Uncovered Issues

One

            Lydia thought she’d never been so lonely in her life. She glanced out the window next to her work desk and watched the rain swirling, a light mist that went wherever the wind told it to go. Her story was almost finished- a reporting piece for the Emerald Daily that revealed details about a local fertility doctor, now biological father to over a hundred children. She’d had trouble keeping the tone of the story neutral, reporting the facts and not her opinion on the facts. Her editor sent the story back twice already, kindly but firmly reminding her that her job was not to convey outrage, no matter how warranted. Lydia must stick to the facts.

            These women were her age. They were raising toddlers and children. The oldest of what the media deemed the Huntington Hundred- many thanks to Doctor Jared Huntington for having such a convenient name- was only seven, and already he had 99 siblings to contend with. Lydia thought of her own two sisters, the complicated relationships with them that ebbed and flowed and changed almost daily, and suppressed a shudder. It was a different situation, of course. It had to be, given the circumstances.

            She couldn’t spill her feelings out onto the page before her, cursor blinking at her to keep going, and in that moment she felt the deep ache of longing for a partner. She wanted to be able to simply get up and walk into the other room- the one with coffee, with comfortable throw blankets tossed over the couch and the lumpy, comfortable old chair that she refused to do away with- and wrap her hands around a warm mug. She wanted to discuss this ridiculous situation with someone who cared, hung on her every word, hated the way she’d been overlooked for the opinion column and had to, instead, be so robotically pragmatic in her reporting of Doctor Huntington’s morbid narcissistic practices. She wanted to see interest on the face of her friend, her lover, his brown eyes watching her. The mind numbing distraction of his phone would be abandoned on the table, forgotten and unwanted. She wanted to talk and talk and be reassured that it wasn’t too much, that he wanted to hear her words. She wanted him to sip his coffee thoughtfully and then later, when he kissed her, a sweet and comforting kiss, she would taste the coffee on his lips. She wanted-

            The wind blew a fine mist through the screen and onto her face, and Lydia blinked. She didn’t get caught up in a daydream about a fictitious man often, but sometimes she longed for the easy comfort of a true companion. Had she envisioned him with brown eyes this time? Her daydreams were getting more insistent on the details, and that was a dangerous game to play. She wasn’t looking for a specific type of person. Lydia wanted to be open to whatever the universe wanted for her. She hoped that her partner, wherever he was, would be just as open minded to her, quirks and stupidly comfortable old chair included.

            She tidied up the final paragraph, removing the word “horrific” and restating her finishing statement as per her editor’s wishes, and submitted the article. Her work finished, she sighed and headed to bed, trying not to think of how much warmer that bed could be.

            In the early morning, when her bedroom window shattered inward and two men in dark hoodies dragged her from her bed, she had no connecting thought that the article drove this madness. They pulled her from the room and avoided her every chaotic swing with precision, predicting her moves before she could even think them through. She had the passing thought that her taser, a gift from her older sister, lay in the bottom of a box at the top of her closet, and her general thrusts were pointed vainly in that direction.

            She was pulling her head up from the floor where she’d thrown herself when she heard two small pops, muffled and somehow loud at the same time. The pressure on her upper arms and her thighs where rough hands held her released, and she fell gracelessly back to the floor, barely catching herself with her elbows.

            New hands picked her up, more gently this time, and she successfully pushed herself away from them, hurling herself over the mess of tangled limbs on the floor and through the door to her closet. She was fumbling above her for the box-the box- which box?

            Two shoe boxes full of the mindless clutter of her life fell to the floor, spilling their contents- old photographs she’d ordered with every intention of framing or scrapbooking them; old receipts from trips that had outlasted the ink with which they’d been printed; old movie stubs from dates that didn’t matter and old letters that mattered quite a lot.

            But the ridiculous gift from her sister was nowhere to be found, and Lydia’s fingers brushed the blankets at the top of her closet frantically even as she knew that nothing lie between their folds. No secret knife would fall from the places she hadn’t thought to hide one, but her fingers fluttered wildly anyway, searching, searching, searching.

            The closet light clicked on, and Lydia froze, panting, her heart beating too fast and her ears maddingly humming.

            A lone figure stood by the door, his finger still on the light switch. He held his other hand out to her in a gesture that might have been comforting had it not been coming from a strange man shrouded in black meant to hide his every feature. Lydia, hyperventilating now, her fear driving her, dove past him, ramming her shoulder into his as she leapt through the door.

            She landed with a hard thud on the men lying in her floor, the man in the doorway inexplicably moving to get out of her way instead of trying to catch her. She hadn’t expected that, nor the pain that sent shock waves through her, radiating from the place where her hip met the floor. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and panic drove her to keep trying to get up and run, but her legs were so weak and useless.

            When the man behind her touched her shoulder, she turned her head and bit his fingers, her teeth sinking in with a sickening crunching sensation as she broke the skin and kept biting. Warm copper filled her mouth as the man put his other hand on her face, shoving her away. He yelled, and the sound broke through the chaos, the only thing she could hear over the blood rushing through her ears.

            The man, no longer gentle, grabbed her as she started to crawl away. Straddling her from behind, he pulled at her hands and zip tied them in place behind her back.

            “Stop, stop, stop, damnit!” His voice was demanding and urgent, but not loud. He almost seemed to be hissing the words. Lydia laid her head down on the ground, exhausted and scared.

            “I don’t want to hurt you but you have got to stop fighting me- fuck this fucking hurts-“ the man got off of her, slinging his hand as he winced.

            Lydia thought of her broken window then, and the way the neighbors would worry when they saw it. She glanced at the nightstand, her cellphone uselessly dark and charging out of her reach. What time was it? Could she distract this maniac until the sun rose? Her elderly neighbor, Charlotte, was an early bird if ever there was one, and she walked her dogs with the sunrise every day. If Lydia could just stay alive until then-

            But no, what was she thinking? How, exactly, would that scenario end? Charlotte wouldn’t immediately call the police. She’d immediately come over to Lydia’s house to check on her, putting herself in danger. Lydia closed her eyes, her stomach roiling at the thought.

            Scream, she thought. I can scream. Why haven’t I screamed? She opened her mouth and yelled, the sound emanating from her one she wouldn’t ever recognize before tonight, something guttural and terrified. She screamed until her breath ran out, too quickly thanks to her pounding heart, and then she inhaled and screamed again.

            The man crossed the room in three long strides and clamped his hand over her mouth. He pushed her chin closed so that she couldn’t bite him again, and leaned over her.

            “Listen to me,” he said, and Lydia threw her shoulder sideways, trying to roll away from him. He used his hurt hand to steady her and hissed again, “Listen to me!”

            Lydia grew still, listening. What choice do I have? She thought.

            “Do you see those men on the floor?” Lydia looked at them, realizing that both were dead, and closed her eyes again.

            “Do you see them?”

            She nodded her head almost imperceptibly.

            “I am not with them. I understand that this is confusing for you. I understand that. You have no choice but to trust me. I can spend five seconds explaining this to you, and then we can leave and you will still be alive. I can spend longer trying to explain this to you, and we are both going to end up dead. Got it?” When Lydia just stared at him, he kept talking, taking her unwilling silence as confirmation. “Those men were sent here to kidnap you. I was sent here to prevent that from happening. They are not alone. The rest of their team are just on the other side of that street, in a van, waiting for you to be delivered. You can leave with me, or you can take your chances with them. If you keep fighting me, they will come inside of this house, and they will kill us both. Do you understand?

            Lydia nodded her head once.

            “I am going to remove my hand now. If you scream again, they will no doubt understand that this job has gotten more complicated than anticipated, and send in more of those idiots-“ he pulled his hand away and stood up, kicking one of the men on the floor.

            Lydia remembered all of the articles she’d read, all of the videos she’d seen, instructing her not to let a kidnapper take her to a secondary location, and she opened her mouth, taking a deep breath and preparing to scream again.

            A hand clamped down over her mouth once more, and all of her air whooshed out of her with a defeated sob.

            “You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me. I get that. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to have to do this. I didn’t think things would get this far. I’m really sorry about this.”

            Lydia didn’t notice the ripping sound until he stopped talking, and she realized he was balling his shirt up with his hurt hand, grimacing as he used it to rip the fabric into a strip. He wrapped it around her mouth and tied it, tightly, nearly choking her. She mumbled, protesting, and he nodded at her. “It’s too tight, I know. I know. If our lives didn’t absolutely depend on us getting out of here quickly and quietly, I would never- but we have to go. Now.”

            He stood up and hauled her to her feet awkwardly given her hands still positioned tightly behind her back. She pulled away from him, still struggling despite the way her knees shook, but he positioned himself behind her, pushing her forward and half lifting her off of the ground with every other step, giving her no chance to stumble. She choked back a sob, biting down on the fabric in her mouth and trying to push it away, but it was no use.

            “I promise you that I will not kill you,” the man whispered into her ear. “I know you’re terrified and this isn’t making any sense to you right now, but you are safe with me. I am going to get you out of here.”

            Lydia walked. She had to believe this man because she couldn’t escape him, and the thought of succumbing to a murderer taking her from her perfect yellow cottage, the house she’d worked for and pined after for years, the home she’d built for herself in the city she loved, broke her heart. She entertained the thought of a rescuer, saving her from the would-be criminals now lying dead in her bedroom floor, and wondered what other explanations there could possibly be.

            The car parked in the alleyway behind the hedges in her backyard was so plain as to be boring, but she thought that was probably the point. She tried to take in all of the details so that she could describe it to police later, but there was nothing to note. The car was black with a black interior. She’d always been bad with design models and couldn’t see, from this angle, any insignia.

            As they neared the car, she tried once more to escape the man’s grasp, but his hold on her was firm: he’d predicted her attempt before she’d even considered it. He pushed her into the back seat of the car- more gently than he’d been since his first attempt at calming her down- and slid into the seat next to her, quietly pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click. Confused, she started to panic again, but he shook his head at her and pointed: her house was just visible through a small cutout in the hedges.

            Lydia trembled. He must’ve been watching her. How long? How long had she been the unwitting entertainment for this-

            Her kitchen light switched on, visible from this side of the house. She gasped as she saw the shadows of two large- very large- people walking through her home, and then a third and a fourth. How many? She ducked instinctively when one of them pulled back the curtains over her sink and peered into the backyard. His eyes assessed the small yard with interest, looking for something- looking for her, she realized.

            She gasped when his eyes landed on the hedges, and the curtains dropped abruptly.

            “Shit,” the man beside her cursed, scrambling through the front seats to grab the steering wheel.

            Lydia looked at the door, nothing blocking her from it now, and immediately dived for it. With her hands behind her back, she hit her head on the window and fumbled, turning herself around and trying to grasp the inset handle.

            The car started, and gravel spit as the wheels dug for traction. At the same time, Lydia heard and felt something hitting the tail end of the car. She was thrown against the door opposite from her as they swerved around a corner.

            “Hold on to something!” the man called over his shoulder. Lydia could feel the zip ties cutting into the tender skin of her wrists and wondered how she could hold on to anything from this position. The man slammed on the breaks, and she flew into the flood board.

            “Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry-“ the man yelled, but he was revving the car back up as he did so.

            Around more curves, more abrupt stops, more too-fast slinging around in the back seat. Lydia tried to protect her neck from impact, but there wasn’t much else she could do, off balance and tied up in the back seat.

            Finally, the car was on a straight away.

            “I don’t think they’re following us anymore, but I can’t stop. I have to be sure before we head to the safe house. Are you okay?”

            Lydia pulled herself up to a sitting position and glared at him in the rearview mirror.

            “Just shake your head yes or no- are you alright?”

            Lydia furiously shook her head, but it began pounding and she stopped.

            “I’ll stop as soon as I can and check you over.” His brows went low over his eyes as he returned his stare to the road, and Lydia realized he was still wearing a face covering, hiding all but his eyebrows and his mouth from her sight. Why would he still be hiding himself if he didn’t plan to kill her?

            As if reading her mind, he glanced back into the rearview mirror once more before ripping his face covering off, revealing features that would be incredibly handsome on anyone but a dangerous criminal kidnapper: a wide mouth; sharp, angled jawline; and dark eyes set into an olive complexion. Shaggy, dark brown hair hung down to his eyebrows. “Not the way I wanted to do this,” he muttered. “I hoped I’d never formally meet you, but things being what they are, I owe you an explanation.”

            Lydia glared at him.

            “I’m Ethan,” he said. “We knew that there would be people coming after you and the other journalist covering this story, but we really thought they’d be after the heated one- Angela?” Lydia grimaced at the name of the journalist who had won the opinion column. She was writing about the doctor, too, it seemed- and of course she was. Nothing else was on anyone’s mind these days. Her story probably contained plenty of descriptive adjectives.

            She wrinkled her brows to convey confusion, and waited for the man to glance back at her again.

            “We sent the rest of the team to her house, and I was on lookout at your place. It was supposed to be an easy assignment; we didn’t really think you were in any danger. I’m glad we played it safe on that account. Shit. I need to check in.”

            The man pulled a phone from his pocket, and Lydia noted with apprehension that the speedometer was well above the normal highway speed limits. She wished she could tell him to focus on the road, but the damned cotton shirt was still stifling her mouth, choking her.

            “Things went bad,” he said after a moment, speaking to whoever answered his call. “Safe.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror and then added, “Banged up, but safe.” He paused, listening, and then muttered a soft curse, hanging up the phone without properly ending the call.

            They sat in silence, but Lydia didn’t do so willingly. Her sense of danger was ebbing, giving way to her journalistic instincts. Questions darted through her mind, and she longed to dislodge the rough, wet cotton over her mouth so that she could throw them at Ethan in quick succession. Who attacked me? Why? Is Angela okay? Who are you, really? Are you a police officer of some sort? Where are we going?

            He didn’t act like an officer.

            He acted surprised by his own actions.

            After several painfully silent minutes, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Lydia’s heart beat faster. There was no one around. There were no streetlights, and nothing but Indiana corn fields on either side of the road. She hadn’t seen another car for miles.

            Ethan pulled the door open and held out a phone. To her surprise, Lydia saw a woman on the screen- lovely, older, with brown hair just turning shades lighter, laugh lines edging her mouth and eyes. “Everything is okay!” the woman said. “Oh, God, Ethan, what have you done? Take that thing off of her mouth. Now!”

            Ethan propped the phone on the headrest of the front seat so that the woman could still see Lydia, and he began untying the mouth covering.

            “I know, I know,” he said. “It’s bad. It’s a real bang up job.”

            Lydia felt the binding loosen and then fall off and she moved her aching jaw, swallowed, and then let out a sob.

            “What the hell,” she gasped, her throat stinging. “What the actual hell.”

            Part of her hated herself for using her breath to utter such useless questions. She was a journalist, a literal professional asker of questions, and she was certain that there were better ways to get to the bottom of this whole fiasco, but she couldn’t form the words. Her mouth was dry and her cheeks stung, her jaw ached, and her wrists were still painfully pulled behind her back. Her body felt bruised in ten different places from sliding around the car.

            “It’s a lot to go-“ Ethan started, but the woman on the phone interrupted him.

            “Hush,” she said. “You’ve done enough. Listen, Lydia. This is a long story, but the short version is that Jared Huntington is a very bad man with a very bad family, and that family is very upset by this scandal. They’re trying to shut the whole thing up before it garners national attention. Your co-worker, Angela? I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was murdered tonight by the same people who tried to murder you.” The woman paused, giving Lydia a moment to let that information sink in.

            Angela. Lydia didn’t know her very well. They’d met a few times, but they were, at best, associates. Still, Lydia’s heart ached for the petite brunette with the big attitude. Lydia begrudgingly read her opinion pieces every week, and while she could never quite get over being passed up for the column last year, she always admired Angela’s writing style. She was direct and unapologetic.   

            And it had gotten her killed.

            Lydia thought of the brutes lying dead in her bedroom floor. Had they visited Angela first, or had a separate group of people gone to Angela’s house at the same time those men were sneaking into her yard, watching her sleep, deciding to buck all attempts at a quiet break in and bust the bedroom windows out instead?

            Lydia squinted. Why would they break in this way? Her neighbors were so close. It was a small area, and the noise could have woken everyone up-

            They wanted to make noise. They wanted to make a scene.

            “They wanted our deaths to scare everyone out of pursuing this story,” she mumbled.

            “Yes,” the woman on the phone said, nodding her head. “Exactly.”

            “Can you untie me?” Lydia asked quietly.

            “Are you going to try to run away?” Ethan answered.

            Lydia looked over his shoulder at the empty darkness all around them.

            “Where, exactly, would I go?” she answered.

            Ethan turned her, gently, and cut the zip ties with a pocket knife.

            She slapped him, her arm aching with the sudden movement, stiff after so long in one position.

            “I deserved that,” he said.

            “You deserved that,” the woman on the screen said.

            Lydia massaged her wrists and rolled her shoulders. She tried to think about what her next move should be, how best to protect herself, whether or not to believe these strangers’ wild story about Doctor Huntington.

            “Where are we going?” She asked, directing her question to the woman on the screen.

            “Here, for now,” she said. “My place. I think you’ve probably had enough excitement for one night and I wouldn’t blame you for being mistrustful of Ethan, given what you’ve been through. You’ll come to my place, and we’ll discuss further plans once you’ve gotten some rest.”

            “What time is it?” Lydia thought, realizing that the darkness gave her no clue.

            “Just after midnight,” the woman answered.

            “Where is your house?”

            The woman checked something on her computer, the blue glow highlighting her face briefly. “Thirty miles away from your current location.”

            Lydia liked her direct answers. She nodded.

            “We’ll talk more once you’re here,” the woman said. “Ethan, are you alright?”

            “Fine,” he said, taking the phone. “Are the others-“

            “They’re fine,” she said. “We missed the mark big time on this, but we’ll talk about it later. Just get here, safe. Quick.”

            Ethan nodded at her and hung up the phone. Lydia made a movement to climb out of the backseat of the car, and Ethan eyed her warily.

            “I don’t want to ride in back like a prisoner,” she said. “You are really freaking me out, okay? If you’re really trying to save my life here, the least you could do is treat me like an actual human being and let me sit in the front seat. Not that I’m not incredibly grateful to have full use of my arms again.”

            Ethan grimaced so slightly that Lydia almost missed it.

            “Let’s go,” he said, walking to the passenger side of the car and opening the door for her. She climbed in, worried she was making a huge mistake.

            “Drive normally, please,” she said quietly, her stomach lurching with motion sickness from her time in the back seat. “There’s no one following us now.”

            Ethan glanced behind them and nodded at her once.

            They rode on in silence.