The Meeting

Chapter 23 - Locked up

I must have passed out at some point because, as I open my eyes slowly against the harsh light, I realize I’m definitely not in the back of a van anymore. There’s also the possibility that I died and this is heaven, but I don’t think heaven comes with wrist restraints and a bullet in the leg.

I squeeze my eyes closed against the spot light that shines on my face and, as my eyes adjust, I can finally make out that I’m inside a cold, stone room. A grating sound comes from a sliding window in the only door and I see some eyes looking in at me for a couple seconds before closing it again. I hear muffled voices outside the room followed by deathly silence, except for an echoing dripping sound coming from behind me.

Where am I? It almost looks like I’m in a prison cell, from what I can see. I shift slightly on the uncomfortable, heavy, wooden chair to look around a little more and my leg stings profusely in protest. Okay, no moving unless absolutely necessary.

I hear voices outside the door again, but can’t make out any of the words. I sigh, tilt my head back against the high wooden back, and close my eyes to concentrate on the sounds of their voices.  

Drip…..drip……drip.

I scan the ceiling for the source of the annoying sound, trying not to move my leg in the process, but I see no pipes or holes to account for the dripping. I do, however, see something splattered up over the door. The giant light shining from the corner of the room glares into my eyes and it takes me a couple of seconds to allow my pupils to adjust. The wall comes into focus and I see red stains down the wall and a large, dried circle of it on the floor.

My pulse quickens and I start to hyperventilate a little. Even though I can tell the stain is old, I know that there’s only one thing it can be. Blood.

I pull my wrists against their restraints, hoping that I might be able to break myself free, but they feel secure and I slump back again, feeling defeated. Will they kill me? If this has anything to do with Miranda, then I wouldn’t put it past her to order her minions to ‘dispose of me’. I swallow hard, but my mouth is so dry that the action hurts.

There’s a loud clang and I realize that someone’s coming in. The door opens with a deafening creak and a tall man comes in wearing a suit and a blank expression on his face. I hear the clicking of heels and I know who is coming through.

Miranda strides through the door, confirming my thoughts and looking utterly out of place in this dingy room. She signals to the man who stands by the door and he murmurs something into his phone and then closes it with a snap.

Miranda stands before me with steely eyes and a look that could kill, yet she doesn’t say a word to me. My thoughts go a hundred miles an hour in my head, coming up with scenarios of why I’m here and what could happen. I fixate on the most obvious one. She’s using me to get to Damien. She wants his help with something and I’m the way she’s going to get it. Maybe I’ll finally find out what the certain something is.

Another man comes in carrying a tray and puts it down on a small trolley in the opposite corner to the light. I stare at it and my eyes bulge when I see an assortment of scalpels and needles.

“What the hell is this?” I turn to Miranda, whose lips curve into a sinister smile.

“Oh, don’t worry darling. These are for the house doc to fix your leg up. Sorry about that, by the way. He wasn’t supposed to shoot you,” she adds with a smile that just makes me angry.

“You’re not sorry. I’m sure you would have loved to do it yourself,” I respond with disdain in my voice.

“Oh, darling, no I don’t like to get my hands dirty.” She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers at me. “You know how long it takes to get nails this perfect?”