SETH
Still fuming about Charles Dumond being a wishy-washy, indecisive asshole, I finish up for the day.
The bouquet I got for Madison sits on the shelf near my office door.I should’ve had the damn thing delivered.What kind of statement am I trying to make, anyway?Do the flowers have to mean something, other than to commemorate Kyle’s birthday?
I suppose they don’t.But I never gave her flowers on Kyle’s birthday before.We lost contact after his death.Not because I didn’t want to talk to her, but because it felt unnecessary.He died, and our connection was severed.
But today, I’m thinking about him, and I’m thinking about her.I’m thinking of the man we lost.Her husband—my brother.
And I’m thinking maybe it doesn’t matter that I’m trying so hard to stay away, because the feelings I have for her?They’re the same whether I’m around her or not.
I won’t show up at her house unannounced, though.In the elevator, I send her a text.Are you home?I’d like to swing by.
By the time the elevator reaches the parking garage, she still hasn’t answered.Maybe she’s busy, or she didn’t hear her phone.Another phone rings in the garage, its tinny ringtone echoing against the cars and cement.I don’t see anyone around, and it continues to ring.
Madison isn’t answering her phone, either.I end the call before her voicemail can pick up.Damn it.I don’t want to go back upstairs with the flowers and try again later.Maybe I will just have them delivered.It’s easier, less emotional.
Deciding to give her one last chance, I dial again.
The other phone in the garage rings anew.
My instincts kick into high gear.This is probably a coincidence.Someone probably left their phone in their car, and now they’re calling it to find out where it is, thinking it’s hidden in a couch cushion or something.
I end the call to Madison, and the other phone stops ringing.
It sounded like it was coming from a few cars away.I dial again, moving in that direction.
The other phone rings.This time, I don’t hang up—I follow the sound.
The ringing isn’t coming from inside a car.It’s coming from underneath a car, the phone wedged against a tire as if it were kicked there.
It’s Madison’s phone, lighting up with my call, the cracked screen warping my name.Dread makes my blood run cold.
Something’s very wrong.
* * *
MADISON
The SUV motors along the freeway.I can’t tell which direction we’re going, although I stare hard at the window, trying to see road signs.So far, all I catch is the edge of the signs, from an angle that makes reading impossible.No matter how I tilt my head, I can’t get the right vantage point.
“Be still,” our kidnapper says.“Or I will shoot you.”
I go still.
If I had to guess, I’d say this guy is Alessia’s ex-boyfriend.The dark bruise forming on her cheek is one clue.His Italian accent is another.
We drive for what feels like a long time, but is probably less than an hour.After slowing down and taking a few turns, the car stops.From my point of view, I can only see the tops of some pine trees, maybe cypresses.Did we go all the way to the mountains?Or maybe the coast?
“You will be quiet.You will be obedient,” he says.“Or I will have to hurt you.”
He gets out of the car, then opens the back door.Now, instead of a gun, he holds a knife.I flinch away.
His eyes go wide, as if he’s hurt that I would be scared of him.“I’m cutting the ties off your feet.”
Alessia whimpers when he grabs her ankle to hold her steady.He murmurs something to her in Italian.She says something back, sounding quiet and cowed.
This isn’t the woman who shouted at me in the parking garage, telling me to stay away from her “husband.”This is a woman who is trapped and hopeless.
