Denouement:
Showered, dried-off, and feeling the need for breakfast, Ollie laid the table and tore open a couple of packets of mixed salad leaves, sliced some tomatoes and cucumber, opened a pack of cold cuts, and grabbed a carton of sliced pineapple, a tub of clotted cream, and a jar of strawberry conserve from the fridge while Izzy toasted muffins, scrambled some eggs, and waited for the coffee to brew. While they ate, they discussed what had happened, and how they were going forward with it. Ollie was of the opinion that they keep going as before, so no-one could see the change in them.
“If we start acting all ‘lovey-dovey’, someone’s going to twig, and then the shit really will hit the fan,” he stated, “Let’s just sit tight, wait for this trust thing to come about, mature, whatever, then sell-up, stash the cash, and just piss off, you, Carol, and me, because I love her too, as much as I love you, and in the same way, to somewhere they don’t know us and don’t give a shit. How does that sound, Izzy?”
Izzy looked at him darkly.
“You mean for the next eighteen months we get to watch the local scrubbers pawing at you and make like we don’t care? I don’t know if I can do that, Ollie, and I don’t think Carol can, either; after all we said and did, I don’t know if I can play-act enough to look all nonchalant while Bridey Devlin’s crew of uber-sluts and slappers make cow-eyes at you and try rubbing themselves up and down you like a bunch of alley-cats; you know me, and Carol’s probably going to feel the same way; at some point we’re going to just say ‘enough’s enough’ and go fucking postal on ’em!”
Ollie looked carefully at her, and realised what she was saying was true. He thought for a moment, then grinned, making Izzy shoot an eyebrow.
“OK, this is what we do; I’m now officially celibate; I’m in training for a big overseas tournament end of next year, i. e. your birthday, and I can’t afford the distraction of girls, so they’re all to stay away from me; out on the street I’ll be a monk, in here we can be a tribe of fuck-monkeys, and no-one gets to know; does that work for you?”
Izzy grinned at his solution, and then slipped the slim Claddagh ring she always wore off her right hand ring finger and slid it onto Ollie’s right hand pinky, with the heart pointing at him.
“There, now you have a ‘Promise’ ring to show anyone who asks why you’re off the girls, and note how the heart faces you? That means you’re taken, so they can all piss off!”
They ate their brunch happily, lingering over their meal and occasionally raiding the fridge for more delicacies. Over an hour after they’d first sat down, they finally started clearing up, when Ollie suddenly looked up at Izzy.
“Iz, where’s Carol?”
Izzy paused in stacking the dishwasher.
“She went to the newsagent to complain about the papers… wait; Ollie, that was hours ago… where the hell is she?”
Ollie picked up his phone and called her. Far off in the distance they could hear ‘Fur Elise’, Carol’s ringtone, a tune that had always irritated the hell out of both of them. Her phone went to VM, so Ollie called again, and once again they heard it in the distance. Ollie, by now just a little worried, walked through the house, listening to the sound of Carol’s ringtone. Izzy trailed after him, a bad feeling forming in the pit of her stomach.
“Ollie, it’s coming from outside,” noted Izzy, and when they opened the front door, the ringtone became loud and clear. Ollie ran down the path, and there, in the shrubbery near the front gate, they found Carol’s phone, the front screen was cracked but it was still functional, and one of the flat shoes they’d seen her put on when she got dressed that morning was lying beside the path.
“Ollie…?” murmured Izzy, holding up the shoe, her forehead creased with worry, while Ollie racked his brains, trying to remember when Carol had left the house.
“Ollie, when she came in this morning, I saw the clock on the dresser; it said just after nine o’clock; Ollie, it’s nearly two, she’s been gone five hours, where is she, why is her ‘phone here, what’s happened to her? Ollie, DO something!”
Ollie hugged her while he tried to think.
“Look, you go to the newsagent, ask them if they saw Carol, I’ll take a run down to the supermarket, she said she had to pick up some stuff, maybe they saw her, or know where she went…’
Even as he was speaking, he was already loping down to the supermarket a couple of hundred yards away, a quick glance over his shoulder confirming was Izzy headed in the opposite direction, to the newsagent on the corner.
The people at the supermarket knew Carol well, and they hadn’t seen her in several days. Ollie was beginning to panic now; Carol had been gone for hours, something had happened to her, the damaged ‘phone and single discarded shoe were mute evidence of that, but still he ran back home, because if she could reach them, it would be there. He saw Izzy in the distance hurrying back from the newsagent, but even as he raised his arm to wave and attract her attention, a black Dodge Caravan screeched up alongside her, and two men leaped out and grabbed her. Ollie was shouting at the top of his voice, yelling himself hoarse even as he tried to reach her, watching her struggling, then going limp as one of the men punched her and they both dumped her into the minivan, which roared off with a screech of tyres.
Ollie stood stock still, his chest heaving from his exertions, while his mind raced; what had just happened, who the fuck had taken Izzy, and why, and had the same people grabbed Carol? What was going on here? Police, time to call the law, this was kidnapping and his mind kept repeating something he’d seen on a TV cop show; 48 hours, 48 hours, 48 hours; the first 48, that was the critical time, after that they’d be looking for bodies; he had to get them back inside the 48, or he’d never see them alive again.
Just then his ‘phone rang. Ollie snatched it out, hoping it was one of the girls, but the number was withheld.
“H… hello?” he asked and a vaguely familiar voice replied.
“Hello Ollie-boy, I guess right now you’re standing around looking stupid while your tiny little mind is wondering about your mother and that slutty little sister of yours? Well, let me put your mind at ease; we have them, both of them, they’re safe, for now, but they’re not going anywhere until I get what I want, and don’t bother threatening or blustering, because there’s fuck all you can do about it. Are you listening, Ollie-boy? I suggest you prick-up your ears and pay attention, or we’re done, and they’re done, got it?”
“Listen, you fucking psycho…” gritted Ollie, but the mocking voice overrode him.
“I said prick up your ears and listen, dumbo, why can’t you just follow simple instructions? There are chimps at London Zoo who can do that, why can’t you? Now shut up and pay attention, or it’s over, and you’ll never see them again; got it?”
“Why are you doing this to us, we don’t have anything…” he began, but the smug, mocking voice continued talking.
“You’re wrong, Ollie-boy, you’ll find out soon enough. And by the way, if you call in the police, they’re going to find both those pretty little cunts face down in the pond on Wanstead Flats… or maybe Victoria Park lake… or maybe I’ll just chuck them off Beachy Head, it’s such a popular suicide spot…”
Ollie went cold at the calm, careless tone; this guy, whoever he was, wasn’t screwing around, he had both girls, and Ollie’s hands were tied. His shoulders slumped at the sense of defeat pervading him.
“OK, what do you want?” he gritted, and listened as that mocking, hatefully smug, tantalisingly familiar voice told him what to do next.
“Come alone, and I mean alone, to the old White City site, opposite White City station, walk up Wood lane to Depot Road, and just walk down there until you get to the barrier, and wait there. Someone will come and get you. It’s 2:30 now, you have an hour, so get a move on, and don’t bother trying any tricks or little surprises or traps Ollie, because you’re too stupid to put together anything that’ll work; remember, I’ve got your two pretty little cunts, anything happens to my man, they’ll pay for it, and you get to watch. Got that?”