Exhaustion clung to Spencer like a second skin, with it taking everything he had to keep his now bloodshot eyes open as a long, drawn-out yawn passed from his lips. Sluggishly, he turned his head to the side, looking out of his kitchen window for what must have been the twentieth time in just the last hour alone. Through it, he could see the sun as it rose in the sky from over the horizon, heralding the start of a new day.
With an irritated sigh, he turned back to his kitchen, his eyes settling on his phone lying on the counter, his gaze sharp and focused as his leg bounced in restless agitation. At least, that was until yet another muted yawn passed through his lips, something that had become a common occurrence over the last ten hours. To say he was tired would be an understatement. It was only thanks to the endless cups of coffee he kept pumping into his system that he hadn't collapsed onto the floor hours ago.
Since leaving the hospital around ten p.m. the previous night, Spencer hadn't slept a wink, having been awake the entire time. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't afford to. Not now, not when his daughter's life hung in the balance and he was waiting for a call that could determine her fate. Spencer didn't even want to imagine what the kidnapper might do if he failed to answer the call in time. So, ever since he'd gotten back home, he battled against the shackles of sleep, sat beside his phone, waiting in anxious worry. However, as time continued to drag on with still no sign of the expected call, the harder it became to fight off the invading drowsiness, regardless of how much coffee he drank.
Suddenly, just as his eyelids began to droop and slowly close for the umpteenth time, as his willpower finally reached its limits, it finally happened. A blaring ringtone pierced through the silence around him, loud enough to alert everyone in his apartment complex, a deliberate choice to ensure he wouldn't miss the kidnapper's call. In a flash, Spencer was wide awake, any trace of fatigue having immediately vanished as he hurled himself towards the phone in wild abandon. He didn't slow for a second, not even as he accidentally slammed his ribs into the kitchen counter, the sharp pain barely registering as he snatched up his phone.
"Hello! Hello, I'm here! I'm here!" He shouted breathlessly in a frenzy the very moment he answered the call.
"Whoa! Dude relax. I think you just blew out my eardrums."
The moment Spencer heard the familiar voice that answered back, not the cruel and sadistic voice of the kidnapper, like he had been expecting, he suddenly froze. It wasn't until he looked down at his phone and saw a name reflected back at him, rather than the string of numbers belonging to the kidnapper, that he realised what had happened. In his frantic rush to answer, he had picked up a call not from the kidnapper but instead from his old work friend, Tony.
"Sorry, Tony. I thought you were someone else." Spencer eventually replied with a weary sigh.
"Clearly. Because if you'd known it was me, you probably wouldn't have answered my damn call, would you?" Hearing the hurt in his all-too-true accusation, Spencer couldn't stop the flicker of guilt that rose to the surface. However, such guilt didn't last for long as it was quickly replaced by restless urgency as he glanced at the microwave clock nearby and realised he didn't have time for this conversation.
"You're right, Tony, and I'm sorry about that. I promise to get in contact with you soon, but now's really not a good time." With that said, Spencer moved to hang up the phone. Unfortunately, much like his neighbour Nathaniel, Tony didn't seem inclined to leave him alone so easily.
"Look, man, I get it. After what you've been through, it must feel like it's the bloody end of the world. But staying cooped up in your apartment all day can't be good for you. You need to go out, live a little, have some fun!"
Spencer had to summon every ounce of self-control he possessed to not burst into bitter laughter in response. As if he could possibly go and 'have fun' with the nightmare he was living through.
"How about this," Tony continued, oblivious to Spencer's true thoughts. "Since tomorrow is Sunday, how about I drop by in the morning and we hang out? Maybe go get a drink or two later on in the evening. How about that?"
"Wha-, no. Sorry mate, I appreciate the offer, but I just can't righ-."
"Perfect! I'll see you at ten tomorrow, so make sure you're up bright and early!" Tony interrupted cheerfully, ignoring Spencer's attempt to decline the impromptu invitation.
Quickly, Spencer went to interject and voice his disagreement. However, before he could get out even a word, he was met once again with the monotone beeps of a disconnected call, the second time in the last twenty-four hours. This left him completely flabbergasted, staring dumbly at his phone as he processed what had just happened. Only after nearly a minute had passed did he finally react, releasing a resigned sigh as he tossed his phone back onto the counter and sank into his kitchen chair.
He considered ringing Tony back to make it absolutely clear that he was in no mood to hang out, but eventually decided against it. Not only was he unsure whether Tony would actually answer his call to begin with, but he also knew now wasn't the time. As if on cue, the moment that thought entered his mind, once more the apartment became filled with the sound of his deafening ringtone. Only this time, as Spencer went to grab it, Tony's name wasn't displayed. Instead, to his horror, it was the string of numbers he had spent all night memorising and waiting for in quiet terror.
With sweaty and shaky hands, Spencer went to answer the phone, doing his best to tamp down on the tremble in the back of his throat. "Hello?"
"Ah, Spencer! So good to hear from you. How are you this fine Saturday morning? Did you enjoy the present we left you?"
There it was. A voice he was sure he'd never forget for as long as he lived. The harrowing voice of the kidnapper, now laced with jovial mirth, sounded just like Tony had minutes earlier, as if he were simply catching up with a friend. Even though this call was anything but. Yet in the face of such twisted levity, Spencer didn't get angry, nor did he respond to the man's obvious taunts. Instead, he asked the only questions that had plagued his mind the past twelve hours.
"Where's Lily? Is she ok? Can I talk to her?"
"Mmmm." The kidnapper mused aloud in exaggeration, treating this entire situation as if it were nothing but a game. "I don't think so, Spencey. I don't think you've done enough to earn that privilege yet."
Realising what the man was hinting at, feeling both angry and hopeless, Spencer could only let out a sigh. "What do I need to do?"
"Just the question I wanted to hear! And it just so happens I have the perfect task for you. An easy one that even a fuck-up like you should be able to accomplish, no problem. You are to head to Leon Street at exactly eight PM tonight and make your way to one of the abandoned buildings on the street. The one with a neon green pentagon spray-painted in the top right corner of the front entrance."
Immediately, Spencer sped around his apartment, frantically searching for a pen and anything to write on. The last thing he needed was to forget or misremember anything that was being said, an all too likely possibility given just how exhausted and foggy his mind currently felt. Only after scribbling everything down on an old receipt he managed to find did he respond.
"What next?"
"That is all you get to know for now. We will contact you again later tonight once you have made it to the warehouse. And don't worry about alerting us when you're there. We'll know." And it was with that ominous message, before Spencer could ask any more questions, that he promptly hung up the phone.
With the phone call over, Spencer all but collapsed back into his chair, slumping so far down he was almost lying on the ground and feeling as if he could breathe once again. Staring at his now silent phone, it didn't take long for his mind to kick back into gear and become flooded with questions. Specifically, he wondered what the kidnapper expected of him once he arrived at the specified address.
In an effort to gather information and hoping it would provide some answers, Spencer decided to do some research regarding what little he currently knew. Unfortunately, such research did little to assuage his fears and worries, as from a quick Google search, he found that Leon Street was located in one of the roughest parts of the city. It was an area that sat at the very edge of the city, where crime ran rampant from dusk to dawn, inhabited by every type of petty and not-so-petty criminal you could imagine. This revelation sent his mind into overdrive, his imagination spiralling with grim visions of what he might be forced to do, ranging from peddling drugs all the way to robbing a bank. The harrowing possibilities quickly overwhelmed him, stirring a panic so intense he had to force himself to breathe, to stop thinking, to regain control before he devolved into a full-blown panic attack.
To distract himself, he raised his hands to his chest, grasping the golden heart pendant that hung loosely against his stained hoodie, lifting it to eye level. It was then, with shaky hands, that he slowly pried it open. Inside was a small, well-worn photo that he'd seen countless times before, a snapshot from one of the happiest moments of his life: his wedding day. In the photo, he stood in a crisp black suit beside Chloe, who was absolutely radiant in her white dress, both of them beaming as they stood before the altar. At the sight of his late wife, a faint smile tugged at his weary lips as the memory of that day softened the storm inside him.
"You truly were beautiful that day." He spoke out loud. "I mean, you were always beautiful, every single day, but on that day, I swear, you were almost blinding in how dazzling you were."
A faraway look appeared on Spencer's face as he gazed lovingly at Chloe's glowing smile. "When I saw you walking down that aisle, it was like you were the only other person in the world. You outshone everyone. No one could compare to how beautiful you were at that moment."
As he continued to stare fondly at the picture, remembering every detail of the day with startling clarity, Spencer desperately wished that time would come to a standstill. He longed to simply reminisce about Chloe and the magical day they shared forever, without ever having to face the reality of his situation. But alas, that wasn't possible, and, as always, Spencer soon found himself unable to escape inside his thoughts any longer. The smile he had worn as he stared at the photo slowly vanished, replaced with an expression of intense worry.
"If only you were here instead of me. Nothing like this would have happened." He sighed as he closed the pendant and let it hang back across his chest, directly in front of his heart. "What am I supposed to do, Chloe? I was never strong like you. I don't know if I can do this by myself."
It was then, as he became consumed by self-pity and hopelessness, that out of nowhere, Spencer suddenly felt it. A soft, gentle pressure, unmistakably shaped like a hand, landed lightly on his shoulder. It lingered for only a moment, gliding from the tip of his shoulder along the base of his neck, something his wife always did whenever he was feeling low, her quiet way of giving support.
By the time Spencer had managed to react, jumping out of his seat and spinning around in a panic, the feeling had disappeared. He stood alone in his kitchen, not another soul in sight, leaving him to question whether he had actually felt something or if it had all been in his mind. However, he didn't think about it for long as he was suddenly struck by a surprising realisation. No longer did he feel engulfed in fear, as if he were adrift at sea, slipping beneath the waves with no one to save him. For the first time since the initial call from the kidnapper, he was filled not with terror and misery, but resolve and determination. And it was with such a feeling that Spencer stepped out of the kitchen to prepare for what lay ahead—forgetting, as he did, about the mysterious presence he had felt moments earlier.
With steady steps, Spencer made his way towards the bathroom, soon arriving in front of a large, oval mirror that hung above the sink. There he found himself confronted by his own filthy reflection, a sight that left Spencer momentarily dumbfounded. It was as if he was another person entirely, unrecognisable from the young man in his pendant photo, so much so that he almost touched the mirror as if to make sure it was really him. Looking at himself and realising just how far he'd fallen over the past few months, he was unable to stop the disgusted sneer that twisted on his lips.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, he averted his gaze towards the sink, where a cheap razor lay precariously close to the edge. With a serious expression, Spencer picked it up, along with a can of shaving foam from the bathroom cupboard that had been sitting untouched over the past couple of months. It was then, with steely eyes full of determination, that he applied the foam and began to shave, slicing through the tangled mess that clung to his face. As he did so, a singular thought continued to pass through his mind. He would do whatever it took to get his daughter back safe and sound, no matter what.