“Putting out fires?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She clicks through a bunch of buttons, her eyes on the screen. “Shit,” she says. “Fucking shit.” As she turns the laptop toward me, I hear a car pull up in the driveway. And then, the rattle of our garage door opening. How did they get the clicker? I glance out the window. The big black SUV is nosing into the garage. With Alice’s car blocking the way, they can get the SUV only halfway in.
“Read it,” Alice whispers urgently.
A car door slams.
I grab the laptop. It’s an article from an alternative newspaper in Portland. “NorCal Couple Still Missing, 107 Volunteers Search South Coast Beaches.”
Footsteps on the front stairs. A rap on the door.
I scan the article quickly.
Eliot and Aileen Levine’s Saab 9-2x was found in the parking lot near Stanton Beach 100 days ago. Friends described the couple as happy and loving, avid hikers and bikers, with a passion for the ocean.
The knock at the door grows more insistent. Bang bang bang.
“One second!” Alice yells, though she isn’t moving. She’s watching me, eyes filled with terror.
While it was not unusual for the couple to go on long ocean kayak trips, they had not mentioned to family or friends an intention to travel from their Northern California home to the Oregon coast.
Bang bang bang. A voice from the porch: “Jake, you need to open the door.”
“Coming!” Alice calls.
In fact, credit card records indicate the couple had spent the previous evening at a hotel near Hopland, California, and had reserved plane tickets for a trip to Mexico during the days after their disappearance.
I close the computer and hit the power button. JoAnne had the details wrong. It was Eliot and Aileen, not Eli and Elaine. Stanton Beach, not Stinson Beach. That’s why Vadim didn’t find it sooner. “Shit. What are we going to do?”
I can hear the doorknob jiggling. Alice reaches forward and puts her arms around my neck. “God, Jake, I’m so scared. You were right. How could I be so na?ve?”
We hear footsteps on the side stairs.
“We have to do something!” she urges, grabbing my hand and yanking me up from the couch.
More jiggling of the doorknob, and then it’s all a moot point anyway, because the front door swings open. Alice whispers in my ear, “Just act normal.” I give her a quick squeeze of the hand.
It’s the pair who took Alice to Fernley. Just as Declan comes through the front door, Diane comes in through the kitchen.
“I didn’t really expect to be in this home ever again,” Declan says.
Alice and I stand side by side, holding hands. “Was it really necessary to pick the lock?” I ask, trying to sound in control.
“I didn’t pick it,” Declan answers. “I just jiggled it a little. You might want to invest in a new doorknob.”
Diane comes to stand in front of us as Declan walks through the house, looking into each room, checking to make sure that it is just me and Alice. When he rejoins us, I see he’s taken my phone from the bedroom. Alice reaches for her phone on the coffee table, but he’s faster. Declan puts both phones on the mantel, out of our reach.
“What are you doing?” As I step toward him, I feel Alice’s body tighten.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get them back.”
Alice lets go of my hand. “I’ll get you some coffee,” she says, her voice amazingly even.
“No thank you,” Declan says. “Why don’t we all have a seat?”
Alice and I sit side by side on the sofa. Declan takes the chair. Diane goes to stand by the front door. Alice reaches for my hand.
“Look…,” I begin, although I have no idea what I’m going to say. I’m hit with the dizzying realization that, at this moment, I have no cards to play.
Declan shifts in his chair, and his jacket pulls slightly to the side. That’s when I see the gun tucked into a holster beneath his jacket. I feel nauseous.
Alice grips my hand so tight it hurts. I know she’s trying to send me some private message, but I have no idea what it is.
“I’m ready to go,” I say.
I have one goal at this moment: get Declan and Diane out of our home, away from Alice. I’ll do whatever they ask.
“Do you remember how this works?” Declan asks.
“Of course,” I say. I try to sound nonchalant, fearless, although I’m terrified.
“Hands on the wall, feet back, legs spread.” Alice won’t let go of my hand. I turn and look at her. “Sweetheart,” I say, unwrapping her hand from mine, then brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
Then I do as he asks.
As I’m standing there, hands to the wall, Declan kicks my legs farther apart. I remember that day at Fernley, when someone kicked my legs out from under me, and I realize with sickening clarity that it was Declan. As I begin to fall, he catches me and slams me back against the wall.
“Don’t!” Alice cries.
“Resisting will only make it worse,” Diane says.
Declan’s hands move roughly up and down my body. Every instinct tells me to fight, but he has a gun. Diane no doubt has one too. I have to get them out of here, keep Alice safe.
“Why wasn’t he sent a directive?” Alice asks desperately. “He would’ve shown up at the airport. There’s no need for force. He’s agreed to comply with everything.”
Declan’s hands continue probing my body, and I get the feeling he’s enjoying this too much—his control, my vulnerability. “Good question,” he says. “I was wondering the same thing. Jake, did you piss someone off?”
He steps back and I turn to face him. “I don’t know.”
“Someone is very unhappy with you,” he says. “Our orders on this one don’t leave a lot of wiggle room.”
Declan gives Diane a nod. “Hands out,” she commands.
“I’m begging you—”
“Alice,” I say sharply. “It’s okay.”
Of course it isn’t okay. Nothing is okay.
Alice stands there, weeping silently.
Diane pulls a straitjacket out of her black canvas bag. As she slides it onto my outstretched arms, I have a feeling of utter hopelessness. Diane starts buckling and snapping things. I get a whiff of stale coffee on her breath, and I catch a glimpse of us in the hallway mirror. In that moment, I hate myself. My weakness. My indecision. Everything I’ve done has led us to this moment. Surely, at some point, I could have made a different choice, taken a different turn. When we got the box from Finnegan, we should have said no. That was an option then. To simply return the gift. Or when Vivian came to our house that first day and placed the contracts in front of us, we could have refused to sign. I shouldn’t have arranged a secret meeting with JoAnne. I shouldn’t have asked so many questions.