E. A. Irwin ~ Dark Fiction Bender

Sound of Silence

Jane moved methodically through the bank. Just place one foot in front of the other, she thought, that’s all you have to do. Don’t fall. Don’t rush. Just place one foot in front of the other. That’s all you have to do. The mantra sawed through her brain with a jagged edge eventually worn dull from repeated overuse. Firm pressure on her arm reminded her not to draw attention to herself … or the man with her.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming as they stepped across the newly tiled floor in a disturbing synchronized ballet. The coppery taste cleared the frenzy eating its way through her brain, until the flavor clung on her tongue as if she’d sucked rotten meat. She swallowed the gathering bile in her throat as the man deftly guided her toward the manager’s desk.

How many times had she visited this bank and been oblivious to its interior? The weekly trips to deposit her paycheck, in hopes of building a nest egg for she and her son, stood out clearly in her mind. She’d merely rushed in, deposited her check and run home to begin the weekend with James before work claimed her attention for another week. The excursions to watch the bank’s renovation excited James until that, too, became a weekly event. What kid got excited about redoing a bank? James, that’s who, her little architect-in-training at age ten going on thirty. Now, all Jane could think about was her son bound and gagged to a chair hidden deep within a rat-infested warehouse about half a mile away awaiting her return. That vision as real and burned into her retinas as the video feed she’d been shown of her child being beaten while these thugs kidnapped her and forced her into this wretched scheme.

Jane breathed deeply to calm the building hysteria, knowing neither she nor James would probably survive this ordeal even though that had been part of the bargain. Thugs didn’t bargain. Terrorists ensured the bargain became unbearable.

 They stopped at the bank manager’s desk. Jane hoped the stiffness in her legs was merely phantom anxiety and nothing which would seem as if she dragged her legs to attract interest. She forced a smile to relax her face. Had her eyes betrayed her? The man next to her squeezed her arm to remind her of their mission. Mission. Hornets buzzed in her ears blocking out everything except the vision of James duct taped to that chair. You’ve been here hundreds of times. Just act naturally so the customers didn’t panic.

“Hello, Mrs. Newbury.” He nodded to her companion. “How may I be of service today?”

Frank Hansen, the manager, hadn’t been that formal with her since she’d been a new customer. Jane honed in on his eyes. Knowledge flashed across them. A fleeting moment where time stood still and understanding wrenched her gut. Frank knew something was wrong and most likely would underplay his actions to get a handle on the situation. He’d been a banker for thirty years and probably had enough robbery stories to fill the vault she needed to enter.

“Hello, Mr. Hansen. It’s good to see you again. How is your wife? I heard she’s been ill.”

“True. Martha had her last chemotherapy treatment, so we’re hoping for remission this time. She’s been a real trooper through all this. I’ll let her know you asked about her, it will bring some joy to her day.”

Martha Hansen had died two months ago after a long bout of breast cancer. Frank was on the same page and knew the situation presented life and death.

The man sneered. A tic in his cheek belied his confidence. He whispered in her ear, the violent sound replacing the hornets with frozen bullets to her brain. “Cut the chit-chat, bitch, or we do this now. In the middle of the bank. With the most victims as possible. I suggest you speed this transaction along before I cut you hard enough to make you wish you’d been eaten through with cancer. Remember, you were chosen for this and little James is waiting for his mommy to come back.”

 Chosen—a relative term. She fit their need: Blonde and slightly dumpy. Unobtrusive, unnoticeable and uninteresting. Plus, she had a kid and would do anything to keep him safe. Terrorists upped the ante for the chosen.

“I’d like to make a withdrawal from my safety deposit box in the vault, Mr. Hansen.”

“Certainly, I just need to get a withdrawal slip and my keys to your box.”

The man nudged her forward. “Janie, be a nice girl and show the man our withdrawal slip so he understands the importance of our transaction.”

Jane reluctantly drew a portion of her coat aside, baring the vest of explosives she wore. A vile of nitroglycerine rested above her heart ready to explode if she moved quickly. A similar vest adorned her son.

“Make a false move and I explode the bank. Don’t sound an alarm or signal a guard. Now, get your keys and ass into the vault. I want box 347 opened … now.”

The manager nodded, walking them toward the vault. Jane whispered, “I’m so sorry, Frank.”

The man stabbed a knife into her hip. Jane bit her tongue to keep from screaming. He hissed, “One more word and you’re dead. That goes for you too, Frankie. Now get in that vault before you find out how unhappy you’ve made me and I hunt your wife and kill her too.”

Jane chanced a glance at the bank’s interior before entering the vault. Not too many people. Good. James presence on the video swam before her eyes. His small voice telling her he wasn’t afraid and could they have pizza for dinner. He’d said he loved her and couldn’t wait to be with his dad later. Jane shut her eyelids hard and fought the sob threatening to fill the room. Jane's husband had been killed last year in a hit and run accident. James knew he was going to die. His swollen face making his small smile a grotesque grimace before they’d slapped that obscene gray tape over his mouth. She’d watched urine wet James’ pants and drip onto the floor and knew she couldn’t comfort or control his fear. She didn’t care about box 347 and its billions in bearer bonds to fund another jihad. She had been chosen for a mission, but not this one.

Life drained from Jane as the sound of the explosion a half mile away ricocheted in her ears. Her son no longer existed except in her heart. Their fates sealed. Jane shoved Frank toward the door. “Lock the vault. Now!” She turned on her kidnapper and ran full force into him, knocking him to the floor. She uttered a prayer of forgiveness as the vault lock clicked into place and she made her vest explode in the kidnapper’s face. Her mission as mom was now complete.

That day, silence echoed for Jane and her son.

© E. A. Irwin

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