Slow Burn(3)
This morning, I was late.
* * *
Twenty minutes late. Even driving like a speed demon up Route 220, I hadn’t been able to shave off more time. Now I was in the bank, alone in the room where the deposit boxes were kept, holding the phone.
No one had called it.
Sure, I’d missed the exact time that I was supposed to be here to get the call. But the phone should show the missed call. I’d reassured myself that I would see the missed call, and I would call the number back. And that I’d talk to my dad before he got rid of the cell phone he was currently using. We’d set up a time to talk next month.
And he’d say the words to me that he always used to be too busy to say.
“I love you, Leigh.”
I liked it when he said that.
But no one had called the phone. I scrolled through the previous calls.
Maybe I should try the last phone number he used? I knew he didn’t keep phones for too long. But I needed to talk to him.
Suddenly, I was worried.
I selected the number and hit send.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
The voicemail that picked up was generic, the one recorded by the phone company. I hung up the phone.
And then I waited. Maybe I’d gotten the time wrong. Maybe he was going to call me in an hour. I waited. Time passed.
A woman who worked at the bank came in and asked me if I was finding everything okay. I told her I was.
And I waited a half hour after that.
He didn’t call.
I couldn’t stay there forever. I put the phone back in the safety deposit box. I used the key to lock it. I left the bank and went outside.
It was a brilliantly sunny day, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. The hedges surrounding the bank were bright green. Flecks in the concrete of the sidewalk reflected sunlight, twinkling like tiny jewels.
There was a strong arm tight around my waist and something sharp at the back of my neck. “We’ve got your father. Make one bit of noise, and he’s dead.”
I sucked in breath. I twisted to look at the guy who’d grabbed me. He was wearing a black suit, complete with a black tie. He wore sunglasses. His hair was cut in a military-style buzz cut. He was blank and expressionless. “Are you from Dewhurst-McFarland?” I said.
“Shut your mouth,” he said. “We’re going to walk slowly and casually to the parking lot. You’re going to cooperate if you want your father to live. Nod if you understand.”
What was I supposed to do? I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s walk.”
There was a sharp poke at the back of my neck, and I moved my legs. I realized I was shaking. Was this guy serious? Had they captured my father? My dad always said that if they found either of us, they would kill us. Could I really believe it when this man said my father was alive?
Even if he was, did it matter? I was almost sure that they would kill him anyway, no matter what I did.
Maybe I should scream my head off.
But what if he was telling the truth? What if I screamed, and they killed him? I’d be responsible for killing my father. He’d never been the best dad on earth, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about him. I didn’t want him dead.
I took one shaky step after another, trying to decide what to do.
“That’s right,” said the guy. His breath tickled my ear. “Nice and easy.”
There was nothing nice or easy about this. I didn’t want to do what he said. For all I knew, he was taking me someplace private so that he could kill me and dump the body. Whatever he was going to do with me, it wouldn’t be good.
My father had risked his life to save me. He’d gone up against a powerful corporation. He’d gone on the run. He’d given up everything. I suddenly was certain that he wouldn’t want me to give in easily. He’d want me to fight.
I took a deep breath. “Help! Help me! Someone help me!”
The man’s hand went to my throat, cutting off my air, choking off my words. “Fuck,” he said. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?” He looked around at the parking lot.
There were only a couple people there. A man and a woman. They’d both stopped moving and were looking at us with terror on their faces.