“Of course. Master-plans take time,” she sniffs, as though I’m the idiot here.
“Is Zuzu all right?” I ask calmly, and I don’t know how I’m remaining calm. It’s like my blood is frozen as it rushes through my heart, and my daughter is out there somewhere and these people are crazy.
“Of course,” she tells me. “I thought we already established that Leroy doesn’t want to hurt a kid?”
“Then what are you planning on doing with her?” I ask. “She’s innocent. She hasn’t done a thing to anyone.”
“Of course she hasn’t,” Natasha agrees. “She’s fine. And she will stay fine as long as Pax does what we ask.”
“And what are you asking of him?” I ask. My hands shake against the arms of the chair.
Natasha smiles.
“Only for his life. That’s not too much, is it?”
19
Chapter Eighteen
Pax
Light shines in from the bedroom windows, and I stare at it for a second. The sun rays filter through the air, and the dust motes spiral and I reach out a hand to touch them.
I haven’t slept all night.
Doing four lines of coke will do that to a person. I doubt I’ll sleep for days.
Through the monitor, I hear my daughter singing, through my closed door and hers, and I relax my tight muscles. She’s still here. She’s still alive, and thankfully, from the sounds of it, she doesn’t know the danger she’s in.
Thank God.
I straighten my leg and adjust my back.
I’m sitting on the floor, pressed to the wall, and it is holding me up. The coolness of it bleeds into my skin, and I soak it up. I concentrate on it, because it grounds me in this moment, and keeps everything real.
Temperature is real.
The wall is real.
Focus on what is real, I tell myself. Zuzu is real. Mila is real.
Mila. God. She’s probably so worried. I heard my phone ring numerous times, and then I think it was turned off. I haven’t heard it from hours, and I know Mila wouldn’t just stop calling. Not if she was able.
Lord, the thought of her being unable turns my blood cold.
But that’s not happening, I tell myself. They don’t want her. They want me.
A paper is slipped beneath the door.
I open it. It’s time.
I stare at the boxes. I don’t feel the pain in my leg anymore. The drugs have definitely dulled all of my senses. The idea that I used to live like this… it’s so foreign to me. It’s like living through a fog, not really living at all.
I open the box, and am surprised to see clear capsules filled with white powder. I don’t know what they are. PCP, maybe? I don’t bother worrying about it.
I swallow them.
Within minutes, I’m swearing, and my vision is blurred. Definitely PCP. My skin starts crawling, there are ants on it, and I fight the urge to scratch them.