No Losing Haley Read online

  I wasn't going to stop running; yes, I started blowing short but I needed that mercedes driver to tell me what the heck was going on and where's my kid.

  "There's the rascal," I breathed, seeing him skipping between cars on 5th street.

  "You're not going to get away, you!" I bawled, continuing my chase and yes, the cops were behind me.

  It was now my time to cross the street if I was going to keep up with my only clue to finding Haley.

  "Miss, you need to stop and place your hands in the air."

  I looked over my shoulders; it was at least 10 of them, moving warily toward me. Another look toward the other side of 5th street made me realize that this brut was going to get away and then one look to my right... There was this 18 wheeler coming. I needed to cross this street if I didn't want to lose track of the mercedes driver. The horns of the large trailer sounded like a dozen warnings from hell, making my entire body feel electrocuted. I could have felt all the raised hairs on my body. I couldn't lose this bastard.

  "Anything for you, Haley," I breathed. “If I lose you, Haley, then what's the point in living? I closed my eyes. I made my dash for it. I ended up a little over half way across the busy street before falling to the ground. I heard the locking up of air-brakes and the bawling of stubborn tires, obviously working overtime so as not to crush me to a splat like a toad. I rolled my tattered body toward the concrete pavement on the other side of the road.

  Between the wheels of the trailer, which had finally stopped by now, I saw the boots of the officers; they were coming. I hurriedly got up, ignoring all sort of pains.

  Where did he go? I can't make him get away. I continued my chase, through the hustle and bustle of the downtown mall in Williamsburg. He couldn't be too far off. I shook my head as I looked at the dwindling rays of the orange sun, trying to make my dizziness go away. It was going to be pitch dark in the next hour or so.

  "Hey, you! You better gimme my kid back, you hear me?"

  I heard no answer.

  Another glance over my shoulder only showed me unassuming Williamsburg citizens, moving about their own business at the pace of ants before heavy rains. The cops weren't in sight but I knew they were on my trail.

  I continued along the busy corridor of the mall, pushing myself through the hustle and bustle.

  Come on, I know you've got to be somewhere around.

  But wait! I stopped. I held my chin, my eyes in the air. This mercedes driver– it's the same Luozo...whatever his last name was, guy– That identification card I found this morning after Haley was taken. “Yes, that birthmark on his neck, I thought, at first, that it was a scratch on the identification card but it's him – same straight face, same cold brown eyes; he's shaved his mustache and the sides of his head but it's him, the Mexican car dealer,” I mumbled, standing there during my light-bulb moment. “It's the same mercedes my daughter was taken in; I remember the registration plates. Yes, the same run-down white station wagon. That lady kidnapper must have returned the car to him. Maybe they are sharing the same car.”

  I took up a piece of board. “Louzo!”

  No answer.

  “I'm going to kill you if you make anything happen to my daughter, Louzo. I promise.”

  There was still no sign of the mercedes driver.

  “You better come out of hiding, Louzo. I know it's you, you filthy rascal. You and that blond haired bitch better return my daughter, you hear me, Bastard?” I ranted, slamming the piece of board I held, on the railing of the corridor, much to the fear and screams of the patrons of the mall.

  I continued combing through the busy corridors of the downtown mall.

  “Come on, Louzo; you not hiding from me, are you?”

  “Let's make a deal, Louzo.”

  “You're a car salesman, Louzo; you know how to make deals, don't you?”

  “Let's strike a deal, Louzo– you give me my child back, and I won't kill you.”

  I approached the elevator. I saw its red lights changing from GROUND FLOOR TO FIRST FLOOR. Its door then opened up.

  It was him, the mercedes driver.

  “Louzo?”

  “Where's my frigging kid, Moron? What did you do to my daughter?”

  He didn't answer. He just stood there, leaning against the metal wall of the elevator, cold brown eyes wide open.

  I wanted to harm this maniac so badly, I raced toward him, wielding my piece of lumber but he fell to the floor with a brutal thud before I even managed to lay a hand on him. He lay there flat on his back, eyes wide open, staring me while basking in his own pool of blood. And that was when I started screaming like crazy and so was everybody else on the corridor of the downtown mall. His throat had been slashed.

  By now the cops had caught up with me.

  “I didn't do it; I didn't do it, Officers.”

  They looked on the bloody man on the ground and then they looked at me.

  “Ma'am, you need to drop that piece of wood and put your hands in the air.”

  “Officer, I swear, I didn't hurt him.”

  “Ma'am, you must comply or else...”

  “Hell no. I didn't do it.”

  “Lady...”

  “You go find his killer and I'll go find my daughter.”

  They all pointed their weapons at me. “Don't move, Woman!”

  I wanted to comply but I couldn't. Night was drawing nigh and I couldn't fathom the thought of my little girl not home with me. I heard the bell. It was the door of the elevator. I forced myself through the narrow opening while the doors continued closing in.

  The door was now completely shut; one of the officers almost lost his hand had he not pulled it out fast enough. And then their guns started to bark, jerking the metal door of the elevator with bullets.

  “Luckily this thing was well made,” I breathed. “Finally,” I gasped, holding my head.

  I pressed on the down arrow, directing the lift to the GROUND FLOOR. I knew I had to move real quickly because they would be waiting for me.

  The door then opened up.

  “Matt?”

  “Taylor?”

  It was my new found lover, Matt Neilstrong, my daughter's dance tutor. He stood at the exit of the door of the elevator.

  “What are you doing here, Taylor?”

  “Matt, the cops are after me. I've got to get out of here!”

  “Come with me, Taylor.”

  9

  9 am

  The following morning

  “You should be fine now, Honey,” Matt comforted after pulling the sheets from off me. He gave me a kiss on the forehead. I made a stretch, lifting myself to an upright posture.

  Did we do it, last night? Did he touch me?

  My eyes blinked for a moment. It all came back to me now– I had slept the night without my daughter in my arms. This I had never done before, except for the two or three times when I allowed her to visit her dad for a weekend. It was then I remembered how devastated I was. It wasn't a nightmare– Haley was gone for real. I was at Matt's private apartment, somewhere near the Mountains of Jefferson.

  “Tea?”

  “Thanks a lot, Matt.”

  He moved toward the kitchenette downstairs.

  I pulled out my mobile phone and looked at a photo of my daughter.

  “Haley,” I sobbed, “I know you are somewhere out there, Mammy. I'm going to find you. Mommy's going to do anything to find you, Haley. Anything, anything!”

  I was suddenly drawn to this newscast on the television:

  { This is Tim Seycers, live from Virginia Central.

  One of the most bizarre incidents we've seen in our state for a long time. This Mexican used car dealer fell at the door of an elevator in the Downtown Mall, throat slashed, in Williamsburg yesterday evening. Our law enforcement personnel are searching for 28 years old, Taylor Formidi, who could provide crucial information. She may be a possible suspect, a source close to our newsroom informs.}

  “MATT!” I blazed, after hurling this cushion
towards the television set, turning it off.

  “What's it, sweetheart?” he hollered.

  “This is crazy. This shit is so crazy.”

  I held my throbbing head.

  I heard his legs drumming the staircase as he came up.

  My mobile phone suddenly started to vibrate; it was Haley's dad, Martin.

  “WHAT?” I blasted, after pressing the [YES] key on my cellphone.

  “Taylor?” Matt breathed, standing there at the entrance of the room, holding my cup of tea, an eyebrow raised.

  I stealthily tucked my mobile phone into my bra.

  “I didn't do it, Matt. I didn't.”

  “I know you didn't kill that Mexican, Honey.”

  “Drink this,” he hugged.

  “Matt?” I choked out, after taking a sip of his hot vanilla tea.

  He raised a brow, forming creases over his right eye.

  “How do you know he was a Mexican?”

  I gawped him, through the ghastly layers of steam from the hot tea he made me, waiting for him to say something.

  He took a deep breath, running his hand through his curly mohawk. He tilted his head backward, looking up into the ceiling.

  “I didn't tell you that man was a Mexican. How do you know he is?”

  I saw a little palpitation going on right below his lip.

  “ANSWER ME, MATT!”

  His eyes popped wide open and his fingers shook.

  “I remember quite vividly– the elevator in the Downtown Mall came up from the GROUND FLOOR. The door opens up and the Mexican falls out, throat slashed. And, in not more than 4 minutes after, I used the same elevator to make my escape to the GROUND FLOOR and there you were. It was as if you were there waiting all along.”

  His eyes moved toward the chest of drawers to the left of the room.

  “What do you know about the Mexican? What do you know about my daughter's kidnapping?”

  He raced towards his chest of drawers, popping this gun out.

  “MATTT!” I wailed, running from the room.

  I hurriedly made my way down the staircase, wearing only my tee shirt and undies. I was about to make my exit through the front door but it suddenly started to open up. I raced toward the left of the hallway and swiftly tucked myself inside this closet.

  I then heard the drumming of boots on the staircase. Matt was coming down. I made sure my entire body was behind Matt's clothes; the closet door was slightly ajar. This man then walked into the house. He wore a blue pair of jeans and a dark coat. He somehow had this familiar look to him. By now Matt was downstairs, in the hallway. He tucked his gun in the waist of his pants, concealing it from his guest.

  “Oh, man, you've screwed this thing up,” his visitor said.

  “What the shit you expect me to do back there, Man?” Matt held his head in disgust.

  “So, what's next?”

  “The woman's here.”

  The woman? What woman, me? I pondered, from my hiding place, listening to them.

  “Oh, really?”

  “What you doing, Pal?” Matt blurted out, eyes pop opened wide after seeing his visitor smiling bitterly while pointing a gun towards his head.

  “Sorry, Matt Neilstrong, you shouldn't have frigged this up...”

  My whole body shivered to a freeze as I stood there, in the closet, witnessing everything.

  BANG BANG BANG.

  My teeth knocked at each other like those of a pup, rescued from an iced lake as I saw Matt Neilstrong staggering at each spray of the bullets, the floor now embracing his bullet-riddled body, which had been totally decorated with crimson blood.

  “So, the woman is here, huh?” He walked over Matt's body, screwing on a silencer to the tip of his revolver. He disappeared from my line of sight.

  My legs got warm, and wet. I had just peed myself.

  10

  I heard the hammering of his footsteps on the staircase, going up to the room, I would have guessed. I kept staring at the knob of the front door, wanting so desperately to make my escape without being caught.

  How do I pull this off, Taylor? I said to myself, praying to heavens that he wouldn't hear not even a puff from me as my heart throbbed violently against my stomach. My legs seemed to be carrying the weight of the world, I could hardly put a foot forward. I guess that's what fright does to you, huh. My heart ticked faster at each and every clonk of his boots on the staircase as he made his way down. The clonk of his boots became louder, to the point where there's an echo in the hallway for each and every step he made.

  I stealthily pulled the doors of the closet closed. I heard the clop, clop of his boots against the tiles. I could get a glimpse of him through the blinds of the closet. It got darker inside my hiding place, thanks to his shadow.

  Oh no! He's right by the door of the wardrobe. Hell seemed nearer. My head throbbed turbulently as I waited for him to move on.

  There was no light passing through the blinds; he was still standing at the door of the cabinet. I took a deep breath. Is he going to open it?

  I clasped my hands, my head tilted toward the ceiling of the closet, praying silently that he would just move away.

  I then saw the knob of the closet door turning– He was obviously turning it from outside. My eyes flickered uncontrollably with fear as I heard the squeaks of the closet doors. I smelled this familiar funky scent–– as if someone's toes were sweating in shoes. And, to the right of me, on the floor of the closet, there lay a foot of Haley's red boots, the same boot she had on when she was taken. She always had cheesy feet. It's hereditary, they say, from her pop, I would have guessed. I held my mouth with both hands. It was time to push my panic button but the tip of my toe prevented the closet door from being opened any further. I swiftly reached for Haley's boot. I then heard the ringing of his cell phone. I heard the clop, clop of his boots against the tiles as he moved away from the closet door. I breathed a sigh of relief, holding the boot of my missing child very close to my chest. “I miss you, my baby,” I whispered, sobbing. “Mommy's not going to stop until she finds you. Promise.”

  And then I overheard his cell phone conversation:

  “Yes, Grem, you'll get your part of the deal.”

  ________ ________

  “Come on, Grem, I know everything's screwed up. But she's all we've got. You can't make them hurt even a strand of her hair...”

  That had better not be my daughter. From the closet, totally oblivious to him and his caller, I listened on:

  “Grem, I've got your money. Just keep her safe until I get there, ok?”

  “No, Grem, I don't take you for an idiot or a moron. I know you won't hesitate to harm her in the nastiest of ways...”

  ________ ________

  “Alright, listen, Grem, the police are going to come up here to Matt's secret apartment, after finding out what had happened to him up here. So I suggest you... alright, Grem, calm down, I have your cash; it's in my bosom. Listen, you've got to move her from Matt's other house. I have this abandon hut, Forest Hil...”

  Click.

  “Damn it, so disgusting,” he uttered, after apparently finishing his telephone conversation.

  I shivered at every single curse-word he blurted out.

  I then heard the slam of the front door.

  He must have exited the house. With shivering fingers I touched the knob of the closet door, warily pushing it open.

  I stuck my head out, seeing the empty hallway. Well, not quite empty – There lay Matt, on the floor, embraced by his own blood, motionless.

  “I need to get me out of here as fast as I can.”

  I swiftly raced toward the front door, without even much thought, or any at all.

  I anxiously turned the knob, pulling it.

  “EEEEEKKK!” I screamed. My already throbbing heartbeats went into overdrive.

  He was back.

  11

  He stood there at the door. I looked at the mole above his lips. Now I remember where I know him from. He's the of
ficer at the police station– officer Jenkins. But how could he be involved in my daughter's kidnapping? What the heck is this?

  “Oh, there you are, Mother.”

  He had his weapon tucked away but everything about him gave me the spooks.

  “Officer?”

  “You've been a pain in the arse since you came reporting that your daughter's missing.”

  “Where's my kid?”

  He moved his hands toward his bosom. I didn't even bother to wait to see what he was going for, I started whacking his face with Haley's boot. He held on to his bloody face, giving me the much-needed opportunity to make a dash through the front door.

  “Are you crazy, damn it?”

  The engine of his car was running. I hurriedly moved to the driver's door.

  BANG, BANG, BANG!

  The car slouched over its now flat tires, thanks to bullets from his gun.

  “You move and I tear your head open.”

  I stood still.

  “Lady, you've been giving this mission a lot of frigging problems, you know.”

  “What mission, Jenkins?”

  He walked toward me, a hand wiping his bloody face and the other holding his pistol toward my head.

  “We just needed a little cooperation from you.”

  “And what does my kid have to do with this?” I quivered.

  “Hands on your head.”

  “Why is my child taken?”

  “Hands on your FLIPPING HEAD!”

  I jumped at his shout and then I complied, hands on my head.

  My hands started shaking, uncontrollably after feeling the cold tip of his nozzle at the back of my head.

  I heard the click of the trigger. I closed my eyes and I swallowed. I could literally feel my head contracting and expanding at the same time.

  “Wh-a-t -do -you...want?”

  “I know you want to see your little girl again, right?”

  “Ye..s.”

  “Listen, you mess this plan up then I make her watch you getting your head torn off, ok?”

  I nodded.

  “OK?”

  “Yes...ok,” I stuttered, trying to breathe normally.