Love Lost and Found

Chapter 30/?

He was in Orlando’s bedroom, pacing and nervously chewing on his nails. He could not believe it. Somehow the young actor had managed to fool them all. He had sensed something odd about Orlando’s hyperventilating fit earlier but he had not said anything, supposing that it was only his overactive imagination. And now the actor was gone. He had failed to do his job, had failed to keep the actor safe. And above all, how was he to tell Viggo? He did not even want to imagine that. Sighing he turned, his blond hair loose and unkempt. He had to tell Viggo and Torsten. He just did not know.

He paused again, his finger hovering only centimetres over the door bell. He had been more than worried ever since the officer on duty had told him about Orlando’s visit to the station and his strange behaviour when he had run out again. The fact that the file on the abduction case had been looked through, and that the letter in which the kidnapper named the place where he wanted to meet Orlando had obviously gone missing did not make him fell any better. He hoped, prayed that the young actor was at home with the Viggo and the bodyguards. He dared not think what might happen if the Brit had indeed run off to meet the kidnapper alone. He was just about to finally ring when the door was suddenly yanked open and he found himself gazing into an enraged face with blazing sea-green eyes.
“You.” Viggo growled as he took notice of the officer. “You are exactly who I was looking for. Do come in.” Abruptly the Dane turned and marched back inside, leaving two relieved bodyguards and a very surprised Sergeant goodie in his wake. “Come on in.” Torsten said with a sigh. “And please excuse his behaviour. He has just gotten some very bad news and...” “Don’t you dare apologise for my behaviour!” Viggo roared from inside the living room. “I have every fucking right to be angry and now get your blasted asses in here!”
Torsten just rolled his eyes and motioned again for John and Goodie to follow him. “Mr Mortensen?” Goodie said as soon as he entered the living room and was facing the actor once more. “I do not know why you already are this upset but I must ask you to remain civil, no matter what. I fear I might be the herald of even worse news,” “What do you mean?” Viggo snapped, sitting down on the awfully green couch. “I assume that you are this angry because you noticed Mr Bloom gone?” “Yes.” a whole world of meaning and loss echoed in the single word that left Viggo’s lips and hung heavily in the silence of the room for some time.
“Well,” Goodie said, studiously avoiding any eye-contact with Viggo, “It gets even worse.” “Worse?” “Yes, worse. There is something I did not tell you the last time you were at the station.” “What is it?” Viggo asked in resignation. “I don’t care what it is, just tell me please. It can’t be worse than not knowing where Orlando is!” The last sentence was accompanied by a series of desperate gestures that ended with Viggo’s wildly flying hands raking aggressively through his hair.
“I’m afraid it can.” Goodie said gravely, as he seated himself on a chair and started to tell his tale.

She ran agitatedly from one end of the living room to the other, just like she had been the whole fifteen minutes that David had been gone now. He had even waved at her from the car, as she stood at the window and watched him depart with her unconscious nephew after he had stored the belladonna and the chloroform in the trunk of the car. She still could not believe what had happened. It had all happened too fast for her. Could not believe that she had given in again. And that he had taken Jamie in spite of that. She had not believed him to be that cruel. Even though she had always known that he was capable of almost anything. With a half-loud growl she resounding from deep within her throat she came to a halt in the middle of the carpet, her slim body almost bristling with energy and hatred. She would not let him get away with that. She had fought so hard to win custody, she would not give up Jamie now.
She still vividly remembered the day he had given her the money to bribe the witnesses with. They had met in a run-down house on the very outskirts of the town. She did not know if he still owned the house but it was exactly the place in which she would hide an abducted five year-old. Not that she had ever been in that position. She could only hope that the house was still David’s property. She turned and went to get her coat and the gun she had been hiding in a hole she had dug under a loose tile in the bathroom for years. She hated to think of what David might do with the set of surgery scalpels she had had to give him. No matter what, she would get Jamie back. One way or another.

It was only 9.30p.m. as he paid the taxi driver and refused the man’s offer to wait for him. The sound of the starting engine in the lonely alley sounded awfully final in his ears as the taxi sped away and he slowly started to walk up the steps to the heavy ironclad wooden church door, hoping that it was not locked and that it was indeed the right church. But the driver had said that it was the only church called St Mary’s. Carefully he pushed against the door, sighing as it swung open, though he did not quite know if he felt relieved or anxious.
The church seemed to be bigger when one looked at it from outside, what was unusual for such a shabby neighbourhood. Big round pillars decorated with carefully carved, albeit weathered, images of angels and demons rose at least three metres above the ground, before they mingled into an arched semi-gothic roof. Small doorways with wooden doors, that strongly resembled the one at the entrance, lead from the main room to smaller chambers that lay at the left and right of the nave of the church. It looked as though this church might have been a convent or a cloister once.
He scrutinised his surroundings closely as he walked up the aisle, always making sure that no one hid between the dark brown wooden benches, that looked extremely uncomfortable, nit even having any cushions on them. “Hello?” he asked tentatively, hating the way his voice quavered. Absolute silence greeted him once again. Shaking he sat down on a bench in the front row, staring numbly at the altar. His last visit to a church had been years ago and he did not even remember it clearly. He was feeling more and more uneasy with every passing minute. Sighing he started to study the altar. Paintings of the Holy Mother and St Paul, partially highlighted with gilded ornaments and paint covered most of it, but the most prominent item was the huge wooden cross with the suffering Christ and his crow of thorns, that hung above the massive altar. It was a typical catholic church. The cold of the stones was starting to seep into his clothes, penetrating them with ease. He hoped that something would happen before he either froze to death or lost his nerve and ran out of the church again. Suppressing a shiver he glanced at his watch again.9.40p.m. He jumped up, almost screaming as a door suddenly creaked. He looked around but was unable to see anyone. Perhaps it had only been the wind. Breathing unevenly he forced his thundering heart to slow down and seated himself again. He was where he was supposed to be. The rest was up to who ever the sick bastard was, that had taken Bret. Again he could barely refrain himself from screaming as a hand suddenly descended upon his shoulder.
“Son?” a concerned voice asked him. “Can I help you?” “No...” Orlando shook his head, looking up at the young vicar, asking himself, if perhaps he was the one. “I just wanted somewhere peaceful and quiet to think...” Orlando stammered on, hoping that his explanation sounded at least a little bit believable. “I see.” the vicar smiled warmly. “Trouble at home?”
“Yeah...” Orlando mumbled, wondering how young the vicar believed him to be. “Maybe it would help if I stayed for a while...” the red-haired clergy-man offered, “You don’t have to talk son, but I am sure that the Lord and I will be able to help you in some way by hearing your confession, if you wish to. Or maybe a cup of hot soup would be better?” “No..” Orlando shook his head violently again and then looked at the vicar as pleadingly as he could. “Please let me be? I need to be alone right now. Really.” The vicar looked at him for a few more seconds and then nodded slowly, the movement seeming strangely solemn in the flickering candle light that illuminated the church. “Alright. But if you change your mind, I live right next to the church. It’s the house on the left side of it. The small one. You can always run to me.”
“Thanks.” Orlando nodded slowly, watching the vicar disappear through one of the many side doors that led to go-only-knew-where. On any other day the vicar’s proximity would have calmed him down but today it only heightened his anxiety. He still could not believe that he was really doing this. Somewhere above him, in the enormous tower, the bells chimed, as the church clock struck quarter to ten. He still had some time left. Nervously he tugged at the collar of his black, woollen pullover. The bandage on his wound had been off for some days now but sometimes he thought that he could still feel it. And at times like these he even longed to feel it. Longed to feel the safety of knowing that he had indeed the power to end his life if he wanted to do so. He smiled bitterly. Not that he had to worry about how his life would end now. It was totally out of his hands.
“Leave that be.” a cold voice that was strangely familiar suddenly commanded from behind. Orlando started to turn around but froze on the spot as the steely cold of a knife flashed against his neck.
“You are early but that doesn’t matter anymore.” the kidnapper whispered. “You won’t be able to mind anymore once I’m finished with you. Though I must admit I’m more than impressed that you have really grown strong enough to simply walk onto consecrated ground.” The kidnapper laughed loudly and even though he did not apply any pressure to the blade his warning was more than clear.

Tbc...