The Junk Drawer

05. Destination: Covina, California [100% Complete]

05. DESTINATION: COVINA, CALIFORNIA [100% COMPLETE]
COVINA, WASHINGTON
0700 HOURS
CALIFORNIA STATE BANK

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I was trying extremely hard to focus on the quiet music streaming through the speakers, but it was kind of difficult when a gun was pressed against the side of my temple.

"My songs know what you did in the dark. So light 'em up, up, up—"

With a flick of the wrist, Gun Boy had the car plunged into silence as Fall Out Boy faded into the silence of the early morning. I chewed on my lip, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. Were you supposed to make conversation with your kidnapper? Was that an unspoken rule?

"Uhm, so—"

"Shut up."

Conversation was definitely out of the picture. Instead, I grimaced and squinted at a sign in the distance. I was thankful for the splash of color against the bland backdrop of the desert. As the trees and forestry disappeared, all that was left was the sandy oasis, cacti, heat and all.

I pressed down on the gas, as the words on the faded green sign became easier to read: Welcome to California. Breathing a sigh of relief, I felt the gun against my head waver as the unknown boy turned to me, a dead look in his eyes.

"I hope you don't mind," My voice was weak. It really wasn't a smart decision to negotiate with my kidnapper, especially when he had a gun to my head. "I need to stop by California first."

He snorted, angling the gun so that it grazed the edges of my forehead. "What, so you can drive straight to the police? I don't think so, sweetheart."

"I swear I won't."

"Sure."

"Pinky swear. Scout's honor. Cross my heart and hope to die," He gave me a pointed look and flicked off the safety. I gulped and added, "Alright, maybe not so much the last part."
Shakily, I removed one hand from the steering wheel and lifted my pinky finger, crossing the other fingers down on my fist. The boy merely furrowed his brows in confusion as my action left him speechless. He lowered his gun to his side. "What are you—"

"I was serious," I cast him a brief look before turning back to the obsidian road. "about the pinky swear though."

As the panic began to settle in —what if he breaks off my finger?— I felt pressure on my fist and turned just in time to see him click a pair of handcuffs into place; it secured tightly around my thin wrist, jingling as I lifted it up to inspect it. It trailed down, the silver chain leading to the marching pair, wrapped around Gun Boy's own bulky wrist.

"Wherever you go, I go." he promised. The scene would've been quite romantic if a) we were a legitimate couple, or b) he didn't phrase the sentence like a death wish. He held my incredulous gaze for a split second before he calmly added, "You might want to turn the wheel a bit to the right."

"What?" Whirling back to the road, creating a crick in my neck, I barely had time to react as I realized his distraction had caused me to swerve into the opposite lane where a large red truck was making its way down the road, honking and screaming through it all.

I quickly turned the wheel to the right, making the car lurch back into the correct lane just as the truck roared by. Heart racing, I chose to ignore the smug look on his face and just continued driving.

The chiming of the chain against my skin increased as I felt myself shaking from the adrenaline. He snorted at that but I didn't reply or bother to thank him for the warning, only choosing to say, "Where did you even get these handcuffs from?"

"Nicked them from the police."

"The police?" I echoed, biting my lip. So he really was a criminal. Does that make me a hostage or an accomplice? I wish Mom were here to—

With a grimace, I forced away all thoughts of my mother. Gun Boy remained silent beside me for the rest of the ride, staring blankly out the window as he grew lost in thoughts of his own.
As I followed the signs to where the bank was located, the car chirped about how it was low on gas. I didn't have any money but since I was going to a bank, I hoped that my father had some provisions in his vault. It took about twenty more minutes and then I was parallel parking on the side of the curb, overlooking an enormous building that dripped with money. No pun intended.

Both Gun Boy and I opened our doors simultaneously, about to get up when the length of the chain creaked and threw us back together. "Ouch." I muttered, rubbing my shoulder blade where I had fallen.

"Come on." he grunted, pulling me towards the passenger seat and practically dragging me out through his door. I locked the doors and turned to face him, holding up our linked arms.

"See how annoying this is?" I argued. "Just let us free."

Before he could reply, he had his handcuffed arm close to my own, intertwining our hands and pulling down the sleeves of our jackets to cover the silver cuffs. His hand was warm and calloused, but seemed to fit perfectly into my own like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. I swallowed nervously. "What the hell-"

"Shut up and just play along." he whispered threateningly as we approached the doors of the bank. A police officer was situated at the entrance, overlooking the building. With a look at our intertwined hands and the charming smile on Gun Boy's face that wasn't there moments ago, the guard let us through with a knowing smile. Unfortunately the dimwit knew nothing at all.

We were hit with a gust of warm air from inside the building. The inside was as large as the outside; with wide spaces and glass decorations adorning the walls, the building was bathed in a warm yellow hue from the chandeliers overhead. Lines led to the counters by the back of the building and three stairwells snaked upwards on each corner of the bank. Gun Boy released my hand and wiped his palm on the exterior of his navy pants, making me frown. Was my hand sweaty or something?

"Make it quick." he instructed, standing close enough to make me mildly uncomfortable but enough to hide the handcuffs from sight of both people and the multiple security cameras hidden in the corners of the building.

I led him to the end of the line of customer service, which wasn't very long to begin with, but he was fidgety and so was I. On the run for two different reasons, it only seemed like a coincidence we were caught together like this.

After about ten minutes, we finally reached the large, wooden counter where a frail old man sat on a plush cushioned chair, adjusting his glasses to focus on us. Gun Boy had his head turned away, either shielding his identity or keeping watch behind us.

"How may I help you?" The old man spoke and I immediately recognized the voice from the phone call.

"I'm looking for Albert Carroway?" I said in a polite tone.

"Well, you've found him." Albert replied in a hearty voice, smiling. It surprised me; from his tone on the phone, I assumed he was a stern, old fashioned elder. "Are you Miss Rogers?"

"Indeed I am." I smiled back, his grin was contagious.

"And who is this young gentleman?" He gestured to Gun Boy, making the latter turn ever so slightly so that only the silhouette of his profile was visible against the florescent lights overhead.

"Ronan." he replied simply. I didn't know if that was his real name or not, but at least I had something else to refer to him as rather than Gun Boy.

"Ahh, well Ronan and Gwen, come follow me," Albert stood shakily from his chair, gripping the armrests tightly as he balanced himself on both feet. Turning to me, he said, "And let's go see your father's vault."

He led us to one of the elevators, grand and large, as we descended into the lower levels of the building. The floor levels dropped as I felt us moving downwards and when the doors opened, we followed Albert down a long walkway, each leading to silver, metallic vault doors on either side of us.

He stopped at one in particular, the number on the front rusted and worn out so that the numbers were illegible. He swiped a key into the slot and the mechanisms of the door whirred into motion, releasing a loud sigh as the door opened slowly. Albert gestured for me to go in first, so I pushed the door the rest of the way in and pulled Ronan through with me. Together, we examined the vault. It was just as silver on the outside, though shinier and cleaner. And all it contained was a single mahogany desk in the center, making me half smile.

A junk drawer.

I reached into my shirt, digging out the skeleton key, trying to shield it away from both Ronan and Albert's prying eyes. I felt like the key belonged to me and my family only, and it only felt right around my neck and not in the sights of other people.

Unlocking the drawer with the key, all that was inside was a yellow box in the center, in pristine condition with even a red bow tied securely on top.

"We came here for a Christmas present?" Ronan snorted; I felt him jittering beside me and I noticed how his eyes kept darting back and forth to Albert, who floated behind us innocently.

"Shh." I shushed him before scooping up the bread sized box in my arms. Loosening the bow, I stuffed it in my pocket as a keepsake and opened the box. Inside was a large wad of cash, a Nevada quarter, and another crumpled note with the phrase, "Ask for Captain Johnny," on the surface. Below the sentence were initials, hastily scribbled in as if an afterthought.

L.R.

Lucas Rogers. I breathed, flipping over the yellowed parchment. On the back was nothing more than a faded symbol; a snake with its fangs hooked onto a rat, eyes glowing. Over my shoulder I heard Ronan's voice hitch.

"It can't be—" he muttered to himself, ripping the paper from my grasp and ignoring my cries of protest. His eyes roamed the contours of the emblem, stroking the edges and floating over the snake's jaw. In a sudden movement, his eyes flicked up towards mine, and for once there was a hint of emotion in the depths of his gaze: Uncertainty.

"What have you got there, children?" Albert's voice emanated somewhere far too close behind us, making me drag my gaze away from Ronan to stare wide-eyed at the bank associate. The old man had a warm smile on his face, and subtly reached a hand up to scratch at his neck. Ronan's eyes narrowed and he discreetly hid the paper underneath his sleeve, giving the old man a shrug in reply.

"Do you mind if I see? I'm always curious as to what's behind these vaults." said Albert, taking a small step towards where we stood behind the desk. Ronan stiffened beside me, his eyes focused on the patch of dry skin beneath the base of Albert's neck. I had no idea why he was so tense about a man's skin condition, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

Eyeing Albert skeptically, I mused, "Isn't that illegal? These vaults are private aren't they? You said so yourself on the phone."

"Did I?" he asked, confusion lacing his tone. It was barely there but I heard it, making me squirm. "Oh, but what harm can an old man like me do?" Albert frowned, the wrinkles on his cheeks deepening as a cloud of sadness floated into his expression. Instantly, I felt pity towards the kind man and began to circle around the corner of the desk with the box tucked under an arm, when Ronan pulled me back to him, using the handcuff's momentum.

"Don't." he growled in my ear, just low enough for my ears to hear and not Albert's.

"He won't hurt us." I rolled my eyes at him, clutching the yellow box to my chest and casting a friendly smile in Albert's direction so he wouldn't think something was wrong. "Relax."

Ronan did nothing of the sort, pulling me slightly behind him as he called over to Albert, "Do you know where the restroom is?"

Confused by the sudden shift in topic, the old man nodded and pointed to the exit of the vault. "Take a right and it should be down at the end of the hallway." Ronan nodded and began pulling me towards the exit when I felt another hand clamp down on my wrist, this one calloused and rough.

"Son, why are you taking this girl with you? Miss Rogers ought to stay back while you do your business, correct?" Albert stared at Ronan dead in the eye, his question coming out more like an order than an idea. The tension in the vault was enough to make me wince. Men were such odd creatures, I concluded and gently pried my wrist away from the old man.

"It's alright," I gave a small smile. "I'll just tag along if he doesn't mind."

Ronan's lips curved into a small smirk, before dragging me out through the rest of the door. Much to Albert's scowl, we began making our way down the dimly lit corridor, the silver of the vault doors flashing in the hues of the fluorescent bulbs overhead.

"What was that all about?" I hissed to the boy beside me, shooting him a dark look as we walked. He silenced me with a brief look, silently telling me not to say anything. Discreetly, he jutted his chin out in Albert's direction behind eyes, his eyes smoldering with the plea for me to comply.

With a sigh, I just shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket, the jingling of the cuffs obnoxiously loud in the silence of the hall.

There was a muffled thump as we neared the restrooms, and I frowned. It grew louder the closer we got, sounding like desperate bangs and muted cries.

"Do you hear that?" I whispered to the boy beside me and he replied with one curt nod.
Ronan abruptly pulled me to a stop before we reached the doors labeled 'restrooms.' Pressing me up against the walls, he leaned in so suddenly, his breath hot on my ear. My body was trapped between his and the wall, hands hopelessly trapped at my sides so there was no way to retaliate.

"If you're going to kiss me," I deadpanned. "You should at least have the decency to take me on a date first. I'm not that type of girl."

"God, are you always this talkative?" Ronan groaned in annoyance, his breath tickling the base of my neck. "Just stay still. As discreetly as you can, I want you to see if Albert's still watching us."

Still watching us? Sure enough, as soon as my eyes flicked to where my father's vault was located, Albert stood at the entrance, a blank expression on his face. Swallowing, I said, "He's still watching."

Ronan was quiet for a split second before leaning closer, giving the illusion that he was making out with me though his lips were still a distance from my own. I tried to control my breathing; my heart raced like it did in the car when he had first jumped in.

"Look again." he whispered, holding his hands to my waist for added effect.
I returned my gaze to where Albert stood, his expression now filled with disgust at our 'public display of affection.' I saw him mouth something incoherently before sauntering back into the vault.

"He's gone." I clarified and Ronan instantly sprung away from me, smoothing down his shirt. While I probably looked frenzied and nervous, he was the epitome of cool and collected.
He turned to continue walking down the hallway, pulling the arm with the handcuff so I could trail behind his brisk pace. The muffled cries grew louder until he stopped at one door in particular, placing an ear against the grain of the wood.

"What is it?" I asked, breathless.

Ronan pulled away and ignored my curiosity, trying the doorknob only to find it rattling and locked. He scowled and took a step back, using his momentum to kick down the mahogany with one heavy swing of the leg.

I let out a muffled cry of exclamation at the feat, but Ronan just continued on, pulling me closely behind him into the room.

It was a storage area, small and claustrophobic. Boxes were lined neatly upon each other, tucked safely into the comfort of their alphabetized shelves. A mop and broom sat below the sink, right beside a quavering figure tied up in rope with duct tape pressed tightly against his mouth. I stiffened as the man, old and worn, glanced up at us with a mixture of relief and gratitude, his face looking very, very familiar.

Albert.

"But how— Why? I—" I stammered, pointing to the old man and then back to the shattered remains of the door, my eyes wide in confusion.

"I knew it." Ronan spat, immediately rushing to the real Albert's side and untying his binds, which were wrapped rather skillfully I must add. Once he was freed, the old man ripped off his own duct tape in one fluid motion, wincing at the brief pain before speaking, "Thank God. You have to call the police. There are these men—"

"Well, well." A voice emanated from the open door, causing the three of us to whirl around like caught mice. Standing with his arms behind his back professionally, the Albert from inside the vault stood, looking like an exact mirror —though cleaner and tidier— of the grungy man on his knees beside me.

My mind had been utterly blown, as I flicked my gaze towards both Alberts multiple times. To keep from being even more confused, I'll just call the Albert from the vault, Al.

Al did not come alone, as two henchmen, both buff and muscular flanked him on either side. Both were tanned but pale, showing off their European heritage. They sported suits, which to my horror looked like the suits the goons who had killed my mother wore. Instantly, I balled my hands into fists angrily. This didn't go unnoted by Ronan, who briefly looked down before fixing his gaze back on Al.

"The jig is up, buddy. You can rip off the snake skin now." Ronan raised an eyebrow as Al rolled his eyes.

"Very well." The other man replied, bringing his hands to either side of his neck, clawing at the dry skin. I felt bile rise in my throat as the sound of ripping flesh echoed through the storage closet and quickly closed my eyes.

By the time I opened them, Al was no longer in sight, replaced by a man with long, wavy brown hair up to his shoulders and a scattering of stubble across his chin and upper lip. He was young, looking as if he were in his early twenties. His dark brown eyes looked smug as he held up the mask replica of Albert's face in one hand and a tiny chip in the other hand, which he probably used to imitate the banker's voice.

Ronan's posture straightened beside me as his teeth bore at the man's true identity. "You." he spat out in the man's direction.

"Me?" The guy smirked, the single syllable rolling off in a thick Russian accent that was coated in ego. Ronan made a move to get up —he looked as if he were going to kill the man— but I quickly pulled him back down, giving him a stern look. He pulled his arm away from my hold roughly, glaring back at the man.

"Lachowski." Ronan hissed. I shot him a quick look which screamed, you know this man? He ignored me. Like usual.

"Ah, so you've heard of me?" Lachowski cackled, pride in his eyes. "This is great, very great!" He resembled a little kid with his grin, as he hopped a bit from foot to foot happily.

Raising my hand, all of the men in the room simultaneously turned to look at me —Ronan held an expression of annoyance, Lachowski with amusement, the goons with blank expressions, and Albert with a scared expression.

"Yes, Gwen?" Lachowski beamed in my direction, but somehow the action seemed more threatening than friendly, making me cringe.

"I," I started slowly, scratching the back of my neck. "don't know who you are, I'm sorry."

"How rude of me." said the man, popping his mouth into a shape of an o, fanning himself wildly. "I, my dear, am Gustavio Lachowski. What a pleasure to meet you."

"Ditto." I gritted out in a sarcastic voice, mildly irritated by his flamboyance. "And Gustavio, might I inquire why you were freaking wearing Albert's face?" The real Albert, shivering in fear beside me merely whimpered and stared at the skin mask lying at Lachowski's feet.

With a loud guffaw, Lachowski merely folded his arms behind his back and grinned a toothy smile in my direction. "It was all part of the plan to meet you, Gwen."

"Me?" I echoed, my voice hitching up a few octaves.

Lachowski nodded with a solemn expression. "Yes, yes. You see, Gwen, we think you might have something in your possession that we want. Your father was of no help to us, we found out."

"What did you do to him?" I screamed, feeling anger rising up in my veins. I swear to God if he touched my dad— Ronan pulled me back down and I landed roughly on my ass, unaware that I had lunged forward in the first place.

Lachowski's eyes gleamed with a spark of amusement at my reaction, laughing merrily. "Just hand me the box, dear." He stretched out his palm, using his fingers to gesture me forward.

I flinched back, holding the yellow box more securely in my arms. Ronan moved closer to where I sat, his muscles tensing as he smirked at the prospect of a fight. "Over my dead body." I spat at Lachowski and his goons.

The Russian merely grinned and snapped his fingers, his booming laughter echoing through the empty corridors. "That, my dear," He chuckled as the goons took menacing steps in our direction. "can be arranged."

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-Isa