Tonight, I’m going to find Sebastian. Despite Yury Yury’s claim that he’s skipped town, I still need to confirm that for myself. Seeing as how Sebastian was recently at the temple, I believe he still loves Elizabeth and is looking for her. I grab my jacket, car keys, and the photo Sebastian left at the temple, with the words I’m sorry on it.
“What are you sorry for?” I ask myself. I also make sure to grab my trusty Taser this time. Aside from a missed dose of Klonopin and Dudley on the bench, that’s going to be my only defense for tonight.
Using the photo I took of Sebastian’s ID, I enter his address into my phone’s map and drive out to Harvard Park in South Los Angeles. Despite its name, Harvard Park is neither prestigious nor parklike. My little car nearly loses its muffle as I drive over one pothole after another. Each house I pass on this dark street is small and in disrepair, and every single one has bars on the windows and doors.
I picked a bad time of day to drive here. I don’t like guns, and I never have. My father used to take me shooting when I was young and ingrained in me the long and proud history of gun ownership. It didn’t take. Despite my profession, I don’t own or carry a gun. But at times like this, I think I should. There’s no telling what I’ll find in here.
My navigation app brings me to a block where the homes are either abandoned or unkempt—it’s hard to tell which. After I park, I walk slowly to my destination. The house is dirty, with drab olive paint peeling off the walls and an overgrown brown lawn. I step up the stone steps onto the bungalow porch then look around the empty neighborhood. There are no streetlights on this street, only the glowing windows from a few houses. At least some people are home.
It’s important that I talk to Sebastian and I find out why he was at the temple. If Sebastian was willing to go back to there after everything he told me, he must be convinced that Elizabeth is in real and immediate danger. And if he’s sorry, as the photo says, he must have done something.
I consider my options. Call the police? No. Call Paige? No. I have to knock on the door and man up.
My fist slams on the door. Or really, I pound with authority on the iron gate that blocks the door. It rattles under my fist. No one comes.
I pound on the door again. The door cracks open. A man stares at me through the metal screen. He keeps himself in the shadows of the dark room, so I can’t make out too many details of his face.
“Is Sebastian here?” When the guy doesn’t answer, I continue. “He told me to come by.”
“Who’s Sebastian?” His voice is deep, with a guttural toughness and a distinct Latino accent.
“Don’t screw around. Is he here or not?”
Sure, it’s a little suspicious that someone like me would pound on a door like this in the middle of the evening. I can tell he’s trying to shake off the fog of whatever narcotic he’s recently taken. He keeps looking at my eyes, probably trying to figure out if he’s imagining their yellow hue.
He sniffs and wipes his nose. “Are you a cop?”
“Do I look like a cop?”
“If you’re a cop, you have to tell me.”
That’s not true. I can tell this guy gets his legal advice from movies. “I’m not a cop. Where can I find Sebastian? He’s not answering my messages.”
“Why are you looking for Sebastian?”
I sigh as though this is a terrible inconvenience. “He didn’t tell you I was coming by? Maybe he didn’t want you to know. Ugh!” I feign anger, and I can tell this guy is unsure how to deal with me. “I’m so pissed at him right now. This, and blowing me off at the concert… you know what? Screw him!” I pull out my phone and start to walk away.
“Wait,” he says.
I stop and try not to smile, knowing I’ve gained some trust. I turn around. He pulls opens the door as wide as it will go and leans his face against the iron gate. I can see him clearly now. The two sides of his face are different. The left side is scarred from a deep and violent burn, the healed wounds giving the appearance that his skin is melting. His left lower eyelid droops slightly and glistens with constant tearing.
“What’s your name?” Two-Face asks then takes another deep sniff.
“Tiffany.”
“Tiffany.” He unlocks the metal gate and steps onto the porch. A rough skinny hand reaches out to me. “It’s nice to meet you.”
I don’t even realize there’s someone behind me until an arm wraps around my neck and a damp, pungent cloth covers my mouth. I struggle, but the sweet-smelling fumes fill my lungs with each desperate breath I take. The more I fight back, the more quickly I get drowsy. I know it’s a losing battle. I know when I wake up, I’m a dead woman.
* * *
My eyes flutter open, and it takes me a few moments to remember my last waking moments. I try to sit up but can’t. My arms and legs are pulled to the far corners of a metal table by some rope I can’t see. I’m gagged and can still taste the remnants of sweet chloroform in the rag in my mouth.
“She said her name was Tiffany, but her driver’s license says Darcy. Darcy Caine.”
I tilt my head up and can see Two-Face and three other guys surrounding me. My cell phone is in his hands. He rifles through the credit cards and IDs
