Full Moon and China White
By AJ
Chapter 2: 2 Hours Missing
Samantha paced the sidewalk in front of the store, her thumb hitched on the waist of her pants and her fingers drumming impatiently on her hip. Her other hand gripped her cell phone.
Martin's car still sat where he'd parked it, but now it was flanked by NYPD black and whites and corralled in the tiny parking lot with yellow police barrier tape. When she saw Jack's dark sedan jerk to a stop at the curb, her shoulders sagged with relief. Now they would get somewhere; she turned to meet her boss.
"Samantha," Jack started as he strode toward her. "What happened?"
She swept her arm at the front door. "He walked in there and now he's gone. I couldn't get inside – the doors were locked . . ."
"Who locked them?"
"They were on automatic timers. Martin told me . . ." she dropped her eyes and pushed her gaze aside, trying to get her thoughts in some sort of order.
"Start over, Sam," Jack said calmly as he gripped her shoulders. "What were you doing here?"
"Martin and I were going out for drinks. He said we should ride together because parking would be bad but he had to make a stop first."
"What for?"
"He never said. We parked here," she pointed at the car, "and he told me the lights would go out and the doors would lock automatically in 3 minutes – so it must have been 8:57."
She took a breath and turned from Jack's hands, walking to the glass doors of the store. "When he didn't come out in fifteen minutes, I got out and tried to see inside. It was dark so I walked around to the alley in the back. That door was locked, too. I noticed that the alley light was broken; there's glass on the ground under it. I yelled and pounded on the door, but when no one answered I called the police, thinking that they would have a key to get in or at least have an emergency contact for the business." She could feel her heart start to race as she recalled her alarm at the time. She bit her lip to get back on track. "Um . . . after nearly an hour, police dispatch got a hold of the building owner and when he finally got here I went in with the police. The place is empty, Jack. No one's there. There are signs of a struggle in the back . . ."
"Show me."
Samantha slowly felt her collection return as she led Jack into the store and through the scene. By the time they reached the back storeroom, her mind was ticking again. She ignored the little voice telling her that her work mindset was only pushing aside her fear.
"When I saw these boxes on the floor I looked closer and saw what looks like blood. That's when I got everyone out and secured the scene and called you. I . . . I think Martin and the store owner were taken out by the back door. I was out front the whole time."
"Jack?" Vivien's voice carried easily from the front doors.
"Back here!"
The cool calm of the experienced agent was like a balm to Samantha; she knew Jack too well, and as a result, could read the tenseness he was trying not to show. Samantha could see a shadow of concern in Vivien's eyes that belied the matter-of-fact tone to her voice.
"Any witnesses?"
Jack stood straighter. "We haven't canvassed the area yet. Danny should be here . . ."
"Now." Agent Taylor's eyes darted around the scene as soon as he entered the storeroom. "Want me to start checking the adjoining buildings for witnesses?"
"Yeah," Jack replied, "Sam and I will collect the evidence here and question the land lord. Vivien, go with Danny."
The four of them split up, their concern palatable. Before he left, Danny's hand rested sympathetically for a moment on Samantha's shoulder. She gave him a weak smile as he left.
"Sam." Jack's voice captured he full attention and as she faced him, she tried to keep the panic from her eyes. "Think. What else did you see? Any other cars? Pedestrians? Noises?"
Samantha's forehead furrowed in thought. "I had the radio on kinda loud. I saw Martin open the door and stop for a moment just inside. He looked around, and then started to the back. He pulled something from his back pocket . . ."
"His wallet?" Jack asked.
"No," Samantha said with authority. "No, he carries his wallet in his left back pocket. He took something from his right pocket . . ." She frowned. "It was white. A paper?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we'll figure it out. That the land lord?" He pointed to a rotund man arguing with a uniformed officer just outside the storeroom. When she nodded, they approached and motioned the uniform away.
Jack showed his identification. "Who's on the lease?"
It was hot; too hot to breathe. Martin gasped in an effort to fill his lungs and was rewarded with a calliope of spinning starts and piercing pain in his skull. Quickly he clamped his mouth shut, grinding his teeth until the agony receded a little. Next, he opened his eyes a crack and saw only gauzy darkness. He jerked his hand to reach for his head, but found that his arms were pulled behind his back and wouldn't move. Puzzling over that for several confused moments as his senses cleared, Martin realized that he was partially sitting up and slumped to one side, making breathing difficult. When he tried to push himself upright with his shoulder, pain zinged again and took what little breath he had away as a groan.
Then he realized that there was something over his head making his breath hot against his face – a bag? And his hands were tied behind him?
A rush of panic was quickly squelched as he tried to think logically through the distracting agony. Martin forced himself to relax and concentrate on his breathing as he attempted to gather his scattered thoughts. When he tried to use his feet to scoot back and closer to the wall, he realized his feet were tied, too.
'What the hell?' he thought muzzily.
"I have your gun, Agent Fitzgerald, so don't bother looking." A man's voice with some kind of accent.
Martin made the mistake of trying to shake his head; was difficult to think. He knew he must have a concussion. "They're looking for me, you know," he said, his voice sounding thick and slurred to his ears.
The man laughed lowly. "I know."
The agent heard movement and then someone grabbed his forearm in a vice-like grip. Even though his head felt as if it would explode with every movement, Martin automatically tried to fight back. When he started to yell, he found his face pressed painfully to the floor. There were at least two men holding him down and Martin knew he was going to black out again. His stomach rolled.
His felt a sting on his flesh; he jerked, and his face and chest were forced harder to the floor in response. At the same moment he felt the growing warmth from whatever they had injected him with, Martin realized he was in a moving vehicle.
Then all his aches and pains faded away in a glorious rush, the previous nausea vanishing as his body relaxed. Uncaring, Martin continued his ride to the unknown.
TBC
