Torn in Two Read online

  “That’s good. Now walk to me.”

  As Emma approached the lady, being careful to maintain her walk, her posture, and her confidence, the lady retrieved a small bottle from her handbag. It was the latest perfume, the same one that the lady was wearing herself.

  “Eyes closed.” The lady sprayed three times. Once on Emma’s neckline and once on each of her arms just inside the wrist. “There is one thing missing now. Just one thing that will make or break you. I have done all I can to help you, and as long as you do what I say, you should be fine. But without that one little thing, you won’t last five minutes on your own.”

  “What is it? What am I missing?”

  “Charm,” said the lady.

  “Am I not charming?”

  “No, dear. I have witnessed the transformation from the frightened little girl in her childish pyjamas to the beautiful young lady that stands before me now. I have seen how you wield your power, but I am yet to see how you act in front of those that fall under your spell.”

  “But that man, Darius, I showed him everything. I didn't hide. I let him see me.”

  “And in return?”

  “In return?”

  “Yes, Emma. What did you take from him? Or did you offer him a mental image that I’m sure right now his perverted little mind is busying himself with?”

  “My power. My power grew. I showed him everything I have and, in return, I found my power. You showed me.”

  “That was Darius. He is a sex-starved pervert who would give anything to see you standing there before him as naked as the day you were born. But how about a real man? A man who can have anybody he wants. A man who has more wealth than you can imagine and girls falling at his feet to be with him for just… one… night?”

  The last three words were spoken with precise articulation as if to reaffirm Emma’s position as a novice. A wannabe. As if the lady had such little confidence in her that the sight of a real man would crush her like the child she had left behind.

  “Do you know men like this?”

  The question caused a glimpse of a smile on the lady’s flawless face. The ends of her mouth twitched then resumed the cold pout she seemed to adopt during their little lessons. She stepped closer to Emma, chest to chest. Her three inches height advantage was matched by Emma’s heels, but the lady’s experience put Emma deep into her shadow.

  “I know many men like this. I live for men like this.”

  The lady began a slow circular pace around Emma. Her heels clicked on the floor like the hands of an old clock slowed by age and time itself.

  “And the truth is,” she said, as she came to a stop in front of Emma, “they live for me.”

  She winked once, raising a smile on Emma’s doubtful face.

  “I think it’s time for you to work your charm, Emma.”

  The woman started off down the corridor, leaving Emma staring after her in a combination of admiration, awe, and lust. Her hips swayed from side to side. The rear of her dress revealed flesh enough to entice any red-blooded human being but hid everything that she didn’t offer for free.

  She stopped at another door, a door that Emma had yet to pass through. She called for Darius then turned to face Emma.

  “I’ll be back shortly, Emma. I’ll introduce you to some people that could change your life forever. Play your cards right and this could be your lucky break.”

  A perverse-looking Darius slid from the stairwell in the corridor. His small, weak hands held one another as if searching for something to do. But his eyes needed no prompting for amusement; they studied Emma with unabashed delight.

  “Darius?” The lady’s voice was authoritative and commanding. He paused his leer, adopted a reproachful look, and raised an eyebrow in expectancy. “Lock Emma away. Keep her safe. I’ll be back shortly to collect her. If you touch her or hurt her in any way, I’ll see to it that you never walk these corridors again.”

  The woman winked at Emma then pushed through the doors, taking any life or soul from the room and leaving only Emma, Darius, and the agonising misery of solitude.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Both Alan and Mr Saint stood when Frankie entered the lounge like fathers in a maternity waiting room. A casual glance confirmed they had done as he had requested. The maps were on the wall marked with the locations described during the interviews and the photos were labelled with the names of each individual.

  Pulling back the blind, Frankie peered into the front driveway where he found his Peugeot alongside a small, blue Renault SUV with a dented wheel wing and a Range Rover. He marked the Range Rover as Mr Saint’s and assumed the small SUV was the type of car that a family might rent to get around town on holiday. A Range Rover would be frivolous, a needless expense that didn't quite suit Alan’s personality. The bank of reporters were out of sight, blocked by the large gate and a thick row of trees that lined the front wall.

  “Thank you for bringing my car inside.” Letting the blind fall back into place, Frankie turned his attention to the map. “And thank you for the help. This is very useful.”

  A clink of glass and the sound of liquid being poured caught Frankie’s attention. At the kitchen island, Sharon was pouring a large glass of wine. She ignored the stares and sank half the drink before she looked up at the three men.

  “What are you three staring at? Have you never seen a mother who’s lost her child before?”

  Nobody spoke until she had finished the glass and poured herself a refill.

  Busying himself with the local map, Frankie found the locations each of the parents had discussed: the beach where Sharon and Emma had been when Christos had turned up with the flower, the restaurant they had eaten in, and the row of shops that Alan had visited to inquire about the boat trip. A larger map had been fixed to the wall beside the local map. It showed a wider view of the area and included Athens to the north. A sticky note had been placed beside Kolanaki, an affluent area of the capital where Sharon’s friend lived.

  “Alan, you told me the police performed a search of the local area. Can you show me exactly where on the local map?”

  Pulling a marker from his bag, Frankie followed Alan’s direction and drew a line around the small township that occupied the bay. The roads were in grid format with a clear delineation of the search being the east to west road that ran into the mountains.

  “So they basically searched east to west of the town and stopped at this main road here?”

  “Yes. There’s not much past the road anyway. I drove up there myself a few times, you know, just in case. But I guess it’s the industrial part of town. A few commercial units, run down and tatty. It’s not a place I imagine the government wants the tourists to see. Besides, most of the units looked empty. There were some larger houses up further on, closer to the next town.”

  “It used to be a thriving part of the town.” Getting involved for the first time, Mr Saint offered his local knowledge. “When I was a boy, my father used to take me there. The view across Varkiza is beautiful. You can see across the bay and for miles out to sea.”

  “I’ll need to take a look.”

  “Where else will you look? I mean, where will you start? It’s been four days now.”

  “I’ll start up there. Are you able to give me a list of businesses that operate in a two-mile radius of this area, Mr Saint?”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them. I want to know what each business is and who owns it. Nothing more for now, thanks. Alan, did the police go door to door on this street?”

  “Of course. That was the first thing they did.”

  “Did anyone have anything to report?”

  “No. Nothing as far as I can recall. It was the middle of the night.”

  “People do not like to talk to the police, Mr Black,” said Mr Saint.

  “Even when there’s a missing person?”

  “Things do not work like that here. It is better to not answer the door.”

  “So we have no eye witnesse
s?”

  Alan and Mr Saint exchanged glances. Sharon took another mouthful of wine.

  “Alan, what time did you go to bed that night?” asked Frankie.

  “I don’t know. Nine or ten?”

  “And Emma was asleep when you went to bed?”

  “Yes. She was tired from the day on the beach. I think she had a little sunburn.”

  “So we have a window of time between nine p.m. to eight a.m.? Is that correct?”

  Checking his wife’s reaction, Alan nodded. “Yes. That sounds about right.”

  “Are we sure?”

  Alan shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Listen, people. We have an eleven hour window for people to get in, grab Emma, and get out. I need you to be sure before I go out there and start upsetting people.”

  “We’re positive, Frankie.” Sharon spoke as she poured the third glass, leaning on the counter with one hand as if it could help her carry the burden of loss.

  “Thank you. Can anyone run me through these photos?”

  Stepping forward to help where he could, Mr Saint offered a fat, tanned index finger to the wall.

  “This is Emma.”

  He spoke the words in a heavier accent than before, but they were enunciated with what sounded like pride.

  “May I ask why you’re here?” Frankie asked him. “How did you come to be involved?”

  “He’s helping us, Frankie. Don't start interrogating him now.”

  “This isn’t an interrogation. I just like to get my bearings. Understand the lie of the land.” Staring up at Mr Saint, Frankie searched for some kind of signal in his eyes. At six foot one, Frankie rarely stood in anybody else’s shadow. But standing beside Mr Saint for the first time gave him a feel for his size and power. “You understand, Mr Saint? This is not a questioning.”

  “Of course. I have done nothing but help. It is in my nature to help. I grew up in the city of Athens. We were very poor, as were our neighbours. Everybody was poor. It was nothing to be ashamed of. It was life. Everybody helped everybody. That is what we do, Mr Black. That is how we survive.”

  “And what drew you here? To the Fletchers? In the past six months, more than fifty people have been reported missing in Athens and the surrounding towns, more if you include those who had nobody to report them missing. Why this case? What’s so special about the Fletchers?”

  The giant of a man softened, bringing his hands up to gesture as he spoke. It was as if he could not utter a single word without the aid of his hands.

  “Ah, Mr Black, as I told you, I have been to the bottom of the world. I have searched through piles of other people’s trash to find food and I have risen to the top. If I cannot use that to help others now, I will have to question myself. Do I really deserve this wealth? Am I enough of a human being to carry this burden?”

  “So why hire me? Why not hire a team of professionals?”

  “My heart is often larger than my cash flow. For that, I have apologised. I am a wealthy man but cannot fund a campaign without some kind of cap. I do not keep my wealth in Greece, Mr Black. The Greek banks do not play by the same rules as other parts of the world. Therefore, we needed somebody good. A single person with a flawless track record.”

  “And how did you come to hear about Emma? Do you have sources anywhere?”

  The large man waved his hand at Emma’s photo.

  “Mr Black, when you see a girl like Emma on your TV screen, you are captured by a powerful force. But when the reporter tells you she is not only missing, but that she went missing while she was on holiday here in my country, on my land...” He raised his fist to his heart in a symbol of honour then glanced across at Alan and Sharon before turning back to Frankie. “We have to find her, Mr Black. We have to find her before it’s too late.”

  The sight of such a large man offering so much heart struck Frankie as over-zealous, so much that the thought must have shown in his expression.

  “We are a proud people, Mr Black. For all our misgivings, we have but one thing. Fire in our hearts.”

  To Frankie’s left was the wall with the photos. Below Emma was the face of a young boy, tanned, innocent, yet mischievous in his smile.

  “Is this Christos?” Gesturing at the wall with a flick of his head, Frankie moved the big man on. But Sharon cut in, keen to regain some kind of control and no doubt fuelled by the three glasses of wine.

  “Yes.” She appeared helpful in her words but fearful in her expression. “Please. He is just a boy.”

  “I’ll go easy on him.”

  Frankie checked his watch. It was eleven a.m. The day was still young. Frankie was about to continue with his orders and announce his plans when the front door opened behind him.

  Bright sunlight burst through the doorway and lit the walls of maps and photos.

  He turned to find a young woman with dark hair and flawless skin closing the door behind her. She wore a stylish, sleeveless summer dress and a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun from her face. On her feet were wedges that provided her a few extra inches of height and presented her tanned legs as two bronze statues.

  It wasn’t until she spoke that Frankie realised he was staring with his mouth ajar.

  “You must be Frankie Black. May I call you Frankie?”

  “Of course.”

  A moment of silence passed, each of them reading the other. But, for Frankie, it could have been an hour, or an entire day. He was lost in a temporary moment of wonder that was broken by the gravelled tones of Mr Saint.

  “Frankie, this is Sophia. She is my daughter.”

  Offering his hand to shake, Frankie stepped into her space, taking the time to admire her flawless features.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sophia. Are you helping with the investigation?”

  But it was Mr Saint who spoke once more.

  “For the remainder of your trip here in Athens, Mr Black, Sophia will be your partner.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The reflection in the mirror was somehow darker than it had been when the lady was in the small room with Emma. Maybe the initial effect of the dress was wearing off. Maybe all Emma saw now was the girl she’d left behind masked in makeup and a pretty frock.

  In place of the lady’s perfumed scent was the damp smell of decay and shadow. And in place of the lady’s alluring tones was the heavy, lustful breathing of Darius who peered through the observation slot in the door, waiting to catch a glimpse of her.

  She felt the power like a rush of energy beneath her skin, awakening her senses and warming her loins. She felt its seed growing.

  With her back to the door, Emma reached behind her and found the zip of her dress.

  Should she?

  It would be another demonstration of her control, of her power, but with only herself to witness it. The lady had spoken of other men and of opportunity. Emma would need confidence, but without the reassuring presence of the lady, perhaps it would be a step too far.

  The heavy breathing stopped. Darius’ presence remained, held in an agonising moment of hope and lust.

  She had to.

  She had to prove to herself that she was strong enough. She had to develop her power.

  Closing her eyes, Emma dissociated herself from the cold room, the shadows, the bare bulb light that hung above, and the grim, painted brick walls stained with stories never to be told.

  She kicked off her shoes and stepped bare foot onto the cold, hard floor and let her mind take her to someplace far away, someplace in her future. It was a future that had been earned with her power. It was perhaps the place she was meant to be.

  But it was no longer dirty and uninviting. The floor was marble, smooth and solid beneath her feet. Her toes flexed, savouring its touch.

  Around her, the walls were lined with arched windows and light drapes of the purest white danced in the gentle breeze, flexing and bowing with each breath of sea air as if they swayed to some unseen song.

  The space around her was filled with a wond
rous light and the ceiling was so high she could barely make out the intricacies of the paintings that adorned it. In the centre of the room was a pool, a bath perhaps, Roman, like Emma had seen in countless movies. In her mind, she stepped to the edge, her toes breaking the peaceful serenity of the water, disturbing its calm and sending ripples of life to the far edge and back again.

  A sharp intake of breath. Not her own. But of the man from whom she sought her power.

  Her soft smile cracked her parched lips and her mind returned to the room in her imagination. Behind her stood not the perverse and leeching eyes of a depraved individual, but a kind man, men perhaps, under her spell. Weakened by her power.

  The zip came down with ease and the cool breeze touched the skin on her bare back.

  The power returned.

  There was a new warmth beneath her flesh that had grown familiar, a sensation Emma related to her power. And as the thin, red straps fell from each of her slender shoulders, the breeze found her exposed flesh bringing a tightness, spreading sensation, hardening her chest and increasing the sensitivity, spreading the warmth as the smooth satin teased at her hips.

  Then, with a triumph of power, a moment of control, Emma summoned every ounce of strength in her heart. Her desire to be strong. Her desire to wield the power that the lady had found within her.

  She let the dress fall to the floor.

  A moment of the purest delight paused at its zenith as Emma raised her arms to her sides. She upturned her hands in welcome and envisaged the room in her mind. Her toes pointed and sank into the hot water. She lowered herself on unseen steps until the tiny waves licked at her behind and the steam filled the air around her.

  Deep under her power, the men held towels and gowns. They looked on with admiration, desire, and ambition. Emma turned to face them, to face Darius, but with her eyes closed.

  His soft exhale was all she needed to hear.

  But deep and warm as the sensation was, and though her knees trembled with the power, there was a hunger. A hunger she had felt with the lady. A touch. Like her body begged to be touched, to be caressed. To be held.