Love Lost and Found

Chapter 31/?

“Faster! We have to stop him! No! Why for fuck’s sake did those blasted traffic lights just turn red? That’s not fair! Can’t you just drive over the cross-road?” Viggo was bouncing up and down in the backseat, where he had been banned to in spite of his protests. Goodie and the bodyguards had insisted that he was too excited to drive and had had to endure the actor’s non-stop babbling ever since. John and Torsten were sitting in the back of the small white car, too, but they had given up their attempts to calm Viggo down long ago. The bodyguards were shifting nervously in their seats, ducking now and then to avoid being hit by Viggo’s hands, with which he was gesturing wildly. They were almost too concerned with not being hit to keep Viggo from climbing over the front seat and taking over the driving wheel.
Goodie sighed exasperatedly and turned back to Viggo, as the car came to a stand-still in front of the traffic-lights. “Sit back!” he commanded. “We’re not going to save your friend by having a car-accident. I’m driving as fast as I can.” “But..” Viggo tried to object, “we have to be on time..:” “We will.” Goodie said with a glance at his watch. “It’s only 9.40 p.m. Now be quiet or I’ll throw you out of the car and let you walk.” These words, along with Goodie’s stern glare were enough to shut the actor up effectively. Almost the rest of the drive passed in an ominous silence, with Goodie’s eyes riveted to the rood and John and Torsten exchanging worried glances, while Viggo looked sullenly out of the window.

“Get up.” The kidnapper said crisply, his pale lips thinning into a cruel smile as Orlando instantly obeyed. “Attaboy. Now get out of that row of benches.” Orlando groaned as something hard and unyielding collided with the back of his head. “Sorry.” The madman whispered, his hot breath on Orlando’s neck sending shivers down the actor’s spine. “Don’t worry, you won’t pass out. No use in damaging the goods. Lean on me, lest we arouse suspicion.” Orlando complied dazedly, suppressing the urge to laugh out loud. The were alone. There was no one in the whole goddamned church whose suspicion they might arouse.
For just a second the image of a young, red-haired vicar with bluish eyes floated through his mind but he could not really place it and instead concentrated on not falling, as his captor led him into one of the many arched doorways.
If there really was someone who could see them it would look as though the kidnapper was just helping a drunk friend. Panic rose in Orlando, leaving the taste of bile in his throat, but the force of the blow to the head had made him too weal to really resist in any way. Even his vision was blurred; he could not see his captor’s face clearly. Even though he felt that he should know it. The corridors they passed through seemed to be an endless blurry haze. Tears stung Orlando’s eyes as he finally realised that he would never find the way out of his own. Even if he managed to get away from his captor, there still would not be any chance of escape.
He shuddered as he noticed the penetrating stare one of the carved demons was giving him. “Almost there.” The kidnapper whispered into Orlando’s ear. “Don’t worry, they all think that these tunnels caved in years ago. They’ll never look for you here. We’re already far from the crypt.” Orlando struggled weakly as the kidnapper opened the old, heavy oak door but his knees seemed to give way beneath him and the door closed behind them with a final thump. “You know,” the kidnapper kept on chatting as he dragged Orlando farther along. “I think that maybe I should kill you right here, on this once consecrated ground. It might keep you from invading another shell. But even if it doesn’t,” he continued as though this was nothing more than dressing-room talk, “I found something that should ensure your staying dead, if done correctly. I jus6t have to get the last missing... let’s say ingredient, shall we? I don’t think he’ll mind. Be right back.” He yelled over his shoulder as he left, after having chained Orlando to the wall.
Numbly Orlando stared after him as the kidnapper closed and bolted the door to his prison and he was thrown into darkness again. He did not want to think of what the missing ingredient might be. Or rather who. His captor was mad. Plain and simply mad. And he would be back soon. Too soon.

“We’re almost there.” Goodie said as he pulled the car left into another road, that looked even more shabby and run-down than the ones before. Bleak, grey houses rose into the sky with its drab hue of blue and grey, staring at the streets with unlit black windows and doors, adding to the foreboding that was almost palpable in the crisp chill of the night air. The few lit windows that were scattered along the facades only worsened the overall sense of dread. Yellowish street lamps flew past them, making the already dirty street look even more disgusting.
“Have a look at this.” Goodie said, turning and handing Viggo a sealed envelope before he focused his attention back on the road. “Just tell me, if you recognise something.” “What’s in it?” Viggo asked, weighing the envelope in his hands. “Just some photos from old crime-scenes, among them the things we found the day you and Mr Bloom were... attacked.”
Viggo ignored the slight pause Goodie made and anxiously ripped the envelope open. Numbly he stared at the photos that tumbled into his lap, bearing a stark contrast to his black jeans with their bright, vivid colouring. “That’s my living room...” he mumbled as he flipped through the photos, “my front door... I don’t know this place... the hospital... never seen this before... Orlando’s injuries after,” Viggo gulped. “after.. no idea.. what’s this?!?” Viggo stared at the photo in shock. “I’ve seen this before!”
“Yes.” Goodie nodded, speeding round another corner without looking at which photo Viggo was staring at. “It’s a cigarette lighter, isn’t it?” “Yeah...” Viggo whispered, unwilling to believe what the photo in his hand was suggesting. “He was fiddling around with it the other day... constantly flipping it open and closing it again... I remember it, because the initials were so blatantly obvious... how?”
“How what?” Goodie asked confusedly. “How,” Viggo pronounced carefully, striving to stay calm, “Could. You. Not. Know. This?” How could you allow this to happen? You must have known for fuck’s sake!” With an angry growl Viggo punched the front seat. “You... you saw this guy almost every bloody fucking day! You were supposed to know him! How could you not notice what he really is? How in devil’s name could you be so absolutely fucking blind? How? Orlando could be dead by now, just because you were too blind to see! Because you... you...”
Viggo trailed off helplessly, slumping back in his seat and leaning onto Torsten’s shoulder as tears threatened to spill over. John shook his head and handed the photo he had taken from Viggo to Torsten, who studied it closely. “A silver cigarette lighter.” The red-haired bodyguard said with a shrug, ere he noticed the initials. “KML? Who is KML?” “MacLachlan.” John said, his voice thick with anger and hatred. “Kyle MacLachlan.”
“The police officer?” Torsten asked incredulously. “Unfortunately, yes.” Goodie answered instead of John. “Kyle David MacLachlan. My partner, who I never thought capable of doing anything really wrong...” Goodie led out a harsh and embittered guffaw. “And yet I have never been more wrong. Never. We’re there.” He said, pointing to a big gothic-seeming church as he pulled into a deserted, dirty parking lot.

Tbc...