A/N - Hi guys, so this is my new story and I'm actually really excited about it as it's not like anything I've written before. I've noticed a couple other kidnap fics on here but this has been in the pipeline for a while and I deliberately haven't read the other stories so as not to unintentionally (or intentionally) steal ideas.
The rating for this is a STRONG T and themes will include violence, kidnap and PTSD.
My final chapter for Dangerous Love will be up some time this week but I was too excited about this story to wait to post.
I hope you enjoy, and please let me know your thoughts with a review
A Fairytale By Another Name
It's a cold night in December when it happens. She's waiting in Charlie's car, blowing into her hands to keep them warm because even though he's left the engine running, the heater's broken. Maybe if this goes well, they'll have enough money to buy a new car - or at least get this one fixed. That being said, Erin knows the more likely scenario: more money means more drugs and Charlie's not bothered enough about material things to worry about anything more than rent, the gas and electricity bills and keeping the liquor cabinet stocked.
There's a covering of snow on the ground - not enough for traffic and planes to grind to a halt, but enough to warrant the boots she's wearing and the thick winter coat just about keeping the chill off. She huffs out a breath and it fogs up the passenger side window so much that the view of the apartment building they're parked outside becomes cloudy and tinged with grey. Or, at least more grey than it already is. Chicago in the winter isn't much more than a palette of whites and charcoals.
The snow continues to fall, light flakes turning to heavier ones and Erin jabs at the radio because she hates the silence of these nights: the ones in which he leaves her in the car to keep watch for the cops while he demands money from clients who haven't cleared their tab. Last thing they need is someone questioning whether she's alright in there.
She's tired tonight - limbs heavy from continuous interrupted sleep and the effects of a couple whiskey shots before they drove across to McKinley Park (a little dutch courage, she knows, but won't admit) and it's taking a monumental amount of effort to keep her eyelids from closing like they desperately want to.
More minutes pass though, and there's a growing uneasiness about the amount of time she's been waiting for Charlie to return. She has the apartment number memorised but she's safer out here, she knows, and besides, he hates it if she comes to look for him. It happened a good few times in the beginning, where she'd panicked and gone to check he was okay, only to find trashed homes and a client nursing a bloody nose or some broken ribs. And Charlie had been furious; told her she'd risked some overly-nosy neighbour reporting a strange car parked outside or risked creating a scene by walking in on something she didn't need to see. What he means by that, she's gathered over the years they've been doing this together, is a body. Charlie's killed and Erin knows it and yet staying with him is better than any alternative she can think of. Staying on his good side, too, is safer still.
All of a sudden, the front door of the building she's watching flies open to reveal a man in only a t-shirt and jeans, his cheek bloody and swollen - the recipient, she imagines, of the barrel of Charlie's gun - being forced towards the car by Charlie himself, and already she knows this isn't going to end well.
She shifts over to the driver seat because if this is the hostage situation she immediately fears it is, there's no way they can put this guy in the back of the car without cuffs or a rope or cable ties - none of which they have - and it's not like she can hold him, is it?
Once she's got there and her shaky fingers are clutching the steering wheel, the back door opens and she hears Charlie shoving this guy onto the seat, watches in the rearview mirror as he falls against the other door - but lazily, like all energy has been sucked out of him. Charlie slams the door closed behind him and barks at Erin to drive, the harshness in his voice betraying how panicked he is. It wouldn't be obvious to many people, Erin thinks, but she knows him - has done ever since she was fourteen and needed somewhere to stay while her mom embarked upon a fortnight-long drug binge that resulted in the landlord kicking them out - and everything in his tone suggests this isn't what he'd planned. His anxiousness quickly transfers to her veins and her whole body is humming in fear.
"Drive!" he shouts again, and she floors the gas pedal, resulting in a high-pitched squeal from the tyres as they protest against the lack of friction against the snow until finally, they give in and let the car travel away from the curb.
"Where to?" she asks, gripping the wheel even tighter as the guy in the back groans and Charlie hisses at him to shut the fuck up.
"The basement."
"Our basement?" she asks incredulously because yeah, she hadn't expected Charlie to have much of a plan but she'd thought there would be something better than this; better than hiding a damn hostage under their kitchen floor.
"How many other fucking basements do you know?" he spits, any last remnants of calm evaporating.
Erin swallows and puts her foot down further, just making it through the next light before amber turns to red. She wants to ask Charlie whether he's thought about this guy remembering their route; being able to memorise the houses in their shitty neighbourhood so he can lead the cops back there once he escapes; storing every detail of their faces in his mind so that he can pick them out of a line-up and put them away for decades. Of course, she knows he hasn't, because that's the thing with Charlie: he's impulsive and reckless and as much as once upon a time, that was exciting, now it's more of a worry when she's relying on him to put food on the table and formula in Jack's bottle.
She crosses West 59th and makes the left turn a little too quickly, the car skidding on a patch of ice she hadn't spied until it was too late. The roads here haven't been gritted (nobody gives much of a shit about that on the South Side) and so she takes her foot off the gas just a little because as much as they need to get this guy inside, she needs to do it without drawing further attention.
Without warning, she hears a crack and a strangled scream escapes her mouth as she sees this guy's head slump forwards.
"Shut up!" Charlie urges, pulling his gun away from the face of the guy beside him. "Last thing we need is for him to see where he's going."
Erin knows it should be a comfort that he's going to be out cold when they pull up at the house but she also knows he's going to be a dead weight and Charlie's big, granted, but he's not going to be able to drag him up onto the porch and into the house without her help.
She makes the right onto their street and slows the car gently so it doesn't slide into the wall of the house. Last thing she needs is to wake Jack.
"Unlock the door," Charlie instructs. Prop the door to the basement open."
"I need to check on Jack first," she tells him, but his face sours and she knows that was the wrong thing to say.
"He'll be fine for another five fucking minutes."
She tries not to wince at his words, tries (and fails) not to feel her stomach drop when he talks about their child like he isn't the most precious thing in their life, because - deep down - as much as Erin wants him to, she knows Charlie doesn't feel for Jack what she does. Knows that as much as he loves his son, he isn't in love with what they've created together.
She nods and exits the car but they both know she'll stop by his crib, smooth the dark curls of his hair to settle him even if he doesn't stir. And she does. She unlocks the front door and makes her way upstairs quickly, inching the door to Jack's room open so the fraction of light from the hallway enables her to see he's safe and still sleeping soundly like Charlie said he'd be.
After propping open the basement door and then remembering to turn the light on so that they don't trip down the stairs, she heads back out to the car where Charlie's standing by the back door with a fistful of the guy's t-shirt.
"Stand at the other side of me," he tells her. "Take his other arm once I've got him out."
By the time they've got him up the porch steps, the neat scar across the bottom of her stomach is protesting at the strain but she knows they have to get him inside before she can even consider a rest. When they do, Charlie looks at her, must sense her discomfort and tells her to find something to tie him to the radiator with.
She's rummaging through the cupboard for some sort of wire she thinks she saw the other week, when she hears a series of almighty thuds. She closes her eyes as the bile rises in her throat because as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge as such, she knows the noise was the guy being thrown down the stairs to the basement. Next, she waits for Jack's cries, tells herself she has to go to Charlie with the wire before she can comfort their son, and so once she's found it, she all but runs down the stairs herself.
"No rope?" he asks when she hands him the wire.
"That's all I could find."
"It'll do for tonight."
"I can go to the store in the morning," she offers, then wishes she hadn't as Jack's cries grow louder.
Charlie seems to acknowledge that she needs to quieten the baby and nods at her to go back upstairs, dragging the guy's body over to the radiator on the far wall.
Erin's shushing Jack when she hears the light to the basement click off and the door close. Her hold on him tightens, a subconscious attempt to comfort herself just as much as she's comforting him she supposes, although it doesn't work - not that she'd expected it to.
"C'mon little man," she whispers, "You're okay; you're safe."
She feels like a fraud at those words because she knows none of them are safe now - not really - because however this situation ends, it's not going to be good for anyone. There's a rattle from the kitchen: the refrigerator door opening and closing again, and she breathes kisses into Jack's hair, takes from it that delicious sweet scent of milk and baby powder before laying him back down in his crib. She keeps a hand on his back, rubbing gently up and down until he drifts back off again, and then stays for a few more minutes to get her breath; prepare herself as best she can for whatever plan Charlie's formulating downstairs.
He's leaning against the counter when she enters the kitchen, tipping the bottle of Busch against his lips and draining the contents. Erin doesn't say anything, just stands against the frame between that room and the livingroom, her hands pressed into the wood.
"He's a cop Erin," he announces in a tone that lets her know just how fucked they are in all of this.
Her skin flames and pricks with beads of sweat. "You sure?" It seems such a stupid question to ask and yet here she is, letting the words spill from her lips regardless. He tosses something towards her and she misses it, the thing landing at her feet and distinguishing itself as a wallet. She bends to pick it up, unfolding the leather and taking in the distinctive smell of cinnamon and mint. There's a driver's licence and she looks at it carefully, tracing the words with her fingertips.
"Jay Halstead," she says softly, looking at the image beside the information. "His address doesn't match."
"It was his brother's place."
"So why'd you bring him here?"
"He said he was a cop, showed me his badge and I thought it was either get busted for dealing, possession of a gun, and breaking and entering or kill him."
"Then why didn't you just kill him? Why bring him here?"
"Because killing him doesn't get me paid. When I get the money, then I'll do it."
She can't help but feel like this would be a small loss, this couple hundred dollars; like it'd be a small price to pay for not keeping someone tied up in the basement while your child sleeps upstairs.
"How are you going to get the money?" she asks, needing his answers because she sure as hell can't see how this is going to work out.
"Demand it off his brother."
"His brother?"
Charlie sighs like he's sick of having to explain things. "It was his brother's place. His brother who owes the money. He wasn't there but this guy was."
"Jay," she says almost defiantly.
"What?"
"His name is Jay."
He looks confused for a moment, like he's not sure why their conversation's taken a slight turn, but he chooses to ignore it and Erin decides not to bring it up again. Charlie's going to do what Charlie's going to do and she's along for the ride whether she likes it or not.
"You want a beer?" he asks, crossing to the refrigerator for his second bottle but she shakes her head. She's foggy and tired enough from the whiskey earlier, and the last thing they need is to both be out cold when Jay wakes and starts making all kinds of noise to alert the neighbours.
She shakes her head and he shrugs. "Suit yourself."
Instead, she flicks on the coffee machine so she doesn't have to work quite so hard to fight sleep. Her limbs protest at the movement but eventually the water begins to drip through the filter and the smell begins to stir her senses enough that not every blink is quite so difficult.
Later, when Charlie's sinking something like his sixth or seventh beer and she's on coffee mug number three, there's an almighty bang from down in the basement. She looks towards him but already knows it's going to be her that goes down there: his eyes are glazed and she knows he's going to be unsteady on his feet, and so she rises from the couch, suppressing the sigh that's threatening to escape.
Erin clicks the light on first; waits the seemingly endless period of time where the light jumps on and off again repeatedly until it finally stays on and she can head down the stairs.