This small piece is a little different from what I usually write. Hope you enjoy it.
‘You have an incoming communication’ his phone rasped for the third time in an hour. If only he could reach it, his fingers strained to grip the phone, but the bindings only let him move so far. The cloth cut into his wrists as he stretched his body over to the bed side table. The grotty mattress beneath him squeaked as he strained.
The door swung open and hit the wall behind it, the paint flaking off as it bounced back, scattering the floor in a flurry of grey chips. The light behind his captor outlined its frame, but he would know that silhouette anywhere. It was a long time ago, but she hadn’t changed a day.
“The years have been kind to you, Minerva.” Fire squeezed his throat, the chloroform she used to drug him with was still potent in his mouth.
“I wish I could say the same for you, Gerard.” She stepped into the room, the bare bulb casting shadows across her face, it should have thrown grotesque lines, but it only added to her mysterious power that she held over him.
“Speak woman, so I can go home.”
She chuckled, and it set his teeth on edge. Ten years ago, he would have been able to get out of these bindings and would have used them to strangle her, but he wasn’t the agent he once was.
“Home. You mean to your apartment in Crown Street. The one with supposedly impenetrable security, where you think you keep your family safe?”
He bucked off the bed and knew she could see the terror in his eyes, he should have masked it, but she knew where they were. She knew.
“You took something from me, and I want it back. Tell me where it is.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Liar.” She hit speaker on her mobile phone and held it out. A shaky voice filled his stomach with dread.
“Gerry?” His wife’s voice trembled, and he fought against the restraints.
“Now,” her lips curled into a razor-sharp smile, “tell me where it is.”
The sound of his wife screaming hit him in the gut, a primal urge to kill everyone who touched her grew.
“43.7230° North, 10.3966° East,” he said through gritted teeth.
He shook his head, it wasn’t Minerva speaking, it was his wife. “Finally, I can stop pretending to love that fool.” Then she hung up.
Minerva flicked a knife down onto the bed, just out of reach. “She’s good at what she does. Your wife. The best agent I have.”
“All this time?” Disbelief clouded his vision and he deflated onto the mattress.
“Fifteen long years. Believe me, every time she would check in she couldn’t stop complaining about you. But we played the long game and in the end, we won. Goodbye, Gerard.”
She flicked the light off and closed the door, and he listened as the lock clicked into place with a small snick.
Rage shook his voice, “It’s no where near the end, not even close.”