CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Mylene perched on the edge of the bed in her hotel room. The television remote weighed heavy in her hand. She didn’t have a TV in her house. Even though she was a prisoner at home, she missed her bedroom and kitchen. She missed her routine too. While there were many places in the house where she couldn’t lift her gaze and face Mark and Tabby, Mylene missed knowing they were close.
Without their pictures watching—scolding—her and without work, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Mylene always worked. Even when Pham had forced her on vacations, the trips were work. For so many years, every minute of her life had been programmed. Now, alone and locked in a hotel room, she had only a television.
The autonomy was terrifying. She needed to block her wandering thoughts. Mylene turned on the TV. An advertisement for a hotel amenity appeared. The commercial was too bright and loud. She quickly pressed the buttons on the remote. The channels switched. Cartoons. The figures moved too fast. A headache pounded behind her eyes.
She changed the channel again and again. Commercials. Television drama. The news . Finally, something normal that she could stomach. Years had passed since she’d seen anything but the news. Reporters always talked in the same voice, using the same cadence as a lullaby. It was comforting and as close to Mylene’s normal world as she could get.
The news report shifted from an earthquake overseas to a news conference led by Senator Samantha Sorenson. Sorenson was one of their archenemies. Mylene’s nerves calmed. Listening to Sorenson was like her work, and maybe Mylene could handle the unexplained change of location as long as something familiar, like Sorenson, was at the forefront of her mind.
The screen chyron read, “2nd assassination attempt on Sorenson daughter.”
Mylene didn’t have to listen to the reporter to know who had been suspected of ordering the hit. The screen flashed to B-roll footage. Pham’s arrest. The federal courthouse in Northern Virginia. Prosecutors posturing for the media. Mylene wanted Sorenson to suffer just like Pham.
Was the attempt on Angela’s life the reason why they moved Mylene from her house? No one had known where Angela Sorenson had been, and then she almost died an hour away from Mylene’s house?
The screen shifted to the last known photo of Angela Sorenson. She was about the same age as Mylene, whose stomach began to roil. She wanted to erase Angela’s face but couldn’t change the channel. Pham wanted to hurt the Senator. He wanted to make sure Angela wouldn’t testify against him. How could she be a witness against Pham? Mylene saw time and time again how well Pham treated Angela.
But… Angela didn’t deserve to die.
Did she?
Well, Senator Sorenson deserved for her daughter to die like Pham’s daughter had died. Everyone involved with Quy Long’s death was guilty and should be punished. That was why Pham had taken Mylene. She needed to be punished. She had done a horrible, terrible thing while following orders to relay messages. Pham had said so many times that his daughter would be alive if Mylene hadn’t done her job.
So… Angela Sorenson should die.
Shouldn’t she?
Yes? No? Both possibilities made sense. A headache thudded behind Mylene’s eyes. She turned off the television and crawled onto the bed. They never should have taken her from her house. She didn’t want to think about the real world that believed she murdered her husband and sister.
Again, Mylene’s stomach lurched. Her thoughts raced. Angela would die or testify. But what if she didn’t do either? Would Mylene be able to go back to her house?
She could go back home. Hope for the ordinary surged in her chest, and Mylene bolted upright on the bed. She could have her house back if Angela didn’t testify. If Mylene could just speak to Angela and explain, then Mylene’s life would return to normal again. If Angela disappeared again, if she promised not to testify… maybe Pham would be released.
If he was released, maybe Pham would recognize that Mylene’s penance had gone on long enough. Perhaps they would take the pictures down in her house. She would like to keep one or two as a reminder of the family she loved, not the prison wardens they became.
Mylene would be free if Angela listened to her.
How would she find Angela Sorenson? She didn’t have her computer to do research—but she did have a phone in her hotel room. They hadn’t taken it away. Why would they? Mylene would never disobey.
But would they get mad at her for using the phone? Definitely—unless they knew how Mylene was helping.
She picked up and reached an outside line. It had been years since she had dialed a phone, but she knew the number by heart. She dialed it. The ringing echoed between her ears like a maniacal tennis match.
“Capitol Switchboard. How may I direct your call?”
Mylene’s heart hammered. “Senator Sorenson’s office.”
“One moment, please.”
The line beeped as the transfer was made. The phone rang twice. “Senator Sorenson’s office. How can I help you?”
She could picture the intern assigned to take constituent phone calls. Or—her excitement grew—perhaps the person who answered the phone was on Sorenson’s staff. Mylene was less than six degrees of separation from Angela now. Her pulse raced. “I need to get a message to Angela Sorenson. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Angela Sorenson. I need to speak with her right now. Can you please pass her a message?”
“Er, um, yeah. One second.” Unintelligible whispers were just out of the reach of understanding. “What’s your message?”
Mylene didn’t know. Damn it. She’d been too certain of what needed to happen that she hadn’t considered what to say. Her brain was trained on flame-worthy one-liners and rage-baiting memes. Articulating a message fit for a real live person…
“Hello?”
“Tell her not to testify,” Mylene blundered. This wouldn’t work. They wouldn’t pass on a stupid message like that. “Pham. Because. You can’t. Tell her to stay away.”
Dead air hung on the line. She hadn’t made sense.
“All right. Thanks—”
“Wait. I need you to listen. Tell her it’s life or death. That she can’t. Tell her I need to talk to her. It’s important.”
“And who are you?” the intern asked.
“I’m nobody anymore. But a long time ago, I wasn’t.” Mylene hadn’t talked to anyone in years, and it was showing. Her tongue tripped and tied. “She and I are the same. We’re trapped. But I want to go back home. I need to go back home. If she would leave and not testify… that would be best for everyone.”
Mylene slammed the phone into the cradle. What the hell had she done? That wouldn’t help Pham or get her back to her house. The headache punched in her temples.
The door to the hotel room unlocked. Mylene jerked the covers over her body and rolled like a hyperventilating burrito.
“Food.”
She heard the sound of fast-food bags being dropped next to the television.
“I want to go home,” she cried, face pressed into a pillow. Tears stung. “I want to go home.”
They didn’t bother answering. Footsteps retreated. The door shut.
She sobbed. All alone, mind fragmenting, Mylene wanted to die.