London Escape
Authors: Cacey Hopper
London Escape
The Halcyon Legacy - Book One
by
Cacey Hopper
Text copyright 2012 © Cacey Hopper
All Rights Reserved
Published 2012 by Cacey Hopper
New Haven, CT
Cover art by Christine Corey
For Matthew
PROLOGUE
“D
o not move.”
The man’s warning is pointless. I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to. My feet are firmly rooted to the concrete floor. My eyes, however, roam freely, taking in the scene playing out before me, and searching hopelessly for an escape. Though it is broad daylight outside, the room deep inside the abandoned warehouse is nearly pitch black. A single bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling barely illuminates the room. After a moment’s inspection I realize the door to my back is the only door in the empty office.
Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to turn and run, but I can’t. At least not yet. The two men in front of me have my full attention, though they’ve barely acknowledged my presence. The man on the left, the one who warned me, is clothed in nondescript black fatigues. He is of medium height and build. I don’t recognize him, but in the dim light he could be almost anyone. All I know is that he’s here to save me. The man on the right I know far too well. The man called Mr. V, the one responsible for all of this. He is the reason I am here, frozen with fear.
Both men stand barely ten feet apart, facing one another. The man on the left has his gun steadily trained on Mr. V, unwavering, fearless. But our enemy is not easily intimidated. He waves his gun casually as he speaks, as though he might at any moment decide to turn it on either one of us.
My mind is still reeling from the turn of events that have led me to this place and time. The past five days have been full of adventure, yes, but danger has also been my constant companion.
Finally my thoughts clear enough for me to focus on one single thing. There is no way all three of us are walking out of this situation unscathed. And there is only one way I can tip the balance in favor of my own escape. I don’t stop and think. I just choose and act…
1. GREEN CONVERSE
Five days earlier…
“K
atherine!”
Someone is calling my name. The sound echoes down the hall and into the open door of my bedroom. Heaving a sigh, I toss aside the book I was trying to read and roll off the bed. I don’t have to question who is calling my name, or why he’s summoning me so loudly. For one thing, no one ever calls me by my given name. I’ve been Kit for as long as I can remember. Secondly, there are only a handful of reasons why he would want to talk to me right now.
This leads me to my next conclusion: I’m probably in trouble.
I trudge slowly down the hallway, trying to prolong the inevitable. My footsteps are nearly silent, just like the rest of the house. As I draw nearer to the open door at the end of the hall, I run through a list in my head of things I could have possibly done wrong in the past few weeks. But for the life of me I can’t think of anything. I’d been in by curfew last night. All my end of term grades were in and I had made nearly perfect A’s, except for that one B in French class.
The truth is, for a seventeen-year-old girl, I hardly ever put a toe out of line. It’s not like I don’t occasionally want to, I just can’t. Not without incurring a harsh punishment of two months without a cell phone, computer, or being allowed to leave the house. What little freedom I have, I value. So why do I feel so nervous?
Then it hits me. If I’m not really in trouble, there is only one other reason I can think of for him to be calling me into his office like this: he wants something. The only question remaining is what. For a brief second I consider the possibility we might be going on that vacation he’s been promising me for years now. Despite myself, I walk a little faster towards his office at the end of the hall.
The door is already open, so I don’t knock, but walk right in. “What do you need, Dad?”
Somewhere, from behind the enormous desk and twenty-inch computer screen, I hear him chuckle softly. “What makes you think I need something?”
Already I know exactly what he’s up to. Playing things off like nothing is going on, too bad I know better. First, he will pretend like nothing is going on. And when I’m finally lulled into a false sense of security, only then will he lay it on the line. But still, I’m not getting an altogether bad vibe off the situation so far, and I’m usually right about this sort of thing.
“Oh, I don’t know.” I cross the expanse of hardwood floor and plop down in the overstuffed leather chair facing his desk. “Maybe because you’ve hardly said a word to me since you got back and now you’re shouting for me?”
He finally slides his chair over a fraction so I’m no longer staring at the computer instead of his face. His blue eyes flash behind his steel rimmed glasses, his mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
I try not to roll my eyes.
“So, what were you up to last night?” he asks.
He sounds casual, too bad I know better.
“Nothing,” I answer neutrally. “Where were you?” I had heard him come in early this morning, though his plane supposedly landed the night before. He traveled for business a lot. So much I could hardly keep track of where he was most of the time.
“Denmark,” he answers, almost too quickly.
I narrow my eyes. “I thought you said you were going to China?” This isn’t the first time his stories didn’t match up. Either my dad is really bad with geography or he just doesn’t care about telling me the truth. I strongly suspect the latter.
For once, I allow the anger I have held toward him over the past few years to surface. I’m his only daughter, he is my only parent. He could at least be honest with me and tell me where he is at night when I’m home alone. I’m sure he’s just working constantly, but why couldn’t he occasionally tell me where he’s going and when he would be home?
I cross my arms over my chest automatically, as though trying to defend myself from whatever is coming next. As usual he seems to not notice my anger. How could he? That would actually require paying attention.
“So,” he waves his hand dismissively, “I guess I do need something from you.”
I ignore this statement. I’m too busy kicking my foot up and down and watching the laces on my sneaker bounce in response.
“Kit,” he says in a firmer tone, “please don’t be difficult.”
As usual, all I hear is what he leaves unspoken.
Please don’t be so much like your mother.
I force my gaze up to meet his. “What do you need?”
“There’s this party tonight,” he begins slowly.
“Oh no.” I shake my head from side to side. If he thought I was being difficult earlier, he has another thing coming.
“Listen, before you say anything just consider it, please? It’s a small fundraiser at a neighbor’s house. I’ve got some work contacts that are going to be there, so I need to make an appearance,” he explains.
Of course it has to do with work. Everything else in his world does, except me. So it’s no wonder I’m having a hard time figuring out how I fit into the equation.
Frantically I wrack my brain for an excuse not to go. I could say I have plans to hang out with my best friend, Alexa, but she’s at her mom’s place in the city. Maybe I could say I have a paper to write for school, but then again he might realize that school has been out for two weeks. I could even lie and say I have a date, but the chances of him believing that are even slimmer.
“I thought you hated these things,” I say, still trying to figure out what could be so important about this party.
“I don’t hate parties,” he says quickly. Again, a little too quickly.
If there’s one thing I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it’s when someone is lying to me, especially my dad. Not just because I thought he was terrible at it, but because I have somewhat of a sixth-sense when it comes to this sort of thing. Alexa jokingly refers to it as my “spidey sense”.
“Why do you want me to go so badly, Dad?” I look at him evenly, trying to discern his true motives.
“For one, I’d like to spend the evening with you. Also, I’d prefer not to go alone.” He looks away as he says this.
Whatever my dad actually does for a living, it has to have something to do with coercing people into doing things they don’t want to do. Because I instantly feel my resolve crumble, just a little. Things aren’t perfect between us, and they haven’t been for a long time, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is my dad.
“Look, it’s going to be a nice party with good food, some of your friends from school will probably be there. You’ll have fun,” he continues.
Somehow I doubt any of my school friends will be there, because I only have two of those. Alexa is in the city tonight and Jason…I’m not sure where he is at all. But he’s the last person I want to think about right now. Immediately I decide the idea of sitting home alone all night sounds far too depressing.
Refusing to meet my dad’s gaze I sigh in resignation. “What time?”
“Nine,” he says and I can tell by his tone he’s feeling triumphant.
Before he can gloat anymore I start to rise.
“It’s black tie, so—”
My groan cuts him off. I turn on my heel to leave.
“Kit, wait, here—” He’s holding something out to me, something small and black. My eyes widen at the sight of his black American Express card.
I take it from him, unsure of what it means.
“Go buy yourself a nice dress.” He smiles and I can almost forgive him for dragging me to this thing. Not because he’s so obviously trying to bribe me, but because for once in my life he’s offering me a small piece of freedom, trusting me with something important, if only for an afternoon.
“Thanks,” I mumble and stuff it in my jeans’ pocket.
Before I’m out the door, he calls out to me once more. “By the way, we’re taking our own car tonight. There’s no point in getting a driver to go one house over.”
I freeze in the doorway and turn slowly back to him. One house over only means one thing to me and it’s no wonder he left that tidbit of information out of his earlier statements. My dad might be a terrible liar, but he’s not clueless. He knows exactly what going next door would mean to me.
He’s once again absorbed with his computer screen so he doesn’t see me glaring at him. I force myself to say nothing and walk away. After all, he’s not the only one I’m angry at now.
Leaving more quickly than I came, I return to my room where I had been reading earlier. I toss the unwanted book onto the floor and fling myself down onto my bed. Unconsciously my eyes drift to the window, and though it’s a rainy summer day I can just make out the treetops that line our property, separating our yard from the one next door.
That very house belongs to the Barrons, another affluent family here in Greenwich, Connecticut. I know them well. I go to school with their son, Jason Barron, or did, until he graduated this past May. Up until a couple of weeks ago he had been my boyfriend and one of my best friends. Now he is gone, and I’m not so sure if he will ever be anything to me again.
I remember his goodbye vividly, because it still stings today.
Our breakup had already taken place weeks before. He was going to Europe for the summer before he started college in the fall and it just made sense. Long distance relationships didn’t suit either of us, especially not him. Strangely enough, that hadn’t been the hard part, since we agreed to remain friends. There was always such a strong bond between the two of us, that I had no doubt we would someday end up back together again. But when he came to say goodbye, something about it made me question everything I thought I knew about him, and us. It takes me all of two seconds to move backward in time to that moment, and I can still see him there.