Chapter 9 Day Two, Friday, Six p.m.
The second time she woke, she was alone. Somewhere in the building someone was flushing a toilet. The whining sounds from the water pipes, normally an annoying disturbance, was comforting, a proof that the world was still the same.
Outside.
Her world had changed.
Vincent…
-
He'd tied her up before he left a couple of hours ago. The strips were rather tight, and she was going to have bruises. If she allowed herself to interpret the look on his face, though, he had seemed sorry about it.
She'd slept the whole day. At ten he'd made her call in sick. She'd told them she had the flu, and that she'd probably be in bed for a few days. How many days will it be? It hadn't been such an effort to sound ill; after the phone call she'd immediately rushed to the bathroom and thrown up. She had a hangover that would've killed an elephant. Even Vincent had looked rather disheveled.
At two he'd woken her again, he'd found some bread in her kitchen and had made them tea. She'd just taken a bite out of the bread, but had been thankful for the tea.
Didn't tell me where he was going – or when he'll be back… What if he doesn't return? That was a new and paralyzing thought. Maybe he'd just left her here to starve to death? No… No he wouldn't! That's not his style – I think…
Her panic had come and gone several times as she fell in and out of sleep. She'd processed the previous night several times. Every action, every word, and every look… touch… dance… The final talk… and how she'd fallen asleep in his arms.
I felt safe! How truly fucked up is that?
She had an excruciating headache, always had when she'd been drinking. Yesterday she'd gulped down alcohol as if she wouldn't live to see the break of dawn. Well… she had. Even before she went to sleep, and now she regretted every single drop.
The fact was that she wanted him to come back. His appearance in her life was so totally unexpected, and it made her feel alive. She'd even told him about her… disease, and he'd accepted it. No one had ever known before; not her mother, not the girls at work, and not the few friends she still had left. The truth had been such a burden to carry alone, and the reliefs of having its weight taken off her shoulders made her feel like she could rise.
-
Vincent had been making some phone calls.
He'd had some ideas on where to start. From there it had been relatively easy. She'd been a prostitute and a junkie. Her brother had been a small time dealer. Then there had been the beating… and a sentence – jail for a number of years… four perhaps?
Revenge?
Possibly.
Related to Simon?
Less likely.
Retaliation for being sent to prison… A man, thinking too highly of himself, put down by a whore? More probable… He couldn't exclude the other possibilities yet, though…
He'd have to pull some strings, but it'd be worth it.
She deserved it.
Little Sarah… always so trusting…She's still the same – I want her to stay that way…
It felt good yesterday, laughing with someone… her touch…
His contact in Nevada, Frank, had set up a safe line via satellite transmission and then he'd called Vincent back.
"V? It's Frank. What's up?" The man at the other end of the line sounded slightly surprised.
"We're gonna ask the Corellis that favor."
-
The Corelli cartel was the only real player on the east coast. They were involved with drugs, gambling, smuggling and prostitutes. They had officers on payroll, lawyers and from what the rumor said, even a judge… you name it - they owned it all. There was nothing going on that they weren't involved with, nothing that counted. They were good businessmen, ruthless and professional.
Vincent had done jobs for them several times.
Once though, they had messed up with the arrangements, and had forgotten to check one small detail. The rear exit from a building, the escape route Vincent had been supposed to take, hadn't existed any more. In order not to get caught, Vincent had to shoot his way out, making a mess, killing probably ten people before he had gotten away. Nearly got himself killed...
Ever since, he always checked every aspect of the hit himself; entrances, exits, guards, key cards…
The Corelli brothers, said to be brothers, but no one really knew if they were even related, had apologized and taken the full blame. Vincent had completed the job to their complete satisfaction and they'd said that if he ever needed a favor…
-
"Fuck V! What's going on? Where are you? Have you done the job yet?"
The man at the other end of the line sounded disturbed. Vincent was like a machine. You could count on him to do the job, no matter what. He never let anything interfere. The rumor had it that he'd even killed his own parents.
He was the perfect hitman: thorough, cold, precise, and lacking anything even remotely close to a heart.
Frank had expected to hear from Vincent this morning, to have his confirmation that he was on his way to Las Vegas as planned. Instead there had been nothing the whole day.
Not that he was responsible for Vincent, not at all. Vincent was his own. But Frank had worked for him the last six years. Vincent had picked him up the day he left the prison, after serving two years for assault; a little dispute that had cost him his honorable discharge from the military and left him with nothing. Vincent had offered him a job, to be his right hand man, his "office", and it had worked flawlessly.
Until now.
-
"Frank, don't ever question me!" Vincent's voice over the line was harsh. Frank got his instructions and was all business again. Good for him.
He'd heard the hesitation and the hint of accusation in Frank's voice, and it had left him wondering what the hell he was doing. Allowing Sarah to live had seemed like the right thing to do late last night; after the surprise of finding someone he knew so long ago, after all the dancing, the drinking, and the confidences. Even this morning, when he was still in Sarah's apartment, it had appeared reasonable, doable.
But now, after sobering up with fresh air and lots of strong black coffee, the night with Sarah seemed more and more surreal. He'd spent a couple of hours at his hotel room, sleeping some and thinking some. Finally he'd gathered his things and checked out.
He wouldn't return.
Looking at the whole situation now, pulled out into broad daylight, he realized it might weaken him, make him a liability.
Bad for business…
-
Sarah heard the key rattle in the lock, and her heart jolted. When the door swung open though, the first spark of joy was replaced by a little nervous tickle in her belly.
He looked… not the same.
She couldn't tell at first what it was. Vincent hadn't looked straight at her yet, even though he could very well see her from the door. Instead, he was watching her apartment again, turning his head and glancing in different directions as he slowly and silently closed the door behind him. As the locking mechanism clicked with a sharp sound, almost like a gun shot heard from a distance, she flinched and her heartbeat sped up.
Vincent took a quick look at her with an unreadable expression on his face, like acknowledging her presence. Then he went for the bathroom and was gone for a few minutes. She could hear him stir in there, then the flushing of the toilet and the water in the basin.
She had a growing feeling of unease that she couldn't shake off. He seemed different, less like this morning and more like... earlier last night! Her mouth suddenly went dry as the horrible implication grew on her.
He's changed his mind!
When the door abruptly opened, it interrupted her train of thoughts and she stared paralyzed at him as he came out and shut the door behind him.
"Vinc..." she began to say, but her voice trailed off as he slowly walked towards her, his eyes shadowed and almost hypnotizing her with their darkness. A feeling of sadness crept upon her; she mourned her life – to be losing it this way.
So, this is it...
When he unbuttoned his suit jacket, one button after the other until all three of them were done, she turned her head away from him and took one last, long look at the still blue sky outside. A bird flew by in the distance. Then she closed her eyes.
Not gonna fight it this time.
-
As he approached the bed, he prepared himself. It'd be fast. Three in the head, like Daniel Baker... Still he felt remorse, like then, only this time he felt it in advance. He knew he didn't want to do this, but he couldn't see any other real solution.
He watched Sarah turn her head away and close her eyes, without a word.
Brave little Sarah... she already knows.
Sliding closer until he was right by the bed, he quietly pulled the gun out of its holster.
Then the cell phone rang in his pocket.
-
