The Investigators—Snippet

This is a snippet of what was eventually to come. I wrote it down while it was  fresh in my head. It doesn't quite connect with the rest of the story, yet.
 

Elle was busy putting out the new Christmas decorations at the bookstore where she worked when she heard someone coming up behind her.

"Let me empty my arms," she said without turning, "and I'll help you in a second."

The customer said nothing, so she continued putting the decorations around the tree. But after several moments when it became apparent that the customer was still; behind her, she turned.

"What can I help you--" She gasped as she recognized that this was not a customer. It was her ex- husband Vincent. He grabbed her hard.

"Who else is here?"

"Vince, you're hurting me!"

"I said, Are you the only one here!?!" He got right up in her face. His hot breath reeked of onions and ketchup.

Unable to speak any longer, Elle just nodded her head. Then she swallowed hard and said weakly, "I'm the only one who comes in on Sunday mornings, we're alone."

"Good." He said, and he dragged her to the back room where the lockers were.

"I want your cell. Which locker is yours?"

She pointed.

"Open it and give me everything inside." He ordered.

She fumbled with the combination and he got impatient.

"You're doing that on purpose! Open it right now or I'll open it with your face!"

She pulled down on the lock and it unlatched. She pulled the locker open slowly.

He shoved her out of the way, and began greedily looking through her belongings. He pocketed a few things: her box knife, her wallet, the unopened present from her boss. And then he tossed everything else on the ground as he dug in the back to reach her purse. He reached inside, grabbed the rest of her money, and then his hands found her cell phone. He hurled it across the room, at the wall opposite the door and it shattered against the cement wall.

With his hand still grasping her arm tightly, he bent and started throwing things back in the locker. He let her go and commanded that she pick up the pieces of the phone and put them in the locker as well. There was no way she could escape, because she'd have to walk past him to leave the room.

She gathered her once smart, but now dead, phone and carried them over to Vincent. She let them roll out of her hands and into the locker. Then Vincent slammed it and replace the lock.

"Now you're going to write your boss a note that you had to step out for a minute so he doesn't worry."

"I can't leave. Who will watch the store?"

"Who gives a--" She censored his bad language in her head as Vincent dragged her to the checkout counter.

He began rummaging through the drawers, much less aggressively than he had looked through Elle's locker, careful not to disturb the contents inside. He finally found what he was looking for and shoved a yellow legal pad and a blue pen in Elle's hand, finally releasing his death grasp on her.

"What do you want me to write?"

"That you left, something believable. That you won't come back later."

"How can I make it believable and still leave the store? I would never abandon the store. IF I ever had to leave I would find someone to come in and watch the store while I was gone."

He grabbed her once more, this time grinding his nails into her shoulder.

"Write!"
 
 
Craig walked up the sidewalk towards the bookstore where he was to meet Elle after her shift. He walked in and the bell above the door clanged a cheerful greeting.

"Merry Christmas to you to," he said to the bell, feeling on cloud nine. Totally and uncontrollably in love. But he couldn't tell her that. No, but any second now her face would peek around the corner and brighten his day even more. Young couldn't remember ever being happier in his life.

Instead of being greeted by a beatifically Elle, he found himself face to face with a very distraught May.

"Oh Craig! Elle left, I think there must be something wrong. She left a note for me, but it's . . . well here, read it."

He picked up the note and read:


Boss,
I had an emergency I had to attend to, Mrs. Young. I'll lock the door behind me so the store will be safe. I hope you don't fire me over this. Merry Christmas, Elle. PS. Young, MY phone is dead sorry you don't call me.

"Why did she call me Mrs. Young? She's worked here for four years and has always just called me May.

And my last name is Andrews." Elle's boss looked understandably confused.

"My last name is Young. This note must be for me," Craig said, tapping the note against the table.

"But it's addressed 'boss' and she asks me not to fire her."

Craig sighed.

"Maybe it's for both of us then. But I think you're right. I think she must be in trouble."

He put his finger on the word "my", which she had written, albeit subtly, in caps. Craig already knew that
Elle's phone was broken, she had told him so last night. She had also told him that she would be using her mother's phone. That must be why she had emphasized that word "my".

Without a second glance at May, Craig bolted out of the shop and onto the street.

Around him all the plants looked dead. The trees that lined the road had lost their leaves for the winter and looked cold and bare. There was no snow on the ground or in the air, as one might expect on Christmas Eve.
The only snow lay in piles, black and dirty in the curbs.

The scene reflected perfectly the disorder Craig felt inside. He pulled out his cell phone to call Elle and see if she was allright. And if she was to ask her about the cryptic note she had left. But before he hit the send key, he was prompted to look once again at the message in his hand.

He looked over the note again. Something else was bugging him. "My phone is dead . . . sorry you can't call me." But that's not what it said. It said, "you don't call me." Was it a typo or a message hidden in a message?

Sorry you don't call me.

You don't call me.

Don't call me.

Craig dropped his cell phone as the thought startled him. He picked it up from the muddy ground, feeling foolish as a few last minute shoppers gawked at him. He wiped in on his pants and then shoved it in his pocket
 
 
Elle found herself in a dark room that smelled of mold and bleach. She wasn't tied to a chair, or anything, but her hands and feet were both bound with duct tape.

She tried to use her hands to reach the phone in her bra. She'd been lectured a hundred times not to put it there, that it made her look bad when he chest vibrated and lit up at fancy restraunts. But since it embarrassed everyone but her, she continued the practice. Now it had come in handy. Maybe even could save her life. She had a spare phone in her bra and her captors had no foresight to check.

The only thing she could see going wrong was that her mother always had her phone ringer on as loud as it would go and if it went off now she'd be punished severely. That's why she had to get to it before anyone tried to call her.

She hoped that Craig wouldn't try to call when he realized she wasn't at the bookshop any more. She hoped he was smart enough to get the message "don't call me" but then again, men never picked up on hints. For being a detective, Young was especially bad at picking up her hints it seemed to Elle.

After straining and twisting her hands and arms for what felt like forever, Elle was able to reach the phone just as it began ringing. She hurried and hung up, but it was too late, she could her chairs being pulled back from a table on the wood floor above.

Not wanting the phone on her body when they came down the stairs, she removed the battery and slid both across the floor to a dark corner of the room.

"Amelia," Vincent said in a singsong voice as he came into the room, letting in only enough light to silhouette his ugly figure. "We thought we heard a noise. Was that you?"

"Yes." She lied. "I was calling you to bring me a drink of water."

"It didn't sound like you. But it did sound like someone calling."

"I don't know what you mean." Elle stammered, her voice rising in pitch.

"I could have sworn I heard the beginning notes of the Monk theme song."

At this Elle began to laugh. As dire as her situation was, she couldn't imagine Vincent watching one episode of Monk, let alone recognizing the theme song from a ringtone from another room. It made him seem so . . . human. After they had been married for a few months Elle always thought of Vincent as more beast than human being. And Monk was such an endearing show for such a horrible man to watch.

"What do you think you're laughing at?" He swore.

"You think I was watching Monk down here? You think I have an iPad hidden in my bra?"

"Well it wouldn't hurt to check." He made a move to grab at her, but before he could she hit him over the head with her bound hands.

"You will not touch me!" She screamed. And then she hit him again.

"You're not getting no water!" And with that he was back up the stairs and the room went dark again. It
seemed even darker than before.