Before I can respond, he’s crossing the yard, up the steps and ringing the doorbell. I follow, looking around for the two guys that disappeared, searching for the threat that has to be near. The door opens and my back twinges as if I have a rifle trained on my heart.
The guy that answers is a massive man. Gray hair. Clean-shaven and wears a Riot cut on his back. For the first time, my own cut feels like a second skin. He runs his eyes over me then studies Eli. “I thought we had this straightened out last week.”
I school my expression to hide the surprise that they’ve talked. Eli shrugs. “We did, but Emily’s headstrong like her mother.”
The large man releases a “Humph.”
“Consider this a bonus to our negotiations. You spent time with Emily and now I need to collect my daughter. She has a flight to catch this afternoon and airport security is a bitch.”
The man grunts out a laugh and extends his arm in a motion for us to enter. Eli glances at me from over his shoulder and then drops his gaze to the gun hanging on his hip. He then casually rests his hand near his piece. He’s telling me to be prepared.
We enter and a heaviness surrounds me as I play out the number of ways I can grab my gun before somebody else has time to point one at me and pull the trigger. My mouth runs dry. This is real life. Real life. Not a game. Not a show that can be turned off or rewound.
We walk through a dining room as we follow the man who let us in, and it’s not long before we gain two tails—men from the Riot bringing up the rear. The smell of bacon hovers in the air as we pass through the kitchen. Each step I take, I’m more aware of my skin, my blood, my bones.
A cold sweat breaks out along my neck. We enter a back living room and all the nerves quickly dissolve into a wave of protectiveness.
Emily raises her head and breathes out my name. “Oz.”
Emily
MY MOTHER’S MOTHER, my grandmother, adores kittens. A curio cabinet to my left is filled with ceramic kittens in various poses and the wall contains several oil paintings of kittens in various stages of activities such as chasing butterflies or playing with yarn. The cherry on this kitty-cat sundae is the live cat. It’s black with yellow eyes and it scowls at me from its perch on the end table. Its tail flicks left and then right with the beat of a second hand.
I’ve officially decided I like dogs. Specifically Lars.
Eli winks at me as he strolls into the room. Strolls. As if he, Oz and I are not in the nightmare they’ve described since Oz rammed into me outside the motel room.
Eli plops onto the couch across from the one my grandmother sits in. I’m in the chair in the middle experiencing a bad case of furniture tug-of-war.
I have an urge to hug Eli, to grab his hand and let him lead me away from this insanity, but I’m so terrified that I’m frozen. Literally. My hands are as cold as Olivia’s.
My stomach growls loudly and the entire silent room glances at me.
“You could have fed her.” Eli reclines on the couch and lays an arm along the back, reminding me of how Oz had done the same thing that night on the bench outside the room that became mine.
His thumbs hitched in his pockets, Oz watches me from the entryway between the kitchen and the living room. My uncle stands parallel to him a few feet away. Another guy hangs back toward the fridge. I swallow for the millionth time as my windpipe continually constricts.
“We offered,” says my grandmother. “But she declined. Would you like something, Eli? Coffee, juice, arsenic?”
“Naw, poison’s not my thing. Did Emily tell you that she has a flight to catch?”
“No. She hasn’t been talkative to be honest,” my grandmother says as my grandfather eases onto the couch next to her and rests his arms on his bent knees.
“She acts like she’s terrified of us,” he says in this mock lighthearted tone that gives me the chills.
A mock dismissive twitch of Eli’s wrist. “Can’t imagine why.”
“You’re the one with the felony record,” interjects my uncle.
Eli points at him. “Emily, if you’re going to watch TV to make an assumption on someone’s life then think of any tragic TV show that involves drugs. Ten bucks the horrible ending is what happens to him in five years.”
“You asshole.” My uncle is on the move, Oz steps forward, his hand reaching for his back and both Eli and my grandfather raise their hands while staring emotionlessly at each other.
Oz backs off and so does my uncle while I suck in air so I don’t puke.
“You okay, Emily?” asks Eli.
I slowly angle my head toward him. Is he kidding? I’m not even close to okay.
“I don’t want the deal,” my grandmother whispers.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
My grandfather laces his fingers with his wife’s. “Why did you come here, Emily?”
“It’s okay to answer them,” Eli says with a kindness that causes pain.