Callahan
I’m back again. On the cold marble floor lying in a pool of my own blood. Men are yelling, my brothers sobbing. My sister, I didn’t even see her. They killed her in her room.
My mom… she’s begging, pleading for the lives of her children. She’s not even asking to be spared herself. But he doesn’t care.
He’s laughing. I hear that too. And I open my eyes just enough to see him lying on top of her. To hear him breathe heavy while she lays still whimpering. He has the knife at her throat and this time when he says the words, he looks at me.
Is that how it happened? Or is it my imagination perverting the memory.
His mouth moves and his grin makes him look like a mad man. I hear the whisper, but not the words.
Never the words.
I know this dream. This nightmare.
But then it shifts.
The chaos is gone. No guns. No screaming women. No sobbing children.
Words sound around me, making no sense. A man and a woman. An argument. Lights overhead too bright after so much dark. The smell is clinical. The room, when I glimpse it through heavy-lidded eyes, harsh white.
“It’s too much… permanent damage.” It’s the woman’s voice. She’s trying to whisper but the words are hissed like she’s angry.
The man’s words are incomprehensible, just murmurs. He’s calmer than she is. Then everything goes quiet. Almost everything. The only sound I hear is my voice.
I feel the prick of a needle. It doesn’t hurt. I’m used to it. Then another sound. Shoes on the floor, low but there. Hearing is my only sense. Well, that and smell.
And I can smell a familiar scent.
I open my eyes with a sharp breath in. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. I scrub my face, looking over at Portia lying beside me. She’s undisturbed.
My phone buzzes with a message alert. I check it and see four messages all within minutes of each other. That’s what must have woken me.
I open the text window. It’s Dante telling me to call him. I assume it’s an update on the destination of the boat that held Portia and where it went to on its last four voyages. The other images are of some broken-down room. A shack almost. Inside are scraps of clothing, remnants of food containers. Stains on the floors and walls. More on the single rotted mattress.
Portia mutters something. I look down at her, see her lips move, her forehead furrow. I doubt either of us will ever sleep peacefully. We’ve seen too much.
“Shh,” I tell her.
Her hand opens, fingertips brush my chest and she says one word.
“No.”
“Shh, you’re safe. Safe.”
As if she hears me, she quiets, her breathing leveling out.
I climb out of the bed, draw the blanket up over her shoulder and pick up a discarded pair of jeans. Pulling them and a sweater on, I walk out of the bedroom barefoot, running a hand through sleep-mussed hair.
The first part of the nightmare is the recurring one. It’s the one that keeps me from sleep.
The second part though? That’s new. I don’t know if it’s a dream or a memory. It has the feeling that memories do. There’s a texture to it different than dreams.
I have a takeaway this time.
The man was my uncle. He’s been wearing the same cologne for as long as I can remember. Something made especially for him.
My father used to make fun of him for that.
I stop, smile. A strange, unimportant detail but a detail. A memory.
A soldier greets me downstairs. I’m keeping them both inside and outside for now. I check the time. Four in the morning.
“Good morning,” I say, and continue to my study, but pause when I hear noise in the kitchen.
I glance to the soldier.
“Lenore’s up,” he says.
I’m surprised. It’s not like her to be up in the middle of the night. I walk to the kitchen to find Lenore muttering something as she plays with the nobs of the oven.
“What are you doing awake?” I ask her.
She startles, spins to face me. “Callahan! You scared me half to death.”
“Sorry.”
Cerberus walks sleepily toward me and I lay a hand on the top of his head.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says.
“That makes two of us. What’s going on?”
She picks up the pot of coffee and pours me a cup. “Nothing. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“What?”
She sits at the table. “Alec. I knew he could get hurt but I never expected it, I guess.” She takes a tissue out of her pocket and wipes her eyes and nose.
I’m unmoved. Not because I think she’s not genuine. I just have seen worse.
“He’s alive. He’ll heal,” I say.
“Is she worth it?” Lenore asks.
“Excuse me?”
She shakes her head. “Never mind. Don’t listen to me.”
I study her. “What were you and my uncle talking about on the beach yesterday?”
“What?”
“You took Cerberus out. He followed. I was in the study. Saw you from my window.”
“Oh.” She shrugs a shoulder and shifts her gaze away momentarily.
“Nothing special. I was surprised he’d followed me out. He said he wanted to check in on Alec but, well, you know how I feel about that man.”
“Why do you feel that way about him?”
“Ah, that’s an old story and one not worth telling. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Did you ever come see me when I. was in the coma, Lenore?”
“What?”
“When I was sedated.” It was a medically induced coma to let my body heal. “Did you come see me?”
“Only a few times. I would have liked to come more often, but your uncle wanted to keep your location a secret. Keep the fact that you and Antonio survived a secret. And it made sense.”
I nod.
“Why do you ask?”
“Nothing. Just curious.” I feel a buzz in my pocket and reach in to see it’s Dante with another notification. “I need to go.”
She nods. “Let me know when you’re ready for breakfast.
I head to my study, Cerberus walking beside me, considering my strange conversation with Lenore. There, I dial Dante.
“I have some news though not much.”
He knows I rarely sleep, and I know he’s the same as me so there’s no mention of the time.
“Tell me.”
“Found the man hired to meet the boat with a truck and transport the cargo, then walk away.”
“And he was forthcoming with this information.”
“For a fee.”
“Of course.” Mercenary. Most people in this business are.
“The house he took them to is a few miles inland. Actually, I don’t think you could call it a house. I sent you some photos.”
“I got them.”
“The man took us there. It looks like they left in a hurry, whoever it was that was here. I’m guessing in the past they’ve held the women here before shipping them off to wherever they ship them off to.”
“Find out yet who owns the property?”
“Land is owned by a local. He rented out the shack to a man with an accent who paid cash a few days prior. The landowner made sure not to be anywhere near the property for the agreed upon amount of time. Same man every time who worked out the deal and paid him.”
“Description?”
“Tall, dark hair, foreign.”
“That helps.” Not. “I can’t imagine it’s Felix or Fernando actually doing this part, though.”
“Last time they were here was few months back, although they had rented the space but no-showed. Wherever they took their cargo this time, it wasn’t here.”
“Dead end, then.”
“Not quite. Our friend who transported the cargo heard them mention something more than once. They referred to it as the big auction. Some of the women, mostly the younger ones, were separated for this.”
“When’s this big auction?” I ask, thinking about what Portia said about the marked girls.
“Soon, I’d guess. This was to be the last shipment before it would be held. I do have a city although I’d like to do some checking. It’s not where I’d expect an auction like this to take place. I’ve already talked to Diamente about it, but I’ll use my own contacts, too.”
“I trust your instinct but where will the auction be held?”
“Rotterdam.”
“Rotterdam?” That surprises me. It shouldn’t though. Money is money and you can buy silence anywhere, even in highly developed Northern Europe.
“All right. Thanks Dante. You’ve done well. Let me know when you know more.”
“You’re welcome.”