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Maybe I’m being paranoid. I could be reading this entire situation wrong, but I don’t think this is the case. I need to put my theory to the test, and there’s only one way to do it.
“Fine,” I agree. I step forward, pulling in a gulp of air as I do. “I’m going to call DI Klein from the car and find out exactly what’s going on.” I study Piero. He regards me. There’s a flicker in his face, something almost invisible, but it’s there. Or am I imagining it? No, it is definitely there, a little something that tells me not to trust him, that none of this is right.
“Okay,” Piero says, almost in slow motion. He’s thinking about what to do. I nod and take a step forward, the phone still in my hand, my jacket slung over my arm. Piero turns reluctantly as if to lead the way. I make to follow him, but I’m also desperately pressing buttons on my phone, trying to call Gianni. Even if he doesn’t answer, he’ll see my missed calls and hopefully call me back. I take another step as I glance down at my phone, and that’s when the blow comes. Piero knocks my phone from my hand, and it skids across the office floor. I watch it glide over the tiles and rest under a table.
“What the—” I begin, but then I see the gun.
Piero holds it by his waist. It is small and compact, easy to conceal in a pocket. I stare in disbelief. This isn’t what I expected. A gun. A fucking gun. It’s like watching Mr.Happy from theMr.Menbooks brandish a gun in front of Mr.Tickle. It’s ridiculous yet real, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
“You give me no choice,” Piero warns. “I did not want to have to use this, but if you’re going to insist on making phone calls, then it will have to be this way.” My laughter sinks quickly, like a weighted corpse.
“I don’t understand,” I stammer.
“You don’t need to understand,” Piero notes. “You need to do as I say. Can you manage that?”
“Yes,” I answer. How can I get out of this? I can’t run past him because he is blocking the door. I can’t overpower him because he’s bigger than me and probably twice as strong.
“We’re going to walk out of here, and you’re going to get in my car. All the time, this gun will be aimed at your lower back. I’m sure you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.” Piero sneers. He lowers his eyes at me, assessing my face. “Gianni would not like his girlfriend in a wheelchair.” He grins, a sickening smirk that doesn’t suit him. He knows about Gianni and me. Shit. “Can you manage that?” I nod. Fear is turning to anger. I don’t know what his game is or what this has to do with me.
Piero steps to one side to let me walk in front of him. I stroll past, trying not to look him in the eye. Instead, I aim for the door. Could I make a run for it? The door is inches from me, but he’s behind me. This is my chance. My hand is on the door. I’m pushing it open. I need to run. But then I feel the gun shoved against the base of my spine. Piero is right behind me. I step outside.
The sky is blue, the clouds large and white. I glance over the road. There are people shopping, walking, and talking. None of them know what’s happening here. Why do none of them see what is going on? And then I spot Casey. She’s standing at the bus stop, leaning against the shelter. Her hands are deep in her pockets, and her earphones dangle around her neck. Her bus must be running late. I will her to look at me, but she’s studying the road, no doubt waiting for a glimpse of her transportation home.
“Take the keys and lock the door,” Piero instructs. I pull my eyes from Casey and take the keys. I fumble with them. I don’t want to turn my back on Casey, but Piero is waiting.
“Get a move on,” he orders. I turn slowly and carefully lock the door. The lights are off. Surely, Casey will be curious about why the shop has closed so early. Please let her notice something. But I know what Casey is like. She may not think twice about the shop closing early or me leaving with Piero. She’ll probably think I’m sleeping with Piero as well.
The door is now locked, and I can’t stall any longer. Piero signals for me to move by digging the gun into my back. I turn around and glance once more over at Casey. She’s still watching for her bus. I want to scream her name. I want to shout for help, but the gun is a constant reminder that I need to do as I am told. I’ve already caused the death of one innocent person—I can’t be responsible for any more deaths.
I walk toward the parking lot. With every step, I move away from Casey and my one chance to alert her.
“The black Golf,” Piero barks. I walk toward it, resigning myself to my fate. I always thought it would be Carl who got me in the end. I hear the click as Piero unlocks the doors, steps to the side, and opens the rear door.
“Get in.” As I lower my head to get into the car, I glance over to Casey once more, and this time, she sees me. Even from this distance, I can tell she sees something isn’t right. She straightens herself up and pulls her earphones from her ears as I try to make my face look desperate. She squints before my head is pushed into the car, and the door is closed.
My heart pounds and my hands shake. I search for Casey through the window, but my view is obscured. I hear the boot opening and a rustling of bags. I glance around the car. I should run now. I should throw myself out of the other side of the car, but as I slide myself over, I hear the boot slam shut. In seconds, Piero comes marching around the other side. My hand is on the door, but the child lock is engaged, restraining me in the back. He opens the back door and slides in next to me. I immediately slide back to where I was before, and his hand pushes a large cloth against my face. I grab it, but whatever is on the cloth is now in my mouth, nose, and eyes. It burns my throat as I gasp in panic, only making me inhale more of whatever he has put on the cloth. The ether-like smell overpowers me. My eyes close, the fumes consume me, and my world turns to darkness.
I wake to a loud clatter. My head jolts. My brain is swimming in my skull. My eyes are sticky, and my tongue is thick. It feels like the worst hangover ever. I’m sitting on the floor. I try to move, but I can’t. My hands are tied behind my back, and I’m secured to something. I’m momentarily confused until I hear Piero’s voice.
“Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine.” He’s standing before me, his suit appearing out of place. I glance around the room. We are in what appears to be a vacant house. There’s old wallpaper hanging from the walls, the windows are partly boarded up, and the floor smells of piss. There’s a clock sitting on a fireplace. It stands proudly behind Piero like it isn’t bothered by the state of the rest of the room.
Piero steps forward and gives me a little slap around the face. His hands are cold, and I want to lash out and bite him, but my reactions are struggling to catch up with my thoughts.
“Hey, Chloe, time to wake up.”
“What?” My voice is dry and doesn’t feel like my own. I’m desperate for a drink of water. How long have I been here? “Where am I?”
“You don’t need to know where you are. It makes no difference to you,” Piero responds.
“Why am I here?”
“Well, now, there’s a question.” Piero chuckles. His happy face taunts me, and the bad-boy routine has been abandoned. How can he be so happy? But it is not genuine happiness. No, it has a distinct quality, the manic happiness that comes with mental instability. A shiver runs down my back. He has threatened me with a gun, chloroformed me, and driven me to some squat. The guy is obviously unhinged.
“You could ask Gianni. I’m sure he’d tell you why I’ve brought you here…” Piero says, “… but I am not sure he would tell you the truth. He has a very nasty habit of lying.” His voice drops a pitch, his smile suddenly gone.
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you won’t understand. And for that, I’m sorry. But I don’t feel too bad as I am saving you from something far worse.”
