A Place Where There Is No Darkness

Seven

“Be quiet,” I whispered sharply into the cold. My breath fogged up the air and dissipated somewhere over my head. Winter was definitely well on its way.

Mitchell, crouching next to me and looking for all the world like a collected, well-trained agent, even though I knew he was freaking out inside – because I was, too –, frowned at me and rolled his eyes. “I know how to hide. I’ve done it before, remember? The Elite can’t be that much different.”

I shook my head, smiling at how little he understood, still, after eleven days, eighteen hours and forty-nine minutes’ worth of research. “We aren’t hiding from the Elite,” I informed him casually. “They’ll find us either way. We’re hiding from everyone else.” Namely guards, the police or any innocent passersby who noticed a suspicious-looking couple just standing around in the cold.

It had been almost twelve days since my escape from prison and I had yet to feel freer than before. Instead of the relief I had been expecting and hoping for, a new, unknown sense of dread was building in my stomach. For the first time, I was taking on the Elite. And for the first time, Willy’s life was so directly on the line.

The captain had lent me a few of his agents – amongst them Frank, who only with his presence always managed to make me feel better – and ordered us to come up with a strategy for the mission, as he insisted on calling it. We’d had enough time to form a plan that wasn’t half bad, the problem being, of course, that not half bad wasn’t nearly good enough for the Elite. But no one seemed to care about that and after a while I stopped reminding them. As far as I was concerned, the only thing that mattered was getting Willy out. Once I managed that – and I would –, I could care less if the FBI wanted to get themselves killed in the most brutal way imaginable.

Now, days later, I was crouching next to Mitchell behind an old dumpster in front of the prison fence and waiting for someone to show up. Which they would, sooner or later. Too soon, if you asked me.

“Why do you always have to be so irritable?” Mitchell complained. “Like I did anything to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, if you want to blow this mission before it even begins, be my guest. Just go do it somewhere else. I’m not going back to prison and letting my brother die because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut and someone found us.”

I knew he wanted to retaliate, but he bit his lip and stayed silent. Good, I was getting better at reading him – if only very slowly.

The minutes dragged on by, until I heard a car honk abruptly behind me. Like it would, for example, if someone had jumped into the street unexpectedly. I wanted to whip around to the sound immediately, but I was already too late. Something hard was pressed into my back and I felt Mitchell next to me go stiff. Then there was a voice. A voice I thought I recognised, but I prayed I had somehow made a mistake.

“Do not move and do not look over your shoulder … Good. Now stand up slowly. No sudden moves, I’m warning you.” Once I was standing, the guy behind me patted me down awkwardly with one hand, his other one still pressing the hard object – a gun, obviously – into my back. I saw Mitchell go through a similar procedure, then something behind me jerked.

“All good,” the man said and the one behind Mitchell responded, “Here also.”

“Great,” the former one spoke again. It bothered me that I couldn’t see either of the men, but I didn’t dare turn my head enough to get them into my field of vision, so I waited patiently for someone to speak again. I didn’t have to wait long. “Now let’s move. Walk slowly down this street. There is a house at the end of it. Enter it.”

I made my first step, but the man gripped my arm and pulled me back roughly, letting my ear rest right next to his mouth. “Oh, and don’t forget to smile.”

I fought for a neutral and relaxed expression as Mitchell and I were herded down the sidewalk to an old-looking house with a dull grey façade and a huge, green door. There weren’t many people in the street and the ones that were didn’t notice anything suspicious about our little group. With the Elite, they never would. Not until it was too late.

My steps were slow and careful, and still we were at the house much too quickly. A hand reached out from behind me and settled on the handle of the door. The gun pressed more urgently into my back.

“Up the stairs, first door on the left.”

I entered. The interior of the house was no less dull than the exterior. There was no decoration on the walls, no photos, cards or paintings. Even the lights were, in many cases, nothing more than bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

If this was a hotel, which it seemed to be, it had probably seen better days.

Up the stairs we went and into the first room on the left. I heard the door lock behind me and I knew that was my cue. I turned around and let my eyes roam over the room and the people in it. The other guy, the one who had kept Mitchell in line, didn’t matter at all. I didn’t know him, which meant he was new, which in turn meant he wasn’t very high up the proverbial ladder. Three years weren’t long enough for anyone to get anywhere, not with the Elite.

So I moved my gaze over to the man pointing his gun at me. Unfortunately, it was exactly who I’d been expecting.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Marc.”

He grinned wickedly back at me, his yellow teeth showing in a most unpleasant way, and I suddenly felt my heart pounding fiercely against my chest. His greying hair was combed back; his black eyes had taken on an excited glint. He was a man of maybe forty or forty-five years, during which time he had proven himself to the organisation over and over again. Now he was entrusted with the most important tasks. Like picking me up and bringing me to them.

“Hello, Ella. Long time, no see, right?”

I knew what he wanted me to do. It amused him to no end. I hated entertaining him like this, but considering Willy’s fate depended – amongst other things – on his good mood, I swallowed my repulsion and smiled.

“Yes. Three years, six months, seventeen days and twenty-one hours.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Never ceases to amaze me.”

Mitchell, who had still been standing with his back to us all, slowly turned around. I cringed inwardly, knowing the hard part of the conversation was on its way. This was it – this would determine if Mitchell lived or died. More importantly, it would determine what the Elite was going to do with Willy and me.

“So,” Marc began casually, almost pleasantly, but I saw his grip on the trigger tighten. “Who’s this, then?”

“This is Mitchell,” I told him, trying to sound calm and collected. “He helped me escape. He’s been looking for a way into the Elite for years.” I shrugged. “Thought I at least owed him a chance.”

Marc let his eyes glide over the agent. He took in everything, deeply engrossed in his task. How simple it would be, I thought, to escape now that no-one’s attention was on me. I could overpower Marc first, then the other guy and then run away, shut the door, not look back. Ever. I could escape to another country, somewhere safe and quiet where no one knew me, and I could start a new life as someone else.

Of course, that someone else wouldn’t have a brother anymore. Which wasn’t even a choice. Besides, I had a tendency to underestimate the Elite. With them, nothing was ever as easy as simply running away. They would hunt me down. Find me. Kill me, if they were in a good and forgiving mood.

One moment, Marc was captivated by his task. Silence reigned. And then everything happened in a single heartbeat. Next thing I knew, Marc had his arm wrapped painfully around my neck, pressing his cold, hard gun into my temple. The other man did a similar thing to Mitchell, but the FBI agent still had enough air to talk, while mine was cut off completely.

Great. Couldn’t it have been the other way around?

I choked and choked, trying in vain to find a small opening somewhere, a little part of my throat that hadn’t been squeezed completely closed. There was nothing. Time stopped, my eyes burnt. I heard Mitchell yell, “Hey, what’re you doing?” somewhere in the distance, but it didn’t really register.

Black spots danced in front of my eyes and before long they took over, covering everything in oozing darkness.

And then, nothing.

***

My head throbbed viciously. I hadn’t felt such pain for a long time. Maybe I would have groaned, but my throat felt like someone had shoved burning coals down it. I had no idea how to utter a word. Additionally, I had no idea where I was, what was happening or, most importantly, what time it was. No clue. It could have been the middle of the night or midday for all I knew.

The only thing I really could do was open my eyes. They burned and teared, but it was worth the effort, because with my surroundings, everything else came back, too. I knew exactly where I was – lying on the floor of a motel room. I also knew what had happened. The time was still a bit unclear, but I was on a good way of discovering that, too.

“Boss, she’s waking up,” a voice said. I turned and found the unknown Elite agent leaning over me. Marc was on the other side of the room, Mitchell kneeling in front of him, head down, shoulders hunched. At the words he looked up, though, and I saw a bruise already starting to form on his face. He had been punched, maybe more than once.

But, other than that, he looked alright. Or, more importantly, he looked alive, which was more than I could have asked for.

Marc also glanced towards me and for a second, I was the centre of attention in the room. I slowly, painfully sat up and Marc nodded.

“No problem. I was done here anyway.” He looked down at Mitchell. “From what I can tell, he checks out.”

“Of course he checks out,” I croaked, reaching a hand to my burning neck. This sucked. But I had to get myself together. This was no time for mistakes. “What did you expect from me? A fraud? I’ve looked into him myself.”

“Oh, and you think we would have just taken your word for it? After all the s**t you’ve pulled?”

“Well, you could have at least asked me. No need for dramatic acts like this one. I’m going to be sore for days after this.”

“Sorry if I hurt your pretty little body, but I needed some one-on-one time.”

“You could have told me to wait outside.”

He shrugged. “This was easier.” Then his mouth spread into a god-awful grin and I cringed on the inside. “And way more fun.”

I knew I should be offended, deeply, but there was no space for emotions like that in a situation like this. So I pushed everything down, including the pain in my throat and the ache in all the muscles of my body, and stood up. Two guns were immediately aimed at me so lifted my hands placatingly and wobbled over to a couch in the middle of the room, where I sat down. Marc obviously deemed the place a good one for his two hostages to be, because he turned back to Mitchell and gestured with his gun for the agent to join me.

Soon enough, we were both seated on the old, brown cushions, with both of the men stood before us, pointing their guns.

I leaned in a little, breathed two words in Mitchell’s ear, “You okay?”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, saying back, “You?”

I bobbed my head, too. Marc looked from one to the other and back and then grinned. “Awww,” he teased. “How cute. I would love to let this play out, but unfortunately, we have to get down to business.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He offered it to me and I slowly reached for it, curious but wary at the same time. With the Elite, nothing ever came for free.

Sure enough, Marc was careful to quickly pull the paper out of my reach right before I was able to touch it. He chuckled, shaking his head. “Never gets old.” Then he sobered up. “This is the address of the warehouse. You’re going to drive there on your own. A car is waiting for you downstairs.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a set of car keys and pitched them rudely at Mitchell, who, in spite of the crudity of the throw, plucked the flying object expertly out of the air. Marc seemed flustered for just a moment, then he had his mask back in place. “I hope you know how to drive,” he said to Mitchell, “because as far as I remember it, she doesn’t. Though, actually, I don’t really give a damn. You two get there any way you see fit. I don’t care, as long as I’m not seen in the streets with a fugitive.” He winked as though he had said something amusing. I didn’t laugh.

“Orwell awaits you tomorrow morning at eight. You can stay over at the warehouse tonight or you can arrive tomorrow, but don’t be late, or–“

“I know, I know,” I grumbled, tired of hearing the same old threats over and over again.

He made to hand me the paper again but pulled it back one more time. “Also, don’t run into any cops. I would hate for this little story to end before it even begins. But rest assured, your brother would hate it more.”

“I told you I understand.”

“Good.” He handed me the paper. “I hope I will be seeing you.” His lips once again spread into a grin and he even went for a little bow. I rolled my eyes exasperatedly and turned my back to him.

The door opened and closed behind me. I looked at Mitchell, who smiled for the first time in a long time. Maybe for the first time since I knew him. He was thinking the same thing as me – this had gone better than expected. I unfolded the paper in my hand, fully expecting a trick, a sick joke, but the address was there, the letters winding up and down in Marc’s sloppy handwriting.

I looked up at Mitchell, who was still smiling, and I allowed myself to smile back.