Chapter Forty-Two
Mindy
The buzz of my phone jolts me from my spiral of despair.
Maron!
It has to be Maron!
My fingers fumble through my pockets, desperate and clumsy, until I finally grasp the phone. But the hope dies in my chest when I see "Unknown Number" flashing on the screen. With trembling hands, I answer. "Hello?"
"We have your daughter." The woman’s voice is unfamiliar and as cold as a morgue slab.
My blood turns to ice. My heart feels like it’s been seized by an invisible fist, squeezing it until I can barely breathe. This can’t be happening. This is the stuff of nightmares, of late-night news stories about other people’s tragedies. Not my baby. Not my Sharon. Bile rises in my throat and I have to swallow hard to keep myself from retching right there in the hallway.
"Who are you? Where’s Sharon?" The words scrape past my lips, barely recognizable as my own voice.
"It doesn’t matter who I am." Her tone is terrifyingly calm, like we’re discussing the weather. "What matters is what you’re willing to do if you want to see your daughter again."
God, please, no!
I can’t believe this is happening. My mind tortures me with images of Sharon, alone and frightened, probably retreating into that silent world she goes to when she’s scared. My little girl, who needs her stuffed bunny to sleep, who still wants me to check under her bed for monsters, is afraid and I’m not there for her. Instead, I’m trapped in this sterile hospital hallway, useless, while someone out there has my daughter. The thought cleaves through my chest like a blade.
Kidnapped.
They took her.
"Please," I beg, tears streaming unchecked down my face. "Please don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything-"
"Then shut up and listen to me very carefully." She cuts off my pleas without mercy. "Your daughter’s safety relies solely on two people," she states, as if reading from a script.
"Who?" I ask. My heart hammers so hard in my chest, I’m afraid I won’t hear her response.
"You and Maron Korolev."
The mention of his name steals what little breath I have left. "What does he have to do with this?"
"Everything." Her voice is sharp enough to draw blood. "And you’re going to deliver a message to him." She pauses, letting the weight of her next words sink in. "If he refuses to comply with our demands, Sharon will suffer the consequences."
"What demands? Please, I don’t understand-" I start to say but the woman cuts me off.
"He’ll know. And your job is to make sure he understands that this isn’t a game." She pauses for a second. "We won’t hesitate to harm the kid if he doesn’t cooperate."
Oh, God, please!
"Please," I beg, "Please, can I talk to her?"
There is no response, but suddenly, my daughter’s small voice comes through.
"Mommy," she whispers. "I’m scared."
"Wait, so you’re not mute?" I hear someone else’s voice coming from the background. "We thought you were a zombie this whole time."
My heart shatters at the sound of Sharon’s voice. "Baby," I whisper, trying to keep my tears at bay, "Don’t worry, baby, I’m coming for you."
“That’s enough,” It’s the woman’s voice again. "You remind Maron Korolev what’s at stake. He only has 36 hours left to comply. If he doesn’t, we’ll start sending pieces of your daughter back to you every hour. Toes, fingers, you name it. Understood?"
The phone call ends abruptly, leaving me in a deafening silence. A primal urge to scream rises in my throat, but it’s stuck. My chest shakes uncontrollably as I cry, and cry, my tears bubbling up. I punch the wall in frustration, feeling pain shoot up my arm. But it’s nothing compared to the pain wrenching at my heart. Then, I kick the wall, again and again, releasing all my pent-up helplessness along with a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
I must find a way to contact Maron.
Now.
I spot my phone on the floor, not even remembering when it slipped from my grip. My hands shake so badly I can barely pick it up, but I manage to unlock the screen and dial Maron’s number again. And again. And again. Each unanswered ring feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
"Please, Maron," I plead into the void, tears scalding my cheeks. "Please, pick up."
Nothing.
Just that same cold, impersonal voicemail greeting that makes me want to scream.
My fingers tremble as I type out a text: "Maron, please call me. Sharon was kidnapped. She’s in danger." The words look surreal on the screen, like something from a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
The next thing I do in the face of my panic is call for a taxi. I know I’m in no condition to drive. If I can’t reach Maron over the phone, I’ll go to him.
When the car finally pulls up, the driver frowns as he takes a look at my face. "Where to, ma'am?"
I give him the address, my voice cracking from the stress. "Please, it's an emergency," I plead. "I have to get there as soon as possible."
Something in my tear-streaked face must convey the desperation, because his expression softens with understanding. "Buckle up, ma'am."
The tires screech against asphalt as we peel out of the hospital parking lot. As the city blurs past my window, bitter irony twists in my chest – I’m racing back to the very place I was thrown out of just days ago.
Maron’s mansion.