Two men sat in a quiet, dimly lit hotel room, looking over some documents. There
were pictures; pictures of Eve and Julian. And Eve at work, and Eve at the skating rink and more and more Eve. Eve was being
stalked by order of you-know-who.
Eve Johnson would never be Mrs. Julian Crane, if these two men did their jobs
correctly. She wouldn’t be anything, because she’d be dead.
It was only a matter of days before she went missing. They took her during a lull in her rounds when she had gone out for
air. Chloroform, a potent drug, knocked her right out and she was carried away in the back of a black non-descrip Lexus sedan.
It was nearly ten hours before anyone became truly concerned about her absence.
Julian had thought little of her not returning home the night before. He had assumed that she had worked through. He was devastated
when he realized how long she’d gone unaccounted for.
All of Harmony shut down when she was reported missing, but by then, Eve and her
captors were long gone.
Eve was in a white room. A useless white room without a window and with a door that was impossible to find. There was no handle,
no markings. Just a terribly, white, incredibly cold place.
There was a bed with thin cotton sheets and pillows of musty padding that belied
the sterile surroundings.
Eve had been here two weeks and she missed her family terribly, especially Julian.
She knew that he had to be frantic by now. She was. She didn’t know day from night anymore. At night (she guessed) she
fell asleep under the covers. When she woke up, whatever she would be fed that day was already waiting. It was up to her to
make it last.
A few weeks, Eve estimated, after her arrival in this sterile hell, she started
to get sick. What little food she got, she threw up. She experienced the most heinous cravings. Pickles and chili-cheese fries.
Her stomach growled for the unseen dishes.
It wasn’t long before she became suspicious of her illness. She tried not
eating her food, but the sickness didn’t pass. It just deteriorated into dry heaves. Apparently, the food wasn’t
the problem.
Some mornings, Eve woke up too drained to move. Other times, she woke up exhilarated
and would walk or jog around the square room, trying to think of a way out.
It was strange to be alone for so long. She’d spent so much of her life
surrounded by people, good and bad, that she couldn’t imagine her sanity remaining until she got out or was rescued.
At this point, she didn’t see that happening.
Once Eve had been taken from the room by two ruddy-jawed thugs in black slacks
and turtlenecks and boots. They were so undistinguishable that she could barely see them walking beside her much less pick
them out of a line up.
She was pulled into a dark, archaic room and set firmly in a wooden leg chair.
Her hands were bound by a clothesline behind and she was photographed. They held a gun to her head and turned on a video camera,
operated by another man standing in shadow behind it.
They made her recite a message. Apparently, this would be going to Julian. He
was to pay a ransom for her return. But Eve had a sneaking suspicion that these men, who seemed so unconcerned that she had
seen their faces, had no plans on letting her go back at all.
At least, not alive.
Julian had been a mess well-dressed mess since Eve had been reported missing by the Chief of Staff at the hospital. He couldn’t
believe that she’d been right under his nose and he’d missed her. He ached to hold her in his arms and keep her
safe. But it was too late to keep her safe; she was already gone.
As they weeks began to pass, the hopes of her being returned unharmed dimmed.
Even Whitney and Simone were showing remorse at their treatment of their mother. Soon, Julian would be called to hold a memorial
service, but he wasn’t ready to write her off as lost quite yet.
Something at the very center of him swayed him to keep hope. People thought that
he was crazy after nearly two months to still think that she was alive. Even Sam thought that she was dead by now. The ransom
video had come and he had paid the price they’d asked, but she hadn’t been returned. Rebecca was convinced that
she would never be. He didn’t listen to his hound dog for any amount of time. She was still spending his money extravagantly.
Poor Eve, was all she ever managed to say. Poor Eve, indeed.
He had his suspicions about she and his father’s involvement in Eve’s
disappearance. His father had been a little too comforting. He had no doubt to the reason why they’d had her taken.
They didn’t want her to be the next Mrs. Julian Crane. Rebecca liked her standing and Alistair loved his money.
Without a miracle, he and Eve were out of chances.
Last Part
Next Part
