Chương 12
People stopped for coffee.
A man jogged with a golden retriever.
Teenagers crossed against the light.
At one intersection, a woman in the next car was singing so enthusiastically that she missed the green signal.
Her passenger pointed forward.
She laughed.
The ordinariness made me ache.
I wanted to climb into somebody else’s Tuesday.
At the new hotel, I checked in under a privacy flag arranged by management.
The clerk did not say my name out loud.
That tiny courtesy nearly made me cry.
I locked the door.
Then I checked it twice.
My phone showed six missed calls from Daniel.
I opened none of them.
There were two voicemails from Patricia.
One message from Nina.
Call me when you can.
I called Patricia first.
She answered with, “Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“That is not a location.”
“It’s the location you need.”
She was silent.
Then she said, “Someone called me too.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What did he say?”
“That Daniel owed money.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“He knew Howard’s name.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
Daniel’s father.
Dead six years.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said Howard would be ashamed of how Daniel handles his obligations.”
The cruelty of it felt deliberate.
“Did he ask for money?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you to contact Daniel?”
“He said Daniel wasn’t answering.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you answer questions?”
“I told him never to call me again.”
“That’s all?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Patricia.”
“I asked how he knew my husband’s name.”
“What did he say?”
“That Daniel talks too much when he drinks.”
A cold sensation spread through my chest.
Daniel rarely drank at home.
Two beers during football games.
Wine at dinner if I opened a bottle.
But lately he had been staying out later on Thursdays.
He said coworkers were meeting after work.
“How often does Daniel drink with them?”
“I don’t know.”
“I thought you knew everything.”
She deserved my irritation less than Daniel did.
Still, it came out.
Patricia said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re allowed.”
“No, I’m not.”
I stood and walked to the window.
The curtains were half closed.
I pulled them completely shut.
“Did you call Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Emily?”
“What?”
“Daniel left me a voicemail.”
I stopped.
“What did he say?”
“He said he was sorry.”
I waited.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Her voice became smaller.
“He said if anyone contacted me, I shouldn’t tell them where he was.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you?”
“He said he was going somewhere safe.”
I laughed once.
The sound surprised me.
“Safe from whom?”
“He didn’t say.”
I thought of his message.
If the transfer gets reversed, I’m in real trouble.
“What else?”
“He told me not to talk to police until he got a lawyer.”
I stared at the carpet.
“That sounds like Daniel.”
“I told him I already had.”
“What did he say?”
“He hung up.”
That sounded even more like him.
After I ended the call, I sat in silence for several minutes.
Then Nina called again.
I almost ignored it.
I answered on the last ring.
“You sound terrible,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I meant emotionally.”
“Still thank you.”
She was quiet.
“Do you want company?”
“No.”
“You said that too fast.”
“I’m in a hotel.”
“So?”
“So I don’t want to explain why.”
“You don’t have to.”
I rubbed my eyes.
“I might be dangerous to be around.”
Nina did not laugh.
“Is that literal?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer changed her voice.
“Then I’m not coming.”
Relief and disappointment arrived together.
“Good.”
“But I’m staying on the phone.”
“You have a life.”
“Barely.”
I smiled despite myself.
She told me Malik had broken the office printer again.
I told her Malik had not broken it because the printer had been born broken.
She described an argument between two department managers about refrigerator shelf space.
For ten minutes, we talked about absolutely nothing important.
It saved me.
After we hung up, I finally opened Daniel’s voicemails.
The first contained only breathing and background traffic.
The second was twelve seconds long.
“Emily, call me.”
The third sounded angrier.
“You don’t understand what freezing that account does.”
The fourth was quieter.
“I’m trying to keep them away from you.”
I replayed that one.
Not because I believed it.
Because I wanted to hear whether he did.
His voice trembled at the end.
The fifth voicemail changed everything.
“Em, listen to me.”
A car door slammed in the background.
“The three thousand wasn’t for betting.”
I sat up.
“I know what I told them.”
He breathed hard.
“I know what it looks like.”
Another voice spoke somewhere near him, too distant to understand.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“I was trying to pay somebody back because I found out what they were doing.”
My thumb froze over the screen.
“They’re not just bookies.”
The message ended.
I stared at the phone.
Then the sixth voicemail began automatically.
Daniel sounded terrified.
“Do not give Hale my laptop.”
For several seconds, I listened to the room breathe around me.
The air conditioner clicked off.
A pipe knocked somewhere inside the wall.
My own pulse seemed much louder than either sound.
I played the voicemail again.
“Do not give Hale my laptop.”
The words changed on the second listen.
The fear was still there, but underneath it was something else.
Possession.
Control.
The reflex of a man who had spent months deciding which version of reality everyone else was allowed to see.
I called Hale.
He answered quickly.
“I got another voicemail.”
“What did he say?”
I told him.
“Do you have the laptop?”
“No.”
“It’s still at the house?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“He said the people he owes aren’t just bookies.”
Hale was quiet.
“Did he explain?”
“No.”
“Then don’t fill in the blanks for him.”
“I wasn’t.”
May you like
“You were about to.”
I hated that he was right.
