“What thing!?” my father thunders. “What the Hell do you mean!?”
“I’m not prolonging this conversation any more than I need to,” Sven replies shortly. “I’ll call again in two hours, with clear directions on where to leave the stash. Oh, and remember one thing,” Sven pauses for a moment, and his body slithers behind me, as his hand rests on the nape of my neck. He can probably feel my heartbeat, about to explode. “If I even smell the cops, I’ll leave a trail of Maddie’s parts, which you can follow back to me. I promise you that. Two hours, Hugo.”
And, with those words, he grabs the phone and smashes it against the opposite wall. The phone bursts into a million tiny little pieces, which glimmer on the concrete floor, like tears. But, I’m not crying. I don’t feel sad. I feel scared, petrified. My mother always taught me that crying when you’re scared is the worst reaction you could have. It hinders rational thinking, which might prevent you from reaching a solution to your problem. And, seeing this man, he doesn’t seem to be the type to fall for tears. It’s a futile effort at nothing.
I watch the metallic phone parts sparkle for a moment longer, then Sven pulls me up.
“Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
He is more agitated now, pushing me towards the door forcefully, even though I’ve done everything he asked me to do. We continue towards the car in silence, and he shoves me into the backseat again. He himself sits on the driver’s seat, grasping at the steering wheel hard.
“You better hope for your sake that your father brings me what I want,” he hisses, as he looks at me through the rear view mirror. There is no more trace of that nice, polite guy from a few hours ago. This is the voice of a man who is no stranger to hurting women. Those are the eyes that have seen his own hands do horrendous things.
I just nod, lowering my head. Whatever he is asking, my father will give it to him. I’m sure of that. He was told not to contact the police, but what do people usually do under these circumstances? I remember all those kidnapping movies I’ve seen and getting the police involved never turns out the way everyone planned.
I hear the start of the engine, and we’re back on the road. It’s difficult to stay awake. I feel drugged, but I’m sure I wasn’t. At least, not again. I didn’t drink anything, and by this point, I’m becoming parched. But, I won’t ask for anything from this man. Even if it’s the last thing I do.
I clench my hands into fists, and subconsciously try to pull my hands apart, but that only tightens the metallic grip, which digs into my flesh, leaving bright red marks. My eyelids are becoming heavier and heavier, and soon, despite all odds, I drift into sleep again.
CHAPTER 4
Andersen
Of course Hugo had no other way but to call us. This is exactly what I told Fynn, when we got the call. It helps that we all go way back, but despite what people think, it’s advisable to notify the police when someone has been kidnapped, and especially when there’s been a ransom call.
“You think Sven’s working alone?” Fynn asks me, downing his coffee. I always joke it’s like him, black and bitter.
It always surprised me how easily he could eat and drink in the car. Like, he had some inner balance the rest of us didn’t. He puts the paper cup in the pocket of the door.
“I doubt it,” I reply, with my eyes firmly on the road. “Hugo knows it, too. That’s why it’s crucial that we find his daughter in the next hour or so. Sven’s unpredictable, like a cat in a box. You open the lid and you don’t know if the cat’s gonna be sleeping or if it’s waiting to claw your eyes out.”
I swerve quickly to the left, and we both lean a little to the opposite side, then quickly regain our balance.
“We don’t even know if the girl is still alive,” he says.
“Don’t let Hugo hear you talk like that.”
“Shouldn’t he know the odds?”
“You don’t tell a father that his child might be dead,” I give him a scornful eye, but he doesn’t mind it, as usual.
“Come on, it’s not like Hugo doesn’t know Sven. The guy’s an animal. He kills on instinct. Honestly, I’d be surprised if the girl is still alive and kicking,” Fynn snorts, and I know there’s no way prolonging this conversation. “But, you’re free to have your la-di-da moment, thinking we’ll swoop in and save the day.”
“Don’t we always?” I grin, stepping on the gas.
Fynn is right. I do want to arrive there and save the girl. Sven’s a monster. I still remember the last time we had to clean up after him. The thought of that sight churns my stomach. But, he always manages to get away somehow. Well, not this time.
“Like I said, keep dreaming, Prince Charming.”
With those words, we both stay silent for the rest of the journey. We reach the abandoned building easily. We find the broken phone inside. Fynn picks up the biggest piece, then smells it.
“They were here an hour ago.”
“Can we track them?”
I sniff the air, but a childhood fire accident rendered my sense of smell almost non-existent. Still, I occasionally try, just for the heck of it. However, I get nothing.
I turn to Fynn. His nostrils are flaring, his lips are half parted. His pupils are widening, barely noticeably. He’ll catch the scent. He always does. I follow him outside, and he stops on a small patch of gravel, surrounded by unmowed grass. It’s the dead of night, but the tire tracks are clearly visible when Fynn flashes a light onto the ground.
“The girl left this place alive,” he informs me, and a huge burden falls off my shoulders. But, that doesn’t mean she’ll arrive alive. Dammit. Fynn’s negativity always tries to get to me.
Sometimes, it’s hard to stay positive around him, but those of us who have gone through thick and thin with him, know this and accept this. I guess we all had some shit in our childhood that shaped us into the obnoxious men we are today. But, now's not the time to go down memory lane and plan on righting wrongs that may not even be made right. Now is the time to save a girl from a monster, like the story went in those good old fairy tales.
Fynn doesn’t say anything else. He heads over to the car, and hops into the driver’s seat. I ride shotgun this time. It’s always faster that way. He knows where we’re going, so it’s easier to have him drive, rather than him giving me instructions.
The road we’re taking is dark. The trees are looming over the narrow dirt road, and there is a sense of impending doom. That’s at least, what I expect Fynn to say, to lighten up the mood, but he’s silent, and that is the unsettling part. He usually has some snarky comment to make, expressing the worst case scenario, and how we should all be ready for it. But, there’s none of that now. He is focused on the road; his hands are keeping a firm grasp on the steering wheel. Not even the radio is on.
“We getting close?” I ask, unable to stand the silence any longer.
Fynn doesn’t reply immediately. Just nods a moment later.