Though Gabby had been concerned the moment Spot had set foot out the door, she had not felt the full capacity of such worry until the clock struck midnight that evening. Once a master of deception herself, she had concealed her distress toward her dinner guests when they asked where Spot was going or when he would return. She had faked a smile and brushed it off, urging they needed to continue with their supper. It seemed, however, Jack Kelly could see straight through her; he eyed her with both suspicion and concern the rest of the evening.
Presently, Gabby stood pacing about the apartment while Noah sat quietly on the chair. Her fingernails were chewed down to practically nothing, and she frequently became so sick with worry she had to stop her pacing and compose herself. She recalled having the exact same feeling the day of the rumble between Brooklyn and Queens a couple of years ago; though she had been tied to Queens and their crafty leader Tyce Nichols at the time, her true loyalties remained to the one person she had been fooling the entire time, Spot Conlon. That day she had worried not for her own life, but that of Spot's, and at the current time she felt as though time had not fluttered an eyelid in her direction.
"Happens all the time," muttered Gabby to herself, "all the time. He's come home this late all the time. Sometimes later. No worries. It'll all be fine. Fine. Okay. Great. It's okay, we'll be okay."
She turned to her infant Noah who sat, mouth agape and staring at Gabby like a foreign creature. As if he were able to understand, she asked him, "You're not worried, are you? I mean, this happens all the time, so there isn't anything to stress about, is there?"
Noah, after a considerable time, turned his head in another direction and raised his arms in the air which preceded a shrieking howl. Gabby gasped and turned away from Noah. The infant began reaching his arms forth to her and murmuring sounds which lacked anything understandable. She crossed her arms over her chest and attempted to tune out the sounds of her son.
Not long afterward did a threatening sound issue from the other side of their door in the hallway. Gabby rushed over to Noah and covered her hand over his mouth. She listened carefully, for it sounded as though a small group of men had entered the building and bounded up the stairway. They pounded on doors and shouted to recipients they were not seeking. Gabby, her hand still cupped over Noah's mouth, picked him up and hurried toward her bedroom, praying to God she had locked the front door when the others had left.
She threw open the closet and threw herself and Noah to the floor. Outside the dark, dust-ridden hiding space, sound indicated the intruders had reached their apartment. Forceful hands wriggled and fidgeted with the doorknob, so vigorously it was a surprise the knob did not give way so easily. Instead, Gabby felt her entire body jump out of her skin when a bullet seared through the front door and it opened with a jolt.
While the intruders made their way inside, Gabby heard the protests of other tenants in the building. Likewise, they were hushed when another round of bullets cut through the air, followed by the bone-chilling screams of others. Noah squirmed nearly out of control as Gabby held him with a death grip to her body, and he soon started chewing on her hand with the few teeth he had.
The intruders stomped their way around the apartment, opening the cabinets and hurling dishes and silverware to the floor. They turned over furniture and rampaged through anything of value. Mumbled, harsh voices speaking in lively Italian resounded through the walls. They wavered closer and further, closer and further, indecisively playing mind games with their victims.
Gabby's body raked with nerves as her heart beat rapidly against her chest. Sweat rolled down the sides of her face and she covered her own mouth to prevent any indication of their hiding spot. The bedroom door was kicked open with a startling jolt. The voices were clearer and closer than ever. Shadows of their feet scurried past the narrow space between the closet door and the floorboards.
Her eyes begging her to turn away, Gabby watched the shadows with dizzying appeal. She then noticed her dress. The blue lining of the bottom trim had gotten wedged between the door and the doorframe when she had closed it. Just underneath the handle was a piece of her bright blue garment sticking out to the other side for all to see, and the men were still rampant and present inside the bedroom.
A shaking, perspiring hand grabbed hold of the dress carefully. Closing her eyes, she yanked the fabric toward her. The motion shook the door. The garment tore with a resounding RRRIIIPP that seemed to stop time altogether. Gabby held her breath and froze. The shadows that had danced along the floorboards had now stopped at the closet door.
Hours later, Spot Conlon began streaming back into consciousness. Though his eyes were difficult to open at first, he felt his body in the largest amount of pain he had ever been. A throbbing, pounding feeling beat at his skull and his stomach felt as though someone had ripped out his insides. His back was sore yet stationary and upright, and his legs the same. He was unable to move any part of his arms except his fingers.
Spot's eyelids fluttered open and he was greeted with complete darkness, save for the narrow light streaming in from the floor. Opening his eyes completely, his head lifted with a jolt and he found himself occupying a confined and dank space, bound by his legs and waist to a chair, his arms tied so tightly behind his back he had almost lost feeling in them. An instinctive cry issued forth from the deepest part of his throat but was quickly muffled by a cloth pulled between his teeth and tied at the back of his head. As far as he was concerned, he might as well have already been dead.
"I told you, Johnny, I was double-crossin' him!"
Hyperventilating and feeling himself shaking beyond control, Spot could make out a conversation taking place on the other side of the door. Through his rapid breaths he could lean forward just enough to hear what was going on through the walls.
"Liar!" The speaker dealt a forceful smack across the face of his victim, which responded with a feminine gasp.
"If you was double-crossin' 'im, you woulda told me about it."
"Johnny, I swear…" The girl's voice broke for a moment. "Why would I care about Spot?"
"Same reason you woulda cared about me, and you don't! I ain't stupid!" The male then delivered another hard hit to the girl, who broke down and started sobbing.
Spot still breathed harder and harder with each passing moment, and it only intensified when he realized who was doing the speaking on the other side of the door. Kat was speaking with Johnny, and she was getting beaten, or even tortured, on Spot's behalf. Realizing this only worsened the pain.
Assuming there was no one else in the room, Spot watched the shadow of Johnny's feet pace slowly up and down outside. He could hear Kat hyperventilating, and could even hear that her breaths were forced and bound by constraints such as his own.
"You wanna know how I know you're lyin' to me?" questioned Johnny in a malicious tone, "'cause I was told Conlon was seen with some blonde prostitute strollin' up an' down the streets 'a Manhattan. Now, does that seem natural? No! An' that was way before I picked you up like the filthy whore you are! Thought I may've recognized ya that night, huh? So when we're talkin' logically heah, you had to 'ave already known Conlon when I picked you up. An' when we was interrupted by my uncle, you logically musta been listenin' to the conversation outside the door! Startin' to see how all this makes sense, ya dirty whore? Or did yer brain get banged outta yer head from all the guys you've fucked!"
A grunt came from Kat and was soon followed by a groan of pain from Johnny; Spot could only assume she had not been bound as much as he in order to punch or kick her opponent. Johnny rattled off a round of curses in response and he heard him practically knock Kat out entirely so that she was no longer conscious.
"Don' you evah put yer dirty hands on me again, a'right? Got that, ya lousy bitch?"
Another hit to her face, another groan from Kat.
"Johnny…" gasped Kat, "what makes ya think…I even liked Spot to begin with? How d'you know it wasn't you I was interested in, huh? How d'you know it wasn't you I was tryin' to help!"
"How do I know that? Well, does this ring any bells? 'I nevah paid you…' 'That's because I didn't consider you a client,'" mimicked Johnny in a twisted imitation of both Spot and Kat during their conversation just before they had prepared to leave Kat's apartment.
"Ya gotta believe me, Johnny, I swear…"
"No. An' it's too bad I don't."
Spot heard Johnny make his way toward the door and open it casually. He said something inaudible to a person who must have been standing outside, for Spot could not make out what was said.
"Johnny, please! I promise! You let me go, I'll work for you, no money charged!" Kat was becoming even more desperate by the second, as if her life had been suddenly put on the line.
"No, Kat!" shouted Johnny. In a lower tone of voice, "Get rid of 'er, Nico."
"No! Please! Don't do this, I can help you I swear!" The terror in Kat's voice sent shivers shooting straight up Spot's spine and he found himself trying to break free more than ever as if they were taking him away instead of her.
"Don't forget yer manners, Kat, thank me fer my hospitality!" spat Johnny in a louder voice as if Kat was leaving the room.
"Spot!" shouted Kat in a drifting voice. "Spot, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Don't let 'em do this ta you!"
Conlon rocked his entire body back and forth, side to side in rapid motions as Kat called to him from the outside. He heard her screams and heard them fading away the more he heard her struggle and fight back. His bones were nearly breaking with the force he was putting on them, his tongue rich with blood in his mouth. He had to get out, if not for himself but for Kat.
"Don't let 'em get away with—"
A single shot resonated from the outside. Spot sat frozen in terror and there was the most painful silence to engulf the world as there ever was. He wanted to vomit, but he could barely even breathe. With all his might he tried to break the chair, but it wouldn't budge. Footsteps echoed towards the door from the outside and the doorknob twisted open. Spot looked up pathetically into the eyes of a vengeful, ruthless Johnny who looked as though he had already murdered him in cold blood.
A/N: I hope you're shaken, because that was the most intense and fastest chapter I've ever written in my life! I have to thank the horror movies my friends made me watch this past week, for I think they have left too many pieces with me. More to come later!