Chapter Twenty-Two
Jackson
It’s one thing to have the vague knowledge that lots and lots of money can get you whatever you want. It’s a whole other thing to actually see it happening before your very eyes.
After our stomach-busting breakfast, Phoenix and I meet up with his parents and they whisk us back to the U.S. consulate. A lack of a priorly made appointment had kept us from seeing the Consul yesterday but, apparently, her schedule magically opened up for Mr. and Mrs. Wilding, with the understanding that she would see us whenever we got there.
I clearly recall how long of a process it was to get my passport—the one that I used to get into Brazil and is only God knows where now. I’d gotten it the summer after I graduated high school in anticipation of a road trip to Mexico that I never actually wound up taking. So, imagine my surprise when the Consul cheerfully informs us that our paperwork will be processed as soon as Phoenix and I fill it out and she will have an emergency passport ready for both of us by the end of the business day.
Whether that’s a typical turnaround time on that sort of thing or not, none of the Wildings seem as astounded as I am. They don’t even appear all that impressed when the Consul states that she’ll even keep the Consul open later than usual if she needs to in order to ensure that we get the temporary passports today.
I’m doing my utmost to not draw any attention to myself as we sit in the large, spacious, and sleekly decorated office. I’m feeling out of my depth, and I know the only reason things are going smoothly and quickly is because I’ve been swept along in the current of getting Phoenix home. If it wasn’t for him including me in all the plans, I’d still be stuck loitering in the lobby. Assuming the consulate didn’t boot my butt out the door, because then I’d just be a lost bum plonked down on the sidewalk with no clear idea of how I’d get myself out of this mess.
“Yes. Well, thank you for your admirable assistance,” Mr. Wilding says to the Consul. “As I’m sure you can imagine, we just want to get our son home as soon as possible.”
Mrs. Wilding rests her hand on her husband’s arm, a silent show of being a united front. “I know I won’t feel completely relieved until I get my Phoenix home, so I can fuss over and spoil him. Have him with me so I can reassure myself that he’s safe and sound again.”
Of the four chairs situated in front of the Consul’s desk, Phoenix and his parents are sitting in a neat line, front and center. Meanwhile, I’d sneakily shifted my chair so that it’s further back and partially behind Phoenix’s. After his mother’s comment, Phoenix twists in his chair so he can look over his shoulder at me, then he makes a comedically horrified face and mouths the words, “Oh, hell no.”
I want to smile at his dismay. I want to, I do. But nerves have my stomach in knots and my insides feeling as though they’re climbing up into my throat to choke me. By the time I do manage to get one side of my uncooperative mouth to tip up in a feeble almost-smile, Phoenix is already turning back around.
My smile almost becomes the real deal when Phoenix lets out a loud groan and slumps in his chair after his father comments, “Yes, yes, dear. As soon as we get Phoenix home you can smother him with all the hugs and cuddles. As much as your loving heart could want.” However, all traces of any sort of amusement are nowhere to be found in me, as Mr. Wilding continues, “But first, before we can get to that, there’s still the matter of meeting with the local police.”
“Yes. When you spoke with my assistant on the phone, I believe we provided you with the names of a few qualified and trustworthy members of the police that you could contact,” the Consul says, shifting forward in her chair as though she is ready to leap up and get the Wildings those names if her assistant neglected to successfully pass those on to them.
For as much as everyone at the Consul is so clearly bending over backward for them, Mr. Wilding sounds gracious, rather than entitled, as he responds, “Yes, they did. And I was able to set up an appointment for our son, um, and Mr. Delacroix, to meet with a couple of detectives this afternoon.”
The Consul’s eyes quickly blink multiple times when Mr. Wilding adds, “Your assistant also offered the use of several of your conference rooms for us to use for that meeting.” It’s plain to me that she must not have been aware of that particular arrangement. For the first time today, her fawning expression becomes a bit strained as she replies, “Of course. Why waste your, er, your family’s time, making you travel over to the police headquarters only for you to have to make your way back over here afterward? Letting you use a few of our rooms? It’s the least we can do.”
“I do hope it doesn’t take too long,” Mr. Wilding says. “I know this isn’t the first time we’ve all been to Rio, but it would be nice to spend a little time doing something fun while we’re here. I’d hate to think that the only memories Phoenix will have of this visit to Brazil will all be horrific ones.”
Phoenix’s mother seems very sweet. Sweeter than I’d expect someone with oodles of money to be. I don’t… It’s not really envy I feel over Phoenix having a mother as nice as he does. And Lord knows I don’t begrudge him his mother. It just sort of would have been nice to have a mother like that. My own mother was always too tired and overworked to be anything but practical. Both of my parents, really.
Meanwhile, I can’t help but recall certain moments from this morning, ones that Phoenix will hopefully be able to look back on with something other than horror. Of course, I’m not about to relate any of those details to his mother, but I can’t help but feel a measure of satisfaction that I contributed some small part in fulfilling her wish for him.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Phoenix states, “once we’re done talking to the cops, and we get our temporary replacement passports, we can shovel all our shit into our luggage and board the fuck onto our plane. I have no interest in spending any more time in this city than I have to. Er, no offense.” This last comment he aims toward the Consul. For her part, she doesn’t seem to take what he said to heart, waving her hand in the air with a casual flick. “Sightseeing can go kiss my– Um. Unless...”
Phoenix looks my way again and, this time, several other sets of eyes join his. I squirm under the weight of all that attention turned my way, even as I try to hold still so nobody can see how uncomfortable I am, or how much I wish the floor would swallow me up so that no one would be able to look at me.
“Did you want to do any sightseeing? While we’re still in Brazil?” Phoenix asks me. His brow is creased and I can see in his eyes that he really wants me to say no. His voice, though, at least attempts to sound like he’d be willing to go along with whatever I wanted, no matter what that winds up being. “I know...I know you didn’t get a chance to see any of the, er, fun parts of Rio since you got here and... This is the first time you’ve ever been here, right?”
I have no trouble giving Phoenix what he really wants. I have zero interest in aimlessly wandering around this foreign city and looking at random stuff. And who knows where our former captors might be now. Fuck knows if I were them, I’d have fled like the whole fucking city were on fire as soon as they discovered me and Phoenix gone. And with a dead body left behind like a consolation prize in our place. But there’s no guarantee that that’s what they did. Maybe they’re out and about and looking for the pair of us, even now. The last thing I want, now that we got away from them, is to run back into them while we’re ambling about and looking at fucking statues or some shit.
“It is,” I reply, then I add, “First time I’ve ever been out of the country. But no. I don’t think I’m up to any sightseeing. I’d rather just get done what needs to be done. No need to trouble anybody all on my account. Not when it’s all over somethin’ I don’t wanna do anyways.”
“Well, there you go, Mom. No sightseeing for us,” Phoenix states. “Thanks all the same.”
“Just as well,” his dad says. “As much as we’d like them to, I doubt the interviews with the police will wrap up very quickly. If they’re at all competent, and the Consul’s assistant had indicated that they will be...” The emphasis in his voice is less a reassurance and more like a not so very subtle warning. “...then they’ll want to go over and work through as many details of this appalling kidnapping as possible.”
I gulp against a suddenly dry throat. Because that warning floating in the air that Phoenix’s dad uttered? It felt like a threat aimed at me. A threat that no secrets would be left unearthed. Found out and thoroughly examined with a fine-toothed comb.
And, fuck knows, I have secrets.