Is It the Truth…or Lies?

Chapter 1It began as any normal Sunday did for Steve Richmond. Get up, eat breakfast, do chores. Nothing prepared him for what happened when he left the apartment to take care of his grocery shopping. He rode the elevator down to the parking garage, humming to himself, some song from a musical that he’d gone to a few weeks previously. It didn’t particularly bother him, when he got off the elevator, to see that a couple of the overhead lights were out. Annoy, yes, since it was in the part of the garage where he parked, but it happened occasionally. He’d let the super know when he got back if someone else hadn’t while he was gone. He strode to his car, which was in the shadows cast by the pillars between it and the working lights, took out his keys, and started to unlock the door. That was the last thing he remembered until he came to in… Well, at first he wasn’t certain where he’d ended up. All he knew was he had a raging headache and he was curled up in a small, dark space that smelled of exhaust fumes mixed with gasoline and something moldy. His hands were restrained behind his back and he was blindfolded. He thought about calling for help, but who’d hear him? He decided he was in the trunk of a car from the movement and the sound of tires on pavement—not only from this car but from other cars on the street or highway. He groaned when the car hit a bump, bouncing his head against the trunk’s floor, and again when it made a sharp turn that threw him against one side of the trunk. Where the hell is he taking me, and why? He prayed it wasn’t to someplace where he’d be summarily killed and buried. If he was going to die, he wanted there to be a reason behind it. Did the man, because he was certain it had to be a man, plan to hold him for ransom? If so, he hasn’t done his homework. The only living relatives Steve had were an aunt who was in her late seventies, and a cousin he hadn’t seen in years. Both of them were dirt poor, even worse off than he was; which was saying something. True, he owned his own business, a costume shop that brought in enough income to allow him to have a small but decent apartment and put food on the table for him and his one employee. If he hadn’t loved what he did, he’d have given up ages ago and become a store clerk or a barista at some coffee shop. Maybe he thinks I’m someone else? Steve knew he was about to find out why he’d been kidnapped when he felt the car turn one more time, slow down, and then come to a stop. I should have prepared for this. Should have wriggled around so I could give him a hard kick when he opens the trunk and then make a run for it. It was too late now, even if running had been feasible while blindfolded. He heard footsteps and then the sound of the trunk lid lifting. The person, it had to be a man, grabbed his legs, yanking them out of the trunk, then helped him to his feet and gripped his arm. “I’ll steer you. Try anything and you’ll regret it.” “Like there’s anything I can do,” Steve replied with more bravado than he felt. He could sense gravel under his shoes, then pavement, and figured they heading toward a house. He found out he was right when the man told him there were three steps to the porch. He made it to the top, the man released his arm, and Steve heard the sound of a key turning in a lock. Then he was steered inside, the door closed behind them, and it sounded as if the man relocked it before taking his arm again, walking him forward. “Turn,” the man said. Steve turned. “Back up.” Steve did as he’d been told, felt the edge of a chair or sofa against the back of his calves. He knew what was coming next and sat before he was ordered to. When he did, sitting down hard because his hands were still tied behind him, the smell of dust assailed him. It was uncomfortable, but he’d deal. Like I’ve got a choice. He heard the man move something, a chair he thought, as moments later the man’s voice came from in front of him, not from above which it would have if he’d been standing over him. “Mr. Richmond,” he said, “I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer them truthfully and I’ll let you go. Lie to me and you’ll wish you hadn’t.” The menace in his voice told Steve he wasn’t kidding. “First, tell me when you last talked to or saw Nate Loman.” “Who?” “What did I tell you about lying?” The man slapped Steve lightly across his face. “That’s just a love pat compared to what will happen if you don’t answer correctly. When did you last talk with him?” “I don’t know a Nate Loman.” The man backhanded him. “Try again.” Steve swallowed hard. “I swear by all that’s holy, I don’t know who you’re talking about!” “Perhaps he’s using another name. He’s approximately six feet tall, black hair, pale complexion, blue eyes, broad shoulders, has a tattoo of a heart with the name ‘Mary’ in it on the inside of his right wrist, and one of a raven on his left bicep.” “That doesn’t ring any…” Another backhand to his jaw ended what Steve was saying. “I don’t believe you. We know you and he are associates. I need to know where he is and you will tell me or suffer the consequences.” The sound of a door opening then slamming shut made Steve jump. Another man said, his words filled with anger, “You i***t. You took the wrong guy!” “What do you mean?” Steve’s abductor replied with equal venom. “He’s the only Steven Richmond in the phonebook.” “That was how you picked him? What kind of fool are you?” “A big one,” Steve whispered. There was a brief, sharp laugh from the newcomer before he said, “I apologize for what he did. We’ll be leaving now, won’t we?” Steve knew that last was addressed to his abductor. “Can you at least untie me?” Steve asked. “Sorry, no can do. You’d take off the blindfold as soon as I did and then you’d be able to identify us. I can’t let that happen.” Steve heard his abductor get up and then the two men walking out of the room…and the house, if that’s where he was, moments later. He leaned back, rubbing his head against the sofa until he was able to rid himself of the blindfold. He’d guessed correctly, he was in a house, one, he decided, that had obviously been abandoned from the lack of any furniture in the room other than the sofa, the chair, and a very dusty table in one corner. Standing, he began to explore, searching for something sharp he could use to cut the rope around his wrists. His first stop was the kitchen where he hoped he’d find a knife left behind by whoever had owned the place. With his back to them out of necessity, because his hands were tied behind him, he opened the drawers in the counter one by one, turning after he had to peer into them. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything if it wasn’t for the late afternoon sun shining through a dirt-smeared window. He was about to give up and move on to other rooms when he saw something bright at the back of the final drawer. He yanked the drawer hard and it came out. When he let go, it, and something else, hit the floor. Whatever it was ended up under the edge of the lower cupboards. Sitting with his back to them, he felt around. “Got you!” he exclaimed when he found the object. It felt like a knife. He twisted his arms around so he could see it, heaving a sigh of relief. It was a paring knife and might work, even though it was pretty dull he discovered when he ran a finger over the blade. For a moment, he considered breaking a window so he’d have a sharp piece of glass which might work better. He changed his mind when he realized the only thing he could use, other than the knife handle, was his hands. He really didn’t want to chance slashing them and his arms, which could happen with or without his holding the knife. He supposed he could use the chair from the living room, but he wasn’t certain he could manipulate it to do what he wanted. Returning to the living room, he sat on the sofa and then figured out how to hold the knife so he could move it back and forth to sever the rope. It seemed to take forever, and cost him a few nicks to his wrists in the process, but strand by strand he managed to cut the rope until he could twist his hands and finally break it. By then, the room was dark. He checked his pocket for his phone, swearing vehemently when he didn’t find it. “You couldn’t have left it,” he muttered angrily as he walked to the front door, holding the knife in one hand. Not much protection, but better than nothing I suppose. He expected to find the door was locked, and was relieved when it opened without any problem. Stepping onto the porch, he surveyed his surroundings. The house was in a small clearing surrounded by trees. The path his abductor had used to walk him from the car to the porch led to a gravel driveway. If it hadn’t been for a bright quarter moon in a cloudless sky, he wouldn’t have felt safe leaving. Not that I’m any safer staying here. Who knows if the men won’t change their minds and come back to kill me, just in case. He had no idea where he was, or how far it was back to the city. He hoped that the driveway would end up at a road with at least some traffic and he could hitch a ride to the closest convenience store. At least he didn’t take my wallet, for whatever that’s worth. It meant he still had his ID and credit card, so he could pay for a cab. Which might drain the card, but what the hell. At least I’ll be home and…And then what? Call the police and tell them what happened? Would they believe me? Only one way to find out. It took less time than he expected to reach the end of the driveway, where he found a paved, two-lane road. Having no idea which way to go, he turned right and started walking. Several minutes later headlights appeared behind him. He began waving frantically. Much to his relief the driver pulled the car to a stop. The man leaned over, rolled down the window, and said with some concern, “Are you hurt? You look like someone beat on you.” It took a second for Steve to realize he probably had bruises on his face, and blood on the cuffs of his shirt from where the knife nicked him. The knife he was holding defensively in one hand. He quickly shoved it into his pocket before approaching. “I had a run-in with a couple of punks at a vacant house I found.” He figured that explanation was better than the truth for the time being. “I managed to get away. I’d sure like a ride to the nearest place where I can call a cab.” “No problem. Hop in. I can take you to your car, if you want, so you don’t have to get a cab.” “Well, about that,” Steve replied as he got into the car. “I biked and they stole it,” he ad-libbed, “And my phone, and all my cash. At least they didn’t take my wallet or keys.” “You want me to call the police?” the man asked as he started down the road. “I can have them meet you at the Stop-’n’-Go.” Steve shook his head. “Thanks, but right now all I want to do is get home and clean up. I’ll call them afterward.” “If you’re sure. By the way, I’m Hank, and you are?” “Steve.” “Nice to meet you. I bet I know the house you’re talking about. Belonged to old man Smith. It’s been sitting vacant since his kid put him in a nursing home.” Steve forced a laugh. “Looks like it’s been that way for a while.” “Maybe two years.” There were lights ahead and soon Hank pulled into the lot of the convenience store. “Tell Mike I said he should let you use the store’s phone, not the pay phone, since you don’t have any ready cash.” “Thanks, I will, and thank you for the lift. It’s much appreciated.” “No problem. You take care and call the police. Last thing we need around here is people being robbed. Gives the area a bad name.” Steve didn’t know what ‘the area’ was, but he figured he’d find out when he called the cab. According to the guy in the convenience store, when Steve asked, he was in a small town only a few miles from the city, so getting a cab to pick him up was no problem, and not too expensive, either. He paid, adding a decent tip when the cabbie dropped him off at his apartment building. Then, hoping he didn’t run into anyone who lived there, he went inside and took the elevator up to his floor. As soon as he locked his apartment door behind him, he began shaking and leaned against it until he calmed down. Delayed reaction to everything that had happened, he knew. He was surprised it had taken that long to hit him. He turned on the lights then made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his shirt on the way. It went into the wastebasket as he had no intention of wearing it again even if he could get the blood out of the cuffs. He surveyed himself in the mirror over the sink and shuddered. There were two large bruises on his face, and a couple of small gashes which he attributed to the ring his abductor wore. He used his hand mirror to check the back of his head where he’d been hit. There was some blood on his hair and the spot was sore to the touch, but there wasn’t a lump, which he supposed was a good thing. Stripping, he turned the water on as hot as he could take it and stepped into the shower. Twenty minutes later, feeling marginally better, he had dried off and gone into the bedroom. Even though it was late, around eleven according to the alarm clock on the nightstand, he wasn’t tired, so he put on a pair of sweatpants and went into the kitchen to make coffee. He realized he hadn’t eaten since lunch but wasn’t at all hungry, as he found out when he checked the fridge and nothing looked in the least bit appetizing. He poured a cup of coffee when it was ready and went into the living room. “Now, what? Call the police? What can I tell them? I didn’t see the man who abducted me, or his friend. I know approximately where the house is, but I doubt they could find any clues to who took me there.” Saying it aloud reinforced what he’d been thinking on the cab ride home. Still, he couldn’t completely ignore what had happened, and he did have a name, the one the man had asked him about. He recalled what his abductor had said to the other man when asked. “He was the only Steven Richmond in the phonebook.” He had to have looked online, Steve decided. After all, who owned a paper phonebook these days? He wasn’t even certain they still existed. He booted up his laptop on the desk in the corner of the living room, went online, and looked at a couple of the major white pages sites. Much to his surprise, the man was right. There were over a dozen S. Richmonds and even two S. M. Richmonds, one of which could have been him as his middle name was Michael, but only one Steven Richmond—him. It had his home address, with no phone number other than to say ‘unlisted’. If the man had dug deeper, he would have found the listing for Masquerade Apparel with an address and phone number, but of course he would have had to know the shop belonged to me, which is unlikely. At least he hoped it was. Of course it is. Besides, they know I’m not the man they’re looking for. The one guy said as much. While he wanted to believe he was safe, now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that might not be true. What he needed was someone to talk to who would convince him he had nothing to worry about. “But who?” he murmured. He knew the answer, he just wasn’t certain he wanted to call Andy. They had been lovers until six months ago when they decided it wasn’t working for them. Thus, while they had parted reasonably amiably, they hadn’t seen or even talked to each other since then. He resolved to sleep on it, if he could sleep, and decide in the morning if he should get in touch with Andy.