Chapter 3 #2
Mom smirks. “Dad liked knowing we could protect ourselves. Probably should have done the same for you.”
I see a warm glint brighten Gran’s eyes. “My Milo was one of the good ones. He was always looking to take care of us.”
“Too bad there’s not more like him,” Mom mutters as she gets up to start cooking dinner. “So what’s the plan? Where can we hide you for the next six months?”
“You really think he’ll let it go by then?” I ask with a degree of hope.
“I think we only plan for six months at a time.”
Oh. Okay. I suppose that’s reasonable.
“I don’t have any idea where to go.” I prop my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. “Sachi would be happy to help, but I’m scared to endanger her. Plus, her place is tiny. She and her roommate are already packed in there.”
“It needs to be somewhere unconnected to you,” Gran offers.
“What, like a shelter?” I ask warily. I shouldn’t be choosy, but a homeless shelter sounds scary.
“No,” Mom says adamantly. “I’d rather empty my savings to pay for a motel before sending you to one of those places.”
“I don’t like that option, but I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to know of a place if I have no connection to it.”
“A shelter is too visible, anyway,” Gran adds. “Definitely not an option.”
The room goes silent as we all contemplate the dilemma until a screeching sounds from the television.
I look at the screen and see a bald eagle gliding over water before snatching a fish from below the surface.
Gran had been watching PBS when I got home, and a nature show has come on after her program.
Seeing the spectacular creature gives me a flicker of an idea.
It’s crazy—ludicrous even—but it’s all I’ve got.
“When I was at school, we had an adjunct professor teaching photography,” I start to explain.
“He was young and really cool—he had us call him Ricky instead of Professor Auburn, and he hosted parties when he was in town—stuff like that. As part of his photography career, he goes away on long expeditions to shoot random animals like tiny frogs in the Amazon or the rutting season for a rare species of deer in China. His adventures are fascinating, so he sends out a sort of email newsletter updating friends and family on occasion. I just got one of his emails a week ago saying he was spending the next month in Iceland chronicling the migration patterns of the narwhal. I bet he’d be willing to let me stay at his place while he’s gone, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach him. He’s usually off-grid on his trips.”
“Best not to leave a trail anyway,” Gran says as though she’s worked secret missions all her life. When this is over, she and I are gonna have a talk.
“I guess that’s true, but it means I would have to break into his place.”
“What other choice do you have?” Mom asks softly.
Reluctance tugs my lips into a frown. “I have a week. I’ll go by and see if anyone is staying there first. I don’t have to decide right this second.”
Gran stands, then disappears to the bedroom she shares with Mom. The two generously offered to give me my own room when I graduated from high school. I couldn’t afford to go out on my own. Now, Gran sleeps in the twin bed against the wall in Mom’s room that I occupied for so long.
I really do love these two women with all my heart. We may get on each other’s nerves sometimes, but we are always there for one another when it counts. I will never forgive myself if something happens to them.
A new round of tears is burning the backs of my eyes when Gran returns and hands me something like a bundle of metal toothpicks bound with a rubber band. I stare at the offering, my brows furrowed in concentration.
“What are these?” I ask.
“Keys,” she tells me.
I raise my brows at her, prodding for more of an explanation.
“You know how those damn dryers at the laundromat are always eating my quarters?” She lifts her palms in a what-choice-did-I-have gesture. “The owners don’t give me my money back, so I go in and take it.”
“You break into the laundromat?” I blurt.
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course not. I just let myself into the money part of the machine. I only take what it owes me—nothing more,” she says innocently. “Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”
Mom rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but giggle.
“You practice a bit, and those’ll get you in anywhere,” Gran tells me nonchalantly.
“Okay, I think it’s best if I don’t know any more about your secret life of crime.”
“That’s just life, Danika. I’ve told you that.”
“Yeah, Gran.” I smile. “I suppose I should have listened better.”
“Live and learn.”
I get up and give each of them a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to take a quick shower before dinner is ready. Is that okay?”
“Take your time,” Mom tells me. “I’m just getting started, so you’ll have at least an hour before it’s ready.”
“Sounds good.”
I go to my room and close the door for a minute alone to process. Considering all that’s happened, I could use a month to fully come to terms with my situation, but I don’t have that kind of time.
One week.
I have one week to secure a place to stay, pack, and disappear.
I sit on my bed and stare at a painting of mine hanging beside my closet door.
Two white calla lilies on a black background.
Gran’s favorite flower, and ironically, a symbol of death.
They’re one of the most popular funeral flowers, and a perfect reminder that I have to run. I can’t let Biba take me.
I get up and start rummaging around my room. I’m not even sure for what. A genie in a lamp? Maybe a fairy godmother. Where can a girl buy a miracle in this city? No miracles, but I should probably get a prepaid phone so I can keep in touch with Mom and Gran.
Excellent thinking! See, you got this.
I find a scrap of paper to start making a list when I hear two sharp knocks on the front door.
The apartment is small and not particularly soundproof, so I stand close to the bedroom door and listen.
I’m not sure why. I don’t normally care when someone comes by, but this stuff with Biba has me paranoid, and for good reason.
When Mom opens the door, I hear a man’s voice.
Please let it be creepy Mr. Wood from downstairs trying to hit up Mom for a date again.
Why I think I have any luck left at this point, I don’t know because I’ve clearly drained that bucket dry. A man’s rumbling voice sounds from the other room with an unmistakable Russian accent. As soon as he speaks, I hear my mother tell him that I’m not home.
I stand frozen with fear and indecision, my heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
What does this guy want with me? I assume Biba sent him, but why?
Should I hide in the closet? Maybe I should already be out on the fire escape making my way to ground level.
That’s probably best, but when I hear the man shout aggressively, followed by a squeal from my mother, I instinctively charge into the living room.
“I’m here. Leave her alone,” I demand, hands on my hips. “What do you want?”
He snarls, revealing the most cliché gold tooth imaginable. “Time to go.”
“Where? Biba said I had a week to get ready.”
“And you would have, had you not gone crying to the police. Such a disappointment to the Vor. Now, you spend the week at his place to make sure you no do anything stupid.”
My mask of false bravado falls to the floor. “What? I didn’t even say anything. I left before I talked to anyone.”
“But you might not next time. Pack a bag, we’re leaving.”
I have no choice but to follow his orders.
When I turn, Mom tries to follow me, but one harsh command from him stops her in her tracks.
Fingers trembling, I throw together an overnight bag and make sure to grab my tablet computer.
It’s a crazy mismatch of clothing and toiletries because I can’t think clearly enough to pack appropriately.
I don’t even know what is appropriate—is this a one-night bag until he sends men for the rest of my things?
Will I be stuck in his house all week, or will he expect me to go out and put on a show?
I’m so utterly bewildered that I just grab whatever comes into view first and stuff it in the bag.
When I return to the living room, Mom stares at me fiercely and completely ignores the man’s fussing when she crosses the room to hug me. I try to draw from her strength. A part of me desperately wants to break down in her arms and beg her to keep me safe, but I know that isn’t an option.
She empowers me with one final parting gift. A few words whispered hastily in my ear to calm and focus me.
“Stick to the plan. Don’t let him take you. Run.”