Connor's Gamble (23 page)

“Bethany, you're not evil, you don't need to do this.”

Bethany laughed hysterically at Alyssa's words.  Pacing around to the front of the chair again, she looked at the tripod positioned in front of them.

“Let's record this, shall we?  I really hate to explain things twice.”  She took one step forward and stuck the phone back into place with the homemade clip, tapped a button, and the camera function was recording again.

“Connor Scott has worked for the New Orleans Fire Department for nearly ten years, Alyssa.  You knew that, right?”  At Alyssa's nod, Bethany continued.  “During his rookie year there was a massive fire in an apartment complex.  Arson, according to the official reports. It was a small building with six units.  Three trucks responded to the scene in addition to EMTs.”  Bethany paused, her expression flat with a vague distant look, her eyes dull, empty of all emotion.

There were several beats of silence before she continued her story.  “On this particular run a couple of newbies worked that fire.  All the residents of the complex, were evacuated from the building.  No injuries; nobody hurt.  Captain Jamison, the unit commander, trained his men well.  They worked the fire exactly as they'd been trained, textbook perfect.”

Bethany turned during her monologue, dispassionate and cold as stone.  “Until a section of the roof caved in.  Most of the firefighters had already evacuated from inside the building, and the site was secured.  Print and television media arrived on scene but they were kept back.  Controlled chaos.  That's how one of the reporters described it.”

She turned and walked behind the tripod, flicking her fingers over the attached phone in a nervous gesture before continuing.  “One vet and two newbies remained inside.  They belonged to Captain Jamison—they were his crew—so he went inside.  The blaze was contained; the fire out except for one or two smoldering areas being doused.  Two men came out after Cap went in, but one remained inside.”  Bethany stopped talking, her gaze intent on Alyssa, the bleakness and total lack of emotion in her gaze scary.  “Any guesses who remained inside that building, Alyssa?  Need a hint?”

“Connor.”  Alyssa's whispered response echoed in the eerie quiet.

“Bingo.  Good ole Connor stayed inside when everybody else pulled out.  Stupid rookie mistake.  Cap went looking for him.  Another big chunk of roof collapsed, trapped them both underneath debris.  The fire was controlled, but the roof falling in caused it to flash burn hotter than the pits of hell inside those apartments.”

Bethany paced between Alyssa and the camera. Alyssa never took her eyes off her.  She knew bits and pieces the story. Connor had told her some of it when his nightmares overcame him even years later, but Bethany filled in holes, facts Connor hadn't mentioned. 
Gotta keep her talking.  It'll all be on camera, proof.

“What happened next, Bethany?”

“Firefighters went back in, searching for them.  From the official reports, it took them quite a while before they located Cap and Connor.  Of course, they found Connor first.  Why wouldn't they?  The damn coward had been halfway to the exit when the latest section of roof fell.  Dug him out from under the rubble.  Cap wasn't far away from him so they found him pretty quick, too.”  There was a hitch in her words as her voice broke, finally betraying the first sign of emotion since she'd started her story.

“Cap was a good man—the best captain Station Thirty-Two ever had.  Ask anybody.  He insisted they get Connor out first.  Stupid rookie makes a stupid mistake and he gets rescued first.  Oh, but wait, that's not everything.  He didn't just get rescued first.  No, he was the only one to get rescued.  Cap . . . “

“Oh, no.  Bethany, I'm so sorry.  But surely you realize it wasn't Connor's fault.”  Alyssa tried reasoning with her, knew it was a futile attempt but tried anyway.

“He died!  You don't get it—Cap was the best thing in my life and a stupid newbie without a brain in his head got to live and
my father
didn't!”

Alyssa's brain whirled with Bethany's disclosure. 
Her father?  Connor never mentioned Captain Jamison having a daughter, had he?

Without pause Bethany continued with her rant, her movements erratic, hand gestures flying as she spoke.  “I was sixteen when your ex-husband killed my father.  Everyone up and down the chain of command claimed it was an accident.  He hadn't been inside long enough; his tank should've had enough oxygen.  Quick in and out—carry out the injured man—come back for Cap.  Only it didn't happen.  Place lit back up like a damned Roman candle the minute they pulled Connor clear.”

Bethany glanced toward the table behind Alyssa.  She couldn't see what caught her attention, but something put a spark back into her lifeless eyes.  Instead of dull and emotionless, a fire of excitement burned in her fevered gaze.  She stayed still in front of Alyssa, arms crossed over her chest, her fingertips drumming against her upper arms over and over a rhythmic motion.

“It took them three minutes to control the blaze.  That's all; three minutes.  Such a tiny amount of time you wouldn't think devastation happens so quickly.  Life changing, out of control fate blindsiding your entire life encapsulated in a short one hundred and eighty heartbeats.  Long enough to change my entire life—to create chaos from stability and love.  Three lousy minutes decided who lived and who didn't.  In this case Connor versus Cap—guess who got the short straw, Alyssa?”

Bethany glided past her on silent feet.  Alyssa's heartbeat thrummed within her chest, the beat so fast she mentally fought to keep from hyperventilating. 
What was Bethany doing back there?
She heard rustling, things being moved, the thunk of metal against metal.  Bethany said nothing, and the lack of her voice scared Alyssa more than her spewed words of anger and hatred.

A continual silent prayer ran through her mind. 
Please, God, please help me.  Show me what to do, how to stop her.  And, oh God, please keep Connor away.  She'll kill him if he comes—don't let him find us.  You have to keep him safe.  I . . . I love him still.  Please, please keep him safe.

The words repeated over and over through her mind and heart.  She was terrified of what form Bethany's plans could take but more frightened for Connor than herself.  If he came, if he somehow unraveled whatever twisted messages Bethany sent him—and she was sure Bethany's calls and texts had been to him—he'd be walking into a trap.  Alyssa knew she'd rather die herself than see Connor hurt or killed by this psychopath.

“Bethany?”

“Just one second, sweetie.  I'll get to you.  Busy now,”  Bethany's singsong voice softly murmured, sounding distracted.

Focus Alyssa.  Keep her talking.  The camera's running; it recorded everything she's said for a reason.  I wonder how long video will run on a cell phone?  Somebody's obviously going to see the footage.  Just keep her occupied, off balance, maybe . . .

The snick of metal-on-metal near her ear caused her to jump, though she didn't move far, bound to the metal chair.  The sound was eerily similar to opening and closing scissors, but louder, more forceful.  Pointed sharp shears slid into view in her peripheral vision on the right, the blades discolored and coated in rust, yet still able to open and close with apparent ease.  Snick, snick, each clasp of the handles drew the blades closer to her.  Instinctively she leaned away from the blades, the acrid taste of bile filling her throat as fear bottomed out her stomach.

“No!  Bethany, what are you doing?”

Bethany's laughter echoed from behind her chair.  “Call me Julie.  That is—was—my name.  I legally changed it when I turned eighteen and got out of the wonderful Louisiana foster care system.  Where I'd been placed after your ex-husband killed my father.  Julie Jamison, sixteen-year-old orphaned daughter of Captain Jeffrey Jamison of Fire Station Thirty-Two of the New Orleans Fire Department.”

“Bethany, I mean Julie, you know Connor didn't kill your father.  He was unconscious when the firefighter's carried him out of the apartment building.  Captain Jamison ordered . . .”

“Oh, I know the
official
report states Cap ordered his men to get Connor out first.  That was just like Cap—he was a hero!  But it never should have happened.  He'd never have gone into the building at all if Connor had done his job, evacuated when ordered.  Nope, stupid newbie.  He lived.  Cap died.  Now he pays.  I've made sure he's paid and paid over the last few years—in ways he's just now figuring out.”

Bethany rested the icy cold blade of the hedge trimmers on Alyssa's shoulder, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.  “You figured out the pictures.  Connor with his
girlfriend
.  So simple.  Bachelor party for one of his fellow firefighters.  Just like so many other dumb men, they thought with their dicks instead of their brains and hired strippers.  All I had to do was bribe one of the girls to slip a little something into Connor's beer.  Easy peasy.  When he got a little woozy, it was a piece of cake for us to get him into the office.  The stupid twit happily took photos for an extra hundred bucks to keep her mouth shut.  Connor wasn't even conscious when we took the pictures, and you were so stupid you fell for them, didn't you?  Anonymous pictures to the trusting wife of her unfaithful dog of a husband and before you can say wham, bam, cheatin' man, you dumped his ass.  I couldn't have scripted it better.”

The shears lifted from her shoulder, and Alyssa heard the snick beside her ear.  Locks of hair fell across her shoulder, slithering down her naked breast to fall onto her lap.  She couldn't stop shaking, her scream locked in the back of her throat.

“Maybe I should move on from your hair.”  Another click on the opposite side and more hair rained down across her chest.  Tears fell uncontrolled down her cheeks as a muffled sob escaped through her clenched teeth.

“Pretty little ex-wife.  Will you still be as pretty if I move from your hair to a few slices across your face?”  Bethany snickered as she snapped the blades closed so close to Alyssa's face she could hear the whoosh as the blades clicked together.  “Connor coming back made you so happy, didn't it?  You took him back as though nothing had happened.”

“Because nothing did happen, Bethany, err, Julie.  Connor swore he never cheated—and he didn't.  You set him up.  The whole time, you deliberately set out to break us up, hurt Connor to get back at him.”

“He deserves to hurt!  He should be dead!”  Alyssa cringed as Bethany screamed behind her.  She stormed around the chair and backhanded Alyssa with such force she saw stars.  Her vision dimmed and she fought to remain conscious.  She couldn't give in to the threatening darkness.  If she blacked out Bethany would kill her.  There wasn't a shadow of doubt.  Blood pooled in her mouth from the force of the blow, her lip bleeding where her teeth scraped it.  It trickled from the corner of her mouth down to her chin.

“Stupid bitch.”  Bethany marched past her to the door, flung it open so hard it bounced against the brick wall, ricocheting back toward her.  She took a couple of steps outside and the chill permeated the room.  Alyssa's body shook, tremors from the cold creating chill bumps across her exposed skin.  Bethany's fingers flew across her phone.
Wait, her phone was on the tripod.  She has another?
 
She's sending another text.  To Connor?  No!  He can't come.  I have to warn him.  Think, damn it, there has to be a way
.

A vicious snarl came from the doorway as Bethany stomped back inside, not bothering to close the door this time.  The sunlight had faded nearly away and the room was enveloped in shadows.  It was getting harder and harder to see, to stay focused on finding a way out.  Still, escape was at the forefront of Alyssa mind.  She had to find a way—there was no other option.

“Listen to me, Alyssa.”  Bethany stood in front of her, close but not close enough to be visible on the camera.  That really pissed her off; she sat practically naked being filmed for heaven only knew what reason, yet Bethany stayed out of range.  Her teeth clenched so hard it brought tears to her eyes.  Bethany wrenched her face upward, ensuring eye contact.

“We're going to call Connor now.  He's undoubtedly received the text I just sent him.  You tell him to follow the instructions exactly, no deviations.  That's all you say—anything else and you'll die a very slow and painful death.  Do what I tell you and you'll live to see your precious ex-husband again.  Clear?”

Alyssa drew in a deep breath, and exhaled it slowly before she nodded.  “I get it.  What do I say?”

“I'm putting the call on speaker.  Tell Connor exactly what I said.  Follow the directions in the text.”

Bethany sneered.  Alyssa was willing to bet she hadn't expected her to capitulate so easily.  What choice did she have other than to do what she wanted?  She ducked her head, keeping her smile hidden from Bethany.  The second cell phone camera still recorded everything going on.  How much longer would it continue recording?  With the near darkness, it would be nearly impossible to discern the scene playing out on-screen.  The flickering light from the fluorescent bulb buzzed, only one of the two bulbs working, most of the room darkening with twilight's approach.

It was as if Bethany read her mind.  Within seconds, the glare from a flashlight shone directly in her eyes, and Alyssa turned her head away, the light nearly blinding her.  Her eyes adjusted and she heard a scraping noise followed by the smell of burning sulfur. 
Matches?
   Damn, she wanted to see what Bethany was doing at that table behind her, but she couldn't swivel around far enough with her arms and legs bound in a solid grip to the chair.  Damn duct tape held her firmly in place.

The glow of candlelight illuminated the room as Bethany circled around her, placing lit candles around the chair.  Sinister shadows illuminated the walls, the reflected light and shadow playing on the floor eerily reminiscent of horror films Alyssa watched as a child.  Then it had been fun, because it was make believe.  In reality, it sucked big time.

“Sorry, dear, these will have to do.  Adds a certain film noir look, doesn't it?”  Bethany's hand once again held the cell phone, her other the flashlight.  “Remember what you're to say—don’t screw things up.”