The little bag was wrinkled. She didn't know why she kept it. She didn't need to sell it. She was almost suffocated by the money she had. She wouldn't have dared to use it, not with the baby developing inside her. She wasn't addicted, she had never actually used that particular drug. But she kept it anyway. Tucked underneath her jewelry box that rested in front of the large vanity mirror on the wall of her childhood room. Her mother had made her come back home during the pregnancy, not that she would have made a different decision herself. She needed her mom. She smoothed out the transparent plastic and lifted the box to put it back where she had taken it from but stopped. She looked at herself in the mirror. You couldn't even see that she was pregnant yet. And the thought scared her. She took a long look at herself, knowing her body wouldn't ever look like that again. She might have stretch marks or scars. She might gain weight. She didn't know yet.
She looked up from her thin waist to her face. Her thin, straight, brunette hair stopped right at her collar bone. The top layer was pulled back over her head and clipped. She sighed. She looked so much like the spoiled teenager who had purchased the drugs that she didn't want to use just because she had the money. The same high school student who always got out on bail when she was arrested for underage drinking. She pulled the clip from her hair and shook it out with her hand. Now, she looked more like the spoiled young adult who got knocked up by her high school sweetheart. She tried to remember his voice and his soft laugh, but all that came to mind was his tousled hair, his sharp cheekbones, and the piercing blue of his eyes that had been so attractive to begin with.
"Jacquelyn?" She heard her name called from near her, someone with a heavy accent, seemingly Russian. She was pulled out of her daydream. When she was little, she hated her name. She hated the three syllables that fell from the mouth in a jumble. Her older brother, Oren, called her Jackie, since she had been born, having been only two and unable to make the sounds correctly.
Jacquelyn looked up towards the sound of the voice. It came from a rugged-looking man with an unshaven face and messy hair. He scowled as he made his way across the park's cobblestone path. She knew that she should have stood, but her lower back hurt too much and she was tired. She shifted on the cold park bench as he man approached so that she could sit up straighter.
"Yes?" She responded, pulling her jacket collar up around her neck and placing a protective hand over her round stomach. She almost smiled at herself. Five months ago, she didn't even acknowledge the baby that she carried. And now she wanted, more than anything, to make sure it was safe. The man turned to the side and spit in the grass.
"I'm here on behalf of my employer." He said with what seemed like mock politeness, but was more likely the monotone sound of repeated rehearsal. "I've been told that you arranged a meeting with her." He said, dramatically moving his jaw and mouth, struggling with the English words. Jackelyn shied away from him, but liked him. He seemed kind and gentle, unable to say much else.
"Y-yes. I did." She said. The man, with one swift motion, grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Jackelyn, startled, stared up at the suddenly aggressive foreigner's face with wide eyes.
Scream Jacquelyn thought. That's what you do when scary men grab you. He pulled her close enough to him that she could feel his breath on the top of her head, being a full four inches shorter than him.
"Problem?" He hissed. Jacquelyn shook her head rapidly.
"No, no. I just need to speak with her, that's all." The words fell from Jacquelyn's mouth of their own accord and she spoke quickly. The man released her wrist and grunted loudly, making her flinch. He walked briskly in the other direction. Jacquelyn followed him. As they crossed one of the few green spots in Central City, she ducked under barren tree branches which snapped when they caught in her clothes. The brittle twigs sprayed flaky and weak bark as they broke. Jacquelyn pulled the little pieces of wood out of her hair tenderly, trying her best to keep up with the man who was obviously more fit than she was. When they had crossed the park, he waited impatiently by a black car with dark windows. He opened the back door for her.
"Where are we going?" She asked, stepping back from the car. She could smell antiseptic and it made her nauseous.
"To see her." He said glumly. Jacquelyn smiled weakly.
"Okay." She said to herself. She slipped into the car and squirmed on the rock solid seats, unable to sit comfortably. The smell was overwhelming, making her dizzy. The man stood beside the door, not closing it, but holding his hand out in expectation.
"Do you want a tip?" She snapped.
"Phone." He said. Jacquelyn fished into her pocket for her phone. She handed it to him gently. He clutched it for only a moment, as if testing its strength. Then he dropped it on the ground and stomped on it. It made an awful sound as it was crushed. Little shards of glass stuck to his heavy, black, combat boot when he pulled it away, leaving a small pile of electronics on the sidewalk.
"You can't do that." She crossed her arms defiantly.
"Pretty rich girl can get new phone." He said, no longer speaking with the practiced grammar he had used before. Then he slammed the car door shut. That was when she realized that the windows were completely black, opaque. The back seat was separated from the front, but Jacquelyn could hear the passenger door open, close, and the same man give some sort of order in another language. The car lurched forward before Jacquelyn had time to look for the seat belt. It was pitch black in the car. She reached in the dark, trying to find the buckle as the car swerved through the city traffic. With no luck, she reached for the handles above the painted windows, and clutched them tightly. She stayed as silent and as still as possible, not wanting to disturb the foreign man or the driver. It was near impossible to even arrange a meeting. The car was stuffy and humid, hot air being blown from an air vent stung her face. But she shivered.
Jacquelyn, for the first time since she had considered this as an option, felt doubtful. She had a child to take care of. How could raise a child to be a good person if she acquiesced to work with drug dealers and crime lords?
Stop the car. She thought about saying. I changed my mind. I don't want to go. The car stopped. For a fearful moment, Jacquelyn thought she had given voice to the words in her head. But when the door opened, she realized she had not. The storage warehouse that they had stopped at was not much brighter than the inside of the car, but so much more spacious, despite the seemingly endless rows of weaponry displayed on the sky-high racks. She stepped out as gracefully as possible, searching for the mysterious hand that had opened the door for her. She was alone. She couldn't see into the car, but the driver and the foreign man seemed to have left.
"Mrs. Hart!" A cheery voice called her name from behind her. Jacquelyn turned on her heel with surprise. On the other side of the car, Amunet stood, with wide smile. Her eyes were small and green. She wore a dress of black leather, that seemed to have too much material, and yet, not enough at the same time, decorating the seams of the dress and leaving much exposed. She held a glass in her hand, and she smelled like scotch.
"Actually, it's just Ms. Hart." Jacquelyn responded, coldly.
"Divorced?" The woman asked, rounding the car.
"No."
"Widowed?"
"Never married." Jacquelyn shot the woman a frightening look, telling her to back off. The woman laughed and cast a judgmental, downward glance at Jacquelyn's round stomach.
"As you wish, little mommy." She said, distantly. She shook her head slightly as if she had been startled from sleep. "Do you know who I am?" She asked, loudly. Jacquelyn turned to the side, holding her stomach instinctively.
"I have some idea." She responded softly.
"Then you know I don't like games." She said. She took a piece of her unkempt hair between her fingers and twirled it absentmindedly. "You will tell me what you want, and I'll tell you the price I will accept, and you can pay me or leave." She had an icy look in her eye that made Jacquelyn shudder.
"I want to find someone." Jacquelyn responded, standing up straighter. "Ezra Keith. He disappeared several months ago." The woman looked intrigued, and turned her head to the side.
"The circumstances surrounding his disappearance?" She asked for details.
"Mysterious. It's like he was wiped from the face of the Earth. And he has no family who is close enough to him to notice he's gone."
"Sounds fun." The woman clapped her hands like a gleeful child. "I'll figure out a price later." She said.
"Money is not an issue for me." Jacquelyn announced. Amunet rolled her eyes.
"Oh, I know. I just haven't decided. But I do need a down payment." Jacquelyn fished in her coat pocket and found her checkbook and pen.
"Name your price." She said. The woman only laughed.
"I don't want money now, no no. The down payment I want now is something else." She took several steps forward and stood so close to Jacquelyn, that she could smell the shampoo in her hair. "Why do you want to find him?" She asked. "This Ezra, hmm?" Jacquelyn looked away and responded coolly.
"When my baby is four or five, and asks me where his daddy is, I want to give an honest answer." Jacquelyn said the words with more force than she had meant to. The woman's smile was acidic.
"Well, then. I'll see what I can do." She turned on her heel and walked away. As she walked, she called, "Get in the car. I'll send for the driver to drop you off at the park." With her back still turned, she waved a hand of dismissal. Jacquelyn opened the car door, planning on sitting down. But the smell was overwhelmingly strong. She closed the door and leaned against the car to wait. After about thirty seconds, she heard footsteps behind her. She cast a cautious glance over her shoulder. An frail, elderly manwith a round face stood about six feet away from the car. He said something in an annoyed tone, but foreign language. He went from annoyed scold to angry shout very quickly.
"I don't understand!" Jacquelyn held up her hands defensively. The man continued to shout, gesturing wildly. Jacquelyn reached for the door handle to test his reaction. He stopped shouting. She pulled the door open with more effort than was required. When she did sit down, she held her breath, foolishly. At some point, she had to take in oxygen. She certainly couldn't hold her breath all the way to the park. But the overwhelmingly nauseating smell of antiseptic in the car made the insignificant struggle worth it. The driver, unaware of Jacquelyn's discomfort, took his sweet time getting in the car. By the time they started moving, she felt her lungs might implode. She refused to inhale, though. She started to feel light headed when they had moved to a main road. Finally, she relented to taking a gasping breath through her mouth. The driver, who could hear her, asked a question in his foreign language.
"I'm fine," she called to him, unsure of whether he understood her or not. He must have heard something in either what she said or the way she said it, that reassured him because he stopped talking.
She closed her eyes and tried to avoid inhaling through her nose, but everytime the reckless driver hit a pothole, the entire car shook, making her inhale the ripe scent of the car in surprise.
"Yikes." she sighed, clutching her stomach. The car came to a screeching halt, throwing Jacquelyn into the wall that separated the front seat from the back.
The car door opened by a hand and man that stood out of sight. Jacquelyn cautiously stepped out of the car and held her hand up to her eye, letting her eyes adjust to the light. She closed the door and inhaled the sweet scent of fresh air, or at least as fresh as air gets in Central City. She turned to face the car, wanting to say thank you or to give the driver a tip, despite his horrible driving skills and the overall terrible experience. But she had the money to always tip her cab drivers, and so it had become instilled in her, the deep urge to thank and tip those who drove her places. But where the car had been was only an empty space, where the autumn leaves scraped the pavement. The wind blew across the Park, like it was looking to make Jacquelyn uncomfortable. She shivered and walked down the street.
The park was a long stretch of land that extended for almost two miles, one of the most peaceful places to be found anywhere close.
"What happened to bed rest?" A calmingly familiar voice caught her attention. She looked up to face her brother Oren and his annoyingly persistent optimism.
"I wanted to go for a walk." She responded defensively. Oren shrugged.
"Do you know how far you are from home?" He asked. Jacquelyn looked around. She didn't really know where she was, but she was going in the right direction. She nodded.
"Of course I do." She lied. "Did you drive here?" She asked, looking for his car. He shook his head.
"No, I walked." He crossed the space between them and put his arm over her shoulder, the way he had done ever since he had gotten taller than her and could reach. They stumbled as a pair down the sidewalk, walking in total silence. They must have moved a few blocks before Oren said,
"What's new?" The question was harmless, asked harmlessly, by a harmless brother. But it felt so personally offensive that Jacquelyn squirmed out of his arm before answering.
"Nothing." She said without emotion. "Nothing new."
"Jackie…" He said with his warning voice, the same voice that had threatened tickles when she was four and withheld insignificant information.
"Orie…" she returned his playful tone and they laughed.