Minnesota

 annihilation

Nena fidgeted with the straps of her brown bag and adjusted her good-luck charm, a green metal shamrock clip-on. Connie handed her the folder containing the tickets. “Okay, here's your bus pass. It’s round trip and you'll have to change buses a couple of times.”

Nena glanced at the paper. “Are you sure about this? You don't mind doing my job?”

Connie waived her hand. “First off, I promised I’d do this. Second, Seth, my son, asked me to delay my arrival in New York. There’s been visa issues with his fiancé, Myling. Seth has his hands full. I’m more useful here.”

Nena tucked everything into her purse and exhaled. “I can't believe I'll be seeing my kids tomorrow. “Connie rubbed her shoulder.

“You'll be okay; the Gunderson's will pick you up at the station and if there are any delays, call them. Their number is in your phone. So is mine, in case you have problems. And, I activated the locator app, in case you lose your phone.”

It was a measure Monique had insisted at the onset of her own journey, and Connie gladly passed on the advice. Single women traveling alone can never be too careful.

“Now, if you've forgotten something you can buy it. Here's some extra cash.” Connie handed Nena five twenty-dollar bills.

Nena blushed and began to stutter. “No, I can't, really ...”

“Nonsense, it's from Lars and me. Consider it vacation money. Have you changed your mind about the ride to the bus station?” Connie smiled.

Nena nodded; her face serene with determination. “I’ve got to do this by myself, really. You've already done so much. Besides, Lars is probably waiting for you.” Nena pointed at the clock. Connie nodded; it was past six a. m, and customers would arrive soon.

They walked down the stairs and around the corner to the cafe. Lars paced behind the glass windows. He hurried to the door and opened it.

“You're going to be late. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?”

Nena laughed. Instead of answering, she hugged him good-bye. “I'll see you in a week. Thank you for the money and the time off.” Her voice was hoarse when he finally released her from the bear hug.

Then it was Connie's turn. They hugged, then Nena continued eastbound to the bus station. The oppressive heat over the last few days had subsided and the morning was mild. Perfect for a short walk.

Connie watched Nena walk off into the distance. It feels like I am saying good-bye to one of my kids. With a heavy sigh, Connie turned, following Lars inside.

“Where's she going?” Duane Beckwith asked from behind her. Connie flinched. She hadn't heard him approach.

“To the bus station; she's taking some time off. What'll it be, Duane?” Lars held open the door.

Duane gazed after Nena for a moment longer. “A coffee in a to-go cup and a Danish. I just remembered something.” 

***

Connie stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room of Nena's apartment. Her teeth nibbled away on the nail of the right index finger. The small living room looked as if a hurricane had blown through. “Why isn’t she calling back?” It’s been almost two days since Nena’s departure and neither she nor Lars had heard from her. When Connie brought it up earlier in the day, Lars wasn’t too worried. She, however, was.

She reprimanded herself for writing the phone number of the adoptive parents, the Gunderson’s, on a small sticky note instead of immediately entering it into her phone’s address book. Connie wanted to put her mind at ease by calling the Gunderson’s, expecting Nena to be there. 

She stared at the mess her search for the elusive yellow sticky note had made. “There has got to be a better way.” She lamented.

And there was. “Oh, yes, the tracking software. How could I forget?” Connie slapped her forehead when she remembered the locator app. She searched the purse for her phone.

“Let's see; I have to tag her number, then right click, add 'locating app' and ...” Connie held her breath, convinced the only result would be an error message.

“I'll be damned; phones really are much easier than computers. What?” Her phone displayed a red dot, claiming that Nena's phone was still in Minnesota - Lexington and 25th to be exact. Connie tried switching to the earth view, but the phone claimed there was no such information.

“Okay; so, where is that?” She searched the address and found it to be abandoned warehouses. Without giving it another thought, Constantina grabbed her purse and keys. In the hurry, she dropped the purse and the content spilled on the floor.

“Figures.” With a sigh, she bent down and threw everything back into her bag.

What would Nena want there? Maybe it was because of all the things Nena told Connie about her past, but Connie had a bad feeling about this. Or the fact that her own instincts kept fluttering like sparrow wings, the fact that she felt queasy and that insane voice in her head kept pushing her to do something. Well, this was something.

 Later, Connie would wonder why she didn't call the police, or even Lars. Right now, she could only think of Nena, and that she had to hurry. 

***

Constantina pulled up to the old warehouse, turned off the ignition, staring at the immense length of the buildings in front of her. There are so many of them, all abandoned. There's even an old-fashioned pay phone over there. Do people even remember how to use them? 

            The red dot on her phone insisted that Nena's phone was here. Connie got out of her car, tucked the keys into her pant pocket and began walking around. She carefully examined every inch of the pavement for any sign of Nena’s cell phone.

            The sun continued setting, plunging Minneapolis into darkness, and she told herself to be quick. There were no streetlights, and she felt a chill, not from the slight wind, but from the emptiness of this place. Even the buildings look lonely.

            Connie glanced at the two rows of warehouses that stood to her left and her right. Broken windows stared blankly at her, shattered glass spread on the cement, occasionally reflecting light.        

She turned and realized she walked several hundred feet. Her car looked small and out of place, the flat dark beige color almost disappearing into the shadows. She glanced at her phone, the red dot insisting that Nena's phone was here. The technology isn't foolproof, but they do get a lot of it right. Keep looking.

            This is stupid, there’s nothing here. With a sigh, Constantina pulled her car keys out of the pocket, ready to go back home, to continue looking for the Gunderson’s phone number, to end this pointless hunt.

            “No, please, please, don't ...” A desperate, whimpering plea, and Constantina abandoned her idea of leaving. She turned, looking up the side of the building, hoping to hear the voice again. All she heard was what sounded like a puppy, whining, but no more verbal pleas. My dear, whoever or whatever made this sound is in trouble.

            The low, distressed, sound continued. Curious, she followed it through the nearest entry into one of the decrepit buildings. The large metal door was dented. It had been forced open. With ease, Connie walked into the warehouse, expecting to find an injured animal. But the dimming daylight couldn’t penetrate the dirty windows and the interior lay in darkness.

            As she moved further into the warehouse, the whimpering stopped. She realized there was light somewhere because she could see her shadow moving to the left. Connie turned right.

She froze.

            The wide-open floor plan of the warehouse revealed a gruesome scene. Heavy chains with thick links hung off the support beams. The metal shimmered in the low light. They swayed from the weight of the attached body. From the distance, it was impossible to tell if it was human or a mannequin. Connie wished for the latter.

“Uh …” A moan, soft and low, and the head of the chained woman moved. Connie’s heartbeat leaped so hard, so fast, she could feel its vibration in every cell of her body.

            She couldn't believe her eyes. She saw a man, naked except for tennis-shoes, standing in front of someone chained-up. In his right hand he held a whip while speaking so softly Connie couldn't hear a word. Nor did she want to. Candles illuminated every horrific detail. There was a pair of washed-out jeans and a beige t-shirt, a brown handbag, discarded a few feet away. I know this bag. Connie, keeping her eyes on the back of the man, spryly moved two steps to the left.

            She leaned in to look at the bag, hoping that she was wrong; but there it was, Nina’s little shamrock clip-on. There was no mistake. Connie's heart decided it was too much and skipped a beat. And with that one beat, her life’s path altered. That’s all she got, a heartbeat’s notice, no two-week notice, no negotiating, no warranty.

            She stared at the purse until she heard Nena's renewed moaning. Constantina straightened her back. She turned to face what lay before her.

            Her long, slim, legs moved with catlike precision across the floor as if she had done this before. But she hadn’t. Somewhere inside her, she knew what do to. The calmness that embraced her felt right. There was no doubt.

The man, monster really, had not realized he had uninvited company. His bare ass cheeks, skinny and with too much hair on them, danced as his legs moved. There was something familiar about his hate-filled voice.

            He spoke to Nena, his voice, low, spiteful. “Come on, you know you want this; everyone knows that women always say 'no'. I bet you've never been with a real man before.”

He moved toward the blood-soaked body, cracking his fingers. Connie suffered another blitz of dé-jà vu. 

          Constantina moved closer. With each passing second, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The longer she bore witness to the crime before her, the slower her thoughts moved. Her heartbeat loudly. She no longer felt her feet as they carried her toward her fate.

            When he reached the girl, time had come to a standstill. Constantina knew what she had to do. She began closing the distance. 

            She made no noise as she bent down to a pile of rubble and, without so much as a glance, grabbed a single stone. He didn't notice her approach. When the brick landed on his head, he turned to see who was disturbing him. When he gazed at her, a smile appeared on his lips.

            “You got to be shitting me.” Duane Beckwith, the hateful man from the Bistro, recognized her. 

             I know how you fell, bastard. Sudden hate swarmed over her, and she swung the brick a second time. At the last moment, he turned. She caught his ear. Still, it was enough. Duane swayed. A gaping hole in his head, gashing blood. His body refused to accept defeat. He advanced toward her, trying to lift the whip above his head. Connie was faster. The brick slammed into his left cheek as a Hawk descends on its prey, skin pushing inward, the sound of bone breaking, echoing off the metal walls.

            Duane groaned, his arms flailing, reaching for her, to no avail. She continued smashing the bloodied brick into his face until his body relented and he fell to the floor. He flopped, screamed, wrestled to stay alive. Unsuccessful.

            Constantina stood over his limb body, weapon still in hand, blood running down her arm. All his blood. Now that the battle was over, his unconscious body lying there, she let out a primal scream of victory. Her eyes greedily watched him expire, her arms ready to finish him if he did not. Time had ceased to exist, and it all boiled down to a single truth: She wanted him dead.

            When she was satisfied of his demise, she hurried to unchain her friend. She took great care not to hurt Nena. She tried not touching any of her wounds, but Nena was wounded everywhere. Gently, Connie placed her injured friend’s body on the floor.

            “I'll go and call for help. He's dead - you're safe now.” Constantina whispered into Nena's ear, but there was no reply. Nena was alive. Her pulse was ragged, but mercy had taken her under its wings; she was unconsciousness. Connie rushed to the pile of clothing nearby, grabbed the T-Shirt and covered Nena's exposed breasts.

            On her way out, she checked Duane's lifeless body one more time. His skin felt cold, his life's heat fleeing at a fast pace. Satisfied, she left the way she entered. She checked both sides, the alley the same dark and deserted place it was an hour ago. Except now, a rare summer rain had begun falling, as if Mother Nature wished to wash away the blood spilled to save the innocent.

            Still running on primal autopilot, Constantina decided to use the phone booth she spotted at the end of the warehouse instead of her cell phone.

            When she reached the phone booth, the warm rain had soaked her head to toe. When Connie reached for the receiver to call 911, the blood on her hand had washed away.

            With the same determined, unwavering focus, Constantina called in the location, and requested an ambulance. Connie hung up the phone when the operator pressed her for her name. 

            Vengeance does not require a name.   

            She disappeared into the night.