Miss Catherine puts her wrinkly hand on my arm, getting my attention as I look up at her. “It’s Whisper. I know she’s in danger. I was coming to find her. She didn’t answer my call.” I can see she’s agitated. She holds up her phone then dials a number and Whisper’s phone implicates me by ringing in my jacket pocket. It obviously survived the fall. Then she starts hitting me with her little fist. “Where is Whisper?” She takes a really good look at me now, taking in my face and the blood matting my hair, making all sorts of assumptions in her head. She’s also noticed I was hobbling when I got out from underneath the bike and knows I’m hurt. She probably doesn’t know I’ve been shot, but she doesn’t hesitate to step on my foot as hard as her slight body will let her.
“AH! Shit, lady, I’m trying to find out. And don’t do that again.” Fucking hell, she might be old, but she sure is feisty.
She stares me down through the glow of the headlight. “Why do you have her phone?”
“She has my phone,” is the only explanation I’m gonna give this crazy bat. Time is ticking away. “Do you have a computer at home?”
She eyes me up again then answers, “Whisper does. I got no use for one of dem things.”
I can see she wants to ask a whole pile of questions, but we have no time for a get-to-know-each-other chat. I pay closer attention to the little old lady and notice she’s only wearing a nightgown, slippers, and a robe. “Fuck’s sake, lady, you shouldn’t be out here dressed like this.” Whisper must mean a lot to her to have left her home, searching for her without a second thought.
She stomps back down on my foot. “Mind your language, boy.”
Jesus! “Enough!” I roar back at her. This gives her pause to reconsider her behavior with me. She’s now dialling a number on her phone. I snatch the phone away from her and disconnect it before putting it in my pocket. I don’t need this turning into a three-ringed circus.
I can see she’s distraught about Whisper. “Look, lady...you are gonna have to trust me if you want to see Whisper again. Shit went down tonight and she’s been taken by some bad guys, so we’re gonna have to do this my way.” I let what I’ve said sink in. “If I’m going to be able to find her, I need a computer, pronto.” My patience is wearing thin with this woman. Whisper was my enemy, but now I’m not so sure.
“My phone’s in the trunk she’s laying in at the moment, being driven away by bad guys. If I can get a read on where they are now, then we have a chance of getting her back.” If I know a thug’s modus operandi, then they won’t stop until they get her to their destination. They can’t afford for her to die on them, so time’s running out for me to find her. If they find my phone, they will ditch it, and then I will lose all means of tracking her whereabouts.
She grabs hold of my jacket. “Is she hurt?”
Christ!
“Yes. She’s been shot, so I can’t stand around shooting the breeze with you. I can either leave you here to make your way back where you came from, or we’re going to your place. It’s your call.” I should just fucking walk away...but something is grounding me. I think I have grown a fucking conscience. My brain is needling me about this whole Whisper and my father’s will situation. It now feels very orchestrated.
I get on my bike and hiss out a couple more expletives from the pain shooting from my foot when I start it up.
“Lady, do you think you can get on behind me and hang on so we can get to your place without any further shit going up against me?” I need her computer, and I need some answers from this woman. She knows Whisper, and she will make my mind up whether I let her rot and pay my father’s debt, or if she’s an innocent caught in the crossfire and I need my foot looked at as well.
“She could die?” Her voice has turned to steel.
“Fuck, lady, what bit of ‘there’s no time to explain now’ are you not getting? If you’re coming, then get on.” She hikes up her clothing and deftly swings her leg over the bike. Christ, what more can happen tonight? I hand her my helmet, blood-soaked and all.
“Put that on.”
I regain consciousness inside a confined space. My shoulder is in pain, but manageable if I don’t move too much, and my hands and feet are tied together.
I turn my head to get an idea of where I am. I listen to my surroundings. I gather I’m in the trunk of a car, which is driving along a road. My face hurts; it feels swollen, and my ribs are hurting. I try to look through the darkness for anything I can use to aid my dire situation, and I’m alerted to a blinking light.
Is that a phone by my head?
Who abducts somebody and leaves a phone in the trunk? I don’t care, because it’s just by dumb luck it’s here. I move my body and groan with the pain until I can grab it between my hands. I roll onto my stomach, which makes my shoulder scream in agony, and something wet lands on my hands. I know what blood smells like, and I’m bleeding from my shoulder wound.
I can feel a hysterical giggle start to bubble up inside me, which I work hard at stamping down, because I may fear for my life, but the last thing I need to do is go into shock.
What did I do to deserve this life? I inwardly groan. I had happiness, and now my life has turned to shit again, and I have no clue why.
I really must have had an exceptionally fabulous life in a past one for me to be getting shit on so badly in this one.
I concentrate on the phone and try to stop my hands from shaking. I can press the buttons better in the position I’m now in. I check the time, seeing it’s after midnight. I’ve been out for a while.
I can’t think of Boxer’s number. I am so used to pressing a speed dial button.
Concentrate, Whisper.
Come on, think.
I slowly start pressing the buttons for Boxer’s number I hope I have right just as the car takes a sharp turn, and I go sliding, the phone slipping out of my hands.
I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from crying out in pain.
Fuck, that hurt.
Once we straighten up again, I manoeuvre my body to get back to the phone. I start to dial again, but I have to disconnect, because the car has come to a stop. I need to hide the phone quickly. I work my leg around, preparing to slide it into my boot, when we take off again.
I decide to call Miss C instead, because I know that number and she will answer. I dial her number, and a male voice answers, “Sara is that you?” I don’t answer. “Whisper, is that you?”
I don’t know what to say. It’s a male voice, and it’s not Boxer’s or Lincoln’s. It sounds like Edge’s voice.
How? Why?
“Edge, is that you? Is Miss Catherine all right?” I talk low into the phone. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to keep her safe. She can’t be brought into whatever the hell’s going on.” I can’t keep the fear from invading my voice. Miss Catherine means too much to me. I don’t know why I’ve been kidnapped and am lying in a trunk, with what I’m guessing is a gunshot wound, but if it keeps her safe, then I will take this punishment.
There’s a shuffling noise. “I’m here, honeychile. I am safe with Dallas. He be helpin’ me to find you. Do as they say and give him time to get to you. I’ve tried Boxer, and I can’t get through to him or Lincoln.”