The Six: Complete Series Read online

  That’s not what he told the police. The jury got Edwin on molestation, too. It was a scared traumatized teenager versus a psychopath, and the jury felt bad for the nervous kid on the stand. Edwin was in jail for twice the sentence because Simon had lied.

  In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. His lawyers were trying to pin something on Edwin that would land him in jail. The kidnapping charge was amorphous, and they were afraid he’d be able to slip out of it. Simon wasn’t a little kid, almost six feet tall at that point, and they felt that the jury might have a hard time understanding why he didn’t escape. The case wasn’t as strong as it could have been and he desperately didn’t want Edwin on the streets. In the heat of the moment, he made up a long story of horrific abuse that was completely fabricated. He cried, he shook in the lawyer’s office and put on an amazing show that convinced even the court-appointed psychologist. After a while, he believed the story himself.

  “Eh, kid, take this. For later.” In his hand was a black bag with a simple rope string. Even in the dark of the car he knew what it was. It was a gun. This was real. God damn it. He pulled it out and let it sit cold in his lap like a dead fish. After the trial, his mom took him to the gun range so he could learn to defend himself. His dad was firmly against it but, by then, he was long gone.

  It was a life for a life, and he needed to do this. Brianna began to stir in her seat and groan with what he had to assume was a massive headache. He stuffed the gun into his suit pocket.

  He grabbed her hand and held it tight in his. “I’m sorry,” he said as the car pulled to a stop.

  She slowly raised her head and opened her eyes blearily. “Where am I?”

  “You drank too much. We were taking you home.”

  “You don’t know where I live,” she whispered. “Did you look at my license or something?”

  The driver cranked the parking brake on, and they were here, wherever here was. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

  “Let’s go,” the driver said.

  “Now?” Simon said.

  Brianna perked up and began to sit up. She looked out the window and then back at Simon. “This isn’t my house.”

  He shut his eyes and channeled Edwin. Simon needed to die, and Edwin needed to be the one to do this. No more pity and no more mercy. Make it fast and don’t drag it out. “Get out of the car, Brianna.”

  She grabbed onto her seatbelt and cowered against the car door. “No! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He crawled over to her so she couldn’t get out his way. She was trapped against her own door. “Don’t put up a fight.” Simon grabbed her arm and began to pull her out from his side of the car. Her heels scratched against his arm as she futilely kicked at him.

  “Let me go!” she shrieked as her shoe dug into his shoulder. He pulled her heels off and threw them onto the ground behind him. He grabbed her ankle and slid her down the seat. Brianna grabbed hold of the door handle and held on to it for dear life. It was a valiant attempt. He admired her spirit, but ultimately, he was stronger. He pulled both her legs so hard that her fingers slipped off the handle. She slid across the length of the back seat screaming as loudly as he’d ever heard someone scream.

  “Shut up!” he shouted.

  The driver stood in front of his door ready for his next order. “Need some help?”

  “I’ve got it,” Simon said through gritted teeth. Brianna kicked and pushed her way out of the car. She wasn’t going to make this easy and why should she? He stepped back and let her stand up on her own.

  As she got to her feet and looked out to see where she could run, he grabbed the gun and pointed it right at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Brianna held the side of the car for balance. She still seemed dazed from the drugs and the adrenaline that bounced around her brain like a confused ping pong ball. The gun shook in his hand as he let the moment sink in. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t doing this. Another man, in another world, had his finger on the trigger. He straightened his back and pointed it towards her head.

  She looked up with tears in her eyes. Her carefully applied mascara pooled around her bottom eyelid and her cheeks were ruddy and puffy from crying. “Please, don’t.”

  “I have to,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No, you don’t. Is it money? My dad has money. He can pay you whatever you want.”

  “It’s not about money.”

  She clenched her body and covered her head. Her whimpering was the only sound in the abandoned construction site that the driver had dragged them to. The steel girders surrounded them with scattered planks of wood and insulation on half the walls. There wasn’t so much as a street light within eyeshot. No one would hear her scream.

  “What is it? Just tell me. I can fix it.”

  “You can’t fix it. Please, just stop talking.” Her voice was filled with such terror and shock. He couldn’t hear another word.

  He cocked the trigger. “No,” she whimpered. “Don’t.”

  “Stop talking!” he shouted. There were tears in his voice, and his throat clenched as he spoke.

  She stood up straight at the hint of desperation he’d shown. With her arms stretched out like a gentle angel, she took a few tentative steps towards him. “You don’t have to do this. Is someone putting you up to this?”

  They were listening. They had to be. This driver, whoever he was, wouldn’t hesitate to report any indiscretions to the people with the kill switch. “No. Now stop talking!”

  Brianna took a few steps closer. “Is he?”

  The gun felt weak in his hands like the metal was melting through his fingers. “Don’t move. Stay right where you are.”

  She took another step. There she stood, just a few feet away. “Give me the gun.” Her voice was soft and soothing, hypnotic. The barrel was still pointed at her forehead, but she didn’t look at the gun. She looked at him.

  “I can’t.”

  Her gaze shifted to behind him as he heard the crunch of feet against the gravel. The driver had moved from his perch against the car to mere inches behind him. Simon felt the man’s hot breath against his neck as he whispered into his ear, “I’ve got the switch, kid. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

  She put out her shaking hands. “Please, don’t.”

  “I’m sorry. Kneel down.”

  She shook her head and stepped closer. Any sheen of calm she had projected now crumbled and tears poured down her face. He placed the gun against her skull, and moved it down. She lowered with it.

  “Twenty,” the driver said.

  He felt her body heave with each frantic breath that she took. She bent her head down and the gun slid up her forehead, nestling in her hair. He let it prop itself up, gently pressing against his hand as she shook.

  “Fifteen.”

  This wasn’t him. He wasn’t doing this because he wanted to. It was because he had to. They would understand. His mom would understand that her little boy hadn’t snapped. He was being forced into this. Simon patted the top of Brianna’s head to calm her down like he would a fussy baby.

  “Ten.”

  She lifted her eyes, and he could barely see them through her bangs. It was pleading and peace all at once. He could see the futility in her eyes.

  “Five.”

  He pressed the gun in farther until he felt her skull bump against the barrel of the gun.

  “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “Two.”

  He pulled at the trigger and resisted against the spring inside holding his finger back.

  “One.”

  Simon shut his eyes as the shot rang out.

  When he finally could open his eyes, the driver was already covering the body with a black tarp. Simon’s hands shook, and the gun rattled in his hands. The only part of her that still peeked out from the covering was one foot that lay lifeless against the plastic.

  He started to walk towards her, but the driver waved him away. “Get back in the car.”


  Simon threw the gun on the ground and kicked it away like a poisonous snake raring to attack. The driver lifted Brianna by her ankles and began to drag her toward the trunk. He couldn’t think, much less act. All he wanted to do was run away, as far away as possible, to get away from this hellhole, but he knew that running away was worthless. The moment the driver noticed he was gone, the remote would click on, and he’d be in the trunk with Brianna.

  Simon hung his head. It wasn’t worth it. The trunk slammed, and the driver walked to the front seat without so much as a look over. He grabbed the gun from the ground and stuffed it in his pants pocket and headed back to the car.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” he said as he slammed the door behind him.

  BOOK 2

  She didn’t dare tell the others what Milo had told her. Two burly men had carried her down the hallway with their hands gripped around her waist. She barely stumbled down the hall before she was tossed inside, still dressed in the same hoodie and jeans that they’d taken her in. The clothes were splattered with blood and dirt and there were holes where they’d dragged her down the driveway of her ex-boyfriend’s home as she tried to fight back.

  Milo had sat alone in the room, by himself, for four days. He was catatonic and wouldn’t look her direction, much less speak to her. Drugged up and confused, she crawled to the corner of the room and sat, in silence, for days. There were no interruptions in the infinite stretches of silence except for the few meals they delivered to them. She didn’t eat, not for days. The thought of food made her nauseous and she could barely blink without her body aching. Milo couldn’t have cared less about how she felt. Without windows, the room had a sticky darkness that suffocated her the moment she realized she was effectively alone.

  They were alone for what she figured was five days. After that, the others came in one after another at a quick clip. The lawyer, the psychiatrist, the sad grocery guy and the nurse all came within two days of each other. Every few hours there would be a boom above their heads, which they learned was the door to the medical office. Each one of them had been taken in there to unwrap their bandages before being brought down. None of the doctors would say what they had been taken in for. Each one of them had gotten a different answer: you were hit by a car, you had a heart attack or your appendix burst. Under a substantial amount of drugs any story sounds plausible and she, like the others, had believed it.

  The others seemed to recover faster. Benjamin hardly spoke about it and Marie hadn’t even noticed there was something amiss. Milo’s chest, however, still ached even weeks later. The first words he said to her were about how much his chest hurt. He could barely move from his spot. Every time he shifted, he winced. She tried to make him feel better but all she had was an old Midol tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. It didn’t make a difference. He still whimpered in his sleep and clutched his chest if he had to do any significant moving. He was just a kid and he was terrified. Until the others came, she made it her job to keep his mind off of things and just survive the best they could.

  There was a boom above their heads, but it wasn’t the same sound. It seemed to be coming from farther away. The footsteps came quickly down the hall towards them. No one moved or even looked around to place the noise. The silence persisted.

  Dennis stood, exhausted, next to the door. Hours ago, he began his guard next to it and studied it for any imperfections that he might use to pry it open. His stiff stance had weakened over time to the point that he laid his forehead against the wall with his hands held tightly against his side. The others had stopped paying attention to him long ago, but she felt for him. They were bored and exhausted but he was still scared, absolutely terrified. Even across the room, Lila could see the tops of his nails were broken and the side of his arm was bruised from continuous banging against the door.

  “Dennis?” she said. Her quiet words pierced through the stagnant silence that had fallen upon them.

  The lawyer looked up and ventured a slight smile her way. Dennis didn’t so much as move. He stood still, his eyes shut tight.

  “Dennis?” she said a little louder.

  An object flew across the room and slapped against the back of Dennis’ leg. The psychiatrist glared a Milo who sheepishly sat with just one shoe remaining. “Don’t...” she started to say.

  Milo ignored her. “Eh, Dennis. Don’t be rude.” Milo’s ratty old sneaker sat against the wall.

  “What? What do you want?” Dennis said with a voice barely above a growl. He rubbed his eyes but didn’t look her way.

  “Why don’t you sit down? You can come over here.” She patted the ground next to her.

  Dennis pulled at the handle one last time. Not a budge, like the last hundred times he had tried. Dennis hung his head and shuffled across the room. As he slid down the wall, she saw the tears swimming in his eyes and the deep bags that formed underneath. He’d aged twenty years since they’d brought him in.

  “It’s no use,” he said. “There isn’t a way out.”

  He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Lila put her arm around his back and did her best to comfort him. Every one of his muscles was tense and pulled to the breaking point.

  “We’ll find a way. There has to be one,” she said.

  Dennis wiped away a tear that had lodged itself in the corner of his eye. “You know why I’m wearing these?” He tore at the frayed ends of the tattered green scrubs.

  “I figured you were a doctor or something.”

  He gave a little hopeless laugh. “I was in the delivery room. I just went out to call my mother-in-law and the next thing I know they had me in some bed with my arms strapped to my sides like a criminal. I was only gone for a minute. I was supposed to come right back.” He didn’t want to cry in front of her, she could see that. A well of tears coated his eyes as he gazed up at the door again.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “I don’t even know if it was a boy or girl. It was going to be a surprise.”

  She didn’t know what to say. The others seemed so powerful and important and whatever ripple their absence caused would be felt. A high-powered lawyer or a TV star gone missing would matter to people. She and Dennis were just regular people who didn’t mean much to a lot of people. But he was about to change his own life and she had just ended hers. Why would they be chosen from all the people in the world?

  “We’ll get back,” she said. “I know we will.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  There was nothing for her to go back to. Sitting in this room, not hurting anyone else, was where she should be. It was what she deserved.

  The light bulb above them moved back and forth like the hand on a grandfather clock. “I’m sure you’ll be a great dad,” she said. “That baby will be lucky to have you.”

  Dennis managed a smile but didn’t seem to be filled with an ounce of hope. Of all people, why him?

  The place was oddly beginning to feel like home. She’d been in here for at least a week. In that time she’d examined every crack, every indention in the paint, every fleck of rust on the door. The whoosh of the air conditioner became the lullaby that helped her drift off to sleep against her spot on the wall. Every so often she’d see her mom’s face or hear her dog bark and whatever comfort the room brought her vanished.

  “If they take me out,” she said, “I’ll ask about you. Maybe they’ll let you see your baby.” Dennis wasn’t going to last long down here. He wasn’t eating or sleeping. His muscles had grown weak and his will to escape had decreased as the hours crept on. A photo of his baby might just be enough to get him through this.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  The room shook as the clunk of doors down the hall echoed through the building.

  “They’re coming back,” Milo whispered.

  “What do you mean? Why?” Lila asked.

  “They’re bringing Simon back.”

  Footsteps scampered down the hall and walkie-talk
ies mumbled in the distance. All eyes were peeled on the door as the voices got progressively louder.

  “What do we do?” Lila asked.

  Milo covered his head with his hood. “Just sit down and be quiet. Don’t let them notice you.”

  The door swung open and two large men dressed in head-to-toe black filled the entire doorway. Simon stood between them with his head bowed. Lila was taken aback at how different he looked. He had on a button down shirt and he was clean shaven. His shiny dress shoes gleamed in the fluorescent hallway light that trickled in from behind him.

  “The door’s open,” Dennis whispered.

  He eyed the small opening where Simon stood. He took up little space and there was enough room for someone to squeeze through.

  It was a suicide mission. Dennis was weak from days of barely eating and expending his energy on door pounding and shouting at the top of his lungs.

  “Let’s go!” he said. Lila didn’t move or even look his way.

  No one acknowledged Dennis. He sat in disbelief as the men walked inside the room with Simon in tow. There was a foot of empty space between them and the door. His feet slid close to his body and she saw him start to stand.

  Lila wanted to pull him back down to the floor. The more conspicuous he became, the more likely he’d be taken. He needed to have a low profile and build up his strength before they sent him out.

  She didn’t move. It was useless. Why start being a good person now?

  The door had been opened over and over again and the idea of using that as a means of escape had always seemed ridiculous. The men that stood at the door were built like linebackers and had one job, to keep the six of them in line. Even if Dennis managed to run out, they would use their remote or magic button to start that thing in his heart. He wouldn’t get ten feet. They’d win every time. There was no point in fighting back.