Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2:

“Emma Llewellyn Piper, age 24. College student, works for an editing company. No criminal record. No.juvenile record.” Prescot threw the file onto the table and grimaced quietly rubbing his thick fingers against his temples. He stared at the picture of Emma briefly examining the portrait of her. He reached up and loosened his tie as he sat in her living room, various teams and agencies examining the house for evidence. Agent Davis was in the process of giving the DNA collectors various tips on where to search for evidence, as if he was aware of what Sawyer Lythams methods were and were not. Prescott untied his tie completely and tossed it aside before stuffing his hands into his pockets. Rustling his pens and keys he tilted his head a little more to the left.

“Thinking a bit too hard?” Lauren turned around the corner and walked up to Prescott silently planting her arms against her chest. Crossed and firm she squeezed her elbows tensely and looked from his eyes to the files spread out on the coffee table.

“Eh.. just a bit. Lauren, why would he kidnap a girl, who had nothing to do with him whatsoever…? She was just a college student studying creative writing. I don’t understand his motive. No gain, he didn’t kill her as far as we know.. so why?” Prescott shrugged at himself, throwing his arms up vigorously hearing his own words.

“Agent Prescott, have you ever considered Sawyer may be a psychopath? His motive doesn’t have to be justified. It’s just another event. One that could potentially just be his way of throwing us aloof. However, he was smart enough to use gloves.”

“How do you know he even kidnapped her? Do we have evidence of that yet?” he protested.

“We do actually, the indentions of shoes in the grass on the yard signal an adult male was here, two to be exact-”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That could be anyone.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” she stammered calmly meeting his gaze. He exhaled and twisted his expression into something a bit more sour. “We do, indeed have a video of him and an unnamed accomplice within the building. Instead of sitting around getting pissy with the investigation, I have a job for you. Go down to his mother's apartment and help come to terms with the “mess” he left there. We received a call about an apparent murder, involving a cleaning lady. According to the tenants and staff members, they don’t recall seeing Sawyer there whatsoever, and claim the only one to come through was in fact his mother. However, I do indeed believe it is a load of bullshit...”

Agent prescott swiped a hand through his hair quietly he contemplated the thought. Wagering his options Lauren sighed and gestured towards Davis, indirectly telling him to bring him along. She lowered her gaze and walked past Prescott silently giving him a slight nudge before curling her lips into something more serious and disappearing into the crowd of cops and FBI. He exhaled slightly and tugged at his wrinkled collar. Something about Lauren wasn’t quite right. Was she coming on to me just then? He had no true way of figuring out his bosses motives He shrugged off the feeling and motioned for Davis to chat with him, already getting perplexed by the thought of cleaning up Sawyers mess.

“The boss wants us to head over to that cheap Motel Sawyer was staying at and file a better report of the damage he did… apparently he left us quite a bit of a mess to clean up.” Prescott grunted and reached into his pocket to grab at a cigar. Davis stared at him wistfully before shrugging of a thought, already heading towards the door. Agent Prescott noticed his nervousness but refused to make any attempt to pry. He wasn’t one to go looking for something it wasn’t his business to need to find.

* * *

“Oh mother of christ…” Davis coughed in disgust as he slowly stepped through the door of Sawyers apartment. The smell nearly burned off the hairs in his nose and caused a short gagging reflex in the back of his throat. He pinched his nostrils shut as hard as possible trying to escape the stench while his eyes surveyed the kitchen and living area. Prescott shoved him into the bloody room gently flashing him a you’re such a p***y look and motioned for him to look around. Davis grunted slightly and tip toed through the trash and clothing spread across the stained gray carpeting.

“Ah! Gentlemen! You’ve finally made it.” a man who went by the name of Papperman greeted them in the doorway. His smile was sleek and grim, matching his attire. Slapping off his stained red gloves he watched them look through the small apartment briefly keeping a smug grin on his face the entire time. Eventually motioning for them to step back into the hallway he gently shut the door and began to make his claim.

“All of the tenants have give the same testimony. The only person they saw or ever heard was Sawyers mother come and go from this room and floor. Which.. we all know is utter bullshit but we really have no proof as of yet. So-”

Prescott snorted defensively and gave Papperman a square look over, wondering what game he was trying to play. “Look,” he started, clearing his throat. “Just let me talk to one of the tenants alright? Give me half an hour at most and we’ll figure something out..” he stressed each word slowly making sure Papperman fully understood just exactly what he meant by “figure something out”. Taken aback in slight awe the lengthy man looked to Davis, who was willing to justify whatever scheme Prescott had brewing in mind, and nodded slowly feeling his own cheeks grow hot with anticipation. He nodded, pointed down the hall to one of the more suitable tenants and turned the other cheek.

He knew was was coming next.

"Name: Hubert smith, Age 37, Occupation: night clerk, resident of 6 years." Davis scanned the file of the man quickly as Prescott rolled up his sleeves mindless before running a hand across his scruffed chin. He wasn't in.the mood for games at this point. Sawyer Lytham was getting further and further away, and Lauren had him cleaning up his mess. What a job. They had managed to secure a vacant apartment on the eighth floor to do their persuading considering they didn't need anyone above them questioning their work tactics. Nonetheless, Prescott wasn't leaving without an answer.

Don't come back until you find me something, okay boys?

With Laurens cheap perfume and dominating voice residing in his skull he wasted no time getting the job done. "So," Davis threw the file onto the couch and took a seat comfortably throwing his feet up. "Have you seen any indication of Sawyer comin' into this building at all?" Hubert gave Davis a cruel look of disgust before settling a sharp eye on Prescott. Leaning his head back he tried to jostle with the handcuffs strapped tightly around his wrist but there wasn’t much of a point. He was locked to the chair in which he sat.

“I don’t remember no Sawyuhh walkin’ through this building. Although I do recall a kind old woman giving me sugar whenever I needed a cup.” A smug grin fastened against his cheeks. Prescott let his temper slip for a second and found himself landing a solid blow against Huberts right jaw bone. The sick noise of flesh smacking together lingered long after he had pulled away from Huberts bruised face. Davis leaned forwards briefly and exhaled, letting his eyes wander the vanilla folder resting in front of him. He had a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes but be tried his best to refrain from showing anymore than he was allowed.

“Look, we know Sawyer Lythams mother is deceased. So someone had to have been here to slaughter that cleaning lady and unless you want charges placed against you, I suggest you start talking.” Davis voice started to raise at the end of the sentence. He wasn’t happy with having to beat information out of people unlike Prescott, but he was willing to do what was needed to get the job done. Prescott cracked his knuckles lightly and waited for Hubert to respond.

Silence.

Are you kidding me?

“Hit him.” He coughed hard, smashing a quick jab to his left jaw bone this time, then returning with a sharp punch to the gut and then to the nose-- breaking the skin between his eyes. Hubert moan in agony and tried to flinch away. “Are you going to talk?”

“Look,” he coughed hard as blood started to trickle down from his left nostril. “I don’t know any Sawyer. I swear-”

“Hit him again.”

The session continued. Prescott, took out all his anger on Hubert. Battering his eyes until they were nearly swollen shut, his nose was crooked and a deep shade a purple to match his cheeks. At one point Hubert and nearly vomited from the pain. Knocked onto the floor Prescott laid waste to the rest of him; kicking his ribcage, his chest, his face, everywhere damage could be done until he was nearly out cold.

You sick piece of s**t! Give us some f*****g answers! I swear to god… Backing away slowly he wiped the sweat from his lips and watched Hubert wrench around in pain on the floor, his cries muffled with an old rag. Taking a seat next to Davis Prescott stared emotionlessly at his bruised and bloody knuckles. His hands and fingers were slightly swollen and he wasn’t exactly sure how much of the blood had actually been his own. Something had compelled him to beat the daylight out of Hubert.

I want to see Sawyer behind bars. I want him to rot in prison for eternity

The pain, the sweat, the blood, the tears, it was all just a simple metaphor that’d be over in a few hours. Bending his neck he rested his head against the back of the couch and let his eyes slide shut while Davis lit a cigarette.

It’s just a metaphor.

“Alright… Alright I’ll talk.” Hubert spit on the floor leaving a pile of drool to collect around his cheek. Mushing his face against the carpet he grunted in misery and twitched what was left of his vision onto Davis. “Sawyer had paid all of us in the building off to not say anything about him to anyone including the FBI. I didn’t think much of it so I agreed to it, and everyone else quickly followed. I-”

“Let’s go.” Davis grunted, kicking Prescotts leg hard enough to wake him from his daze. Prescott grunted and pushed himself away from the couch. Walking towards the door he gave Hubert a sly look and watched him squirm on the floor like a worm exposed to the world. Exiting the room behind Davis he quickly rolled his black sleeves down to cover of the blood stains on his skin and darted into the elevator across the hall. “Eh, I’ll be back in a jiffy Davis… I need to clean myself up and what not.” He pursed his lips lightly, letting a finger trace the puffy pink skin as the elevator doors closed.

Disgusting.

He had let the rage get the better of him during that little session. It was expected, which only made the pain worse for him. He couldn’t control it anymore. Anything involving the name Sawyer Lytham was like the trigger of a gun, and his emotions were the bullet. Sawyer and Prescott had been friends long before anything had happened concerning the murder of his boss. Sawyer had been there for the death of his mother, when his brother was diagnosed with Cancer, every scrape and bump he received as a child.

Sawyer was nearly family to him.

Until he lost his temper one day. Sawyer had in fact broke rule of the “bro code” and slept with his girlfriend back in college.

Sawyer you are a pig. A PIG.

He let the anger get the better of him and felt his blood start to boil, his eyes quickly saw nothing but black, and then everything at once. He was being dragged away from Sawyer, blood covering his knuckles and face. His girlfriend at the time was sitting huddled in a corner, tears streaming down her ghostly face, and Sawyer was below him, his forearm bent at an angle nearly inhuman, and his skull was battered and bruised. There was blood spilling from his nose, his mouth and the right side of his ear as he lay plowed into the ground. Prescott was still in a daze, and shocked himself by the sight.

He and Sawyer spoke once after that. Leaning over his hospital bed trying to apologize, Sawyer gave him a trifling look of disgust and said “Marcus… you are a swine.” Baffled, Prescott stepped away for a moment and let the words replay in his head time and time again. His best friend of nearly twenty years, called him a swine. Did he deserve to be called a swine? Probably. Was he going to let is go? Never.

Stepping out of the elevator he caught the attention of several tenants and investigators in the main lobby. Letting the thick hum of the lighting clear his mind he gave a short nod and disappeared into the bathroom to wash away something that wasn’t his problem anymore. Giving a quick look at his reflection he saw that his hair was plastered against his sweaty forehead, strands all over the place. His body was tensed and firm around the shoulders. His pupils were shrunken in and his hands were trembling underneath the warm faucet water.

* * *

“So you’re telling me, you’ve got us a place to stay, but you can’t get us out for another week eh? Alright alright.. that’ll do nicely I’m sure. A cheap motel, cheap alcohol, and an empty little town with nothing but an old theatre. That’ll be perfect.” Edgar grunted into the phone. Kicking a short rock into the road he watched the cars pass quickly as he stood awkwardly giving Sawyer a sharp glare. Sawyer was leaning halfway out the window of the car, shouting nonsense at a small group of birds playing in the ditch. “Devon, will I be able to stop by later tonight once we get into town? I need to clear some stuff up.”

“Nah… I’ve got to be somewhere tonight. But I’ll get back to you Thursday Eddy. But when you get to the Motel, give them my name. They’ll understand. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself shot before we close this deal yah hear me?” his voice faded off to a small muffle as Edgar pulled the phone away from his ear. He didn't care much for Devon in the past, but he knew he’d have to put up with him if he wanted to stay alive a little while longer. He exhaled, pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to reconcile with his own irritation.

“Yeah yeah, look I have to go Dev. Talk to you soon.” He closed his phone and threw it against the pavement until it cracked. Marching away from the sight he grunted awkwardly and leaned into the drivers side of the car and grabbed Sawyer my the arm. Throwing out another arm he tightened a hand around the base of his neck and threw his head against the dashboard. Sawyers skull bounced back ruggedly, a large knot already forming underneath the skin. The girl in the back gave him a quick look but said nothing against his actions.

“What the hell was that for?” Sawyer traced the area his head was hit slowly before quickly letting his hand rest against the back of his head to press against the tough skin that healed over a previous wound. Glowering defensively he leaned against the seat and waited for him to start the engine. Letting the car choke to live Edgar silently scanned the road and await his chance to start moving again. He wasn’t in the mood for Sawyers childish antics that evening. His heart and mind was already soaring through different scenarios and possibilities of his death.

Passing Emma a short frown through the rear view mirror he watched her mindlessly. He traced her facial features and blank expression over and over before pulling onto the road. Why Sawyer had forced her to tag along was just as perplexing at their entire situation. Why would a girl like her be useful to their plans? A ransom maybe? Clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth he saw Sawyer through the side of his eye and met him with a brief stare of amusement.

Sawyer isn’t that smart. Maybe I can use her instead.

“Emma, would you kindly give Sawyer your cellphone?” he broke the silence. His voice was crisp and unwavered by his internal anxieties. Fake it Edgar. Fake it before you die first. She quickly obliged. To this girl Sawyer was nothing more than another possible story. He had a lead, the five W’s, and an end that would leave people wanting more. Sawyer was a game to her it seemed. She watched him like a fly on a wall, contemplating and anticipating his next move. Of course she’d give in and give him her phone. Edgar switched the cars gears and motioned to the window with his head, keeping a sharp eye on the clouded skies above as he drove. Sawyer lowered the window at tossed her phone out the window. What the hell was that for?!” Emmas calm composure quickly twisted into mass hysteria. Before Edgar could open his mouth he was slightly startled by Sawyers next execution. He had flipped a knife on the unsuspecting girl. His pupils were large but his breathing was hot and uneven. The sharp glistening metal was placed directly underneath the girls jugular and politely awaiting its next order. She only squeezed harder on his arm defensively trying to find another way to save herself from the blade.

What are you doing Sawyer? Edgar squinted, giving them both a short look before focusing on the road. Don’t kill her you fool. I know you’re mad but you’re not a murderer. Edgar exhaled a short breath of concern and flashed Sawyer a look. “Instead of worrying about your cell phone, start worrying about your life.” he snorted. “Tell me about that article you were writing girl.” he gave a bemused expression and lowered the knife away from her throat.

Emma said sweetly chewing on the inside of her cheek. Laying against the seat she closed her eyes promptly not wanting to meet Sawyers attentive stares. She was sweating against the soft cars fabric seating and still fearing the knife he had in hand.

“So give it to me straight,” Sawyer leaned an arm against the side of the car and stared blindly towards the darkened road. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy about traveling at night. The sharp fluorescent shining his way as cars zoomed by one by one. Nothing lighting the world except the street lamps. Everything could so south within a blink of an eye. S**t what they go out. “you’ve been stalking me for how long?”

“Maybe a month? But it’s-”

“That’s dedication.” Edgar joked lightly not wanting to set off another fit of Sawyers. He knew he was sensitive about nearly everything. His temperament was almost just as bad as his own. Gripping the sides of the steering wheel for a sharper turn he exhaled through his nostrils and tried to listen in on the unfolding news, and cleared steer of anything triggering. He lowered the window to release the putrid atmosphere of idiocy and uncomfortable anxiety that always seemed to linger around Sawyer.

“Well that’s just great isn’t it? I capture a first class stalker and was accused of killing someone all within a month.”

You actually did kill someone.

“It’s not just me,” she started. “ It’s the Company. They are displeased with their own ratings and want to expose a flaw in your own system. Which is why about seven of us are working within the business and around it to try and uncover something scandalous.” she said with a bit of triumph in her tone. Clicking her tongue together she perched herself into a better position and sat between the passenger and driver seat quietly giving Sawyer a dense stare. He watched her precariously through the rear view mirror and chewed his thumb. “Embezzlement, false story identifications, hidden propaganda, sexual scandal.. Personally, I enjoy your business much more than my own. They’re always looking to run someone into the ground to piss on just for fun.” she snorted feeling her brow furrow in contemplation. “But we found nothing if that makes you feel any better. Nothing until-”

“Until I was accused of murder? I know I know.” he kicked a foot against the floor mat. Edgar shot him a dense glare before turning back to face the darkening road. “Don’t beat up my car or you’re out.” he growled. Sawyer tried to find the joke in his tone but there wasn’t any. He continued to chew on his thumb. “How much longer?”

“Just about ten minutes or so and we’ll be there. Put some gloves on if we’re going to do this properly.” Emma flinched at the sound of the word gloves. Anything involving pale white rubber around a persons hands meant DEATH and LIES. In Sawyers case, it meant both all at once. The silence slowly started to linger in the car until a pair of gloves was thrown towards Emma. “Put these on. I’m sure you’ll manage with those handcuffs on.” he said, giving her a full stare through the mirror. She glared back before giving the gloves that sat in her lap a quick look. What the f**k. She was just another toy for them to play with in her mind. He’s not a killer. He’s clearly not a killer. He’s not going to kill her. Kill me. He’s not. He’s not he’s not HE’S NOT

“Sawyer how am I supposed to-”

“Figure it out.” he shot back before she could let another word slip. The car ride after that was nearly too stale for Emma to handle. Her hands were sweaty and her brain was aching so bad she nearly passed out trying to think of all the plausible reasons for the gloves, the handcuffs, and where exactly they were going. They all just sat quietly, and drove to a little town no one has ever heard of.