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To catch up to this installment:
Part 1
Part 8
Here is the next installment:
Part 10
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From the back of the room, Paul scanned the rows of tables. All heads had turned towards the stage. The man talking greatly resembled the man in the photo.
Her dad. Paul studied him. He looked nothing like Amanda. Amanda, with her dark hair and olive skin, resembled more someone from Eastern Europe. Amanda’s Dad, on the other hand, had sandy brown hair and green eyes; he was almost Irish in appearance. It was odd.
“I’m going to ruin him,” Amanda had said.
Startled Paul paused to let her words sink in. “Are you sure you want to do that? Think of the ramifications.”
“I don’t care. He took her from me.”
“I thought you said she was dead.”
“I said she was gone. He tricked me. Sent me out on some errand, and when I came back she was gone. I know how far-reaching he is. He knows too many people. She could be anywhere. I aim to find out where.”
Paul looked Amanda in the eye. He’d never seen her like this.
“You know I’ll do whatever you need. But I want you to be sure.”
“Just don’t let him leave the room. Keep him there.”
The squeak of the mike brought his thoughts back to the present. Several people groaned. One lady covered her ears. Amanda’s Dad cracked a joke about it and the crowd laughed.
So now you’re running for mayor. Well, not for long. Once Amanda was done with him, he’d not be able to run for anything.
“…this election, I promise to focus on the issues at hand. We must solve the tax crisis and balance the budget!” Amanda’s dad’s voice increased in volume. Emphatic he pounded on the podium. “I can do this better than my opponent, and I ask for your vote next week. Let’s work together and find a permanent solution!” Finished, he backed up from the mike and the crowd rose to their feet in applause.
Blinded by the sudden splendor of jewels and sequins, Paul squinted his eyes. When he recovered his vision, he saw her dad leaving the stage.
My turn. Paul circled the room, reaching the stage door first. His way out blocked, her Dad looked him full in the eye.
“You need to move out of my way,” he said. His voice was deep and harsh, yet he smiled.
“Sorry, can’t do that,” Paul responded and he gripped the handle harder. “The show’s just getting started.”
Her dad bristled at his impudence. “Move,” he repeated. It came out in almost a growl.
Paul just smiled. The crowd had begun to bustle around. Their attention from the stage was being lost and he frowned. Where was Amanda?
Amanda’s dad looked behind him, then back at Paul. Gripping Paul’s shoulder, he squeezed in an attempt to force him to release the door. Paul winced but held firm. Then he spotted Amanda. Climbing onto the stage, she walked over to the podium and grabbed the mike.
“I think you need to turn around,” Paul said matter-of-factly.
“Hello, everyone. You don’t know me, but I’d like to tell you something about this candidate.” Amanda’s voice filled the room. People looked towards the stage, mumbling under their breath.
“Please, take a seat,” she continued. Gradually, the diners stopped what they were doing and the room grew quiet.
Spinning around, Dad let go of Paul and stared at the stage startled. Paul rubbed his shoulder, relieved.
“What are you doing, Amanda?” he heard him ask.
“I think she’s settling the score.” At Paul’s words, her Dad revolved back in his direction.
“What is all this about?” He sounded irate.
“A little girl named Yvette,” Paul said.
“HER?” His face flushed in anger. “How DARE she!”
But Paul could see it was too late, for on the big screen behind her head was the photo – Amanda, her dad, and the little girl crouched in the garden, her hair streaming as she ran across the lawn.
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Suzanne
Suzanne Williams Photography
Florida, USA
Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.
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