Authors: D. T. Jones
“Look,” she said a moment later. “There’s a small diner up ahead; nobody will recognize us there and I doubt they have any conveniences other than food and a toilet. If you don’t stop, I am going to get sick.”
“Fine,
alright,” he snapped. “Just shut the hell up.” He pulled the car off the road and headed toward the diner which sat between several smaller buildings, dotting a cliff that looked out over the ocean.
Sandra knew this place, even though she had never been here. She read about a
passage that connected Folkestone England to Coquelles France; a tunnel that went beneath the English Channel that was between 30 and 40 miles long. She was sure that would take them further out of range and make it more difficult for Creighton to find them.
“I’m warning both of you,”
Bachmeier began as the car’s engine shut off. “You make one wrong move and I’ll not only blow your brains out, but everyone around you, understand? I want my money, but I’m not opposed to getting rid of you first. Or maybe just one of you,” he continued, looking directly at Sabrina, who gasped and turned a shade whiter.
“Stop with the threats,” Sandra said quickly so he turned his attention back to her. “We won’t do anything.”
Bachmeier grinned a rotting yellow snarl at her as he stepped out of the car and opened the door Sabrina was chained to, jerking her forward. He unfastened the cuff and tossed his dirty, smelly jacket across the arm that connected them.
“Unfasten that one,” he said, nodding to the hand holding Sandra to the opposite door. “But you’ll stay connected. It’ll be harder to run if you’re stuck together.” Sabrina reached across the seat and unlocked the cuff that held Sandra’s arm secure. He took the small key back and slipped it in his pants pocket; even if Sandra had considered trying to get
it from him, there was no way in hell she was going to touch him there.
“Make your meal quick and don’t talk to anyone. We have a train to catch.”
They walked into the small diner and looked around; it was quaint, decorated in an old sea décor with nets hanging from the corners, boat ores on the walls and life preservers as push handles on the doors. There were ship’s wheels decorating the counter where the register sat, and Sandra forced a smile across her lips, holding Sabrina’s hand under the heavy, smelly jacket.
“’Al
lo,” the young woman said as she walked around from behind the counter. “Three of you?” she asked, taking paper menus. Sandra nodded and forced the smile to remain on her lips as the attractive brunette led them to a table overlooking the English Channel.
“Coffee or tea?” she asked.
“Tea please,” Sandra answered for them, but the girl was stopped by a hand on her wrist from Bachmeier.
“Ale,” he ordered and she frowned for a moment, then nodded as she pulled her wrist free and walked away.
Sandra looked around the room; it was actually a place she would love to visit with Creighton someday, and the thought of her husband made her eyes sting with tears. She had to be strong, she argued with herself. This was not the time to break down and loose her
bottle
as Creighton would say.
She continued to glance around the décor and smiled at the woman sitting on a stool at the counter, a small child about a year old on her knee while another, perhaps two or three, sat next to her eating a bowl of soup.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Bachmeier growled softly, causing Sandra to narrow her gaze on him when she turned her attention back to the menu. The waitress returned a few minutes later to take their orders, standing closer to Sandra’s side of the table to avoid the smell of the man across from her. Sandra asked for the fish stew, knowing it would cause her to become nauseated later and hopefully give her another reason to stop; as Bachmeier ordered a steak dinner with all the trimmings. Sabrina shook her head, but consented to the stew along with Sandra when her hand was squeezed by the woman tethered to her.
They ate in relative silence,
while Sandra forced herself to act normally. She had managed to get Bachmeier to pass her the key to the cuffs after the waitress served their meal, insisting that they couldn’t eat with their hands tied; unless he wanted people to look at them when they spilled their food all over the table.
She felt stronger after the meal of stew and homemade bread, but she still had not come up with an idea to help get
them out of this. There had to be a way of getting in touch with Creighton, she just had to find it. She looked around the room and spied the bathrooms; perhaps she could figure something out in there.
“We’re leaving,” Bachmeier said; it was now or never.
“I have to use the loo,” Sandra said, snatching Sabrina’s hand and squeezing it again.
“Me too,” she said suddenly, the first two words she had spoken since this all began.
“No,” he told them.
“Would you like a different kind of mess in the back seat?” Sandra asked with a snide tone to her voice.
“Fine, but hurry up.” Sandra stared at the man across from her; she was expecting more of an argument from him. As though reading her mind, he smiled that horrid grin at her.
“You’ll behave,” he assured her, glancing to the woman and her children who now spoke to the cook
; obviously his wife and family. He held the younger child in his arms as he leaned against the backside of the counter, bouncing him on his hip and smiling.
“If you don’t, then everyone will pay the price,” Bachmeier continued
in a low voice. “Starting with them.” Sandra narrowed her gaze at the man again, but said nothing as she took Sabrina’s hand and walked to the opposite side of the room. They passed the register and she glanced over her shoulder as the waitress arrived to clear the table, watching the lustful grin the man gave the girl. His eyes were off them for a moment and without thinking she just reacted, snatching the pen from the small basket on the top of the counter near the register.
She slipped the pen inside her sleeve with a single hand movement and continued on their way to the bathroom. Once inside, Sabrina nearly collapsed to the tiled floor, shaking like a leaf.
“Stay with me,” Sandra insisted. “We don’t have much time. Go use the toilet and wash your face.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked in a sobbing tone.
“Get control of yourself,” Sandra snapped, wrapping her hands on the girl’s shoulders and shaking her slightly to gain her attention. “Did you recognize anything he was saying on the phone?”
“Only that we are supposed to be meeting someone in France and that we are going to be ransomed off for fifteen million euros.”
“Stay alert,” she said with a tight clenching of her jaw. “I don’t know who was on the other end of that phone, but I’ll bet it wasn’t Creighton. Go use the toilet, we don’t have much time.” Sandra stepped into one of the two stalls and locked the door, sitting down on the porcelain object. She looked around her; there was the stall door she could write a note on, but that may take hours if not days before anyone was to see it and by then…she shook her head to dismiss the thought and reached for the toilet paper. She thought about writing a note of help on the tissue, but like all public restrooms, it was too flimsy.
The sound of the toilet next to her flushed and she heard the door open and the water begin to run at the sink. The sound of a paper towel being ripped from its holder gave he
r the idea she had been looking for. Sandra quickly finished up and hurried to the sink, ignoring the need for hygiene as she took the paper towel and quickly scrawled a note, folding it small and tight and putting it in her pocket. She slipped the pen back inside her sleeve and looked at Sabrina who was very ashen.
“I need your help,” she whispered so no one outside the room could hear them. “When we go out to pay, I need you to distract him just for a moment so I can get this note to the waitress. Sabrina shook her head, her eyes wide with fear.
“You have to help me,” Sandra ordered, taking the girl by the shoulders again. “If we can get a message to Andrew, he can contact Creighton. Together they can find a way to rescue us, but I need your help. Please?” she begged, watching the younger girl try to regain her composure and nod softly.
They stepped out of the bathroom to find Bachmeier waiting nearby for them. Sandra reached in her back pocket and removed her wallet, but before she could pull her credit card out, he snatched the leather object from her and opened it. Without thought or hesitation, she took her old Visa card with her maiden name on it from her wallet, along with her U.S. driver’s license. She turned back to the young brunette who was joined by the cook; an obvious display of protection for the girl’s part since Bachmeier had been making eyes to her and watching her every movement.
Sandra glanced to Sabrina who understood and stepped behind Bachmeier as though to leave the building. He caught her movement and took two steps toward her, capturing her by the wrist. Quickly, Sandra slipped the note from her front pocket and held it beneath her credit card. When the waitress reached for the card, she held it tight, locking eyes with her.
The
y stared at each other for a moment until the girls fingers slid across the paper towel held tightly to the bottom of the card. Sandra rolled her eyes toward the dirty smelling man holding Sabrina by the wrist, looking back to see the girl nod very slightly. She took the note and slipped it in her own pocket then slid the card through the machine.
“Hurry up,” Bachmeier snarled, turning back to Sandra who took the piece of paper and signed her name, watching as he grabbed the receipt and stared at it before tossing to back to the waitress. Sandra took her card and ID and glanced at the girl
before leaving, noticing her hand slip into her pocket.
“I need
petrol,” Bachmeier snarled as he pushed Sabrina into the car and quickly fastened her to the door. He looked to Sandra and actually stared for a moment as she refastened the cuff to her sister-in-law’s wrist. Closing the door, he walked to the opposite side and jerked the passenger door opened.
“Give me your card,” he ordered and after Sandra hande
d it to him, he grabbed her wrist very roughly, pulling it so Sabrina was stretched out across the small length of the seat as he fastened Sandra’s free wrist to the door.
“Stay calm, we’re going to get out of this,” Sandra whispered
after he slammed the door closed and walked to the driver’s side. Sabrina didn’t say anything as the car roared to life and peeled out of the stall in front of the diner. Sandra glanced through the back window, noticing the cook who stepped out of the building, a pen and paper in his hand as he wrote down something as they drove away.
Bachmeier stopped at a gas station a few yards away from the restaurant and stepped out, sliding her card through the device on the pump and quickly
shoving the hose into this gas tank as he began filling the car.
“What are we going to do?” Sabrina asked in a shaky, fear filled tone.
“You’re going to stay behind me as much as you can and let me take the lead,” Sandra answered, feeling much braver, certain the cook had written down the license number of the car. She looked out the side window beside Sabrina and frowned, seeing the man on his phone again.
“What did you write on that paper towel?”
“Just a message of help,” she whispered. It was now a waiting game and one she hoped they would win.
Nightfall was far from being the cheerful experience he had anticipated. The house sitting outside the kitchen window was dark and quiet and filled with memories of laughter and happiness. His eyes hurt from all the tears he had shed, his throat was dry with fear and his head ached from thoughts that had been rattling inside it. The puppy sniffed around the corners of the quiet kitchen as Creighton sat at the counter, a cup of cold coffee in his hands. The old hound dog lay on the rug beside the kitchen door watching to make certain the new dog didn’t invade too much of his domain.
William had been taken to the hospital and had his arm mended, though the bullet did chip his shoulder, it was a clean wound. His mother
was given a tranquilizer and sent to bed and Andrew had taken Bachmeier’s dirty bag to forensics for inspection. So far they had learned that he was the one who killed the chickens; the bloody rag he used to write the notes on the barn was tucked inside along with a list of times and events that led up to his taking the girls. He had detailed the vandalism and break in at the warehouse, including the times and names of the kids he had hired to do the job. He had the key for a cheap motel he had been staying at in London and photos of the family; Derek’s kids, Sandra, Sabrina, even Clark, all detailing their daily activities.
There was no mention of Stone or Darby as Andrew was now calling him,
in the bag or among Bachmeier’s belongings, but there were receipts from his store for the rope, a knife, a bag of crisps and a six pack of beer.
Creighton sighed
as he ran his hands through his hair again. He never thought there would be so many mysteries hiding in a small farming community like this, where every neighbor knew everything that happened. Even as sneaky as Bachmeier was, this seemed far too sophisticated a plan for him to set up alone. The Konrad Bachmeier he knew had very few brain cells left from all the drugs he used, not that he had all that many to start with. There was an odd itch in the back of his mind that was telling Creighton he was missing something, he just couldn’t find an angle that would clear this all up and bring his wife and sister back to him.