Chapter Seven
January 6th, 11:00 PM
Bored, drunk, and looking forward to her time alone with the Mayor's bound, underwear-clad daughter, Sunny wandered down the hallway and up to the door, which the kid had closed despite her repeated orders to leave it partially open at all times. "Damn him," she thought. She liked the guy, and had felt like he had a lot to contribute to this "Fearsome Five," but it was obvious by now that he was kind of dumb. "Oh well," she thought. "What are you gonna do."
She rapped on the wood with the back of her hand. "You guys doing alright in there? It's my turn."
The other side of the door was silent.
"I'm coming in," she announced, turning the handle and pushing the door open.
The chair was in the same place as before. Ropes had fallen in tangled loops near and around its legs. Nothing about the bare, dimly-lit room had changed, and yet everything had: Erin Steele, and the kid, were nowhere to be seen.
"Hey!" Sunny said. "What the fuck?"
She ran toward the chair and bent down to hold the ropes. They had been torn up by clumsy fingers. She grimaced as she looked up at the room's back door and saw it swinging slightly in the cold breeze.
"No," she said, dashing toward the back door, and opening it up to see a vacant white space where the kid's car had once been. "No. No!"
She slammed the door shut and gripped her head in her hands. What the fuck had he done with her? Where did they go? Why hadn't he said anything? Had he betrayed them?
"Hey, what's going on," Todorov said, entering the room. "I just heard the door and..." He paused, taking in the emptiness of the space, the sadness of the ropes bunched around the chair legs, the cold air coming in from the crack in the back door.
"Fuck," he said. "What happened?"
Sunny turned to face him. "They're gone! The kid took her somewhere! Shit!"
A grayness slowly overran Todorov's face. He looked down at the ground. "Fuck."
"I'm calling the boss," Sunny said, removing her phone from her pocket. "I think this mission is fucked."
Todorov gulped. "He's not going to be happy."
"We tried, okay?" Sunny yelled. "Who knew the kid was going to be such a flake?"
Sunny pressed the phone to side of her face. She ran her fingers along her mouth and nose, attempting to regain her composure. "Brent," she finally said. "It's Sunny."
Todorov placed his hands in the pockets of his coat and listened as the drunken blonde's voice grew louder, wilder, and more defensive.
"Fucking I don't know, Brent, okay? Hey, you said... No... You said he'd be a good fit. And I thought so, too... What do you mean... No, we were fucking taking turns... Yeah, taking fucking shifts. I'm not gonna watch the bitch all night... Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Hey, fuck you, Brent, okay? Fuck you. No, I have no idea where he fucking went... No, I'm not going to do that, Brent, the little bastard could be anywhere... Yeah... You think so? Fucking cops?... Alright, fine. Fucking fine. We're leaving... You want someone to stay? And just who do you think would volunteer for that, with the cops coming, huh?... Yeah, I'm drunk, so what, you stay here for days and keep yourself fucking entertained... No, fuck you... Okay, fine. I'll ask Steve. Yeah. Yeah. Alright. Sure. Brent, fine. Fuck you, bye."
Sunny dropped the phone to her side and looked at Todorov, who was now grinning.
"And what's so fucking funny, huh?"
Todorov snickered. "I don't know."
"He wants us to leave. Take shelter for a while, regroup, and think of a new plan. But he wants one of us to stay, in case, you know, the kid comes back. So I'm gonna ask Steve."
"I'm sure he'll have nothing to say about that," Todorov laughed.
"Fuck!" Sunny screamed. "Fuck! How could we fuck this up?"
Todorov shrugged.
On to Chapter Eight
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