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Nine
It had rained last night, pounding wet drops against the thin, dilapidated roof, rendering Sara unable to sleep. As if this was any different from any other night she spent here. Now, the air filtering in through the broken window is not only hot, but also sticky and damp with the leftover humidity. It mixes with her sweat and makes her hair stick to her forehead and the nape of her neck; she tries not to think of the last time she had a shower. She tries not to think of Benjamin Franklin, lying broken in his own home, who died protecting her and her family even though he had his own. She tries not to think of her children, who may be with Sofia and LJ, out of harm's way, or may not be, instead off somewhere alone and worried and needing her. And, of course, she tries desperately hard not to think of Michael, who has absolutely no idea where she is or what's been happening to his family.
The sun rises a little after six a.m. and Sara watches as the sky transitions from black to purple to full-fledged blue; one day gone, another just beginning. The sun turns from an orange ball in the horizon to a burning yellow ascending into its place in the sky, ready for its duty on this brand new day. A breeze too muggy to be considered refreshing tousles the too-long blades of grass outside that broken window and Sara wonders just how long this abandoned house had been here before The Company decided to claim it as their own. She can hear clattering down the hall- surely Stacy had startled Murphy, once again- and then the two are bickering; all the usual morning entertainment. She wonders what they'll bring her for breakfast today- yesterday it had been oatmeal that had most definitely expired ages ago- and then snickers, because she won't be eating it, anyway.
Footsteps on the creaky wooden floors tell her they're coming her way and she fixes her eyes on the door and readies her signature blank stare. Stacy, of course, enters the room first, but it's not a bowl of cereal or a crust of bread she's holding, this time. It's a gun; Sara recognizes it as the same gun held against her temple the day she'd been brought here. Murphy slinks in behind her, holding a water bottle and avoiding Sara's gaze. Stacy crosses over to the window and yanks the curtain open, shedding light on the small room- and on the pile of broken glass Sara was sure she saw, earlier. But if Stacy notices this, she doesn't acknowledge it; she simply caresses the gun as if it was a beloved pet and speaks to Sara without looking at her.
"Edison's in town today," Stacy states. "I have a meeting with him at the marina in a half hour. Heath, too. We're his right-hand men, you might say. I'll be sure to ask after your children. God knows they're giving him all kinds of trouble."
Sara's eyes widen; her children? They'd gone after and captured her children? Her heart is hammering in her chest and she wants to vomit, scream, fight and go to them immediately. She can do none of those things. Stacy continues, "You see, we were supposed to bring you to Durham, too. But I decided, at the last minute, to keep you right here, in Raleigh. And what a good decision that was, huh? I mean, you can't keep all your ammunition in one place, right? They've got your kids in Durham, we've got you here; it's a win-win."
Sara tries not to let her disappointment show, but if LJ and Sofia had somehow miraculous found her note, then they weren't going to find her. She's comforted, though, by the feeling that perhaps they could find Noah and Zoe; Durham is a big city, but there are only so many places that they could hide. Stacy suddenly glances up, as if Sara's said the words aloud, and points the gun to her forehead, the metal cool against her overheated skin. "Now, we're meeting to discuss our final plans. I'm supposed to report to Edison that you're dead. But you aren't dead are you? Not yet, anyway. You have no idea how long I've waited for the order to pull the trigger."
She cocks the gun and Sara closes her eyes, breathes in and out slowly, and tries to think of anything but death. She thinks instead of Zoe's little voice and Noah's contagious giggle and Michael's irrevocable love. She thinks of the night Noah was born and how they'd cried more than he did. She thinks of their wedding, short and simple and sweet, and of how, two years later, she'd told him- instead of Lincoln, this time- that she was pregnant again. She thinks of birthday parties and family movie nights and attending, annually, the New York State Fair. She doesn't think of where she'll go when she dies; she's never been very religious, but she can't be going to Heaven, not as a former junkie and alcoholic, not as a former murderer. Instead, she thinks of Michael and of Noah and of Zoe, because, truthfully, they're all she's been thinking about for the past few days.
Suddenly, the gun is removed from her forehead. She opens her eyes slowly, watching as Stacy turns away from her and hands the gun to Murphy instead. His hands tremble with the weight of it as he asks, "What are you doing?"
"You do it. Prove you deserve to be a part of The Company again."
Murphy looks unsure, turning the gun over and over in his hands. He points it shakily at Sara, but does not pull the trigger. "I… I can't!"
"You are a coward," Stacy shouts. "You're pathetic and useless and weak and you always have been!"
She crosses the room to the door and pulls it open. "I'll be back in an hour. And Murphy?"
He glances over but doesn't meet her eyes. "What?"
"I want her dead before I come home or you'll join her."
She slams the door behind her and the entire room is bathed in an uncomfortable silence. Murphy waits until he hears Stacy's car tear away from the house before placing the gun down and crossing the room and gently taking the tape off of her mouth. "I brought you some water."
"Did you poison it?" Sara eyes the bottle warily and Murphy honestly shakes his head.
"I have a gun. What would I need to poison you for?"
She eyes him distrustfully, but accepts the water anyway and relishes the way it instantly awakens her. "Thank you."
Murphy nods and then turns away. "I'm going to kill you, Sara."
She smirks. "Are you?"
"I am. I have to," His eyes meet hers for a moment and then turn away instantly. "I have to kill you. I'm sorry we tortured you like this, but-"
"Please," Sara chuckles, but there's no warmth in it. "I've been through worse. This is nothing."
Murphy sits in front of her so they're almost eye-to-eye. "Stacy said The Company tortured you before… What did they do to you?"
"You name it," Sara sighs. "They did it."
"I'm sorry."
"For a guy who's supposed to kill me, you're pretty apologetic," Sara notices and Murphy frowns and points the gun at her again.
"Shut up. I'll do it. I will."
But he doesn't, so she then asks, "Stacy said that someone has my kids. Please tell me they're okay."
"I don't know, but I'm sure they are," Murphy mumbles. "They're not bad guys, Norton and Heath. Norton owns a landscaping company and Heath is in real estate. Or, they were. I don't know."
"Where are they keeping them?"
"You honestly expect me to tell you that?"
Sara glances down and doesn't look at the gun in Murphy's grasp. "They're good kids, you know. Noah's just finishing up first grade and he loves it, of course. He's so smart, just like his father. He's really shy, though; he's always been quiet and observant, ever since he was a baby. You always hear those horror stories, you know, about parents staying up all night with a screaming baby. Not us, at least not with Noah. He slept through the night from the very beginning and only cried when he needed something. He's so sweet and caring and such a good big brother. He loves his sister to death. They have their moments, but all brothers and sisters do."
"And Zoe," Sara smiles as she always does when talking of her children. "She is the star of the show. So giggly and bubbly and lively; she'll talk to anyone, the polar opposite of her brother. She's so funny; the things that come out of her mouth constantly amaze me. And she's patient, too, something she obviously inherited from her father. She's incredibly loving; she just hugs and kisses us endlessly and I never get enough of it. The imagination in that child, too, will blow your mind. Her dolls are always going to space and meeting underwater aliens and bungee jumping off of the kitchen counter. She looks up to Noah and is friends with everyone at school and is just a social butterfly, really."
"They're beautiful," Sara continues. "Michael says they look like me, but I look at them and all I see are mini-Scofields."
"Oh yeah?" Murphy says half-heartedly as if he's trying- and failing- to not let her words affect him.
"They're only six and four, you know," Sara then says, her voice going from playful to deadly serious. "They're too young to lose their mother. I was only thirteen when I lost mine and I thought that was too young."
"I have to do it."
"You don't," Sara disagrees. "They're young enough that by the time they're my age, they won't even remember me."
"I have to kill you!"
"No, you don't!" Sara insists. "You can let me go. You can come with me and help me get my children back. You can get us back to my husband and I can see to it that you only get a minimal sentence."
"Yeah, right," Murphy says sarcastically, standing and pointing the gun at her once more. "And why would you help me? Out of the kindness of your heart? Because you're a Good Samaritan? Please. I'm not an idiot! I know you're trying to talk me out of it. I know you're only saying this so you can get away! You'd never follow through!"
"Yes, I would," Sara says gravely. "I keep my promises."
"No, you wouldn't," Murphy shouts bitterly. "You'd be home with your husband and your children and you'd forget all about me. And me? I'd be rotting in some prison cell, all because I did something I didn't want to do in the first place!"
"Then don't do it." Sara pleads. "You don't have to kill me. You can let me go."
"No, I'm going to," His face hardens and he cocks the gun, aiming for her forehead. "I'll make it quick and painless, I promise."
Sara takes a deep breath and stares down the barrel of the gun. She's almost sure he isn't going to do it, but there's always that chance. He says, "Stacy's right; I'm pathetic and useless and weak. But not anymore. I'm not going to take it anymore!"
"So this is how it's going to be," Sara deadpans. "You're just going to shoot me."
"Yeah," Murphy sighs. "I guess I am."
She closes her eyes and again thinks of her husband and two children. "They'll never forgive you for this."
His voice quivers when he says, "I'm sorry, Sara."
And then there is a shot.
Noah isn't sure how long he and Zoe have been holed up in this closet, but however long it's been, Emily's been here longer. He likes Emily; they both do. She tells them stories and jokes and keeps them occupied and entertained so they don't think about their parents too much. But it doesn't mean he doesn't think about them at all; he hopes his mom, wherever she is, is okay and that his dad is safe, too. He wishes he could go home, that they could all go home, but he's not sure that's going to happen anytime soon. Emily suddenly crawls across the floor of the closet, beckons for him and Zoe to lean closer, and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.
"So I've been thinking," Emily says. "We need to escape. We need to get out of here."
"How?" Noah asks simply. "The door is locked."
"And that other guy is scary," Zoe trembles.
"No, I have it all figured out," Emily whispers. "I've been listening at the door all morning. Heath just left for a meeting with Edison and some woman named Stacy, so it's just Norton. My auntie taught me once that one of the weakest points on the human body is the kneecap. If we kick Norton there, he'll be hurt and then we can run away."
"Run where?" Noah then wonders and Emily purses her lips.
"I don't really know. Maybe somewhere with a phone?" She suggests. "A gas station or a store or something would be good."
"He's coming now," Zoe says. "I hear him!"
They immediately silence themselves and the lock on the door clicks before swinging open. Norton, tired and irritated, is holding a plate of cold pizza. "It's not much, but it's something. You kids haven't eaten in days."
Without another word, Emily knocks the pizza out of his hand and smashes her foot hard into Norton's left kneecap. He screams in pain and falls to the floor, clutching his knee and moaning obscenities as Emily turns back towards the other two children, shouting, "Come on! Run!"
They do as their told. Norton grabs at both kids as they escape, but catches neither of them. He attempts to stop them, tries to get himself up, but is too consumed by the blinding pain and lets them go. Noah grabs Zoe's hand as Emily throws open the door and takes off across the parking lot. They're following her blindly as she navigates them down the road, cars honking at them but none of them stopping to offer the three children help. They feel like they've been running for ages, but as they pass post offices, daycares and restaurants, they still haven't found a gas station or store. Zoe spots one a moment later, a Whole Foods, and they dart across the street towards the front door.
"Sofia and LJ have the phone, right Noah?" Zoe asks as they make a beeline for the payphone near the cash registers.
"I think so," Noah shrugs. "I don't know."
"Do you know the phone number?" Emily asks and both children shake their head. "Okay, let me call my mom, first."
She reaches over and dials her home number, waiting as the line rings and rings but no one answers. Emily hangs up and dials Rita's cell phone, using the last of the quarters she'd found in a jacket pocket in that motel closet. As she does so, Noah glances around the store aimlessly, fear building as he realizes he recognizes no one. Zoe's still holding his hand and she squeezes gently, so he squeezes back. She's watching a family of four choose between spinach and kale when her eyes go wide. There, showing a couple of strangers photos off his iPhone, is LJ, most likely looking for them as much as they're looking for him. Noah can't believe his eyes and Zoe's eyes light up as she takes off running towards him.
"LJ!" She shouts over the roar of friendly conversation and the squeaky wheels of the grocery carts. "LJ, you're here!"
LJ glances up and his eyes immediately widen. "Zoe? Noah?"
He kneels beside a carton of oranges as Zoe propels herself into her cousin's arms and soon after, Noah does the same. All three of them are crying, the fear only now getting to them, and LJ is soon shouting, "Sofia! Sofia, I found them!"
And then Sofia is there and the four of them are hugging and crying and reuniting. When they've calmed down a bit, Noah asks, "Where's Mommy?"
Sofia bites her lip. "We don't know yet, cariño."
"We haven't found her yet, buddy," LJ says sadly. "But we will. I promise."
"This scary guy came," Zoe explains, tears still in her porcelain blue eyes. "He hurt Ben and Mommy told us to go under the bed and then he took her away!"
"And this other guy called Norton took us to a hotel," Noah continues. "And he locked us in a closet, but Emily kicked him and we got away!"
"I'm sorry," Sofia says. "Who's Emily?"
"I am," Emily answers, stepping closer to the family. "They kidnapped me, too. A few weeks ago, actually. And I've been trying to call my mom and tell her I'm alright, but she isn't answering and I don't know what to do."
"You'll come with us, honey," Sofia offers. "We aren't going to leave you here alone."
"Thank you," Emily smiles gratefully. "And I'll keep trying to reach her."
LJ eyes her suspiciously; the dark, jet black hair, the bright blue eyes, the striking features… She looks awfully familiar. "What did you say your name was, again?"
"Emily," She repeats. "Emily Morgan."
His eyes widen, but to cover it, he turns back to the four-year-old in his arms. "Zo-Zo, these men didn't hurt you, did they?"
She shakes her head. "They didn't do anything to us."
"They just locked us in the closet," Noah tells them. "But they didn't hurt us. Did they hurt you, Emily?"
"No," She negates. "No, I'm okay."
"Let's get out of here," Sofia suggests, taking Noah's hand. "Your Daddy's going to be so relieved that you two are okay."
"Now we just have to find Sara," LJ mutters and Sofia nods.
"Easier said than done."
It seems like ages and it seems like seconds. It's unbearably loud and it's eerily silent. It's beautiful and it's tragic and it's everything in between. Sara knows nothing except that she's still alive; she's waiting for the pain to come, sure Murphy has shot her in anything but her skull, because she's breathing and thinking and clearly, still living. She waits and waits for the pain to engulf her, but nothing comes. She wiggles her toes and tugs at her wrists and twists her torso, searching manually for the bullet's point of entry, but nothing feels out of place. She hasn't been shot, but the gun definitely went off, so where did the bullet go?
When she opens her eyes, she gets her answer.
"Oh God," She gasps as her eyes fall on Murphy, or at least what's left of him. The bullet has blown his skull away and there's brain matter scattered across the floor and walls. She's been hit with an aerial spray of blood, she realizes looking down, and it's all she can do to turn away from him. She hears a car turn up the gravel outside the house and realizes she has to work fast. If Stacy enters the house and finds her alive, she won't be for much longer. Inching the chair towards the window, Sara picks up a piece of glass with her feet, careful not to slice into her skin, and performs a sort of contortionist move to get the glass to her hands. She's sawing at the duct tape, now, as she hears the car door slam and Stacy enter the house.
The tape comes loose the moment Stacy calls out for Murphy and adds some kind of menacing threat to the end of her sentence. Sara's free, now, but she's not sure what to do next. Stacy's footsteps are ascending the stairs, now, and in a moment's panic, Sara picks up the wooden chair she's previously occupied and smashes it against the floor. It collapses but doesn't break and Stacy asks where the noise is coming from, her steps hurrying. Sara repeats her actions again, lifting the chair and smashing it against the ground, watching satisfactorily as one of the legs breaks off and clatters to the ground. She snatches it just as Stacy makes her way to the hallway, brandishing it like a baseball bat and only then eyes the gun resting in Murphy's limp grasp. She has a moment's hesitation, but decides against it. She doesn't kill unless she absolutely has to.
The door crashes open and Stacy's eyes immediately go to Murphy. She's stunned beyond belief, but Sara doesn't give her much time to react. The moment she turns to her, Sara smashes the chair leg against Stacy's skull with all her might, effectively rendering her unconscious, and runs out the door, not waiting to see the effects of her aggression. She takes the steps two at a time and doesn't even contemplate running; she has no idea where she is nor where she should go. Instead, she yanks the car door open, touches a few wires together- she'll have to thank Fernando later- and when the vehicle roars to life, she jumps into the driver's seat and tears away from the home.
She's driving blindly until she finds the road, following signs for places she's never been and hoping that she would, somehow, find a highway that could take her to Durham. She thinks only of Noah and Zoe, of how much she loves them and how much she misses them and how much she wants to help and save them. She's just about to enter a main road- she can see a four-way intersection and a multitude of cars ahead- when her vehicle sputters, spits and comes to a stop in the middle of the road. Sara glances behind her, as if Stacy's following on foot, and the coast is clear but her gas tank is empty and this car will not be getting her to Durham. She's still stuck in Raleigh, stranded on the side of the road in a car that doesn't belong to her and covered in blood that isn't hers.
Sara exits the car and swears profusely. She wants to scream and cry and laugh bitterly all at once. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation, maybe it's the hunger, maybe it's the dehydration. But any way she looks at it, she's completely screwed. She kicks the car's tire and then, for good measure, kicks it a second time. She's not sure why; taking her aggression out on the vehicle does nothing to fill the gas tank. She glances at the intersection a few miles ahead, so tiny now, and realizes she'll have to walk. As she begins to do so, a lengthy Greyhound passes by her in a rush of dust and car exhaust. Just down the road a few miles, Sara can see a fluorescent sign for a bus station.
And without a further thought, she starts running.