Savannah Stoke
Prologue Taken
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Helen yelled over her shoulder at her friends as they laughed rowdily. She turned back to the front and continued walking further into the darkness of the street, leaving the bright lights and warmth of the party behind her.
Back in the semi-drunken mass a man slipped out, squeezing his way through to the open area. He swiftly slunk into the shadows, his face losing the smile previously plastered on and all semblances of drunkenness. He slowly began following Helen.
She continued down the road, her face sinking into darkness as her eyes adjusted. Dim lights nearby flickered slightly, feebly trying to cast some brightness. The small amount of light they managed to produce thrust the sixteen-year-old into sharp definition; she kept walking, unaware that there were two shadows stretching out behind her, not just hers.
Humming slightly to herself she turned into a park, following a worn path. In the distance the Sydney Harbor Bridge lit up the sky, cars rushing across it. Wind ruffled her hair, making rusty curls stream behind her. The same breeze sent golden autumn leaves spiraling above, hiding the stars momentarily. They scuffed along the rock, gliding past her. Tree branches waved, dancing to the song of the stars. Their bare limbs rocked eerily, silhouetted against the full moon. Helen hummed slightly to herself, completely oblivious.
Suddenly she heard a twig snap loudly and spun quickly; facing the direction the sound had come from. Her pursuer cursed mentally for putting her on guard.
‘It’s okay, just the wind.’ Helen thought desperately to herself. ‘Yes, just an over active imagination…’ She tried and failed to reassure herself. Her quick eyes saw a shadow reaching from the side of the path. As if sensing her gaze it slowly withdrew back into the main mass of darkness.
Helen pivoted back to face her house. It was in view, situated just outside the park. Behind her the man silently crept out from under cover and crept towards her. Moving fast he grabbed her around the waist, flinging up his hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.
She bit him hard and he pressed a nerve point, waiting until she cringed into submission. He moved his arm across her mouth, leaving his hand free again. With his left hand he pulled out a bottle and a cloth from his jacket and tipped a small amount of the liquid upon it. He twisted her around to face him, pressing the cloth hard against her.
Helen tried to hold her breath as long as possible, knowing what it was. Finally she had to breathe. Opening her mouth wide, she took a deep lungful of sweet air; unfortunately it came with the sickly sweet taste of chloroform. Looking up at her captor she realized he had on a mask. He leant down closer to her and it slipped minutely, just enough to allow her to catch a glance of red hair and piercing green eyes. He must have seen the flash of recognition that crossed her wide blue eyes because the pressure increased.
Helen thought quickly. She didn’t have much time before the chloroform forced unconsciousness, so she had to act fast. Fighting against the tide of oncoming darkness she closed her eyes, feigning sleep. With her hand she felt around in her pocket for her name bracelet, it had broken that evening. Her fingertips wandered along the letters, disfiguring the original message of ‘Helen Gates’.
She found what she was looking for just as her captor began to drag her along the ground. She let her hand drop out her pocket limply, and then released the letters clenched tightly in her hand. They fell, shining softly, to land on the soft carpet of leaves. Satisfied that she had done all that she could do, Helen surrendered into the blackness, blessed unconsciousness. She dimly remembered her legs banging roughly against a car door before she blacked out completely.
Helen woke as a bucket of freezing cold water was dumped on her. She gasped for breath and tried to open her eyes. Her eyelids slowly flickered open just as another bucket hovered above her head.
“I’m awake! I’m awake.” She shouted hoarsely. All around her chuckles resounded, rough, wicked cackles.
“Aww, the princess is awake!” Someone crooned from behind her, more cackles echoed.
Suddenly she felt cold steel against her neck. She looked up to find her kidnapper pressing a knife against her throat.
“You speak when I tell you to, understand?”
Unable to nod she croaked yes. The knife was withdrawn, leaving a line already beginning to well up with beads of blood. The man moved away with his back to her. Turning slightly, he observed her.
“Looks more like a drowned rat to me.” He remarked, setting off his henchmen in another fit of giggles. Helen tried to lift her arm but discovered she was tied to a chair. Feeling began to return to her body, giving her a bad case of pins and needles. She twitched in discomfort at the stabbing pains, feeling every bruise and rope digging into her. The kidnapper came over one last time.
“Listen here girl.” She winced away from his breath. It smelt rotten, like beer gone off. “I’m going to trade you for a lot of money, but you know what? You know what?!”
Unsure of whether to answer she whispered back. “What?”
“I’m not going to give you back!” He erupted into laughter as her heart sank down even further. He left the room still snickering. He abandoned her in the grimy room with the water dripping down one side. Alone with the circling shadows of his followers.
Chapter One The rich list
Max walked up the driveway of the mansion, wondering at its size. People stood at fences, their demanding eyes staring at him. He averted his gaze, annoyed at them for obstructing his space. Running up the last stretch of driveway he finally reached the huge oak door. Max swept his eyes up and down it with practiced movements, searching for the doorbell.
Shadows moved behind the translucent glass, taking his mind off the search. The door opened, revealing a short, mousy woman and a tall man who looked like he had been drinking.
“Hi! I’m FBI, Max Banks; I’m here to solve your crime.” He informed them. He knew better than to allow them to speak, they would just whine pathetically. “Now, I understand your daughter has gone missing, when did you last see her?”
They stared at him. Deciding that this might take a while, he allowed his gaze to wander, looking for any signs of a break-in. There were no broken windows, not that it said much, no pipes that could support weight. They still hadn’t spoken so he stared pointedly at his watch, then back up at them. Finally the wife found her voice.
“Um… L-last night, sh-she was w-walking back from an l-late night party.” She stuttered. Out of habit Max observed her face, the shape of her mouth. She wasn’t a natural stutterer, probably just nerves.
“Nothing to be worried about Mrs.…?” He told her instinctively.
“Gates.” She filled in, smiling vaguely.
“Yeah, nice to meet you. Where was the party?” She gazed at him a bit bewilderedly. “What? She wasn’t taken from here, no signs of a break-in and no footprints, she was kidnapped on the way home.” He said impatiently.
“Okay… over there. She had to walk through the park.” Mrs. Gates pointed out the path for him.
Not wasting any time Max walked back down the path, skipping slightly at the bottom to get rid of any residual energy. Striding quickly he went down to the park. He quickly glanced across the area until a sudden thought struck him. Gazing around for the highest point in the park, he climbed up a large rock and stood there, waiting for the sun to come out from behind a cloud. Finally it shone through, illuminating the site. He looked around for anything bright standing out. Most rich people had jewelry, and by the amount on her mother he was sure that Helen had had quite a few pieces.
He stayed still for a few minutes, his eyes raking the view below. Every so often he brushed his untidy blond hair out of his eyes. Finally something grabbed his attention. He held his hand above his brown eyes, shading them so he could see well. Silver! Running down the slope he rushed over to it, his mind memorizing their exact position.
Sifting through the golden leaves, he discovered four letters. ‘S’, ‘E’, ‘A’ and ‘N’. “Sean.” He muttered to himself under his breath. Setting his sights on the mansion, he made his way back. Strolling in the front door like he owned the place, he instantly got down to business.
“Right!” He pronounced. “Who is Sean, and where does he live?”
Helen watched as Sean paced around the room. Every so often he would suck a cigar, never actually lighting it. A knock sounded on the door, making everyone freeze. Sean walked over to answer it, looking at her warningly. She cringed; he had filled her in well on what would happen if she screamed.
“Hello, what may I do for you?” He inquired politely, then dropped his pleasant expression, falling back into his usual vulgar personality. “Oh, it’s you. What?”
A disembodied voice floated in, harsh and grating. “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”
Helen craned her head to see who the guest was. Sean led him in, taking him to a pair of chairs situated near her. A man followed. He looked completely normal; a bland face, tidy clothes and a briefcase. As his gaze swept over her she realized what was different about him. His eyes were empty, devoid of emotion. He smiled at her, enjoying the terror that was all too obvious on her face.
“Hello? Am I interrupting you two?” Sean voice jabbed in, diverting the man’s gaze. Helen breathed out in relief. In those short seconds she had seen all her fears and everything she held dear in those empty voids. She couldn’t stay, she had to escape!
She experimentally stretched her fingers, trying to reach her pocket. In the back of her mind she remembered cutting her finger on her bracelet, if she could find that letter again then maybe she could cut the rope.
Snatches of the conversation floated past her.
“He’s best officer in the FBI…”
“Na, easy to pick off…”
“Coming after her no matter what…”
“I suggest sniper…”
“Ok, we got a deal…”
Her fingertip managed to hook the ‘L’ at last. Both men stood up in unison, causing her to nearly drop her ‘knife’. Sean followed his companion to the door, having a last minute exchange in whispers.
“So, this rescuer, we gonna pick him off with a sniper?”
“Yeah, that’ll be One Grand.”
“What?! Way too much!”
“Hey, you wanna get the job done?”
The man stared at Sean, daring him to argue. Sean cast one harsh look at Helen then decided. They shook hands on the deal and Sean handed over a wad of cash with a word of warning.
“You better kill him, this isn’t my home don’t you worry. I have contacts, they’ll hunt you down. Farewell Dakota.” He slammed the door in Dakota’s face.
Sean strolled over to Helen and she curled the ‘L’ tightly in her hand. Bending down to her level, he whispered in her ear.
“That was someone who tried to help. He’s not going to be around much longer.” He giggled revoltingly. Helen bit her lip sharply to resist retorting, trying to hold in the insult on the tip of her tongue. Sean smiled knowingly and moved away. She looked down and knew that he was right, silence was the worst punishment.
Max stretched out on the couch as his hosts bustled around him, taking advantage of the brief respite from work. Mrs. Gates came up to him with a family album. With her fingers resting carefully along the worn spine she sat next to Max and flipped it open gently. Licking her finger she slowly turned each page, scanning it before moving to the next.
Finally she stopped. At the top the words ‘Family Friends’ were emblazoned in gold letters, standing out clearly against the browned white colouring of the paper. Pointing with a slightly shaking finger, she drew his attention to one man. Max studied him carefully, tracing his outline. He committed Sean’s most obvious features to memory, the green eyes, red hair, broad face and sharp teeth. He was dressed neatly, yet there was an air of dishevelment about him.
He slipped the photo out of its clear protective covering, glancing slightly at Mrs. Gates for permission. Having received what he wanted, he made his way out the house. He jogged down to his car, flipping out his mobile as he did so. Taking one last look around the huge white mansion and its luscious green garden, he dialed a number and slipped inside the sweltering interior of his Subaru.
Trying to avoid touching the boiling black leather, he started the car and pulled over his seatbelt with one hand, the other still holding the ringing phone. Max steered the car away from the quiet street and headed towards HQ. His boss answered the mobile.
“Hey, FBI here.”
“Hi, Max Banks. I need to find out about Sean Connors, we have a kidnapper on our hands.”
“Okay, hold on a sec.”
Music played softly in the background as he was put on hold. High above him a man stood. In his hands was a long sniper rifle pointing down at the silver car driving in the street below. The man bent down to look through the sights, placing the bullet’s destination squarely between the cross-hatch.
Max saw a boy running out in front of him, a ball bouncing past. Screeching to a stop he swerved out of the way, his foot pressing the brakes down to the floor. With a hiss his tire let out air. His assassin cursed silently, he had hit the wheel. Max got out to look at the damage, running his fingers over the puncture. He put it down to a rock, despite the fact that it was perfectly circular. The FBI HQ was only a few streets away so he decided to walk.
As he started wandering along the street, the sky above began billowing. Clouds swept across speedily and rain began to fall from the stormy heavens. Leaves blew in the strong north-easterly wind, whipping across the old, grey stone. Thunder began to roll and boom, crashing high up in the sky. Lightning flashed above the clouds, lighting up his surroundings momentarily. Max sighed and brushed his already soaking hair out of his face. Now he had to walk in the rain. Joy.
The sniper trained his gun once again on the sodden shape. A smile briefly flew across his sharp features, as quick as the blade of lightning that pierced the horizon behind him. There was no way he could miss now. Max blinked rapidly to get the water out of his eyes. He took a step forward and tripped, glancing down he could see that his shoelaces were undone. He bent down to tie them back up and… a bullet ricocheted right where his head was, bouncing off the path next to him. His brain processed how incredibly cliché it was before he realized what had happened.
Max let his reflexes take over, thinking of a plan the whole way. Staring into a rain splattered window nearby he made out the shape of a man perched precariously on the edge of a roof. He studied the area in the reflection while pulling out his PR-71 revolver, searching and locating blind spots from the rooftop. Max sprinted towards the building, staying in the shadows. He saw the man looking around in confusion for him, and the triumph when his gaze found him.
Watching the man fish around behind him, he warily waited for his opponent to act first. With a big smile the sniper pulled out AAI OICW, a grenade launcher. The gun pointed directly at him and he felt time freeze… yet the seconds still ticked by. His brain moved at the speed of light. There was no way out. Unless…
Chapter Two Hunt
Dashing to the side of the factory he was crouched next to, he bounded towards a rain water tank. Moving faster than even he had thought possible, he fought against the river of water coursing down the roof and pulled himself over to the large plastic contraption. He unhinged the lid and dove inside, into water reaching all the way to the top. He struggled with the lid and managed to pull it closed and duck underwater just as the gun fired.
In his mind’s eye he could see the grenade coursing towards him, would he be safe? The bomb landed and rolled across the roof tiles. Max held his breath, knowing he couldn’t wait much longer. With a humungous boom it exploded, sending the tank flying through the sky. He landed hard on the pavement, all wind knocked out of him. He devoted a precious second to being thankful for still being alive, then focused on keeping it that way.
He clawed his way up through the rain, desperately feeling for the lid. Bubbles escaped him despite his best efforts, draining him. Red and black flecks began to cross his vision and dizziness grew. With the strength of a dying man he found the lid and wrenched it open. Gasping, he took a long lungful of sweet, sweet air. He let himself go and sprawled spread-eagle against the rock, thankful once again for life, and clichés. Then he heard a sharp, metallic click.
Helen sawed patiently against the rope binding one of her hands, moving her makeshift knife in minute movements. The rope was frayed, enough for her to have cut halfway. Sean wasn’t in her room, nor was any of his goons. They were probably upstairs drinking and watching her via video. She looked up and met the unblinking red gaze of the camera. Glancing down at her progress she was glad that the camera was in front of her, it couldn’t see her work.
The ‘L’ pricked her, drawing blood. She was through! Helen resisted the urge to suck on her finger and concentrated on freeing her other hand. Tracing the knots fastened against her, she cautiously teased out one end of the rope. She pulled it through, under and over.
The end tickled her as it fell loose, her hands were done. The next part would be a bit harder, how on Earth was she supposed to get her feet undone?! They were tied together and to the chair. She decided to cut the knot binding them to the chair first. Ten seconds later she was focused on the problem of her feet. Hoping for the best, she bent over and cut them straight out. Finally she was free!
Relishing the feeling of the ropes not digging in, she made the mistake of waiting a few seconds. Up the stairs a hired killer was at that moment lurching towards the screen that held her image. He stared blindly at her for a few seconds before realizing he was supposed to look at her, not the TV. As he saw her shadow flitting away, and the ropes hanging loose off the chair, his bottom lip actually quivered.
“Um… Boss?”
“What?! I’m kinda busy right now!”
Sean was in a drinking competition with a friend.
“She’s - she’s escaped.”
“WHAT!”
Sean leapt up from his chair and stormed towards the hapless messenger. His voice was lowered to a growl.
“Get. Me. Jack.” Sean managed to squeeze out from between clenched teeth.
Quivering slightly the man dashed to obey, knowing that if he slipped up again his life was as good as over. Sean had no understanding of the saying ‘don’t shoot the messenger.’
Outside Helen darted from shadow to shadow, moving fast. Her whole mind was on getting away, who cares where. Behind her another person loomed up, fast. A hand gripped her shoulder roughly.
“Hello, m’deary. What are you doing out so late?” A mockingly sweet voice came from behind as she swiveled, almost faint with dread.
Max looked up into the barrel of a gun. Holding it was the man he had seen earlier.
“Oh this is so not fair!”
The killer smiled, not even bothering to answer. He basked in the moment.
“So… I’m here with the great Max Banks groveling at my feet…”
“Well, technically I’m not groveling, I’m sprawled spread-eagled. You’ve heard of me? I’m flattered.”
“Ha ha ha. You’re killing me.” The assassin said sarcastically.
“Really? I thought that that would wait until I did this.”
Max flipped the gun with his fingers, dislodging it just enough for the man to lose his balance for a second. Fishing around in the water for his gun with one hand, he kicked the man in the shins, forcing him to bend over. His fingers closed over the metal handle of his revolver. Leaning over slightly, Max whacked the man’s gun repeatedly to make him let go. Taking advantage of the brief moment of safety, he inspected his weapon, the ammo had fallen out. Beside him the man’s gun skittered across the pavement, coming to a rest a few meters away.
In unison both men paused and looked up. In an instance they both scrambled for it, desperately trying to reach it before their opponent. Max pushed his enemy behind him, only to have his leg grabbed and pulled back. Finally he managed to press the man’s nerve point and gain a short head start. He reached it and unloaded the ammo, refilling his own gun.
Glancing behind him quickly, he saw the assassin recovering. Moving fast he sprinted along the path, being careful not to slip on the slick surface. Rattling door handles, he tried to get inside a building, any building. Gradually losing hope, he tried one last handle, asking for a miracle. It swung open squeakily as he thanked every god he knew. Running inside, he stared around at his surroundings. Behind him his chaser walked in, armed with a new gun. He slammed the door behind him.
Above their heads was a glass ceiling protecting them from the weather outside. Rain splattered against the roof, creating splotches of shadow on the black marble on which they stood. Lightning flashed down, piercing the horizon with tendrils of red electricity. Thunder rolled and crashed directly above.
“Aaah…” his opponent sighed. “My old hunting grounds.” Max spun to face him. “Oh, it’s okay.” The murderer continued. “I’m not going to kill you… just yet.” Looking at the quivering gun pointing at him he smiled. “Nor are you going to kill me, Mr. Banks. There is only one bullet, don’t waste it in a direct fight.”
Max saw the truth in his words, much as he disliked it. “What are you going to do then?” He miraculously managed to keep a calm voice.
“Do you like ‘hide and seek’, Mr. Banks?”
Max shuddered. “I have no problem with it, though I prefer playing when my life isn’t in danger.”
His hunter chuckled, a low deep noise deep in his throat. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. I know this place from way back, there’s no way out. Now I’m going to count to twenty, I’m looking forward to killing you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you are.” Max muttered under his breath as behind him his opponent began to count. He ran swiftly away, stepping lightly. The other man had an advantage, presuming he had actually been here and wasn’t just bluffing. He bounded up a metal staircase, wincing as it creaked slightly. Higher and higher it circled, spiraling around and around. A drift of voice floated up to him.
“Ready or not, here I come…”
Helen stared into a face disfigured by rage, fear and jealousy. Lines creased a once-handsome brow, premature wrinkles. Eyes lit by a fire of cruel humor, a need to kill purely for pleasure. His lips curled upwards in a smile, revealing sharp, rotten teeth. She gazed at him for a second, frozen with fear, then awoke once again to reality, harsh reality.
Wobbling slightly, she held out her knife. He looked at it for a moment, unsure of what to do. Slowly he began to laugh. Helen waved her knife indignantly then decided to go with the flow. She kicked him between the legs, hard. He bent over in pain and she ran away, staying in the shadows.
Up above the moon shone like a lantern high in the charcoal sky. Wisps of clouds floated past, concealing bright stars. She glanced upward quickly, noting absentmindedly that Mars was visible. Dashing into a gloomy street, she desperately looked around for a way to escape. Old houses cluttered close together. Street lights were covered with grime and birds nested on top. There was nowhere to go, nowhere she could be safe.
Nearby a road ran through an adjoining street. This one was bright, well kept. Cars zoomed along it, not bothering to look down the unused alley. Well-lit shops lined it, signs announcing them as open. If I could just get there, then maybe someone could help me – take me back to my family. Helen thought hopefully. She had already spent too much time waiting, now was the time for action!
A metallic click that she had grown accustomed to during her time captive alerted her to a presence nearby. She ducked down and scuttled towards the road. Surely even a psychopath like her chaser wouldn’t be stupid enough to make a spectacle in public, would he? No time to think… time, time, time. The only thing she really needed, such short supply.
She turned around briefly to check the status of her hunter… right into the barrel of a gun.
Chapter Three
Helen gulped audibly. Well, that was a short taste of freedom. She smiled weakly up at the man, he didn’t smile back. The old Bond theme movie ran through her head. All she needed was a gun and it’d work out just as well. He grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging in painfully.
“Ow! Do you mind?!” She snapped at him. He didn’t even bother to dignify the question with an answer. Her mind raced furiously as she was dragged along. She had often amused herself with puzzles such as these; thinking of a plan while doing projects that required rigid attention. An object gleamed out of her captor’s pocket.
She took a closer look and realized it was a back-up gun. With quick glance up ahead to see how far away they were, she let her hand swing slowly. The movement caught the eye of the man and he glared at her. She quickly adopted a defeated look, staring at the ground with fake tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. He watched suspiciously, but eventually gave in.
Gradually she made her swings higher, longer. With each second passing she got closer, finally her fingers just brushed the shiny steel surface. She quickly peeked up to see whether he had felt anything, but he continued with the same harsh pace. One more swing should do it, yes! She had it. She grasped it firmly and mustered a commanding, ruthless voice. “Put me down.”
He turned and scrutinized her; she noticed his fingers flicking to where his other pistol was. “Don’t try and get it. Just turn around and count to thirty.” Reluctantly he obeyed and she ran away, trying to be as quiet as possible. The sparse light allowed her to see that the gun wasn’t actually loaded, and she had to suppress hysterical giggles.
Flinging it to one side, she raced on. Helen reached the street and accidently stepped in front of a car. Boom! It hit her hard, and darkness slowly started to invade her once again. Quiet noises floated to her sore ears, screams and a thud of a car door slamming. She just had time to think, ‘I shouldn’t have given up that gun.’ Before once again the world went black.