Later that night…
The irky sounds of crickets filled the silent air, illuminated by the bright moon ornamenting the starless sky.
The wide landscape view across the neighborhood was void of lights and dead in silence. The only artificial source of noise was the soft hum of a vehicle that rode through the lonely streets. The car took a turn into one of the yards.
Parking before the front porch of the wooden home, the door was pushed open as a tall figure stepped onto the lawn.
Drogo Vetter took a quick glance around his shadowed surroundings, his fingers still hung on the frame of the door before stepping back.
He carefully shut the metal door before striding to the trunk to pick out a briefcase. He finally secured the car's locks and treaded to the front door as the sounds of jangling keys echoed from his palms.
"Seems your boyfriend just returned," Mathieu stated, his voice slightly muffled by the stuffed food pushed to the side of his jaw.
Staring through the binoculars in his grasp, he remained rested on the far-stretched driver's seat, his feet propped on the dashboard.
He spectated in comfort.
Tossing another piece of cookie into his mouth, he chewed loosely before speaking. "Although I wonder what a therapist would be doing until this time of the night…"
"Maybe he's coming from vigil. You know, pray without cease," Karen retorted.
Seated next to him, Karen supported her chin as she stared at the blinking figures of the time displayed on the dashboard.
2:42 AM.
Mathieu finally dropped his binoculars and turned in her direction. "Are you still convinced you need to do this?"
Karen opened the door and stepped out, slamming it shut without an ounce of hesitation.
"Oh, but of course. Just go in there without a plan, as always." Mathieu's hands dropped in a hopeless manner as he watched the bold figure of Karen stomp across the street toward Drogo's yard.
He sighed, returning the binoculars for a closer view.
Karen's heels padded steadily over the concrete slab and onto his mowed lawn, guided by the white streetlights.
Slowly crouching as she reached the window, Karen's fingers grasped the edge of the frame as she peeked through the slim gap of the thick curtains.
The living room was illuminated by warm orange light, casting dim shadows upon the simply arranged furniture in the medium-sized space, seeming plain yet cozy.
Karen continued to observe until she noticed Drogo's tall figure walk through the living room with a glass of what seemed like juice in his grasp.
Her gaze followed him, only to be restricted by the obstruction of the inner curtains. She tutted, turning in the direction of the rest of the building.
Creeping hastily with a hunched back, she finally reached the last window, which, from her assumption of the building's structure, belonged to the bedroom.
The steady thuds of Drogo's leather shoes reassured his presence, along with the creak of the door before it pulled shut.
She raised her head, trying to steal a peek. Her brows furrowed.
The transparent glass of the closed window was obscured by a black surface. Karen's eyes narrowed, staring longer at the barrier on the other side that obstructed her little sneaking game.
And if she wasn't mistaken, as always, it seemed like a wooden board nailed on the other side.
"What the fuck…?" she whispered as she slowly stood upright.
Why would he nail a board to his bedroom window?
Karen took a quick glance around to assure her solitude before pacing toward the backyard.
Pausing to study the small patches of vegetables and flowers that lined the margins, Karen then turned back to the house, taking note of the opaque windows.
Of course… Karen tutted, crossing her arms. For someone reeking of suspicion and secrets, it was only proper that he would have the windows of his house nailed shut.
Her eyes rolled before letting out a wasted sigh. She pulled out her phone to tap on it.
"I'll have to tell Mathieu to start plan B—"
A cotton fabric pressed against her lips from behind, pulling her body back to collide with a chest as an arm wrapped around her upper body.
Karen stilled, her phone slipping from her grasp as her eyes peeled wide.
She gasped in realization, inhaling the pungent, ethereal scent soaked into the fabric over her face.
Her heart thudded, her pupils rolling back as the disorienting drowsiness numbed her limbs and consciousness.
Karen slumped into the arms of her abductor.
Her limp body was swiftly hoisted and carried toward a sleek black van parked in the shadows.
Another masked individual opened the van door, revealing a dark interior illuminated only by faint red lights. Karen was placed onto the cold metal floor as the door slid shut with a muted thud.
Meanwhile, from Mathieu's vantage point, he watched through his binoculars as the figures carried Karen away and drove off.
"Kidnappers?" His tone was flat and unhinged.
He munched on another cookie, wiping the edges of his lips. "When did the author add this twist to the plot…?"
Lowering the binoculars, he stretched his arms with a yawn before reaching for the ignition.
"Well then… more dinner for me tonight, I guess," he said nonchalantly, starting the car.
With one hand on the steering wheel, he grabbed another cookie from the packet beside him and drove away as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
• • •
Karen stirred slowly, her head throbbing. Her eyelids parted, vision blurry as she regained consciousness.
Cold, damp air clung to her skin. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed above her, and the hard surface beneath her felt rough and moist. As her vision cleared, she realized she was in a somewhat abandoned basement.
Her wrists and ankles were bound tightly with chains, the links cold and unyielding against her skin. A gag was lodged against her lips, muffling any sound she might make.
Karen blinked a few times, taking in her surroundings with a surprisingly calm curiosity.
Her sharp brown gaze quickly scrutinized the room: concrete walls, a single rusted closed door, and two large men standing like sentinels near it, arms crossed, faces masked.
She tested the chains with a slight tug. They didn't budge.
Karen exhaled slowly through her nose, tilting her head back as if in thought.
Where the fuck was she? Her mind remained fogged and groggy.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her attention toward the door.
It creaked open, revealing a man in his mid-fifties with olive-toned skin, neatly combed silver hair, and a tailored dark suit that screamed authority. His plump, rounded features and piercing dark eyes gave him an air of menace.
He strode into the room, leather shoes clicking against the concrete floor, and stopped a few feet from Karen.
She only stared, expression plain, as if waiting to see what would unfold.
"We finally meet again…" he began, his deep, accented voice laced with anger. "Karen."
A crease formed above her brows.
"Didn't think we'd meet so soon, huh?"
Karen remained silent.
Crooking his head slightly to gauge her fully bound appearance, he let out a scoff. "You know…" He pulled a cigar from his pocket. "I don't think any imbecile has ever given me such stress trying to find them the way you did."
Karen's expression stayed neutral, her gaze unwavering as she studied him.
Apparently, her lack of reaction didn't give him pause.
He gestured sharply to one of the guards, who stepped forward and removed the gag from her mouth.
Karen licked her lips, calm unbroken, scanning the room once more before gauging the man before her. "Who are you?"
Her tone was flat.
Spotting the twitch above his brow, the man's jaw clenched. "Playing dumb is a dangerous trick."
His thick fingers clasped the rim of her lower jaw. "Not when you soiled my very floor with my son's blood."
Karen blinked, void of the fear he expected. "Who?"
His nails dug into her skin as he narrowed his eyes in spite. Dragging in a deep breath as if restraining his wrath, he shoved her head aside.
Without looking over his shoulder, he spoke to one of the henchmen.
"You. Where did you pick the vermin from?"
"From Drogo Vetter's residence," the henchman replied with a bow.
"Vetter?" the old man repeated as if to confirm. "Isn't he that church man with the strange tattoos?"
The subordinate nodded with a hum.
The wrinkled man paused, then looked back at Karen, whose expression forgot how to react.
A frown settled on his lips. "Get me my saw."