Trey stood by the sink, watching the water's whirl before it disappeared down the drain. It was way past seven in the evening and even though Nash had warned him that some people were coming today, which he was still stubbornly repeating, nobody came.
He was glad that Nash's warning proved to be a transparent lie as he had suspected, but he wished that he could heed it, that he could just be strong enough to drop everything and leave without the need to extract from Nash where he could find the real Steve. But he was weak, he needed to find Steven and end this... revenge? No. It wasn't revenge. It was an attempt to free himself from the old shackles, that was all. He just needed to get even, to get rid of the feeling of helplessness and to take control of his life.
He took the soap bar, lathered his hands and rinsed them under the spray of water before he pushed down the faucet's handle and turned the water off. But instead of going back into the room, he lingered there before the mirror, his gaze on the man before him, on the grey bags under his eyes. He grabbed the edges of the sink and leaned his forehead on the silver square. It was cold and his breath made a fog on the smooth surface.
If he had the chance to do everything over from the start, he would still have filmed an intoxicated Ted, Patty's ex-fiancé, enjoying getting a dildo in the ass and put the video clip on Youtube, but he would probably have thought twice before he foolhardily knocked on Nash's door.
He pushed himself away from the sink. But he couldn't do everything over. He sighed and with his foot pushed the plastic Coca-Cola bottle Steve had to use for urinal, which he had emptied and cleaned, behind the toilet. Then he went back into the room, turning off the lights in the windowless bathroom on his way.
Trey went toward the couch, his eyes taking a glimpse of Nash, who sat sideways high on the bed because of the handcuff that tied him to the head of the bed, a newspaper lying before him on the pillow.
Trey sat down on the couch and wrapped his hoodie tighter around his torso.
Nash looked up as soon as Trey sat down. He opened his mouth, but then he closed it again and shook his head, his gaze returning to the newspaper.
Trey pulled his legs up on the couch and against his chest, then wrapped his arms around them and leaned his chin on his knees. "Nash..."
"I can't help you." Nash turned the page of the newspaper.
"I gave up on your help." Trey said. "Since I haven't figured out how to make you to talk. But I will find something, sooner or later." He was toying with the idea of drugging Nash and getting him drunk, but he didn't know exactly how much alcohol he should mix with Valium to get the most desirable effect and still be on the safe side. He furrowed his brows together, a line appeared between them. "I don't want to be here, but I can't leave without at least some clue where to find Steve."
"Give up, already." Nash didn't raise his head to look at him. The paper rustled.
Trey stretched his legs and swigged them over the couch's end. He stood up. "I don't get it. I tied you up, I shoved a knife in you and you..." He closed the distance between the couch and the bed. "How can you be so calm? Why don't you freak out?"
"Panic is overrated." The paper rustled again.
"Aren't you afraid that I might hurt you or even kill you?" Trey climbed on the bed, snatched the edge of the newspaper and snatched it way, so that it flew through the air, unfolding from its shape with a swish as it descended in pieces to the ground.
"Was that necessary?" Nash sighed and looked up.
"Why are you so calm?"
"Because you are actually a nice person."
"People say that. But I haven't been nice to you and I have done things that aren't nice at all."
Nash leaned on the head of the bed. "Like sticking a knife into me?"
"Yeah, among them." Trey moved to the middle of the bed, nearer to Nash.
Nash reached out, his fingers wrapped around Trey's arm, he pulled him closer. "What about you? Are you afraid of me? Do you think I would hurt you if I could?"
"I don't know." Trey felt his heart speed up, but it wasn't because of fear. He shifted, so that he could punch at the white bandage that covered Nash's chest at the first feel of danger. "Would you hurt me?"
Nash pressed Trey's side against the uninjured side of his chest, Trey's back facing the head of the bed. His raspy voice was warm at Trey's ear. "Maybe we will find that out sooner than you think."
"What are you talking about?" Was that fear that was slipping into his body? Trey fisted his hand and was ready to swing it at Nash's wound.
"I told you that you should free me and leave this place, but you didn't want to hear me." Nash looked into the kitchen corner, at the lighted time display on the cheap white microwave on the refrigerator. "And now it's too late – Don't." Nash managed to grab and push Trey down before Trey's fist could make contact with the white baggage.
Trey lay on his back, Nash's weight holding him immobile, and his eyes blinked. What just happened? He tried to move, to shake the big man off, but Nash just pressed down on him more heavily. The dread wrapped its icy rope around his throat and pulled. No, no, this can't be happening! Dark green appeared at the edge of his vision and like a fog started to close up on him, the air rushing in and out of his lungs with alarming speed.
"Shit." Nash shifted above him, his hands going through the pockets of Trey's cargo pants until he found the small key in the left side pocket. He took it and used it on the handcuffs, then rushed down from the bed. In the next moment he was back on the bed, a small brown paper bag in his hand.
He couldn't move. Trey's hand clawed at his throat, his mouth gulping long and deep breaths of air.
Nash pulled Trey into his lap and put the paper bag to Trey's mouth. "Breathe slowly, take shallow breaths." His hand patted Trey's back. "There, there."
Trey's breath slowed down and levelled out. He leaned his head on Nash's strong shoulder.
The knob of the entrance door moved, but when the locked door didn't comply, a loud kick against it expressed the annoyance of the person on the other side. "Steve! Open up!"
Nash removed the bag and tossed it on the floor. He took hold of the handcuffs and used them to tie Trey's hands. "Just a minute."
"What...?" Trey looked at his hands tied on his belly, then his eyes were on Nash again. His chest started to contract in quick rhythm.
Nash covered Trey's mouth with his big and warm hand. He pushed Trey off the bed and dragged him into the single unit ceiling-high closet that stood beside the bed. "We don't have time for that. Calm down. Calm down. I won't hurt you, but..." his voice was a low whisper. "I told you that some people were coming."
"Steve!" Another angry kick against the door.
"I said, I'm coming!" Nash yelled, before he focused on Trey again. He tugged blankets, linens and clothes out of the closet, and pulled the shelves out of their cradle and leaned them against the closet's inside wall.
Trey, battling with the green-ish fog, kicked out.
"Stop it." Nash evaded the kick and gave Trey an ugly look. "I'm doing this for you, not for me. Or would you like to fall into the hands of my so-called friends? They are not a nice bunch of people." He went through Trey's pockets again and pulled out a vial with pills. He opened it, took out a tablet and pushed it in to Trey's mouth. "Swallow."
Trey obeyed.
Nash closed the vial and slipped it into a pocket of Trey's cargo pants. Then he shoved Trey sideways into the empty space that he had made and piled all the things he had previously pulled out on top of him. "If you know what's good for you, you will stay put and be quiet."
Trey cursed Nash, but his words under all that fabric were an incomprehensible mumble.
"I'm not kidding." Nash's voice was serious. "Just be quiet." He closed the closet door.
By moving his head to and fro, Trey was able to make the cloth obscuring his vision fall down. And now , through the crack in the ajar door, he could see Nash putting on his Hawaiian shirt before he disappeared from sight. He heard the rattle of the lock and the squeak of the hinges and his breath became deep and rushed again. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face down in the linen at his chest. He couldn't let the panic overtake him, not now, he just had to stay calm a little while before the pills would start to take effect.
The doors burst open.
"What the fuck, man? You knew we were coming, why'd you lock the door?"
"You are an hour late, assholes. I got bored and took a nap."
At the sound of wood and springs protesting, Trey's eyes opened. He saw Nash pushing the bed back into the closet. He shifted a little, and after Nash got the bed out of the way, he had a clear view of the couch on which three men sat. And shit-- there, on the left side of the couch, beside the legs of the small man with the first signs of thinning hair noticeable on his forehead, was his backpack. Trey felt a cold sweat at his hair-line.
Nash pulled the chair in front of the couch and before he sat down, he picked up the newspapers and backpack and tossed them behind the couch.
"Cleaning, for us. You do make us feel special." The lean, longhaired brunet sitting on the right put the six-pack of beers he had in his hand on the low table. He wiggled a can of beer from the carton that held them together, opened it and leaned back on the couch.
"I try my best." Nash grinned and helped himself to a beer.
"Enough chitchat." The tall African-American sitting in the middle put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. "We came here to polish the last details before tomorrow morning." He turned toward the small blond-haired man on his left. "The plans, Rudi."
Rudi pulled a folder from his wrinkled sweater and put it on the table. After they opened the folder and scattered it contents, it proved to be full of papers and maps. Opinions and suggestions were exchanged over the table.
Trey couldn't believe his ears as plans for a robbery of the biggest jewellery store in town unfolded before him.
The men leaned over the living room table, with beer in their hands or by their elbows and pored over everything, from the basic plan and the equipment that would be needed, to the layout of the store's rooms and furniture, even the gestures to communicate with in case something went wrong and they needed to adjust their plan. They intended to go in, grab everything, plus the jewel that some magnate had lent the shop to display – their main objective -- and get out in one minute less than the police would need to rush to the place if the alarm went off.
The more Trey listened, the more he realised how foolishly he had tackled the whole Steve thing. The men in the room thought of every little detail, trying to consider everything, leaving almost nothing to chance. Compared to them, his plan of revenge was a line on a post-it note. A small shiver started to shake him. He was so stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And right now, afraid of what Nash would do to him after the group departed.
Xxx
Trey didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been one hour, two hours or four hours; to him it seemed like eternity. His legs and arms became stiff and started to hurt and he just wanted for those men to be gone, so that he could come out of the closet. His fear of Nash lessened a little after the man had swept the plans back into the folder, which was hidden under Rudi's sweater again, and the conversation started to sound more like a bunch of silly guys. They seemed almost normal to Trey, like they were normal friends having a normal get-together at friend's place. Well, and the pills taking effect had helped too.
The men had now fallen into heated debate about the result of the last AFL playoffs, and Trey thought that they would never leave, but then the last two beers were pulled out of the refrigerator, divided between them and drunk, and with their hands empty the conversation wound down. Ten minutes later the men stood up and said goodbye.
The African-American and Rudi disappeared through the door, while the longhaired brunet, Tony, lingered at the door.
"Are we still on?"
"Of course." Nash nodded and leaned sideways against the wall beside the door.
"Good." Tony grinned. "We are going to triple our booty. It's a shame those two are against it."
"Not everybody likes the drug money." Nash said. "Some people have a conscience."
"Who would bother with conscience, when there is easy money on the table? Not me. Not you." Tony said as he stepped over the threshold. He waved goodbye.
Nash closed the door and locked it. He turned and looked over the room before his gaze stopped on the closet in which Trey was hidden. He sighed, went toward it and opened the door.
The light of the ceiling lamp outlined Nash's body, its shadow fell over Trey.
Trey pressed himself deeper into the closet. "What... What are you going to do with me?"
"Good question. I would like to know that too." Nash squatted down. "You should had left when I asked you to. Now I can't let you go. You do understand why?"
Trey chewed his lip, he felt like crying. He nodded.
"Now, what should I do with you?" Nash lifted his brows. "Any suggestions?"