Freeing Clara

12. Unusual Suspects

In the front of the bar, on the dinning platform, all the tables were pushed together to make one long table. Chairs were stacked in a corner except for those needed. The old looking map of town that was once framed on a wall was now sprawled out on the center of the table. Alcohol was used as markers of major locations.
Scotch was the bar.
Whiskey, The Bar brand, was Flint's home.
Burbon was Cavennaugh's home.
Vodka was the high school where the kidnapping took place.
A half empty Midori bottle was Clara's parents home.
A old bottle of nonalcoholic beer as the location of the Sevonism church.

On the wall were articles of Clara's attack years ago, a newspaper article of the kidnapping, an article of the Sevonism church (done many years ago to expose corruption).

Najeem had used the printer in Flints office to print photos to keep track of the usual suspects. Names given to Najeem from Callum and photos given to Najeem from Carter.

As Najeem began tacking the photos on the walls with labels, Flint walked into the bar.

Frustrated and unable to sleep Flint went to the gym then showered in the apartment above the bar while Najeem set up the bar.

Flint's eyes widened as he saw what Najeem had done. He ran a hand through his wet hair.

"You did this?" He says dumbfounded.

"Yes. We need to get a clear picture of places and faces. Chances are the person who took her will slip up. These cultists cant be smarter than the nails in the floor boards."

"I thought you were upset about Clara and I."

The rooms feels humid all of a sudden. Najeem shakes his head, not meeting Flint's gaze. His hands planted firmly on the table as he hovers over the map. He licks his lips, dehydrated suddenly.

"I wasn't... I was worried. I remember how you got after Livy was killed. The happiness just drained from you. You were lifeless and then she showed up and slowly the pieces were put back together. My best friend was smiling again. I was so caught up in the possibility of her leaving, breaking your heart, that I never thought about the good she did while she was here."

Flint didnt know what to say. He understood but also didnt recognize how lost he had been before Clara. How lifeless he had seemed. All work. Running the bar like it was a lifeline. He needed something to occupy him. Worried that if he returned to boxing he'd be the reason for someone else dying, he opened the bar as an escape. He never thought it would be the way he met the first and only woman he has ever loved.

Love.

The word was hurting him like a barbell sitting on his chest.

"I need her back," Flint says breaking the silence. Najeem nodded as if he understood the pain.

"Lets go over the suspects. First, her parents," Najeem says rushing to the table.

"You're missing bottles," Flint says.

Flint leaves the platform and grabes a closed bottle of champaign, a bottle of gin, and a half empty bottle of tequila.

Flint returns placing the bottle of gin on the map where the mall is located. "The men who took pictures of her," he explains.

"Carter said they were known pedophiles. Why would they go after an 18 year old girl?"

"They could have thought she was younger, she is small but she also doesnt look 18, more like 20... they could be doing her rapist a favor..."

Flint puts the bottle of tequila on the corner of the map indicating the prison outside of town.

Najeems eyes widened then looked up at Flint with confusion. He didnt know nor did he want to.

"Her father's friend did it." Flint says trying to be vague. He didnt want to tell Clara's story to anyone in case she didnt want people knowing. He knew Najeem wouldnt push further.

"He is in prison but Cavenaugh said he was trying to get out on parole," Flint says irritated by the idea. Part of him wanted the guy paroled so he could get his hands on him.

"The guys who took the photos, they could have been asked to take her for him if he was hoping to get out," Najeem says.

"These guys have records. No one risks going back to prison unless they are desperate for something and doing a favor for a guy who might get paroled doesnt sound smart," Flint says.

"They are criminals, they arent supposed to be smart."

"They are criminals... desperate for something but if not a guy in prison, then someone outside who can give them something they want," Flint says thinking aloud.

"Hired by someone. Who hires dumb criminals?"

"Someone just as dumb and desperate... someone desperate enought to hire a french chef to kidnap the waitress he works with..."  Flint says.

"Cavenaugh's men asked him questions."

Flint nods. "But they didnt show him pictures and ask for an ID."

"You should call Cavenaugh."

***

Clara felt a cold shiver run through her, sick to her stomach. It had been a full 24 hours and she had refused to drink any water or eat anything. Mr. Colt came in every other hour to stare at her as she lay there. She didnt say anything, she didnt try to fight or leave. He stared at her for five to ten minutes before storming out. At night he shut off the light in the cold dark basement room. She didnt sleep, just shivered and stared at the cement wall.

As morning came Colt came back to the basement with breakfast. He placed the plate near her and gestured for her to, at the very least, acknowledge the plate.

"You havent eaten since you came home. You need to eat," he says.

Clara moves, turning to look at the man standing over her half naked body.

His black hair was combed back. He wore a tight fitted button up shirt in white, his tie a beige color, his slacks matched the beige of his tie, and his coat was a God-awful shade of brown. He kneels down, his polished brown leather shoes making a sound as he moves.

Pushing herself to lean up, almost face to face with him. She wanted him to hurt. Rejection was his hurt. He needed acceptance. Thats what she had learned from the time he forced himself on her the first time. With that knowledge, she dug deep. What were the most harmful things she'd heard from drunk men? Men, drunk or not, seemed to choose the bar as a place to have no filter. To let loose. To drag others down or to talk shit. Some talked shit about others to Clara. She was used to shit talking. Some people paid more in the swear jar than their bar tab just to talk shit. Sometimes the things she considered to be the worst made others laugh, and she wasn't one to filter herself in the bar either. So in reality if she used those same words it would make Colt's skin crawl. He could feel the rejection and be in pain.

"You think making me meals after kidnapping and stripping me will make me develope stockholm syndrome? You're even more pathetic than people led on when gossipping on Sundays."

His face turned from a smile to a dark menacing look of anger. He moved his jaw in irritation as though trying to silence himself.

"You need to watch that sinful mouth," he says coldly.

Clara shakes her head and scoffs. "Says the pathetic sinner in front of me."

He sucks in a deep breath and stands.

"You'll repent. You'll get your punishment soon."

He sighs, looking down on Clara with a look of smugness. He felt he was better. He knew she'd been corrupted but was unsure how much. Now, he knew. She needed every level of retribution. She needed to be reborn. Otherwise the Guide of their path would never go through with Colt's arrangements.

"Who would consent?" He thought as he climbed the stairs to the main floor. "Who could consent to officiating our holy marriage when she is unholy?"