I must have fallen asleep or passed out. When I awoke, I was curled up in a ball on the
cold floor. Someone had opened the door and pulled on the string that hung from the ceiling to
turn the single lightbulb on. It was still swinging back and forth when I looked up. The light
hurt my eyes, but a bit of air had strewn in from the opened door.
A man stood in front of me, staring with his arms crossed and his legs spread in a guarded
stance. His head was shaved to the skin, and a pistol hung on a holster across his chest—like a
soldier awaiting his marching orders.
“There’s a bed right next to you. You don’t need to sleep on the floor,” he said, his voice
robotic.
I sat up at a snail's pace, rested my elbows on my knees, and held my head in my hands. My lips
were quivering uncontrollably.
“Eat,” the man commanded. He kicked over a tray of food that was on the floor: a juice box and
a sandwich with what appeared to be bologna. The nausea hit me again. I brought my trembling
hands to my mouth.
“I’m a vegetarian,” I said coarsely through my fingers. A lie.
“Eat the bread then,” he grunted impatiently. “It’s the only thing that will make the nausea
go away.”
“What did you inject me with?”
“Just a mild sedative.”
I pulled my right hand away from my mouth and held it flat in front of my face. It was still
trembling, more than a mild sedative should make me tremble. I scowled at him. He didn’t
flinch. I noticed the scratch marks on his arms. This made me grin—at least I had gotten a
piece of him.
“You’re Shield, right?” I asked with a matter-of-fact tone.
“I’m not leaving here until you eat.” His stare was unremitting.
“Where’s my uncle?”
He looked at me strangely. “You mean the guy who was in the car with you?”
I stared in response. “He’s fine. Now eat,” he said.
I couldn’t tell if he was lying, but assumed he was.
“I want to see him,” I said with difficulty. The room was spinning, and a bead of sweat was
forming on my forehead.
“Eat,” he commanded again.
“I’m not … eating till I … see … my … uncle.” I leaned over and threw up.
The soldier-man swore. The walls of the room shook as he slammed the door behind him. I heard
the lock on the doorknob click. His footsteps echoed down the hall and eventually dissipated
into silence.
Afraid of passing out in my own vomit, I climbed onto the dirty mattress, turned to my side, and
brought my knees into my chest. I was worn out.
The door burst open. The hanging lightbulb was still on. I had no idea how long I had been out.
The soldier-man was holding Uncle Victor by the collar and, with frustration and impatience on
his face, pushed him into the room. The door slammed and locked as he exited again, leaving
Victor and me alone.
Victor ran to my side and held me at arms’ length. “You look terrible, kid,” he said,
inspecting my face.
“I’m so sorry I brought you into this, Uncle Victor,” I sobbed. I was everybody’s bad-luck
charm.
Victor shushed me while I cried on his shoulder. But I didn’t have enough energy to cry more
than a minute.
“Did they hurt you?” he whispered and did a quick glance of the room.
“I think I’m okay. They drugged me. You?”
“I’m fine,” he said distractedly. Victor looked down at the tray on the floor. “Is this what
they brought you to eat?” he asked with disdain. I nodded.
He picked up the tray, stuck the straw in the juice box, and handed it over to me. “Here,” he
said, “you need some liquids.” While I gluttonously slurped the juice, he investigated the
sandwich, smelling it first and pulling it apart. Satisfied, he ripped the bread into pieces and
handed them to me one by one, like I was a child or a bird.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I don’t need to eat.”
I glanced over his face. He did look fine. A lot better than me, I assumed.
“Do you know where we are?” he wondered. I was just about to ask him that question. At least
he had been outside the room.
I shrugged. “No, but I have a good idea who’s behind this.”
He searched my face. “Who?”
I lowered my voice so that it was barely audible. “This guy named Shield. A sleaze-ball drug
dealer.”
“Drug dealer? How do you know this?” Victor’s voice was alarmed.
I realized how much life had changed for me in the matter of a few months. The old Emily would
have never known about drug dealers named Shield.
“Cam … the people I was with told me.”
“What else did they tell you?”
I hesitated. Cameron had told me things in confidence—and definitely would not have wanted me
to share any of these things with a police officer, even if he was my almost-uncle.
Victor, sensing my uncertainty, leaned in. “Emily, I need to know everything if I’m going to
get us out of here.”
I knew he was right, but I decided to keep Cameron out of it. “Bill had gotten himself involved
in drug trafficking. Shield thinks that Billy stole his business. He’s after me because he
wants the money that Billy left behind when he died.”
“You think all this is about money?”
“I know this is about money.”