Before I was even able to develop a plan, I was back outside, frantically searching the nearby streets for any sign of Zach. The Paris nightlife was just getting started and the crowds of couples, families, and friends ready for a night out were beginning to envelop the streets.
A group of chatty girls jostled me to the side. Ignoring their rude glances, I strained my eyes, peering into the dark shadows for Zach. I just wanted to see him appear in the crowd, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his coiffed hair without a stray strand. I wanted to see him notice me, raise his eyebrows, and cast me a dark, angry look. Or see him laugh at me, at my clumsiness, my uselessness, the awful floral dress I was still wearing from the agency’s photo shoot. Anything that would have let me know that he was okay, that Andre Gaston was caught and off of the streets.
But Zach was nowhere in sight, leaving me with the sick realization that he never made it out of the flat on the Rue St. Denis.
My heart began to beat so fast I thought I would faint. The images around me blurred. My breathing became ragged. If he was hurt, I would have never forgiven myself. I was supposed to be with him, we were a team.
My feet sprinted into action, my black boots clicking against the pavement. I needed to get to Andre Gaston’s flat.
I came to a screeching halt and groaned out loud as I realized Zach had the car. He had left it at the agency. How was I supposed to get to the Rue St. Denis now? It was more than two miles away!
I searched desperately for someone, anyone, who may have been willing to help. Across the street, I saw a man cleaning his moped. I ran over to him, dodging the crazy French drivers as I sprinted across the busy street.
"Sir!" I yelled in English. He glanced up at me, somewhat apprehensive. I probably looked like a madwoman. "Can I borrow your bike?" He stared at me blankly.
Without thinking, I pulled one hundred American dollars out of my purse. Hopefully he didn't pay attention the shrinking value of U.S. currency. He grabbed it from me and stared at it, studying the green paper and the face of Ben Franklin. The French loved Ben Franklin! If this man was a true Frenchmen, he would give me his bike!
He shook his head adamantly and started yelling in French. I sighed angrily. He left me with no choice.
I gripped the collar of his black shirt and stared indignantly into his dark eyes. With my free hand I protruded my CIA badge from the pocket of my skirt. I nearly shoved it at the man’s frightened face.
“You will give me your bike,” I ordered quietly, “and you will stay silent. Do you hear me?” My fist clenched his shirt tighter.
He nodded his head up and down several times. His eyes searched for a pedestrian on the street who may have been willing to help him out of his undoubtedly startling situation, but he knew as well as I that everyone was too caught up in their evening activities to pay an ordinary adult man any attention.
“If I find out you mentioned me to anyone, the United States Government will be at your doorstep.” I struggled to keep from smiling. Zach would have been so proud!
This man didn’t have to understand English to know he was in serious trouble. He handed me the keys to his bike and became suddenly more intrigued by the nice sum of money in his greedy little hands.
“I will bring it back!” I promised.
I had paid attention to Dylan when he was driving his bike, so it didn't seem that hard to get the thing started. I even drove something similar to it in training. It was just a really, really fast bike.
I lurched forward faster than I had intended and let out a small scream as the bike weaved into traffic. After a few tense moments, I got the feel of the bike and all of those weeks training with some of the government’s best agents came back to me. I began paying more attention to the street signs, counting down the blocks until the Rue St. Denis.
The closer I got to the rue, the shadier the streets became. Scantily clad women stood near closed stores and men roamed the streets in large groups. I diverted my eyes from the vulgar store windows. There was no way Zach would be spending the day in this part of town. He most definitely was in trouble.
I pulled over at 189. The flat sat above an empty store covered in colorful graffiti. An old gnarled and rotting door next to the entrance of the store had an empty mailbox with the numbers 189 nearly scratched off. I parked the moped along the street and prayed that no one would steal it. That would involve one mess of paperwork.
I approached the door. It was already opened, kicked in, telling me at least someone was in the flat. An old, creaky staircase waited ahead of me. There was little light in the passageway, filling me with unease. I had no idea what I was walking into.
I held out my hands, feeling the air in front of me as I climbed the steep, narrow set of stairs. My palms made contact with rough wood. Slowly I slid my hand down the splintered door and gripped an old, metal doorknob. Locked.
I just knew Zach was in there, behind the door. How he fared, on the other hand, left me completely in the dark. Simply the thought caused a spasm of pain to tear through my body.
A short strip of light shone underneath the door. Carefully I got on my hands and knees and peered underneath the door and into the room. A child’s method, but it worked nonetheless.
I was right. Zach was there.
In the far end of the small flat, Zach sat tied to a chair. His head was bowed and his dark shirt tattered and bloody. He sat unmoving. Was he even conscious?
With my lipstick, I carved a big hole, one that I could fit through, towards to bottom of the door, almost like a doggy door. I pulled myself through the opening and stood up, my eyes on Zach the entire time.
Suddenly he lifted his head and his eyes got wide. A dirty rag was bundled in his mouth. More cuts and bruises marked his face. His dark eyes darted around the room worriedly. Andre was nowhere to be found. Yet.
Wasting no time I ran towards Zach and pulled the rag from his mouth. He coughed and gagged until he finally spit on the floor. His breathing was heavy and ragged.
"I was hoping you'd come. I was afraid you ran away with your new boyfriend," he whispered as I pulled and pried at the tight ropes. I was surprised he was able to joke after being tied up to a chair for nearly seven hours. "There is a knife in my shoe. I wasn't able to get to it."
I pulled off his shoe and found the sharp blade flat in its sole. Why did he get all of the cool stuff? "What happened?" I whispered.
"I broke in and was ready to get him, but when I got here the apartment was empty. I was doing a sweep when he suddenly jumped me from behind.” I finally loosened the ropes from around his body. They fell to the floor in a large pile. "I didn’t stand a chance being taken by surprise like that. One swipe with his knife and I was down.”
I looked at the large tear in his shirt, right below his chest. The blood had dried long ago.
“I’ve been sitting here for more than seven hours just waiting for him to kill me.” Zach stood up and stretched his arms high above his head.
"Where is he now?" I handed Zach his knife and he secured it in his pocket.
"In the other room. I think he's passed out. He was drinking a lot.” He pointed to the narrow hallway. “He thought he had all the time in the world before he killed me."
I glanced around the shabby space. It was definitely the lair of a psychopath stalker killer. There were pictures of models everywhere! Ripped from magazines, printed from websites, even taken using an old Polaroid. Collages took up entire walls. This guy had some issues.
“Laura,” Zach said breathlessly, his eyes also taking in the disturbing shrines. He pointed a finger to a picture set off from the rest.
I nearly vomited. It was me sitting on that stupid bench with that stupid rain and that stupid couple who looked way too happy.
“Do you think I was next?” I asked, my voice straining as I stifled a cry.
“I don’t plan on staying here long enough to find out,” Zach reasoned. “We’re leaving.”
"Maybe Fred can send backup," I started, but I was pushed to the floor by Zach. I fell to my stomach as Zach’s arms shielded my head.
Something whizzed above my body, soaring through the air and making contact with the wall behind me. I lifted my head and saw the old, bearded man, madness in his eyes, standing there with a handful of sharp knives. He threw another one towards Zach. We were going to be butchered!
We both crawled quickly to a counter in the kitchen corner of the flat. A knife shattered a glass bottle above us. Glass and liquor rained onto the floor, the shards tangling themselves in my hair and resting in the folds of my clothing. Another knife made contact with the wall once more, stabbing itself ironically right in the middle of the beautiful, flawless face of Christinne LaRoux.
I searched the room, the wheels of my brain spinning wildly as I looked for anything to return the attack with and then saw the CIA boots I was wearing. I doubted I was ever going to need them to climb as Fred had said, but they would definitely come in handy in other ways. I unzipped one and pulled it off of my foot.
"What are you doing?" Zach whispered as I crawled to the edge of the counter, feeling the broken glass cut into my hands. Another knife was thrown, landing a few inches away from where I was. I didn't hesitate and aimed the sole of the boot at the lunatic's legs and fired. Swiftly, the hook ejected and clasped around his leg. I pulled hard and watched as he stumbled to the floor. I was so glad I wore those shoes!
Zach seized the lull in the action and jumped up. He nearly stumbled over his feet as he ran to Andre. He pulled out his CIA badge and showed it to the defeated criminal.
"Zachary Freeman of the CIA!” He said it with such authority! It was actually kind of hot!
I looked helplessly around the room. The man’s legs may have been tangled, but his strong arms weren't. Before Zach had time to react, he was pushed to the ground. The man was on top of him, a gun pulled from his pocket. I screamed before I could stop myself. I couldn't even think of what to do, my mind went blank. I hated guns. Even my parents didn’t use them.
Zach struggled as he pulled at the gun, trying to pry it out of the man's hands. Back and forth they tugged at the weapon. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the room. I ducked back behind the counter. The noise only lasted a split second, but even a second could change everything. The room was silent, a sound I found even creepier than the bang of gunfire before it.
Cautiously, I came out from behind the wall. Zach and the man were splayed on the floor. My heart raced. Zach, please don't be dead, I thought to myself, I'm so sorry for all of the mean things I said about you! This is all my fault!
I knelt down next to Zach. A large bump had already formed on his head, red and swollen. I slowly ran my fingers across his forehead and rested my hand on his chest.
“Zach,” I pleaded, my nervous voice breaking.
Much to my relief, his chest began to move up and down. He was breathing. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at me. I couldn't help but smile. I didn't know what I would have done if he had been killed.
"I was waiting for the pain," he laughed nervously.
“Looks like your hard head took the blow,” I said jokingly, gently running my hand across his smooth skin once more. I was so glad he was okay.
I helped Zach sit himself up, both of our eyes fixated on the man across the room, his body still and unmoving. "The gun fired at him." He crawled towards the lifeless body.
"Is he alive?" I whispered. A pool of blood was running off of his chest and onto the floor.
Zach lifted his limp arm and felt for his pulse. Slowly, he laid it down on the floor. He shook his head. "Dead."
I backed away. I felt uneasy being this near to someone who was no longer living. "It went off when you two were pulling at the gun."
Zach nodded. “Better him than me,” he said and pulled out a cell phone. He dialed quickly. I noticed his fingers shake as he pressed the buttons on his phone. "Fred, we have him. He's dead." Zach was silent and nodded. "Okay." He hung up.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"We're done. He is sending people to recover the body tonight. Tomorrow, you inform the modeling agency of your resignation." He said it so simply, like we hadn’t just changed our entire lives around for this case. Maybe to him he didn’t. Maybe to him it was just a job that was now over, done with.
Done? That fast? It felt so strange. It didn't seem like we had all of the answers, and yet I had no questions that needed one. We walked out of the flat silently. Tomorrow I would go back to being Laura Porter. Clumsy, stupid, nerdy Laura Porter who missed school without any explanation. At least the other students would think it was because of the frog incident this time and not a drinking problem.
We walked to where I parked the moped and froze. It wasn't there. Some ladies laughed at us from an alley, their cackles echoing into the night sky. I’d have to talk to Fred about getting that poor man a new one. I guessed that paperwork was unavoidable now.
"Don't worry, I have the car a little ways off," Zach said. “I moved it after you and Dylan left.”
The short car ride was silent. So was our walk to our room. I had time to ruminate over everything. I hated ruminating because my brain always filled with what-ifs. What if I would have come back later? Zach would be dead. What if the gun fired at Zach? Zach would be dead. I would be dead. I didn’t stand a chance against that man. As much as I hated to admit it, I was going to miss Zach once tomorrow was over.
Back in the room, he sat down at the table and stared at his laptop. Its screen was empty. The cursor on a blank file flashed black, white, black, white, black, white.
"What are you studying?" I asked. "We're done."
He shook his head and brought his hand to it. "It just feels strange. We solved it so fast."
I sat down next to him. "I feel the same way.”
Zach stared at me and smiled. "We finally agree on something?" He laughed. "I think we do need a break from each other." He leaned back on his chair and changed the subject. "How was your date? Did you kiss him?"
"None of your business," I said back, though not truly being mean. Truthfully, I was a little disappointed in myself. I usually had perfect self-control.
"I'll take that as a yes." Zach grinned.
“Well, what about that present for your fiancé? Hm?” I chided. “I saw a few shops that had a nice selection of leather on the Rue St. Denis.” Zach’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I’m sure your little secretary would have loved that.”
Zach laughed awkwardly as he got up and walked to his room. He stopped at the door. "Even though we’ve only known each other several days, during half of which I hated you,” he added hurriedly, “I want to let you know that going on a mission won't be entirely the same after this."
Was that his weird way of saying he will miss me? Whatever it meant, I would take it. "Yeah." I nodded. "Me too."