Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 11

I found Dr. Tom's old number and tried calling it. Not surprisingly, it was no longer in service. Nervously, I checked the texts. There were a ton from my friends, when they'd been trying to find me. There were a few from Dr. Tom, from shortly after I'd fled to Randy's protection, mostly just questions like 'Where are you?' And there was one from an undisclosed number, that simply said 'Come home.'

When I checked the voice mails, I found the same thing. Some from my friends and one recording, in Dr. Tom's voice from a restricted number, saying "Come home." What the hell did that mean? My apartment? Home to Wisconsin? Surely the police would have been monitoring the messages and voicemails and would be watching those places. At least I hoped they were watching dad's place. I thought about my little brother. What if I got our dad killed, too!

I wheedled another cup of coffee out of the counter guy. Then I sat and stewed. I was still stewing when the phone rang. I stared at it. It was showing as Randy's number. I picked it up like I expected it to explode as soon as it got near my ear. "Hello?" I said softly.

"Sky, where the hell are you?" Randy was angry. Really angry.

I wanted to hang up, but I couldn't decide if that was drama queenish, so instead, I muttered, "A McDonald's. Midtown, somewhere."

"Which one? We'll pick you up," he told me, sounding a bit more relieved than angry this time.

"Uhm," I said, looking out the window for a street sign. The phone beeped and died. I stared at the black screen. Eventually, I dropped it back in my purse and glanced around at the customers in the restaurant. The place was maybe half full now. I tried to spot someone that might be willing to loan me their cell phone. I had no idea what Randy's cell phone number was, but I figured I could get hold of him at work. I was even trying to think up a dramatic sob story to tell as to why I needed to borrow a phone, when I realized the new Sky was just supposed to ask nicely. No drama. I took a deep breath and approached a youngish guy wolfing down a breakfast sandwich.

I smiled, explained my phone had died and asked if I could borrow his. He shrugged, pulled it from his pocket, unlocked it and handed it to me. Just like that. Wow. When I called the work number, the only number I could ever remember, and asked for Randy, it went to his voice mail. I left a message that I was fine and would talk to him later, then went back to the operator and asked for Shawna. She told me that Jessica had gone to the hospital to take a long lunch hour with Crystal, and no, she didn't know what Randy's cell phone was but that she would find out and call me. I had to explain that I would have to call her back, though she did give me a new number for Jessica. I wasn't going to call my dear, sweet all-to-blonde friend from some poor innocent guy's cell phone and have her putting my name with that number and maybe getting him murdered by my homicidal maniac friend, so I ended up handing the guy his phone back no wiser than before.

I went back to my cold coffee, realized someone new was behind the counter and successfully wheedled another refill. Then I sat, trying to puzzle out what the enigmatic message 'Come home' was supposed to mean. If I'd paid more careful attention, I might have taken note of when the messages were left. Maybe he did mean my apartment. Maybe it was before he'd abandoned his apartment there. Maybe he'd left some clue at my apartment for me to find. Maybe if I went, the police would be there waiting and scare him away. On the other hand, maybe that was what I was hoping for, because who in their right mind wants to meet up with someone who probably wants to kill them? Maybe, maybe, maybe. The only conclusion I could come to was that if I did meet him, I wanted it to be in a well-populated place, and my apartment certainly did not qualify there.

I slumped in a booth obviously designed to discourage prolonged sitting. The late breakfast crowd dwindled as the early lunch crowd began to filter in. I dug through my purse to see if I could find any more money so that I could switch from coffee to soda. I did find a wadded bill and my apartment key. If my scheme to lure the good doctor out with activity and phone calls from the old cell didn't work, I supposed I could fall back on going to the apartment. I bought a soda and tried to think through what I would say to him if he showed. I know I should have done that before, but frankly, I'd hit a brick wall every time I tried to come up with something. By and large, that was because I had no idea why he had done to me what he had, and certainly not why he was continuing to try to draw me back in. Without knowing why, how could I convince him to knock it off? So far, the sum total of my end of the conversation was; "Why?" and "Quit it!" The only thing I was sure of, was I had to get my friends and family out of danger. The new, improved version of Sky was bound and determined to do just that. Somehow.

Without really realizing it, I was watching the street out front for signs of him. That was how I saw Maurice jaywalking straight toward the snare I'd carefully laid for someone else entirely. I made a beeline for the side exit, which I'd noticed on my numerous trips to the restroom all morning. Once outside, I leaned heavily against the wall. If Maurice knew I was there, had come looking, expecting to find me, I knew there was no way I could evade him. Not if he had even half of the skills my brother had been trained in. But if he was just trying to check every McDonald's in midtown, maybe he'd take a quick look and leave. More maybe's. Every time someone came out the side door, I held my breath. A couple of them gave me weird looks. Well, maybe more than a couple. But Maurice didn't appear. Still, I couldn't bring myself to duck back inside. What if he was in there scarfing down a Big Mac or something?

I straightened my shoulders and headed glumly across town toward my apartment. I had my transit card. I could have hopped a bus, but frankly, I was in no hurry. At all. I idly wondered just how many McDonalds there were in midtown and if Randy and Maurice were trying to search them all. If I had a working phone, I could have found out how many. Why did they call them smart phones when they were so full of useless information?

I looked at the traffic snarled around me and the skyscrapers towering over me. I was halfway to living off the grid. No phone, no money, credit cards I didn't dare use, even if they weren't already charged to the max. No job, I reminded myself even more glumly, except on the bright side, they couldn't find me to tell me I didn't have a job. So, there was that.

I shoved my hands deep in my coat pockets, lowered my head against a cold wind that was funneling between the buildings and walked, kicking at imaginary rocks on the sidewalk. People continually brushed past me. I was the only one in the city that wasn't in a hurry. At some point, I realized that I should try calling Randy again; at least try to explain. I began watching for a coffee shop or somewhere I might be able to borrow a cell phone. That was why I noticed a black SUV pull up not far from me to double park, earning angry honking from the taxi behind it. The back passenger door opened but no one got out, which earned even angrier honking. As I came even with the vehicle, I glanced inside with curiosity. That was when someone grabbed my arm, yanked me between the legitimately parked cars and swung me into the SUV. I fell hard onto the floor, reaching for the door frame and trying to reverse my trajectory. Somebody grabbed under my arms, pulling me deeper into the car as the door behind me slammed shut.

At this point, all my vows to eschew drama went out the window. I began swearing a blue streak and kicking at the person pulling on me as I twisted to get at the door and out of the car. As one particularly effective kick landed, I heard a harsh "Fuck," and then, "Skylar! Cherie, stop, now!"

I lunged backward, hitting the door hard and stared. It was him. Dr. Tom or whatever his real name was. He was rubbing his leg where I had kicked him. I wailed and spun around, scrabbling for the door handle. When I found it though, it refused to open. If there was a lock, I didn't recognize it as such and even the window control was ignoring me. The man who had grabbed my arm had settled into the front passenger seat and the SUV was making its slow way through the tangle of traffic. No one makes a fast getaway in this city. Not that it mattered. I couldn't get out of the car and the windows were heavily tinted, so even if someone had taken a passing interest in my plight, they wouldn't have been able to see my frantic struggles.

This was so not what I had in mind; not the civilized conversation in a restaurant filled with people. Not even a not so civilized conversation in my apartment, where I at least had the advantage of home turf - and knowing where I kept the cast iron frying pan. This wasn't even the one-on-one confrontation I had envisioned. Who the hell were the two toughs in the front seat?

"Sit," he commanded.

"I am sitting," I snapped, though technically it was on the floor of the car. I heard a soft snicker from one of the men in the front seat.

He rolled his eyes. "On the seat. Like a normal person. Maybe even with a seatbelt."

"'Fraid a cop might stop us?" I challenged, though I did climb onto the seat.

"We need to talk," he said, marshalling his patience.

"Damn right. You can start with your real name."

He shook his head with disdain. "We need to talk about you."

"I already know what my real name is." I raised my chin defiantly.

"You have been very disobedient," he began, as if we were simply taking back up where we had left off.

I scoffed. "You threatened my friends and my family. You put Crystal in the hospital. You stole Jessica's phone."

"And I will see to it that your brother meets with an unfortunate accident if you do not begin behaving." I stared, struck dumb. "You remember your brother, don't you, cherie? Alleged Staff Sergeant Rick Johnson. Actual rank, First Lieutenant. Currently assigned to Special Ops at the forward operating base at Spin Boldak in Kandahar Province." He shook his head ruefully. "Accidents are so common in times of war."

How on earth could this man know more about my brother than I did? Or was he guessing, knowing I couldn't check on whatever he said? But then, I didn't remember even mentioning my brother to him, let alone talking about him at any length. Talking, especially about family, had never been even a small part of our relationship. And I didn't keep info about my brother on my cell phone except when he was in country. He always stayed in a different place and got a new phone when he came back, so I made a habit of deleting the old info when he deployed, so I wouldn't get it mixed up with the new info. It was one of the few good habits I had.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded.

"Obedience. Simple."

"No. I told you. We're through. You said you have other subs or slaves or whatever. Leave me alone. You don't need me."

He smiled cruelly. "And you think you don't need me because you have your French boy-toy? How long before he goes home to his own sub? Or he discovers he has no sub to go home to? Because of his dalliance with you."

"You wouldn't," I gasped.

"I have invested much time and trouble in you, cherie. I am not of a mind to start over."

"What do you mean 'invested' time and trouble. All you did was fuck me!" I exclaimed. Again, there was a snicker from the front seat. I wanted to bash the both of them in the back of the head, though from the looks of them and their thick skulls, it would just be more drama without effect.

He sneered. "You think that was my only interest? If all I wanted was a good fuck, I could have snapped my fingers."

"Then what?" I squeaked, shrinking into the corner of the seat. It had all seemed so straight-forward when I thought it was only about fucking. Now the gaping black hole of the unknown was opening right before me.

He just looked at me. "I had a point to make, and I was making it, until your annoying friends interfered."

My heart was racing, but I just couldn't let it lie. "Your message. To 'come home.' What does that mean?"

"I am your home, now, cherie."