it through the doorway and straight on toward the large ceramic sink. Shaky with the prospect of relief, she fell forward into it, one hand fumbling along stainless steel for the toggle that would get the plumbing going.

            Moments later, cool liquid poured out the faucet end and onto her gasping face. She let the droplets pull away the first layer of dirt caked sweat before her mouth began sucking down water of its own accord. She felt it slide all the way down her throat. There was a moment of shock when it hit her stomach and she coughed, sputtering on the mouthful she had been about to swallow. Her stomach settled and she guzzled as much as she could before it began showing signs of rebellion.

            The other part of her mind, the one that was better at regulating instinct, resurfaced from behind its self-protective wall. Trembling, she forced her lips away from the fall of water, instead letting it cascade over the back of her neck to dampen the stringy clumps of her hair. For a long time she slumped there, too tired to move and with no perception of time.

            Laine snapped awake when her forehead hit the sink bottom. She couldn’t sleep. Not yet. Her hand found the faucet and switched the water off again. Her next step was to locate a phone and call the police. Their phone number hardly required much in the way of memorization, plus they were the quickest help. They could tell her what to do next. Besides, she had no one else to call.

            A pang hit her hard in the gut, but Laine quickly pushed it away. She only had room for what she could deal with right now. Every other thought would have to wait until she had time to process.

            And if she kept putting it off and putting it off, maybe she would never have to.

            A stainless steel refrigerator fit into the wall next to the pantry, with the gas range stove planted between countertop space and the sink by which she still stood. Further down the long room, four leather backed chairs clustered around a square table, perfect for meals or a game of Pinochle. No phone, though. Not from what she could see.

            Automatically wiping her damp hands on her skirt bottom, she grimaced. Now they were dirty again. But that was the least of her problems. She closed her eyes and exhaled. When she opened them again, her steps were much surer as she moved down the kitchen and through another open doorway.

            Before her a dark hall split off in two directions, straight ahead and right. Her eyes had already adjusted to the dimness as much as they ever would and she couldn’t see much. Still, Laine hesitated before her hand moved to locate a lightswitch. As far as anyone knew, this house was unoccupied. Given a choice, it seemed rather unintelligent to turn on a beacon that would certainly suggest otherwise to anyone looking her way. She hadn’t messed up so far—although the desert-crossing had brought her close—and she didn’t plan to start now.

            By touch, she felt her way straight on along the corridor, past a bathroom and into a musty office. The large balcony windows let in what little light came from outside, illuminating tall bookshelves on two adjacent walls, twin leather armchairs positioned before an empty fireplace, and an expansive desk cleared of everything except a hooded lamp and corded telephone.

            Filled with exhausted relief, Laine dropped into the rolling office chair and picked up the receiver. The dull echo of a dial tone met her ears. She breathed in and out, two deep yoga breaths. Then her pointer finger punched the nine button, followed by two consecutive ones.

            Now there was a number no one could forget. Not unless they’d completely flunked grade school.

            “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

            The woman’s voice startled her and for a moment, she forgot why she was calling. Added on to that, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

            “9-1-1. Can you hear me?”

            “Uh, yes. Sorry.” Laine shook her head to clear it. “My name is Laine Stuart, although they may have me down as Jacy. I imagine there’s a police report or something circulating by now. I was kidnapped earlier today. I got away.”

            There was a long pause. “Jacy, like the singer?”

            “Right.”

            Another pause. “What’s your location?”

            That was an excellent question. “I’m not sure. Sorry. I’m inside a house somewhere north of Jamul.”

            “I can pull the address from your landline. Is there someone there who can confirm it?”

            “No. I’m alone.”

            “Are you in any immediate danger?”

            Reflexively, Laine shook her head no. “I don’t think so.”

            “Stay on the line please; I’ll be right back with you.”

            Sliding back in the chair, Laine closed her eyes and ran a hand through her tangled hair. Some twisted part of her almost wanted to see the damage. It couldn’t be pretty.

            “Ma’am, are you there?”

            “Yes.”

            “Officers are on their way. They should reach you in less than fifteen minutes. I want you to stay on the line with me, alright?”

            “Alright.”

            “Now are you certain you’re alone?”

            Laine’s insides twisted. Did the dispatcher know something she didn’t? “I don’t know. I—I think so. I hiked here from Jamul. I don’t think anyone followed me.”

            Then again, she hadn’t been in any condition to notice otherwise.

            “You hiked?” Surprise intermingled with the dispatcher’s businesslike voice.

            “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Listen, could someone get a hold of my manager? His name’s Mitchell Jensen. He’s probably listed on that report.”

            “The officers will take care of that after they arrive. Let’s make sure you’re safe first. Are you hurt in any way?”

            Was she ever. But scrapes, bruises, and sunburn were hardly life-threatening. “Not especially. Just a little scuffed from the hike.”

            “Will you need medical treatment?”

            “No.” That would mean even bigger delays, and she just wanted to get someplace same. Someplace far away from Jonny, Joe Krimmer and their financial schemes. Someplace surrounded by people with guns who were on her side. “How much longer?”

            “Soon. They’ll be there real soon.”

            The dispatcher meant to sound calming. More than anything, Laine wanted to believe her. Until she sat secure inside a police building, however, she refused to let her guard down. She was too close to safety.

            Her eyes opened wearily. Outside the light shifted, playing across her desk in a sweeping motion. A muffled scraping sounded from somewhere outside, like tires on gravel. She froze.

            “How soon?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “This is too soon, right?”

            The dispatcher sounded confused. “Too soon?”

            “For the officers. It’s too soon for them to be here.”

            Fatigue forgotten, Laine unfolded herself from behind the desk and crept into the hallway as far as the phone cord would extend. Soft artificial light poured through the kitchen windows, and there was definitely a car engine humming in the background.

            “Ten minutes still, ma’am. Maybe less.”

            So whatever vehicle approached did not belong to law enforcement. That left either the homeowner, to whom she owed a huge thank you and apology, or someone who didn’t belong here any more than she did.
            She was betting on the latter.

            “Shit,” she breathed softly into the receiver. “Someone’s here. Someone’s parking their car right in front of the house.”

            Swift and silent, Laine backed into the office again.

            “Ma’am? Did you say someone’s there?”

            “I’ve got to go. I can’t wait. I’ll try hiding, but I don’t—”

            Her words turned to raggedy gasps as panic sunk in.

            “Ma’am, stay on the line. Tell me what you—”

            “I can’t,” she almost cried. “Tell the police it was Jonny. He took me and his driver knows too. Krimmer’s in on it. They’re using the charity.”

            “Ma’am—”

            Laine gently replaced the receiver, running through her options. She didn’t have time to plan, let alone pack a few supplies. What she had was all she had.

            The front door was out of the question, neither did she have time to search for a back way. The office balcony, though. That was a possibility. She crossed the room and unlocked the glass door, sliding it open almost noiselessly. The house was built into a hillside, so the drop down from here was not nearly as far as it could have been—maybe eight feet or so.

            A car door slammed, echoing off the rock strewn mountains. Decision made, she slid the glass closed and moved to the sandstone and stained wood railing. Spotting a pair of worn nylon gardening shoes propped beside the deck chair, she snatched them up and pulled them close against her body. There wasn’t time to change now, but they would provide much better protection for her feet than the tattered remains of her makeshift slippers.

            She tried not to think about the next part of her maneuver. Closing her fingers tight around the upper rail, Laine slid her slim body over. Immediately, her weary arms buckled and she fought to hold position. Then she dropped.

            The landing jarred every joint in her body as she skidded backward onto her behind. The last of her adrenaline kicked in. She was up and running toward what she hoped was north before another thought could form.