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I walk back to the trash can and throw my phone out. Turning around, I make my way to the station. What does this guy want? Is he from my uncle's side of business? Or did I help put away a person who has dangerous people on the outside? All I can think about is Cordelia in a room, beaten and bruised. That alone motivates me to move faster. The people around me won't even think anything of my fast-paced walk. They know in this city, walking fast is pretty mainstream.
I'm delighted I didn't wear heels today. I would've already broken a foot trying to get to the station. I'm pretty much rushing there with no sense of whether or not I make it within the time constraint he gave me. Piece of shit, I'm going to kill him when I find him.
I reach the station and get in. I am trying to find tram five; please still be here. On the overhead, I see it. 'Tram five, leaving in ten minutes. In lot seven.' That's the furthest track. I make my way over there. Steadily pushing myself through the sea of people. Everyone is on their own mission to get to their needed tram. I reach mine and go inside, looking for seat seventeen. I find it; absolutely no one is in the row on either side of it. Sitting down, I go to reach for my shoe. Pretending to fix my sock, I slide my hand underneath the seat, looking for the phone. What if there's actually a bomb under here? What if it's not a phone? I reach farther back and hit something cold. I grab it and am thankful that I'm still conscious and that it wasn't an explosive.
I pull it out and stare at it. It's a simple burner phone. I open it and turn it on. There's nothing in it, no contacts, no photos, just a phone. I put it in my pocket, knowing that I probably won't get a phone call in here. Knowing this guy will keep me waiting until I'm at my next destination. I didn't even read the sign to where this was taking me. Stupid mistake, Daphne.
My knee starts to shake; I'm anxious for my sister's sake and for mine. What's going to happen to us. Will we end up on a lab table like mine? Will we be put in a folder forgotten about by most because our cases run cold? I shake my head; I cannot be thinking about this right now. I wonder if that's what he's doing. Keeping me in silence, so he starts to deteriorate me from the inside out. I sharpen my mind. My uncle prepared me for moments like these. The FBI has prepared me for these moments. But in all honesty, I don't feel adequate enough. I'm not the best person to find Cor. I wish Archer agreed to come with me to Starbucks. I should've called him before I left. What if I never see him again. But none of this is his fault. I know he will find me; Archer does not like when people touch something that's his. I just hope he finds Cor and me in time. At least, I hope he finds her.
I'm on the tram for ten more long and deafening minutes. Time honestly couldn't go any faster. I felt like those ten minutes were ten hours. Millions of scenarios raced through my mind during that time. But nobody even glanced my way. Nobody picked up that I was mentally fighting for a breath of fresh air. When the tram ultimately came to a stop, I got up and followed a couple of people out. I tried to see what station this was, but there were no signs. I haven't been here, so we must've gone eastbound. I usually take the tram west to see my sister. I look around, seeing if there's anyone that's looking right back at me, but there's not. I make my way outside, and that's when the cell phone rings. I fumble for my pants pocket and take it out to answer.
"Hello, Daphne. How was the tram ride?"
"Please do not goad me. What is my next task?"
"Tsk tsk tsk, and I thought you liked playing games." What did that mean? "Fine, your next task is to follow these instructions. Right, left twice, straight for five blocks, and a final right. You'll know when you see it. I'll call you when you're there. You have another half an hour." He hangs up before I can ask about Cordelia.
Okay, what the hell was that cryptic message? I think for a second and make a right. Street directions: he gave me directions to walk somewhere. I come to my first intersection and wait to cross the crosswalk to go left. I'm on a street called Virginia Rd. There's a sub shop and another little store in between this block and my next left. He said straight for five blocks. I start my longer walk straight. I see all sorts of stores, memorizing the names in case I'm found, and we need to run through this, or I get loose from him. Chances are, though, I'm not going right to where he has Cordelia.
I'm walking straight, and I finally come up on my last block. I make it and turn right. I see what I'm supposed to find. It's a bank, a bank my uncle used for our trust funds. This guy wants money. The
burner phone rings, and I answer it.
"Fifty thousand." He hangs up. I'm surprised he didn't ask for more. Indeed, he should know I have more than that. But it is tied to my uncle, and if I drained the account entirely, he would get red-flagged by the bank. My uncle won't think twice about me taking that much; I've taken it in the past to invest in companies. The way he's always taught me. Fifty thousand is pocket change to me.
I walk into the bank. The lady greets me. "Hello, how can I help you today?"
"I need to make a withdrawal from an account."
"Okay, what's the name on the account?"
"Daphne Buchanan." Her face pales. She must know my uncle.
"Right away, ma'am. How much are we talking?"
"Just fifty thousand." I make it seem nonchalant as possible, but she already knows that using that last name means money.
"It will take a little bit, about fifteen minutes. We just have to
double-check the money. Is that okay with you?"
"Yes, that's fine."
"Do you need anything else? Water, tea, or coffee?"
"I'm good. Thank you for your help." This makes her smile. Good, she should remember me, even if I used my actual last name and not the one the FBI lists me under. If my picture gets released, she will remember me. She looks like the type to call if someone is in danger. I go to the corner of the bank to wait. She didn't even ask for identification, knowing my uncle would be offended if I was denied anything. I wonder if the bank tellers are told not to ask questions when a Buchanan comes in. My phone rings. I answer it.
"When you get the money. Left twice. Right. Straight for two blocks. Right. Then left into the alley that has a black cat." He hangs up. This guy is very demanding. I guess that's what people can do when they have all the power in their hands. He's not giving me any time to question him about Cordelia. Hopefully, that means that he is leaving her alone because I'm cooperating with him. No questions asked on my side yet. But I have plans for this guy. I'm keeping my mind from slipping. I need it intact to get out of this with Cordelia alive.
I just noticed that he didn't give me a time constraint. He must not be able to really time how long this is going to take. Or he was using the past times to scare me and make me think horrible things. Finally, the lady comes back; she has a duffel bag with her. I walk back up to the counter, and she hands it to me.
"Thank you for coming in Miss Buchanan. Pleasure doing business with you." I nod in response and make my way out. I start to walk, making my first left, careful to remember the directions he gave me. Finally, I make it to the alley, a little out of breath from basically rushing here with the duffel on my shoulder. I step into the alley, and it looks normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, I drop the bag on the floor, and the door on the side of the house opens. A guy walks out in a black mask. This is the asshole.
"Give me my sister." I make a stance if he comes closer prepared to fight. He tilts his head at me, and that's when I feel someone behind me. I try to turn, but the person is too fast. He's already putting a towel around my mouth. Chloroform. That's the last thought I have before I pass out.
***
I come to it in the trunk of a car. I bang on it, trying to see if the person left it wedged open a bit, but they knew what they were doing with the chloroform, so I doubt they would leave room for mistakes. My head is fuzzy, my heart racing. What the hell am I going to do. Where is Cor? My training kicks in, and I'm trying to kick the rear light out. It's not budging; it must not be an older car. I can't waste all my breaths on something that looks like it's not going to work. I need a plan and quickly. As of right now, I know that the guy on the phone isn't working alone. He at least has one other person working with him, but the one who drugged me might be different from him. So, in total, there might be three of them.
