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His bed was king sized and took up most of the room. The sheets were gray and white. His nightstand was simple and wooden, mid-century modern in style with pointed legs and two drawers. He had a simple Timex clock with red-glowing numbers. There was a bureau that matched the nightstand and some black and white photographs of landscapes on the walls. I lingered there before stepping inside, the hardwood floor creaking under my weight.
I started with the nightstand. I rifled through it and found nothing important. There was a pack of cards, a bible, some condoms toward the back, some loose socks. He had a few watches, some cash in rolls of twenties, and a small handgun in the bottom drawer. I tried the other nightstand, but that was even more empty, just a few notepads and pens in the top drawer, and more loose socks in the bottom.
His bureau was even less interesting. Socks and underwear in the top drawer, shirts and gym shorts in the next. I went through it all, hoping to find something interesting, but came up empty.
I tried the closet last. It wasn’t particularly large, but he had his suits and shirts and jeans hanging up. There were shoes in boxes at the bottom, and a few more shoeboxes at the top. I pulled one down at random and took off the lid.
Old pictures overflowed the top. I put it down on the floor and sat cross legged in front of it. I went through the pictures and recognized him in more than a few. They were from when he was young, probably not even a teenager yet if I had to guess. There were other people, a tan man with a mustache that looked a little like Steven, probably his dad. An older woman, wrinkled face, hard dark brown eyes, puff of white hair, probably his grandmother. I found several pictures of Steven with younger boys, and one particular boy kept appearing over and over. I guessed that was Dante, but I wasn’t sure.
It was strange, seeing Steven looking so young. It was odd thinking about Steven as a person outside of the mafia. I wanted to keep thinking of him as a monster, as some self-centered killer that only cared about murdering the Irish mob as a way to make himself more money. But he was a young kid once, with parents and a grandmother. That kid grew up into the man he is now, and I wished I could’ve known him back then, at least so I could understand how he became what he is today.
I put the pictures away and went into his bathroom. It was neat and orderly. I opened the cabinet under his sink first and found toilet paper rolls, some cleaning supplies, and some extra soap and shampoo. I opened the medicine cabinet, pushed aside some Tylenol bottles, a razor, some shaving cream, and sucked in a little gasp.
Sitting behind some old band aids was my phone.
“Jackpot,” I said, grabbing it and slamming the medicine cabinet. I knocked the toilet seat down with a loud bang and a clatter then sat on top of it and pressed the power button.
It booted up. I nearly cried as the Apple logo appeared and the phone turned on. I unlocked it and an avalanche of missed calls, texts, and emails began to chime and ping, my phone vibrating like crazy.
I stared at it for a long moment.
It was my link to the outside world. I could call for help or tell someone where Steven was keeping me. I could even call the police if I wanted, or just make some Facebook post that would lead them to me.
But there was no point.
I could walk out the front door right now and be gone before he got back. I could grab a taxi, have it take me to the airport, and I could buy a plane ticket. There was cash back in that other drawer, and I could use that to run away.
That’s not what I wanted.
I thought of my father, alone and scared, held captive by his own brother.
No, I didn’t want to run.
What I wanted was revenge.
I pulled up iMessages and found Tracy. She’d sent me a ton of texts, going from goofy and normal to downright terrified. The last message she sent made my spine tremble.Tracy: Colleen, I don’t know where you are or what’s going on, but I hope you’re okay, I love you, I miss you, and I’m really scared for you. I tried to talk to your dad, but he’s gone too, so I hope you guys are together. And safe. And alive.I chewed on my cheek for a second then began to type.Me: Tracy, honey, sweetie, I love you too. I’m alive, I’m okay, but I can’t talk and I won’t be around for a little while. Just know that I’m okay. Seriously I know this seems totally random and weird, but I’m really fine.
