We strolled into the hotel lobby, and I led the way up to the front desk. A tired desk attendant with dreadlocks and a nose ring perked up when we came in.
“What’s this about?” She asked, a little fear clinging to her voice.
“We just need to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”
“Sure.”
“Good. Would’ve made a difference if it wasn’t. Were you working here five hours ago?”
“No… my shift started about two hours ago.”
“Alright. Well, it’s a long shot, but did someone named Skint come in?”
“Like, did he purchase a room? It’ll say on the computer.”
“Yeah. Yeah, check that.”
She nodded and typed a name into the computer.
“Um… yep. There he is. Jedediah Skint.”
“Really?” I was honestly shocked. My long shot had worked. Was Skint really this careless? He seemed like such an airtight person before. It made me slightly suspicious, but I took comfort in the fact that he probably didn’t know about Buck’s phone. Unless he wanted us to come up for some reason.
I motioned for the three other officers to follow me, and we piled into the elevator. It was silent all the way up. Most of the men around me had never been assigned such a serious mission, and I could sense their tension. I was determined to keep my cool though. I unlatched a water bottle from my belt and handed it to Martin. He nodded slightly in understanding. I wanted him to care for Buck. I knew his heart, as well as his bravery. If anything happened, he wouldn’t be the kind to draw and fire without thinking. The elevator dinged as we hit the fifth floor. I exited first, and the trio behind me followed. I knew I’d need my gun, and my hand was already hovering behind it. As we stepped down the dim hallway, my heart rate sped with excitement.
'I’ve missed this so much.'
Signaling again to the companions, I said a quick prayer, then turned the door handle.
----------------
Buck's POV
I woke up, covered in perspiration, panting hard. My limbs were far past numb and my head pounded. From what I could see, moonlight poured in through the kitchen window. I strained to see to the bed in front of where I was tied up. Once my eyes had adjusted, I saw the covers move up and down in a peaceful cycle. I coughed, the gag in my mouth making it go dry. I wanted water so badly. I tried to remember what’d happened. He’d hurt me, then tied me to the chair. I went to sleep fast. Had he drugged me again? My stomach ached. I was hungry from the strain of travel and waiting. I squinted once I realized the red glowing from across the room was a clock. It read,
‘3:30 AM.’
I suddenly felt very terrible, realizing I wasn’t at home where I should have been, or where I was twenty-four hours ago. Were they coming for me? Had my phone led them to where I was being held. Held. I just wanted to be held. I wanted to be back at home with Eugene and Katrina, safe in the arms of new normality. Coughing again, I thought of Eliza. How we were supposed to pick her up that day at three. Twelve hours. He had twelve hours to be rescued and be brought back to safety. I sat there for another hour, growing restless with my surroundings and more unclean with every sour breath. My lungs felt like they were buried in dust, and coughing didn’t help. My nose was long since clogged, and slimy rounds of mucous were slipping down my throat. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted to sleep, but everything hurt too much. I shifted to the right, and rope jabbed into my bruised side. My face throbbed from punches, and as a breeze from the open window caressed my face, I knew my forehead was split open. My tongue felt up to the inside of my bottom lip and a drop salty blood landed on it. I coughed some more, disliking the taste. I thought about waking up Mr. Skint like I used to. Like I used to when I was five and would get scared of the dark.
I would wake up in the middle of the night and fear the slightest noise of breaking bark, or barking dogs. Heart pounding, I’d creep down the short hallway to Mr. Skint’s bedroom. Silently turning the cold metal knob, and tiptoeing in, my mind calmed down as I was pulled closer to safety. I’d tread over to my guardian’s bed, where he could always be found with the smell of cigarettes and that weird cheap cologne. I’d poke his shoulder and whisper,
“Misser Skint?” For as long as it took for him to open those beautiful, terrible navy eyes and ask me what was wrong. After a while, he knew what was wrong, and just slid over to the other side of the bed. I’d jump up onto the soft mattress and snuggle up to his chest, the cotton of his t-shirt warming my cheek.
I popped my neck, wondering how I’d ever felt so safe with him. When did he stop loving me? Was it when he found a friend in alcohol? Maybe when I flipped him off at age nine? The first time he hit me? The answer was really simple. Katrina had been wrong. Mr. Skint had loved me. He still did. But he liked being in control. So, when I ever showed the slightest sign of disobedience, it reminded him that one day we’d be where we were now. He knew that rebellious boy he had raised would grow into a rebellious teen. A teen that could hit back. I almost felt bad for him lying there, but unforgiveness was still gnawing at the back of my neck. He had, after all, hurt me. He’d hurt me badly. And even if he did feel out of control, he must’ve liked the sport of it. But maybe control was a game. A game he always won.
The silence of my thoughts was shattered against the door across the room that creaked open and flicked on the light. The lights weren’t very bright, but the dimness was still disorienting and didn’t help my headache. My heart leaped when I saw several police officers step in and come to me. My gag was immediately removed and I was untied and un-taped. With an officer’s hand on my back, I gulped down the liquid from the heavy water bottle that he’d held up to my lips. My eyes didn’t leave Skint’s bed. He sat up before my throat felt better again. The officer with the water helped me to the floor and told me to stay there, his hand reassuringly holding my shoulder. As I sat with my legs outstretched, my limbs erupted with pins and needles. I bit my lip to keep from making a verbal announcement of pain. Feeling safe under the protection of the officers who stood in front of me, I kept staring at Skint. He’d silently stood up and glanced over to where I had been. Acceptance of failure flashing across his eyes. Detective Polehaus aimed his gun,
“Put your hands up, Mr. Skint. You’re under arrest.”
A tear ran down my cheek as I had waited so long to hear those words. I felt faint as my tormentor was clasped in handcuffs and marched pushed out of the room, officers at either shoulder. I was helped up and asked if I wanted to take a shower. I nodded gratefully, swallowing my tears until I was in the bathroom and turned on the shower in an empty daze. Once the water was loud enough, I fell to the floor, buried my face in my arms, and sobbed.
After I had showered and clothed, I was wrapped in a blanket, and directed downstairs, secure in the arm of an officer. I couldn’t have known I’d grow to fear that kind of person.
We got outside, and comfortable spring night time greeted us, as well as flashing red and blue lights and the commotion of news reporters and onlookers. I hadn’t expected so many people. I was tempted to cover my head with my blanket, as cameras flashed around us. I was guided across the asphalt parking lot to an ambulance, where a medic took me inside. I turned back to the two officers and smiled a slight thank you, before being taken into the white and red truck, whose lights added to the surrounding blinking display. Once inside the vehicle, I was gently told to sit on the black cushioned cot and take off my shirt. I did as she said, and was immediately inspected for infections, concussion, drug intake, and lots of other things. Another medic took notes from the corner. He looked concerned. I didn’t care. I was tired and so close to being able to sleep again.
“Can I sleep on the way home?” I asked, as the medic who’d earlier introduced herself as Nora, finished taking my blood.
“That’s up to your guardians.”
“What?”
“We don’t need to monitor you anymore. We’ll give your results to your guardians and the medications you’ll need to take.”
“But then how am I getting home?”
“They’re taking you home.”
“But… they’re here?”
“Of course. They keep asking to see you.” She wrote a few things down on my file and then handed it to me. “Okay. You’re good to go. Eugene and Katrina are waiting outside.”
My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure why, but I was so excited. Heh. There would be times when seeing them would mean so much more…
Nora’s assistant brought me back out to the parking lot. We walked by more reporters and cameras (how they got there I still didn’t know) and up to the couple that loved me more than anyone ever had. Eugene was wearing a t-shirt, a rare event, and Katrina was buried in what was obviously Eugene’s sweatshirt. I couldn’t help but run to them. As I fell into Katrina’s arms. All I could say through tears was,
“Don’t let me go. Please don’t let me go.”