Dancing With Skeletons
A Deich
Searing pain greeted him upon awakening. His head throbbed and he struggled to open his eyes. He was completely disoriented, unsure of why his body was in such discomfort, his arms unable to move. Slowly, the fog began to clear and he was able to open his eyes. The light around him was dim making it difficult to see. His eyes began to adjust after several moments and he observed the room about him.
He was alone. He was shackled to a chair, hands zip tied behind his back. The room was small and untidy. It looked like it may be used for storage, random items strewn about. There was a single wooden door with a deadbolt lock. Two rectangular small windows lined the top of opposite walls. They provided some cross ventilation but no view of his location. Still, it was somewhat stifling as the air was hot and heavy.
Charlie struggled to remember how he managed to be in this predicament. He was planning on a day at the beach. His attire confirmed this thought. He cruised along Ocean Drive before beginning the search for parking. He remembered finding a spot on a narrow alley some blocks away. He saw no one approach but felt the blow. He had made such a rookie mistake! His parents continually warned him to never let his guard down in unfamiliar surroundings, not to get distracted. They had drilled into him countless times to take time to survey the surroundings. Look for suspicious activity before remaining in an area. Here, he had ignored all the warnings on one of his first outings. He had assured them that he was ready for an adventure, that he was prepared for the world and its dangers. Apparently, his confidence was misplaced. It was a far cry from theory to practice.
He swallowed the bitter taste of fear. He was a captive! His hubris may have cost him his life, his parents never knowing what had become of him. He began to panic, his heart racing. He closed his eyes and willed himself to think, use the lessons that he had been taught. His mam's voice sounded in his head. "Charlie, I want you to try this relaxation technique I use in situations like this. I want you to close your eyes and breathe deep. Picture a peaceful mountain stream. Now picture yourself drowning the kidnapper in the stream. You're taking a rock from the stream and raising it over your head and with tremendous force..." The thought made him smile, his breathing returning to normal, his panic slightly dissipating.
Now, it was Michael's voice that took over. "If you find yourself in a situation where someone has taken you against your will, the first step is not to panic. Your initial instinct may be to fight, but that might be a waste of energy; energy that may better serve you later. You need to gather as much information as possible about your location and your captors using whatever senses are available to you. Then, assess the threat and act accordingly. Look for weaknesses in the security and make your move when lapses occur. Keep calm and you just might survive your ordeal - with a little luck." Michael was forever giving him advice such as this. Charlie had stored it all away; never truly believing it would be needed.
With his eyes still closed, he concentrated on his environment. There was a smell of the sea about the place. A body of water likely was near the site. He heard the muffled sound of cars moving on a nearby road. The noise was sporadic indicating a residential road rather than a highway or major thoroughfare. He heard no people moving about, picked up no aroma of food cooking or bodies close together. This led him to surmise he was in an outbuilding of some sort rather than a main house. He assumed there were others, unseen, on the property, and at some point they would make their presence known. These facts could prove useful if he was able to make an escape.
Charlie eventually opened his eyes preparing to focus on himself next. His head continued to throb but all his faculties seemed intact. He saw no blood anywhere on his person. He pressed his thigh slightly sideways on the chair to ascertain what remained in the pockets of his board shorts. The few dollars that he carried, as well as the key to the Charger remained. He could not feel the hard imprint of his Irish driver's license. It must be in the hands of his kidnappers. Why take only that, leaving the rest behind? So many questions swirled through Charlie's mind.
He flexed and stretched every body part that was moveable keeping the blood flowing and prevent his muscles from cramping or tightening up. He needed to be able to react quickly if given the chance. When he had completed all the tasks that ran through his memory, he forced himself to rest. Michael had warned him often that fatigue and stress are the biggest enemies in any situation. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and tried to clear his mind of worries. Fate had dealt him an unexpected blow but at least his parents had given him tactics to face the unexpected. Charlie remembered his mam's mandate to "keep his wits about him". He intended to do just that. Maybe then, he would survive.
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As Michael opened the door he was struck by a scene he had not seen in years. The room before him had been ransacked, clothes and shoes strewn all about. He immediately grabbed the gun they kept in the umbrella stand near the front door, a habit continued from the old days. He held the gun steadily as he began to search for intruders. He scanned the room moving stealthily toward the bedrooms. A sound drew his attention. He continued forward as a door swung open and a figured emerged.
"What the hell are you doin' with that thing?" Fiona expressing her displeasure that a weapon was pointed in her direction. She glided swiftly past him, her arms filled with fabric.
Michael lowered the weapon immediately, placing it in the small of his back. He followed behind, a confused look upon his face. "I thought ... " He looked around as Fiona laid more clothes on every solid surface in the cottage. "What the hell are you doing?" Michael threw the question back at her. There was an angry edge to his voice.
"Packing." She opened her arms and pointed toward the mass of clothing.
"Packing?" Michael cocked his head as he surveyed the room again. He focused on the placement of the objects. What at first glance appeared to be a random sprawl, he now observed a deliberate pattern. Assorted dresses to the left, blouses and shirts in every colour toward the right, in the centre there were jeans and trousers, piles of shoes in each direction.
"Yes, Michael, packing. It's what people do when they're preparing for a trip." Fiona kept her eyes focusing on her task, making another pile, this one on the sofa.
Michael was still a bit perplexed. "Is this about Paris?" Fi nodded slightly not taking her eyes off of a red minidress that began life as a designer gown. Some of her possessions, carefully packed by Sam and Elsa, had been shipped to her family after her disappearance. "You do realise it's not for another month, right?"
She sighed in frustration. "Yes. I am very well aware of that fact, Michael. But as you can clearly see, I have nothing to wear!" Michael looked again at the immense pile in front of him. He was completely baffled, unsure how to respond. There were clothes in every corner of the cottage. "At least, nothing really suitable for Paris but I think I can make a few things work after some alterations." She held up a blue strapless dress against her body and turned toward Michael. "What do you think?"
Michael hated this type of trick question. Was he supposed to like it or hate it? He tried to read her expression but found no clue. Her eyebrows were raised as she awaited his answer. He opened his mouth to speak but Fiona was infuriated by his hesitation. "Oh, you're impossible!" She stormed off leaving a path of destruction in her wake. He wiped a hand over his face wishing Charlie were here. He would likely have some quick retort to make his mam laugh.
Michael sifted through the pile. He picked up one of her many white dresses. This had always been one of his favourites. He smoothed the fabric with his fingers bringing a smile to his lips. Fiona would look beautiful whatever she selected. Maybe that's all that she really needed to hear. He headed toward the bedroom with his offering and his love. The countdown to Paris, years in the making, had begun!
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Evan had been summoned. Carmelo sat in a chair as large and grand as a throne flipping what appeared to be a driver's license though his fingers. Evan's new constant companions pushed him forward. "Ah, there he is, my new partner. I hope you are enjoying the company of these two," the drug kingpin indicated the two men flanking him, "they will be with you until our business is completed." Evan realised that he had little choice in the matter. "I am curious about our 'guest'. He was carrying this." Carmelo held up the license. "This says our little friend is named Charles Gerald O'Donovan. Not Westen." Evan turned pale. "It also lists his address as some place I've never heard of- in Ireland." Carmelo rose, striding over to where Evan stood motionless. "Why is that?'
He had no answers, just conjecture. "I don't know!" Panic could be heard in his voice. "All I know is that Axe and my mom think the kid is legit. Maybe he's pulling some kind of con. They'll pay up." Evan prayed that last statement was true.
"They will or you will." Carmelo glared at him, letting his words sink in. "Deliver our terms tonight. They've got 48 hours to comply - after that ..." He did not need to finish the sentence, the message left no uncertainty as to the intent. A flick of his head let his men know that it was time to go. It was time for Evan to confront his mother. It was time to make her pay.
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The Forge had been a Miami institution for decades. Elsa booked the private wine cellar for their parting dinner. The couples sat opposite each other, saving the head of the table for the guest of honour. Sam checked his watch once again. Jesse noticed the action and asked, "You sure he knew it was tonight?"
"Yeah. Talked to him this morning before he headed out for the day." It was an unsettling feeling for the men. Punctuality was ingrained in them as Mike had once noted that for an operative "showing up on time means you're fifteen minutes late." It was already twenty minutes past the time he was expected.
"I'm sure it's nothing. You're always telling me that Mike is frequently complaining that time in Ireland is somewhat flexible." Jesse tried to apply a reasonable explanation for Charlie's absence. "Probably a cultural thing. Why don't you give him a quick call?"
Sam pulled out his phone but before he had a chance to dial, Evan barged into the room, making his way toward the head of the table, usurping the chair meant for another. All the colour drained from Elsa's face as she watched her wayward son's approach. Sam's booming voice rang out, "Hey, pal, this is a private party."
A smug expression could be found on Evan's face. "So I understand, but I thought you might like to know your guest of honour is tied up at the moment." He chuckled at his own joke before continuing. "He won't be able to make tonight." Confused faces surrounded the table.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam's patience with his stepson had run out.
This time, Evan felt in control. He was not cowed by the men to either side of him. "I'm talking about your shiny new toy, Axe." He took out his own mobile, glanced at the display, and turned it toward the others. "Tsk, tsk. Looks like your boy here ran into some trouble." Four pairs of eyes focused on the tiny screen: Charlie, bound and gagged! Expressions of disbelief from the women but Sam jumped up, grabbing Evan by his lapels, Jesse at his side.
"You son-of-a-bitch, what the hell have you done?" Sam was ready to pulverise the interloper.
Evan was relatively calm. He had the upper hand here. "I suggest you let me go, unless you'd like Charlie Westen to die - again; this time for eternity." He smiled as Sam reared back ready to land a blow. Jesse caught his arm mid-air, realising they needed to hear him out. Charlie's life might depend on it. Later, they could deal with this punk.
Sam released his grip. Evan straightened his jacket. "Is that champagne?" He picked up the bottle from the table pouring a glass for himself, revelling in the torment of the others. "The surprisingly undead young Westen is in the care of my current business partner." Evan began to explain the situation. "He's fine, uncomfortable perhaps, and he'll stay fine as long as you meet our conditions." All eyes were focused on him, tense expressions all around. "For a million dollars, he'll stay that way." Charlie added a finder's fee onto Carmelo's demands. He could pay off his debt giving the drug dealer a bonus, plus have some start up cash for himself. He doubted Elsa would give him another penny of her own free will after this stunt. "You have 48 hours to make this happen. After that... well let's just say you won't be hearing from the kid again." He gulped his champagne and prepared to leave.
"A million bucks! How are we gonna get our hands on that kinda cash?" Sam paused. "I don't know who you think you've got there but it's my nephew, Chuck Finley. His folks don't have the money for this. You made a bad mistake this time, Evan."
Evan stared at Elsa. She could not meet his gaze. "I guess my mom will have to decide how much 'Chuck's' life is worth. I know how it works. I know that 48 hours is enough time to gather the assets together. Use cash, sell the G-6, check the couch cushions for loose change." He headed for the door. "I'll be in touch. Sorry I can't stay for dinner. Enjoy!" With that, he was gone.
Alina was speechless, overwhelmed by what had just transpired. Elsa began sobbing softly, astounded that her son could be so heartless. Sam was furious, ready to gather up the guns and stage an assault. It was Jesse who was deep in thought, trying to remain calm, trying to rationally come up with a plan. Finally, he spoke, "We can't do this alone and we can't let anyone else know about Charlie." The others turned toward him. Sam was rapidly getting his emotions under control as Jesse continued. "We gotta call Mike and Fi." It was the obvious next step in this nightmare they found themselves in. They couldn't gamble with Charlie's life while his family remained oblivious of the danger.
"Crap!" Sam took a deep breath and began to dial.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews! Your kind words mean more than you could possibly imagine and encourages me to continue. With kind regards and many thanks!