Authors: Anne-Marie Hart
'He wants us to find her and bring her back', Garland says.
'What the hell does he care if she comes back or not? He's made it pretty clear he doesn't want her in his life at all.'
'That's something you'd have to ask him yourself sir', Garland says. 'It doesn't make much sense to me either, apart from the fact that perhaps he doesn't believe that the man who took her is going to kill her.'
'It's a bit of a risk considering the events of yesterday mornings bungled fucking raid', Frank says angrily.
'Yes sir, it is.'
'Hand me the phone Garland', Frank says, and Garland hands it to him, even though it's already within reaching distance.
'He's not that easy to get hold of', Garland says.
'I'm not going to call the father. I'm going to find out exactly what the fuck is going on here', Frank says and begins to punch the mobile number from the ransom note into the keypad.
Javier is still at home when the phone rings, halfway through cleaning up Miguel's pile of sick. He takes the phone from his back pocket, looks at the number, and feels his heart skip a beat. Claudia, Miguel and Elouise all look at him, his eighteen month old daughter's almost black eyes peering towards him like rosary beads as she continues to suck down her recently warmed milk.
'It's work', Javier says. 'I have to take this. I won't be a sec.'
Claudia watches him leave the room, trying desperately not to worry about his recently strange behaviour. Javier takes the phone downstairs to his office, almost falling down the steps in his rush to get there. With the door closed, he tries unsuccessfully to calm his breathing and then eventually presses the button to let the call come through. He's not prepared for this moment. Twenty four hours ago was just another morning, hiding pencils in drawers, and desperately avoiding the wrath of his boss. Today he's in control, or at least he has the opportunity to be in control if he doesn't fuck up what could quite possibly be the most important conversation of his life.
'Talk', he says.
'This is Frank Giamatti of the Albuquerque Police Department. I have your ransom note here. Who am I talking to?' Frank says, his telephone voice even gruffer and more full of menace than his normal one.
'I have Maddy', Javier says, avoiding the question. 'If you don't do as I say I will kill her.'
'How do I know you have her?' Frank says. 'As far as I know you could be some dumb-ass prick just bullshitting me.'
'The proof is in the ransom note', Javier says, maintaining his calm.
'That doesn't prove anything to me', Frank says, growling down the phone like a hungry lion. 'You could be an old friend looking to get rich.'
'Listen to me', Javier says, putting on the most aggressive tone he is able to find, quickly realising that if he doesn't, the control of the conversation will slip away. 'There are lockers at the central train station. By 5pm today, one of them will be filled with a sports bag containing one million dollars of unmarked, non sequential American currency, after which the access code to that locker will be sent to this mobile phone number. Do you understand me?'
'What happens if we don't?' Frank says.
'If you don't, Madeleine Parker will die.'
'And you're going to kill her?' Frank says picking his teeth with a cocktail stick, almost entirely convinced that the man on the other end of the line is as far away from Madeleine as he is.
'Do as I say, and she won't get hurt', Javier says.
Frank growls. He'd love to say what he really things, but the minute slither of professionalism that still remains in him, somehow stops him from doing so.
'One more thing', Javier says. 'Maddy's father isn't the only person I've sent that ransom note to. It's also on its way to all major press agencies and television stations. In the next half an hour it'll be all over the news. If you want to avoid a shitstorm detective, the money will be in a locker at the central train station by 5pm.'
'Well I hope you haven't forgotten to take your cell phone number off first', Frank barks into the phone, while Garland looks on, wincing at his no holds barred approach.
Javier hangs up, turns the phone off as quickly as he can with still trembling hands, and grasps it tightly to his chest, like someone might a small, terrified animal, that's threatening to run away. He breathes deeply, gulping down big lungfuls of air, as though he's spent the last five minutes under water, and closes his eyes to calm himself down. He can't quite believe what he's done, immensely proud of himself for holding his nerve. When he emerges from the office/laundry room, phone still off and back in his pocket now, his heart leaps again when he sees his wife in the kitchen, and Elouise in her high chair, half of her food either on the floor, or caked around her mouth. He has no idea how loud he was on the phone, or whether his wife will have heard him, but it looks like they've both been down here for some time.
'How was it?', Claudia says to him, either far too busy clearing up after Elouise to look at him directly, or just choosing not to.
'Good', Javier says. 'We'll do the pitch this afternoon. I've got a good feeling about this one.'
Javier kisses his wife on the cheek she provides for him to do so, and goes to lift his baby girl out of her chair. Claudia can sometimes be brusque with him in the morning, especially if she's busy with the children, so it's not quite enough of a sign to allow him to know for sure.
'The sick, Javier', Claudia reminds him, just as he has Elouise half way out of her chair. He lowers her back down, smudges her nose with his thumb and kisses her on the forehead.
'Already on my way', Javier says and climbs back up the stairs, leaving Claudia to worry about the broken parts of the conversation she just heard her husband having, and Elouise, happy in her ignorance of everything that's going on in the house around her, to continue to throw what's left of her food all over the table and floor.
Maddy excitedly scans the rows of exquisitely crafted, hand-made French pastries, as though this is the first time she's had enough of her own money to buy something she's spent a life time longing for. There are so many delicious looking treats behind the curved glass, that Maddy can't quite decide which to go for. It is after all, an important decision that cannot be taken lightly. For as long as she can remember, she's been eating porridge for breakfast because of the recommended health benefits, and now, faced with a compulsion to change that routine, she doesn't know where to start. After a good five minutes of watching her look, during which time several other customers have come and gone, the cheerful assistant Sally, who loves nothing more than gossip and sticky iced buns, finally asks the somewhat confused, but perfectly happy looking Maddy if she's alright.
'Yes', Maddy says. 'Thank you. I just don't know what to choose.'
Sally smiles at her. There's something about Maddy that seems familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it.
'Well what kind of thing do you like?' she asks.
'I don't know', Maddy says in response. 'I don't think I've ever had anything like this before.'
'That's pretty normal honey. We get a lot of customers in here saying that, you know, wanting to try something different. We are kind of unique here I guess, something that you don't usually find in America, especially this part. We do alright though. I guess folks like sweet things no matter how fancy or foreign they might be.'
Sally laughs at her own joke, and then wipes her hands on the tea towel attached to her belt, even though they don't need cleaning.
'No, I mean, I don't think I've ever had anything like this at all', Maddy says. 'I don't think I've ever eaten a pastry.'
'Have you just crawled out from a rock somewhere honey?!' Sally says. 'How old are you? Twenty one, twenty two, and you mean to say you've never had a cream horn, a French puff, a piece of key lime pie or a bear claw in all those years?'
'Not that I can remember', Maddy says.
Sally laughs and cleans her hands again, as though the two are somehow linked. 'Well you've certainly come to the right place', she says.
'I think so', Maddy agrees.
'So what'll it be?'
'I don't know where to start', Maddy says. 'Can you give me a selection of the ones you like the best?'
'That's exactly what I can do', Sally says. 'How many would you like?'
'Ten', Maddy says excitedly.
'Ten?!' Sally repeats back to her. 'You got an army to feed somewhere?!'
'Yes', Maddy says. 'Something like that.'
She feels like she's in a waking dream, like she may not have woken up in someone else's body this morning, but that perhaps someone else has woken up in hers. Her body feels lighter, and the world around her softer edged, as though the hard lines she used to feel surrounded by, that separated her so distinctly from the world she lived in, have somehow disappeared entirely, and the world and herself are now one and the same thing.
Sally hands over the bag of sugary treats. 'I put an extra one in there for good measure', she says and winks at her, 'but I'll only charge you for ten.'
Maddy smiles, reaches into her pocket for the bundle of cash, and hands over a fifty dollar bill. She waits patiently while Sally counts up her change. When she's done, she looks at Maddy again, screws up her face and can't help but ask.
'You know, you don't work up at the school do you, with Bobby? she says. 'It's just I could have sworn I recognised your face.'
Maddy shakes her head and smiles. 'Who's Bobby?'
'It doesn't matter', Sally says. 'I must be mixing you up. It happens to me from time to time. More as I get older.'
'Thank you for your help', Maddy says, holding up the bag. 'I'm going to enjoy these.'
'Make sure you come again', she says, and waves at Maddy as she heads back out to the street. A split second after Maddy has disappeared out of the door, the persistent Sally, desperate for a bit of gossip, presses her nose up to the glass to watch where she goes. She sees her walk the short distance back to her car, climb into the drivers side and put the French pastries on the seat next to her.
In an attempt to get the license plate number before the car drives away, the over zealous cake shop owner manages to put her hand into a lemon meringue pie, while trying to twist her body into the required viewing position. With her cheek squashed against the window, her hand covered in a sticky lemony sauce, and her leg cramping up from the tip-toed position it has been stretched into, she watches Maddy pull away. Just before the position becomes too much, and she finally unbalances herself from overstretching, ending up on the cold floor below her, dull thwack of bum on stone, the number plate comes clearly and majestically into view.
The first thing he notices, is that the space in the bed next to him is empty. He doesn't panic straight away, because it's always been like this for him, wherever he's found himself. Waking up in a bed alone in itself, was not something that was all that unusual for River. A moment later however, when the deep sleep that has kept him under so sufficiently begins to lift, a name and an image, and eventually a whole world slowly comes back to him, like thick mist lifting from a skyline to reveal a mountain. Maddy.
Even then however, for the briefest of moments, he doesn't panic. She's not there where he wants her to be, but that doesn't mean she can't be standing at the end of the bed, watching him, getting dressed or taking a shower. All of these things are possible, until River turns to see, and feels the unmistakeable metal bite of security guard handcuffs, dig sharply into his wrist.
An initial flush of incomprehension slowly develops into disbelief, that caps out at something approaching embarrassment, when River realises he's been well and truly had. Looking about the room, he sees that not only has Maddy gone, she's also had the audacity to take her new clothes and wig with her.
He adjusts himself in such a way that allows him to get off the bed entirely, gets on his knees as much as the restraint will allow him, and thrusts his free hand between the bed frame and the mattress, heart beating about as wildly as it was only a few hours before. After sliding it back and forth and finding nothing but dust, he stretches as far inside as he can, twisting his shoulder painfully and pushing his cheek into the sharp edge of the thick, stone-like mattress in front of him. Unable to stretch any further, he begins to panic, when he still can't find the money bag. Thinking again, he pulls his arm back out from underneath the bed, and stands up as best he can. He grips the mattress with his free hand, and using all the strength he can muster, which nearly involves tearing his shoulder out of the socket, he rips the mattress of the bed.
There, staring back up at him like a lost pair of pyjamas, is the slightly squashed, but otherwise untouched, light cotton money bag. River climbs back onto the now mattress-less bed, and, unable to reach the bag with his arms, deftly pulls it towards himself with his feet. Maddy may have gone, but at least he has the money, at least she didn't take that, right?
With it finally in his hands, he gives it a quick feel from the outside, before dumping the contents between his legs, eager to make sure that it's all there. When he quickly realises that it's been left untouched, he leans back against the bed breathing heavily, feeling a lot less happy than he thought he would. If anything, having the money in his hands has made him feel worse, because it's made him realise that there's something else he'd prefer to have with him here instead, something much more important to him, and perhaps the only thing that he really needs in this world.