PLANES, TANKS, AND TUTUS
The phone rang for the second time that day. Once, twice, three times and then: "You've reached the Barclay residence. We're not home right now. So please, leave your name, number, a brief message and we'll call you back." A child's laugh, sounding faintly in the background, was quickly cut off at the beep. A second later a deep male voice echoed over the phone line. "Captain Barclay, this is Colonel Smith. We found Lindsey, alive. We're bringing her home; e.t.a 02:00 hours." Footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty hallway. A man appeared from the direction of the living room, quietly crossing the wooden floor towards the table holding answering machine. He paused a moment, studying the machine carefully. Then, almost lovingly, he pressed the play button. "One new message," a male voice played, "June 9, 2011 at 10: 32 a.m." "Captain Barclay," Hannibal's voice sounded once again, "This is Colonel Smith. We found Lindsey, a-" The man hit the pause button. Without looking behind him, he motioned towards the living room. There was a sound of shuffling, something being dragged, a loud thud, and a grunt of pain. The man at the answering machine turned, staring at the floor in mild curiosity. Captain Barclay stared right back at him. "Well, that sounds promising," the man remarked, glancing machine again, "Does that fill you with relief, Michael?" He hit the rewind button for half a second and let go. "...is Colonel Smith. We found Lindsey, a-" The buzz of rewound message. "Colonel Smith. We found Lindsey, a-" Another rewind. "-olonel Smith. We found Lindsey." "-nel Smith, We fou-" "Stop!" Captain Barclay grunted. The retired Army Ranger propped himself up as much as he could to glare at the man in front of him. His face was swollen and sore, but he probably looked better then he felt. Without his chair, he was immobile; reliant on the pair of men under his tormentor's command for movement. Of course, that was when they weren't trying to pummel his face while his hands were tied behind his back. "But I thought you'd want to hear the good news," the man replied un-phased, "Who's Smith?" "A criminal," Barclay coughed, tasting copper in his mouth, "Just like you." "I highly doubt that," the other man replied, "We had an arrangement, Michael." "You said no cops," said Barclay sarcastically, "Smith and his team aren't cops." "It was implied you and Sandra were not to get help of any kind," the man responded as though speaking to a belligerent child. He moved towards the fallen man, squatting down till they were face to face. "Understand this, Michael," he said, pronouncing every word, "You will never be with your daughter again."
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