“I just want it out,” he said.
She leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms again. “The good news is, I can take it out for you. The bad news is, removing it is far more complicated than putting it in, and I’m booked solid for the next six months. I could refer you to a colleague who might be able to help you sooner, but probably not by much.”
His heart sank. He couldn’t face Rosie again with the camera still in.
When he didn’t reply, the doctor moved around to the back of her desk and skimmed a finger over her computer pad. “I can fit you in on September fourteenth, eight a.m. That’s a Wednesday. Does that work for you?”
He couldn’t wait half a year.
“Isn’t there anything sooner? Please?” he said. “I can pay double. Triple.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s my first available date.”
He refused to accept this. There had to be a way.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’d be better off half blind. Can’t you fry the sucker with a laser or something?”
The doctor considered him for a long moment. “There is one other option. I don’t recommend it.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I could affix a black membrane over your pupil, for now. It would meld to the surface of your eye and block your vision. You’d be completely blind in that eye.”
Linus felt the first bit of hope he’d had in days.
“Would it show much?” he asked.
“It would to anyone looking carefully,” she said. “Your pupil would appear to be always the same size, not changing with brightness. But it’s reversible. When you come back six months from now, I can give you a cornea transplant and a new lens. You’ll be back to normal.”
That was what he’d been longing to hear. “When can you do this?”
She looked back at her calendar and shook her head. “I can try to squeeze you in Friday. That’ll give you a little time to think it over.”
“I don’t need any time,” he said.
“Nevertheless,” she said, coming back around her desk and reaching past him for the door. “Think it over.”
7
TABBY IN THE WINDOW
AROUND ELEVEN THAT MORNING, I pull into a gas station to fuel up. In the distance, Vegas is a sun-bleached bar graph rising out of the desert floor, with a swatch of blue, faded mountains in the background. The sight of where my parents last were brings my fears forward again, and I reflexively check Peggy’s Facebook profile again. There’s still no update. So frustrating. Her daughter has posted twice, though, so at least the McLellens are okay.
I suppose it’s possible my parents evaded their kidnappers and they’re continuing to 240 Mallorca Way. If so, I’ll find them there when I arrive. It’s a hope, no matter now slim.
I put on my hat and pull the visor low over my face before I go in to pay for my gas. I pick out a package of donuts, too, and I’m waiting in line, staring at a box of car lighter phone jacks, when, with a start, I recall that I have Ian’s phone. Of course. It won’t do Berg any good to kidnap my family if he can’t call me and tell me so. He must be trying to reach me.
I hurry back to my car and pull over to a spot of shade next to a pawn shop. Then I dig through my bag for Ian’s phone. With an anxious rip of wrappers, I stick a Band-Aid over the camera lenses, and then I turn it on. It’s low on power but it’s getting decent bars. The phone icon shows two voicemails: one from an unknown number at 11:58 p.m., and one from OTHER, at 12:04 a.m. Eleven hours ago! My heart beats harder.
Which first? I take a steadying breath and try the unknown number.
To my shock, my sister’s voice comes on.
“Hi, Rosie?” Dubbs says. Her voice is too high, like she’s excited or scared. “This is Dubbs. I’m okay. This guy says—” There’s a muffling noise, and then, faintly, I hear Dubbs say, “What do you want me to say again?” A man’s indistinguishable voice answers her, and then Dubbs comes on clearly once more. “Okay. This is Dubbs. If you get this? I’m okay, and Ma and Dad are okay, too. They’re sleeping here. We’re in a truck. You’re supposed to call Dean Berg. And don’t call the police.” The man’s voice rumbles in the background again. “I said it!”
A swift bumbling cuts off the connection, and the message ends.
Fear robs me of breath. Berg has my family! I knew it was likely to happen, but now it’s real.
I listen to the message again. She’s afraid. I know she is, but she’s also trying to be calm, like that’s the mature thing to do in a crisis. She’s only eight years old! My heart tears around my chest. I listen to the message a third time, hoping for clues. They’re in a truck, but where?
I want to crush something.
I switch to the next voicemail, the one from OTHER, also known as Berg, and I give it a jab.
“You should have a voicemail from your sister,” Berg says. “Call me. The sooner the better.”
I’ll kill him. For a fierce instant, that’s all I can think. I really will. I suck in a painful gasp of air. I’ll track him down and slash him into bloody pieces.
Then my gaze lands on Dubbs’s lemony note, and my heart crumples in aching pain. He can’t hurt her. How could anybody hurt sweet old Dubbs?
I have to think.
If I call him and he finds me, he’ll no longer need to keep my family hostage, which means he’ll dispose of them, one way or another. It’s just the sort of ruthless thing he’d do. So I can’t let him find me. I can’t call him back.
But then, what do I do?
Berg doesn’t know where I am, so far. That’s an advantage for me. I turn off Ian’s phone again and drop it on the passenger seat. The GPS wasn’t on, but if Berg has a way to track calls on Ian’s phone, he might know I turned it on for a minute. He might know I’ve heard his messages. Still, what can he do? Nothing. He has to wait for me to contact him.
I take a shaky breath. And Berg doesn’t know I have that address in Miehana, the one Dubbs left me. I notice she didn’t say anything about that in her voicemail. Maybe my family hasn’t told their captors where they were headed. That destination could still be safe.
Dubbs was smart enough to leave me a secret message. She was brave enough to stay calm when talking on the phone for her kidnappers, too. My little sister! I have to be brave, too. And smart. I’ll find her. I will.
I wish I could believe myself.
I curl my fingers around the steering wheel and grip hard enough that I feel all the rest of me is shaking. Is this what you wanted, Berg? I think. He has me sick with fear.
*