44. Are those bars?
FORTY-FOUR
ARE THOSE BARS?
Lake
My head swims and feels as heavy as a family-sized watermelon.
I can barely peel my eyes open, and when I do, my heavy lids droop back down.
I woke up this way once before. Right after my appendix ruptured, the surgeons performed an emergency surgery to save my life. I probably got hit by a bus. My body’s so heavy. I must’ve undergone surgery, and the drugs are making me woozy.
I lift my arm toward my face, but miss. I’m uncoordinated, still high from the anesthetic. I try again and concentrate on bringing my fingers to my eyelids. I touch my right lid and pull it back to open it.
The darkness soothes my eyes, and the little bit of light coming from outside through the busted corner window near the top of the tall ceiling, at least a hundred feet from me, tells me I’m probably still in the operating room. Am I in the morgue? Huh. That would be wild.
The light flickers.
I wait a few more minutes and open both eyes. I rub them and slowly sit up. Under me, a bed creaks as if it’s on its last good metal box spring. I’m wearing the same pants and shirt from yesterday. They’re dirty. I run my hand over my belly and legs, feeling for injuries, but find I don’t have any.
My left side is sore, though, and my shoulder hurts a little, but I don’t think I’ve undergone surgery. If a bus hit me, I’d be dead or seriously injured. Where the hell am I?
I try to stand, but my head swims again, prompting my belly to churn. Uh-oh. I’m going to be sick.
A hand over my mouth, I try to stop from puking, but fail. I lean over the side of the bed and throw up bile. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything.
I lie back down and allow my body to rest again. The light far outside the tall window flickers again.
Throwing up does have a positive side. It expels whatever bothers the body. I feel better now. Or better enough. My eyes have adjusted, and I see lines in my vision, but I don’t know what they are. I sit up, then stand carefully and slowly. When I think I can walk, I take a step, then another, but I wobble, weak at the knees.
I collapse to the floor.
I stay there for a while. It’s not bad. It’s cold but smelly. What are those lines?
I belly crawl until I reach one line and frown. Is that… No. I wrap my fingers around a thick metal bar. I’m in prison.
I’ve landed myself in prison.
Oh no. I don’t stand a chance of surviving. The moment the idea of shouting for someone to get me out of here crosses my mind, I stifle it. It’s prison. They keep you in. I can’t be stupid. If the inmates hear me crying to get out, they might stab me just to shut me up.
I guess my strategy is to keep a low profile. Do my time. However long that is. I bet it’s life without parole. But hey, it’s life.
The footsteps approach, and a man wearing black pants and a leather jacket stops and hovers above me. There’s a cross tattooed on the side of his neck, and he’s holding a machine gun across his chest. Tattooed fingers stroke the trigger.
Don’t prison guards wear uniforms?
“Hi,” I greet him.
He doesn’t respond.
I really don’t think he’s a prison guard. I also don’t hear anyone else. Shouldn’t there be other inmates? Am I in solitary confinement? Death row. Now I’m really getting somewhere.
I clear my throat and dare to ask, “Where am I?”
When he doesn’t answer, I use the bar and pull myself to my feet. My weak knees wobble, but I hold tightly to the bars. “What did I do?”
I spied on and betrayed Alessio, then ran away at the first opportunity. My memories start to penetrate the heavy fog in my brain. I ran into traffic, and Alessio was there, yelling for me to get back, but I didn’t make it back. Or across the street to the embassy.
Aside from feeling tired, I don’t feel like a vehicle hit me. What happened? I rack my brain and recall being manhandled. I recall voices, people speaking in a language I’ve heard before but can’t quite place.
“We have her,” I say. “That’s what I heard. You shoved me into a van and drugged me.”
The guard walks away.
“Hey!” I grab the bars and try to shake them as if they’re a cage. I whack my head against the metal and wince. Upon inspecting my forehead, I feel a bump forming. Great.
“What is this place?” I whisper. It’s a huge space. I think it might be an airplane hangar or maybe a warehouse with nothing stored here besides me, over here in the corner, behind bars.
There’s a row of tinted windows high up and far away on the other side of the tall wall. One window is broken, and the light from outside flickers. Again.
“Why are you keeping me here?” I ask. “Someone, please answer me.”
* * *
I’ve been kept in this prison for three days and four nights.
During this time, I’ve slept, eaten, and gone to the bathroom in the same space. The guard walks by often and snaps pictures of me eating, drinking, and probably sleeping. Otherwise, he leaves me alone. Small mercies, I guess. Other women have suffered worse in captivity.
Here he comes again.
I squint, the flash from the camera temporarily blinding me. When my eyesight clears, I make out three people. The guard and two others. One of them is significantly smaller and, I think, is wearing a long skirt. A woman, I believe. I sit up, stand carefully since I’m fairly weak from the drugs I’m sure they’re feeding me with the food, and walk toward the bars. I hold myself up by gripping them.
The couple approaches, and a whiff of her strong perfume makes me nauseous, but I can hold it down.
I recognize the man Alessio and I called Hades. He’s wearing a sharp suit with no tie. His dark hair is parted down the middle this time. He leans back as soon as he reaches me.
“She smells like shit,” he says.
“There are no facilities,” his daughter says.
He shakes his head. “We’re behaving like savages.”
You don’t say.
“Did you send him a picture of her looking like this?” he asks.
“Yes,” the woman answers.
Hades spins and slaps her across the face.
I wince and hold my cheek.
“He doesn’t care about her,” his daughter bites out, surprising me with her venom right after he slapped her.
“He cares. He bought a ring meant for someone I know who wouldn’t have given his wife anything less than a diamond worth a small fortune. He cares.”
“She’s not wearing the ring. It wasn’t for her. We should shoot her.”
“Silence,” Hades says.
The woman pulls out a gun and aims it at me. “Let me do it.”
Her father tsks. “Call him. If he doesn’t agree to a trade, shoot her. But for now, the governess is still our asset. I have a report saying Alessio Angelini was seen running after her on the street. That man wouldn’t run after just anyone.”
“I delivered what you asked of me. Your people didn’t hold on to it. That’s not my fault. As for the man you’re looking for?” I swallow. “Miro. I’m sure you won’t need to look for him much longer. He was excited when he introduced himself to your three associates, who are now dead.”
“Those three people betrayed me. They planned to steal the weapon and use it against me. Miro did me a favor. Alessio will do me a favor too. He’s a businessman and will understand how this will benefit his wallet.”
“He’s on the line,” the woman says.
I hear nothing from the other end of her phone, but I gather that Alessio won’t speak with her because she hands over the phone and stomps off with a huff.
“She is unharmed,” Hades says. “And will remain so as long as you deliver Margaret.”
“Margaret?” I screech. “Oh no. Oh no, no.” I shake my head. “Not her. That isn’t the trade I want to make to save my life. Alessio!” I shout so he can hear me.
Hades walks away.
“Alessio!” I shout. “Forget it. You can’t.” It’s not really up to me to decide who gets to have weapons and who doesn’t, but I’m pretty sure these are the kinds of bad people who would misuse them, and I want no part of this. “Put him on speaker. I want to talk to him.”
The woman approaches the bars and presses the barrel of her gun to my head.
“Alessio chased me so he could shoot me himself,” I say. “He… He…” I lick my lips. “He found out I lied, and he wants to shoot me.”
“Daddy, come here and listen to her.”
“Go ahead,” I say desperately. I want no part of his deal. No part of these sick games. “Do it.”
Her dad joins her and lowers her arm. She backs off when he holds up the phone.
A voice comes from the phone. “Lake?”
“Alessio.” I start to sob, and since it’s probably the last time I’ll ever speak with him, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about all this. They threatened my little brother and my family. I had to lie to you in order to save them. I’m not who you think I am. Don’t trade for me. Don’t do it. I could never live with myself if you gave them Margaret.”
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
The way this man’s R rolls is different from Alessio’s speech. I heard a rasp in his voice. Didn’t I?
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“Are you hurt?”
I recognize the rasp. It’s the same man Alessio called in the kitchen the day Val left. It makes me think he’s the man who looks for people for Alessio. Maybe they’re looking for me.
Think, Lake. Think. I school my face and lie the way I lied my way into Alessio’s life, the way I lied to Landon whenever he asked me if I was okay.
“I have a message for my family,” I say. “Please tell my family that I love them. Tell my baby brother to kiss my dog, Susan, and tell him I forgive him for throwing the rock right across the corner window.”
I’m no expert. I have no idea if the man will understand a word I said, but it was worth a try. Susan replaced Margaret as a code name, so I said it to get his attention. There’s only one window that’s cracked. It’s the corner one, and I’m right across from it.
Maybe I’m not that big of a coward after all.