Identity by JC Rosen
Lily woke with a sickening headache. She recognized a concussion even as she assessed the situation. Light filtered in through a dingy window. Ropes bound her to a student chair with desk attached. A rough bandana filled her mouth. Chairs like this one were scattered about. She heard snoring and chanced a glance in that direction. The guard in the corner was clearly not up to the task. This was in Lily’s favor. The ropes, not so much.
In a moment of dizzying clarity, a scene played out in her mind. The thugs, out of nowhere. Her head smashed against a wall, a chemical scent covering her face, forcing her surrender. A man’s voice as clouds gathered. “You can’t get away from him, LuAnne. I told him I’d find you and take you back.” LuAnne? Lily’s head reeled as she tried to sort it out. Her gorge rose and she swallowed as well as the gag allowed.
[caption id="attachment_12039" align="alignleft" width="199" caption="Photo by Renato Ganoza"]
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“Hurry,” she thought. “Guard could wake any time.” Hesitating was a civilian mistake. By that time, she had her right hand bloodied, but free. She pulled out the gag. Wrapping her hand in her shirt would stop the bleeding and keep her from leaving a blood trail when she got away. Which would be right about… now! Her knees came up against the underside of the bolted-on desk. Lily winced at the noise. It was like a shotgun shredding particle board. Couldn’t be helped.
The guard shook himself awake and shambled toward her. Lifting the remains of the chair with her, Lily slammed into him full force. He got knocked to the ground, groaning and gently touching the back of his head for wounds. Not a lot of blood loss. Figuring he’d live, she fell on top of him and grabbed his nearly-forgotten weapon. “Quiet,” she snapped. He nodded understanding and raised his hands. “Hands. Use them. Untie my other hand.”
As the ropes loosened, she hopped off the guard. The destroyed desk fell with a clatter. Still no one burst in with guns drawn. “What is this place? Why are you alone?” When the guard didn’t speak, Lily lifted his chin with the muzzle of the semi-auto. His eyes flickered wide for a second. She wasn’t going to repeat herself.
“Okay, okay. Carriage house. They’re in the main house.” As he scowled, she lowered the weapon.
Footsteps sounded on a stairwell beyond the doors. In no apparent hurry, a voice called out, “Yo, dumbass, got you some coffee.”
“Answer him and don’t be a dumbass,” she hissed, rising. Lily scurried into position beside the door, weapon trained on her guard.
“You read my mind, Frank,” Dumbass replied. He winced and touched his sore head. Lily wished she had the luxury of tending her own. She ignored the throbbing ache. She’d been through worse.
As the door opened, she moved her gun to aim at Frank. He was more interested in not slopping coffee than thinking about security. “I’ll take that,” she nodded to the mug, left hand extended. Frank looked between Lily’s gun and the laid out guard. He passed over the coffee and backed up with hands raised. She set aside the cooling coffee and frisked him, finding a good sized knife at his back and a .357 strapped to his leg. She took them by the holsters motioned with the semi for Frank to join Dumbass.
“Look, LuAnne,” there was that name again, “I don’t mind you got my weapons. Smart, safe move. I only ask you give them back at the end. Put them some place I can get to them after you’re gone, okay? They were my father’s.” Lily peered at him. His voice was familiar. The one who promised to return her to “him.”
“Perhaps,” Lily replied. “An exchange of information. Let’s say I’m not this LuAnne you want. Who is she? Who wants her badly enough to send you after her?” Frank boggled at her.
“Let’s say you’re not LuAnne? Who wants you? Er… her?” He blinked a few times. “Fine. We’ll pretend. Marcus Malone, your husband, wants you back in Boston. No one leaves Marcus. At least not intact.” Frank laughed hollowly.
Lily mulled. She never heard of Malone. Strictly regional badasses wouldn’t have been more than a blip on her radar. She had no need to know before last night. She felt a twinge for the real LuAnne, the one whose face she accidentally put together for her new life. No one left Special Ops at that level, either. At least not intact.
“Nothing personal, fellas.” She used the .357 to squeeze off a shot at each of them. Guaranteed to drop them and keep them down without critical damage. “Where’s my stuff?” Dumbass was writhing and whimpering, so Frank pointed to the corner.
“Under the chair. You can’t stay hidden long, LuAnne,” he grimaced. She exchanged the blade for the duffel, but held on to the handgun. At least Frank would get the knife and its holster back.
On her way out, she leaned in and whispered in Frank’s ear, “I’m not LuAnne.”
Once over the fence and down the alley, she called 911 on her burner phone. She wiped it clean and left it in a trashcan, scooting through the neighborhood. Lily was long gone before the ambulances arrived. Time for yet another new face, an original this time.
In a moment of dizzying clarity, a scene played out in her mind. The thugs, out of nowhere. Her head smashed against a wall, a chemical scent covering her face, forcing her surrender. A man’s voice as clouds gathered. “You can’t get away from him, LuAnne. I told him I’d find you and take you back.” LuAnne? Lily’s head reeled as she tried to sort it out. Her gorge rose and she swallowed as well as the gag allowed.
[caption id="attachment_12039" align="alignleft" width="199" caption="Photo by Renato Ganoza"]
[/caption]“Hurry,” she thought. “Guard could wake any time.” Hesitating was a civilian mistake. By that time, she had her right hand bloodied, but free. She pulled out the gag. Wrapping her hand in her shirt would stop the bleeding and keep her from leaving a blood trail when she got away. Which would be right about… now! Her knees came up against the underside of the bolted-on desk. Lily winced at the noise. It was like a shotgun shredding particle board. Couldn’t be helped.
The guard shook himself awake and shambled toward her. Lifting the remains of the chair with her, Lily slammed into him full force. He got knocked to the ground, groaning and gently touching the back of his head for wounds. Not a lot of blood loss. Figuring he’d live, she fell on top of him and grabbed his nearly-forgotten weapon. “Quiet,” she snapped. He nodded understanding and raised his hands. “Hands. Use them. Untie my other hand.”
As the ropes loosened, she hopped off the guard. The destroyed desk fell with a clatter. Still no one burst in with guns drawn. “What is this place? Why are you alone?” When the guard didn’t speak, Lily lifted his chin with the muzzle of the semi-auto. His eyes flickered wide for a second. She wasn’t going to repeat herself.
“Okay, okay. Carriage house. They’re in the main house.” As he scowled, she lowered the weapon.
Footsteps sounded on a stairwell beyond the doors. In no apparent hurry, a voice called out, “Yo, dumbass, got you some coffee.”
“Answer him and don’t be a dumbass,” she hissed, rising. Lily scurried into position beside the door, weapon trained on her guard.
“You read my mind, Frank,” Dumbass replied. He winced and touched his sore head. Lily wished she had the luxury of tending her own. She ignored the throbbing ache. She’d been through worse.
As the door opened, she moved her gun to aim at Frank. He was more interested in not slopping coffee than thinking about security. “I’ll take that,” she nodded to the mug, left hand extended. Frank looked between Lily’s gun and the laid out guard. He passed over the coffee and backed up with hands raised. She set aside the cooling coffee and frisked him, finding a good sized knife at his back and a .357 strapped to his leg. She took them by the holsters motioned with the semi for Frank to join Dumbass.
“Look, LuAnne,” there was that name again, “I don’t mind you got my weapons. Smart, safe move. I only ask you give them back at the end. Put them some place I can get to them after you’re gone, okay? They were my father’s.” Lily peered at him. His voice was familiar. The one who promised to return her to “him.”
“Perhaps,” Lily replied. “An exchange of information. Let’s say I’m not this LuAnne you want. Who is she? Who wants her badly enough to send you after her?” Frank boggled at her.
“Let’s say you’re not LuAnne? Who wants you? Er… her?” He blinked a few times. “Fine. We’ll pretend. Marcus Malone, your husband, wants you back in Boston. No one leaves Marcus. At least not intact.” Frank laughed hollowly.
Lily mulled. She never heard of Malone. Strictly regional badasses wouldn’t have been more than a blip on her radar. She had no need to know before last night. She felt a twinge for the real LuAnne, the one whose face she accidentally put together for her new life. No one left Special Ops at that level, either. At least not intact.
“Nothing personal, fellas.” She used the .357 to squeeze off a shot at each of them. Guaranteed to drop them and keep them down without critical damage. “Where’s my stuff?” Dumbass was writhing and whimpering, so Frank pointed to the corner.
“Under the chair. You can’t stay hidden long, LuAnne,” he grimaced. She exchanged the blade for the duffel, but held on to the handgun. At least Frank would get the knife and its holster back.
On her way out, she leaned in and whispered in Frank’s ear, “I’m not LuAnne.”
Once over the fence and down the alley, she called 911 on her burner phone. She wiped it clean and left it in a trashcan, scooting through the neighborhood. Lily was long gone before the ambulances arrived. Time for yet another new face, an original this time.
