"Stay here," Mr. Rodwell said, making to get up.
"No," I said, clutching at his arm. "I am coming too. That was Tasha."
"Look at your hand," was all he said before he untangled his arm and shot off.
I looked down. Damnation. It was my left hand. Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, but not so good either.
I grabbed the counter with my right and started to heave myself up, my bum leg dragging like dead weight. Once I had finally gotten my good leg under me, I realised the crutches were still on the ground. I really need to get my priorities straight.
There were shuffling and thudding sounds coming from the living room.
"Get a grip, man! Where do you think you are going?" Tasha snapped.
"Where is she?" a harsh voice asked. It wasn't Mr. Rodwell who said that. It could have been Granny Tonks, but only when she was hitting the hard stuff right under my nose; she hadn't been doing that today. "Where is she? I will not leave here until I have her!"
"My good man," a calm voice admonished, sending chilling fingers down my spine. It didn't really take that much imagination to wonder how the person this voice had been directed at felt. "Keep your voice down. Don't make me do it for you."
A guttural sound ensue. It took me a moment to recognise it as laughter. I let myself slide down and started up again after propping the crutches by the counter. "I want my daughter, and I will be as loud about it as I wish."
"I would strongly advise against that, my friend," Mr. Rodwell said in the most unfriendly of friendly manners. "If you do anything like that, I will have to stop you. And trust me when I say, when I stop something, it usually ends up being forever." Whoever the man was, he had just gotten frozen to a popsicle in my metaphorical mind. "Now tell us what it is you want so we can refuse and you can leave."
I pushed my good-side crutch under my armpit and hobbled very slowly and painfully towards the living room. My hand was starting to burn up again, the momentary relief forgotten.
"I told you, I want my daughter," the man reiterated, his voice slightly lower this time. I bet he hadn't even realised.
He wanted his daughter? That could mean only one thing.
John was here to claim what was his.
I had been expecting him to come all night. The fact that he had come this late just went to show how much he cared about his child. Now all I had to do was stiffen my spine and go tell him to go to hell and that if Hannah agreed, he would never get to see her again as long as I was alive.
So, no pressure.
"What daughter are you talking about here?" Mr. Rodwell asked. Thank goodness Tasha had enough sense to keep her mouth shut.
"What daughter? What daughter? After you kidnap her and bring her here you ask me what daughter?"
Kidnap? That was an interesting concept. I hadn't thought about it that way.
"Kidnap? Man, do you even know the people who live here?" Somehow, I did not think he meant that as a compliment.
"I know it's that one-legged bitch who lives here. She probably wants to take her away and sell her to--"
Thud.
A shriek and a moan followed, accompanied by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
I quickened my steps.
"Next time, sir, please make sure you are in appropriate company before you insult someone. I don't appreciate name calling."
A smile broke on my face like the sun. Was it just me, or did he defend me just now? Please let it not be just me.
"You broth my bose, motherfuther!" John shrieked.
"Careful, sir, I keep telling you. And I know I broke your nose. I am a very precise man. Now, why don't we wait for Miss Mahal so we can settle this matter in a civilised manner, hmm? I am sure she is coming out now."
I indeed was.
When I reached the door, the scene that greeted me was an interesting one. Mr. Rodwell stood in the middle of the room, wiping his fist casually with a white handkerchief, a bored expression on his face and a man groaning and whimpering at his feet. The man was clutching his nose like his life depended upon it. Blood leaked through his fingers. Tasha stood a little way behind Mr. Rodwell, more than happy to leave the dirty work to him. Her phone was still in her hand.
When she saw me, she smiled. "Christopher is coming over."
It took a moment for her words to register. "What? Why? This is my house, not a bloody hotel. What does he want?"
"I might have screamed on the phone," she admitted. "But it was totally not my fault. He scared me." She pointed at the man on the floor in accusation and distaste.
I sighed. This could wait till later. Right now I had a custody battle to fight.
Shuffling towards Mr. Rodwell, I looked at the man rolling on the ground. I had never met John Hudgens before, but I had always had an image of him in my mind. An image he had been nice enough to prove right.
He had the dirtiest blond hair I had ever seen, hanging in matted curls around his head. His eyes, at least as far as I could see from when he occasionally squinted through them, were an unremarkable blue. His face was lean and pointy, full of scowl-lines.
"Thank you, Mr. Rodwell. I think I can take it from here," I told the much-more-agreeable-to-look-upon man standing beside me.
"Please don't think I did this as a special favour for you, Miss Mahal. I just can't stand people like him."
I blushed. So it was only me.
"Alright," I said shortly. Then to the man on the ground, "Mr. Hudgens, I understand that you wanted to talk to me?"
The man on the ground scooted himself backwards and then got to his feet. His too-short green T-shirt, hiking up over a disturbingly hairy potbelly, was splattered with blood, just like his face. He scowled at me.
"Your henchman broke my nose! I'm going to go to the police. I will bring them back and then have you all arrested. I want my daughter back!" All this, of course, was said in the nasally voice people succumb to when they get their noses complementarily shoved in.
It took me a moment to understand what he was saying, but eventually I got there. "Mr. Rodwell is not my henchman--"
"And if you say that again, you will find your nose further back than it already is," Mr. Rodwell told him, pulling his gun out again and examining the side. I don't think the safety was on on that thing.
I ignored him; but John couldn't. He had the evidence of Mr. Rodwell's intentions on his face. He took a step away from us.
"I just want my daughter," he said again.
"Mr. Hudgens, I know you think that you have a right to come here and demand that we give you your girl back, and I think the law might be on your side too, but I have no intention of handing her over. I know what it was you used to do to your wife. You treated her like trash. She used to show up to work with bloody bruises almost every day. And those were only the ones I could see! With her gone, I know what awaits Hannah in your house, Mr. Hudgens. I will not let her suffer that."
"You--" he took a step forward, a murderous expression on his face.
Mr. Rodwell stepped forward too. He didn't look at John, but he rolled the gun once. "I won't do that if I were you."
I felt such a wave of relief and power flood through me that I almost threw my arms around him and kissed him on the lips (almost!). I had known all along as I brought Hannah home that John would come after her. I had been anticipating all the things he would do to get her with apprehension. I had no idea what I would have had to do to get rid of him; as a matter of fact, I was pretty sure it would have come down to physical persuasion, and then Tasha would find her account considerably lighter. She already had to bribe the authorities to let us keep Hannah legally, preferably tomorrow.
Now it seemed like the issue could easily be resolved with the help of Mr. Rodwell's presence alone. Take right now, for instance. I swear if John had had his way he would have been busy ripping my throat open. Yet he had backed down...just because Mr. Rodwell hasn't.
There was a thud. Everybody turned around to look at the source.
In the doorway of the room we found two tiny heads popping through the little gap--with a much older, larger and leathery head on top--grinning shamefacedly.
"What are you people doing?" I asked, voice soft. I had basically extinguished my supply of exclamation marks for today.
"They blackmailed me," Granny confessed. "I am completely innocent."
"We--the noise woke us up, Mommy," Ella said, making bambi eyes.
I glared at her, not in a forgiving mood at all.
Before I could get a word out though, John was bounding across the floor. I gasped. Hannah screamed and ran back into the room, Ella right behind. That scream would hound me for months to come. The screams of children usually do.
John was almost at the door, his bloody hands reaching forward, when, quick as a whip, Mr. Rodwell grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him to the ground. John skidded across the floor like a sack of potatoes and came to rest against the couch-side table. The lamp on top teetered and then fell over the side, shattering.
Mr. Rodwell got down and put a knee over the squirming man's chest. "I thought I told you we would have this conversation in a civilised manner," he said through his teeth.
"Give her back to me! She's mine!"
"So you can make a charity case of her and make money?" Tasha asked. "We don't think so. Hannah will stay here."
"She won't want to," he proclaimed, grinning with his bloody teeth. "She will want to stay with her father. You can't keep her away from me."
"Is that so?" I asked, feigning interest. "Then, by all means, call her and ask."
He looked at me for some time, clearly not trusting my intentions. But when his little brain couldn't tell him if something was wrong or not, he opened his mouth and yelled, keeping a wary eye on the man on his chest the whole time, "Hannah! Hannah, come out! We're going home! Come to daddy, Hannah!"
There was a low whimper from inside but it wasn't followed by a blond haired little girl.
"Looks like you have your answer." Mr. Rodwell pressed his knee harder into John's chest.
John paled. "Hannah, come here right now!"
No answer. Even the whimpering stopped. I could have bet Hannah was biting her lip to keep from crying out.
"She isn't coming out, you filthy man," Granny Tonks cackled. "Why don't you leave now?"
"Yes. And if you ever show your face in this house or this street again, I swear I will spear you with my Jimmy Choos," Tasha warned.
I scowled at her. She couldn't have thought of doing that before now?
"Hannah, come out right now, you filthy maggot. I am your father! Come out, I say, or I will flay your backside till you bleed! Com--Oof!"
Mr. Rodwell punched him on the chest. All the air expelled from his body. His face turned as bright as a blood filled leech. "Language, my man, language," his captor admonished. "Why do you keep making me do this?" He looked at the ruddy face under him and, sighing heavily, got up, satisfied that the man on the floor wasn't going anywhere any time soon.
The apartment door creaked. We all turned around--a lot of turning around was going on--to find Christopher Rodwell merrily striding into the living room. He had a gun in his hand too. Oh, for goodness sake!
"Hello, everyone," he greeted, touching the black cap pulled over his hair. He eyed the wheezing man on the ground and then looked at his brother, who was methodically whipping his hands on his kerchief again, as if he had just gotten up from a banquet. "Looks like you have everything under control."
"Chris!" Tasha screamed, bounding across the room and into his arms like a gazelle. He folded her around himself like a second skin, kissing her lips tenderly. For some reason, I felt a pang in my heart. I stepped away from Mr. Rodwell, my skin feeling like it was on fire.
"I always have everything under control," Mr. Rodwell said dryly. "And can you please not do that here?"
"Why ever not?" Chris asked, eyebrows raised. "Is it making you uncomfortable?"
"It's making everyone uncomfortable."
"Not me," Granny Tonks interjected. "I feel like my blood's ablaze. This is almost exactly how I felt before Mr. Tonks and I went to the bedro--"
"Granny!" Tasha and I said at the same time.
"What?" she asked. "It's not like all of you aren't thinking it."
"Granny, you ruin everything," Tasha said as she untangled herself from Christopher's arms. "Now I feel unclean and disgusting. And we just made up too!"
Christopher cleared his throat, motioning towards John. "Care to tell me who exactly is it right there?"
Mr. Rodwell toed John in the side. "Just a nuisance. You can help get rid of it."
Christopher nodded; and without saying another word he came forward and the two brothers lifted John by the arms and slung him around their shoulders.
"What are you doing? Where are you taking him?" I asked. If they were going to kill him in a dark alley, I wanted to tell them to make sure the alley was far away from here.
"We are just going to dump him outside," Mr. Rodwell said.
I deflated, slightly disappointed. But then I admonished myself. What are you doing, wanting someone to be killed?
"Hannah!" the dangling man croaked out. "You will not get away with this. I will bring hell down over your heads. I have friends, you know. Powerful friends! They will rip you bone from bone!"
"Shut up, man," Mr. Rodwell said, stopping for just a moment to shove the butt of his gun into the man's diaphragm. "You sound a lot better when you aren't talking."
The man wheezed again. I was a little surprised blood wasn't flowing out of his mouth by now. In the movies, this was always the point when that happened. They slowly carried him to the door and went outside.
"Wow..." Tasha breathed. "Isn't that just the most romantic thing you have ever seen? Did you see how they defended us?"
I frowned. "I could have defended myself on my own, thank you very much."
She made a face at me. "You can't even run, Zara, much less stay and fight."
"I can claw," I said, showing her my nails, grown for that express purpose.
"Oh, please," Tasha scoffed.
"And I don't need to hear anything from you, at least. I can't believe you just ran to him like that! Don't you have any self-respect at all? You just broke up with him! You are a total embarrassment."
"Come on, Zara. Surely you can see how this is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me? Don't begrudge me that."
"He betrayed you!"
"Only to later fall in love with me," she reasoned. "Totally acceptable."
"He gave me away to him!"
Tasha opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. I think I won't have realised how angry I was at her if she had continued to talk; but it was the momentary space where she was lost for words that brought the anger to the forefront. Betrayal, my mind kept telling me, this is betrayal. Tasha was the only person I had ever trusted. And now even she had put her romantic interests before my life? What more was left?
"Do you know what exactly it was they wanted from me? Do you? No. All you care about is making sure you have your latest boy toy!" I leaned against the wall and banged my crutch on the ground. "But listen to this. It was about him. He's here. He's back in my and Ella's life. And you know who's responsible for this? You are." I stabbed a finger in her direction. "Just because you can't keep yourself from being turned on when you see a tree stump shaped vaguely like a butt!" I did have a lot of exclamation marks still left, apparently.
"Zara," Granny Tonks warned. Of course, she was duly ignored. I have no idea why she even bothers.
"Mommy?" Ella said from the side.
"Not now Ella."
"Mommy, ple--"
"Back in the room right now!" I snapped. She vanished.
"This is not true..." Tasha whispered.
"Isn't it?" I asked, a bitter smile playing on my lips. "Then please, by all means prove it wrong. What are you going to say, huh? What? And don't you dare cry, Tasha Evans! Don't you dare!"
She bit her lip hard, but I could see her nose twitch. She tried to wipe surreptitiously under her eyes. "I--Are you sure this is about him?"
"Mr. Rodwell as good as confessed," I said.
"B-but the last we knew he was all the way across the country."
I felt a shudder rock through my body. The last we knew. The last time when my hell had been on earth.
Room 6... Blood red curtains through which blood red sunlight leaked... A red and black bed... Silk sheets... Two people on the sheets, one pale and scared... And the other...
I shook my head hard. No. I had to stop thinking about that. I had to keep my wits about me. I had to!
"The last time was a long time ago."
"Why would he be here?" Tasha insisted. "He doesn't know you are here, does he? He can't possibly know. You have kept a low profile. You haven't gone to the police. Honestly, the only huge thing you have done all this time is to work for Alexander."
"A job we now know wasn't exactly a dream come true."
"Alexander and Christopher don't have anything to do with him," she protested.
I scowled. "Is this both of them you are trying to defend or only Christopher?"
"Does it matter? You know what I mean."
"They are doing something we don't know about. Something they won't tell us about. And he is in town. What are the odds that this is a coincidence?"
"Zara, honey, you are looking too much into this," Granny Tonks advised.
"No I am not!" I shouted. "You didn't hear him say it! When I asked Mr. Rodwell about it, he won't tell me. He kept trying to dissuade me. Now why would he do that, huh? He knows about it. Why would he hide it?"
"But this still doesn't prove that he knows you are here. That he's here for you. Besides, if he did in fact know about you, he would have send his men to reel you in already. There's no reason for him to involve Alexander and set a trap," Tasha pointed out.
Alright, that's a good point. A very good point. I had no idea how to counter it.
Except, of course, to keep walking the buffoon-course.
"Do I really have to wait till he comes knocking on my door?" Suddenly, a thought struck. Why didn't I think this earlier? It was perfect, the right course. It was what my next step had to be. "I have to leave. That's the only thing left to do."
Silence greeted my words. The ointment tube fell from Granny's hands.
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