‘She knows about Tallie.’
I shake Wren’s words out of my head and work quickly. I’m by no means gifted at computer hacking – if you could even call it that – but I know my way around a program or two. Ruby and C++ are far easier languages than any drivel humans speak.
After fifteen minutes of process parsing, I’m left with a hundred and thirty-seven possible IP addresses the email could have originated from. I could go through them all one by one, but there has to be some connecting factor. And that factor is no doubt Isis. Why her? I check Maryland, and Washington D.C. There are two IPs there, but none of them from the federal bureau where the investigators have the tape. The tape Wren gave to them behind my back.
I’m not mad about it. I was at first. But then I learned the tape was badly damaged, and video imaging technology back then wasn’t the best. And with no physical evidence, the police declared Joseph Hernandez missing. The other three were conveniently paid off by Avery’s parents, and never spoke a word of what happened.
That reminds me - Belina will be needing the check sometime soon. I’d give it to Wren, but this was the last lump sum I’d have for a while. Of course, I’d invested a small amount in a hedge fund so she wouldn’t be completely cut off when I went off to college, but she’d quickly run out in a year or two. Hopefully, by my second year, I’ll have an internship that pays well. No, I have to have one. It’s the only option.
By then, Sophia’s surgery will be over.
And she will either be dead or alive.
I press my fingers to my temple and try to focus. The majority of the IP address near-matches are located in Florida. I narrow my eyes. Florida is where Isis used to live. That can’t be a coincidence.
But there’s one IP address that bucks the norm, way out in Dubai. The rest are in America. Whoever this person is, they clearly know how to access information that isn’t theirs. They’re good. Rerouting their IP through proxy servers to Dubai would throw anyone looking for an American off the trail. Unless they kept their IP in Florida, purposefully, knowing something like Dubai would stick out like a sore thumb. Basically, every one of these dots is suspect.
I sigh and pick up the phone to order room service. It’s going to be a long night.
Between coffee and eggrolls at one a.m, I get a text. From someone in my phone I’ve labeled ‘Never’. I ignore the palpitation in my lungs at the sight of that name on my phone.
‘What would you do if everyone hated you?’
I pause and consider my answer carefully. Everyone has hated me at some point. Women, because I turn them down. Men, because I turn the women they love down.
‘I would ignore them.’
I try not to stare at my phone, waiting. I have work to do. But I slog through it reluctantly until her answer comes, ten minutes later.
‘That’s what I’m doing. But I don’t like it much.’
‘Then stop doing it. Do what you like, not what you don’t.’
‘But what I like hurts people. I get in the way. I mess things up.’
‘Sometimes people need to be messed up. It reminds them life is short.’
There’s a long silence. Just as I start regretting what I said, my phone lights up again.
‘She would have been a very pretty baby.’
My eyes sting. The cold numbness of the woman I’d f**ked earlier and the single-minded focus on finding the mystery emailer melts. Just like that; with a single sentence.
‘Thank you.’
-9-
3 Years
29 Weeks
6 Days
The dark trees loom like massive sticks of cinnamon. Lake Galonagah at midnight looks like a sheet of glazed black sugar. The moon resembles a perfectly white round of brie cheese.
I am lost as hell. Also, hungry. But that’s nothing new. I am hungry approximately 364 days of the year. The one day I am not hungry is Hitler’s birthday. And also the day after Thanksgiving. Thankfully these two days are not on top of each other, otherwise we would’ve named it ‘ThankgodHitlerkickedthebucketbackinthe40’s’ and that assuredly does not carry the same ring capitalist America likes so much for their holidays.
In my vast and strenuous consideration of the importance of holiday cheer, I manage to get myself even more lost. Contrary to popular belief, flashlights don’t contribute all that much to awesomeness other than being a cool thing you can use to put on a makeshift rave. I rave alone for two whole seconds and since it is horrible and quiet I give up immediately and sit down. On a skunk’s home. The great brute is understandably displeased, and pokes his butt out just in time for my ankle to get completely soaked by hellacious spray.
“Oh holy –” I gag and cover my nose with my hoodie sleeve. “You knave! Hear ye, hear ye, this stripey beast of yonder wood is an ASSHOLE! Oh Christ this is never going to come out, is it?”
The skunk admires his work for a split-second before taking off. I shake my fist at it impotently. I can’t mess around with the local bitchy wildlife. I have to find Tallie again. The forest in the day is way different from the forest in the dead of the night, and when I hear a crow caw hoarsely I start to regret my decision to wander onto the apparent set of The Blair Witch Project. But I stick to the cliffside, careful to always know where the edge is, and follow it around.
Finally, the white cross peeks out of the trees, and I dash to it. The dirt’s still soft where I dug it up and put it back, and I dig it up for the second time. Graverobbing isn’t my ideal job, but I’m getting pretty freakin’ good at it. Not that anyone needs to know that. Ever.
“Hey, Tallie,” I say in a low voice. “I’m back.”
The little pink bundle is dirty. I brush the mud off, and pick pine needles off it. Tallie looks up at me with her empty eyes. They’d be blue, since Sophia has blue eyes and so does Jack. I bet they’d be stunning, like lapis lazuli, or the ocean on a summer day. And she would’ve been beautiful – with Sophia’s hair, and Jack’s height and face. I smile and open the bundle and grasp the bracelet with her name on it.
“Is it okay if I take this with me?”
Tallie lies there, and I nod and take it, the silver flashing in the moonlight. I close the bundle back up and rebury it for what I hope will be the last time.
“I’ll come visit,” I say. “I’ll bring you a toy, okay? I know where to get all the good ones.”
“Hey! This way!”
Someone’s voice cuts through the night, and the forest rustles with newcomers. Footsteps, heavy and deep, reverberate through the ground. Lots of them. Lots of potential serial killers ready to chop my head off with a fire axe. Or it’s Avery’s parents. Either way, I’m f**ked. I duck behind a rotting log and hold my breath. I can barely hear their words; they’re a good distance away, but close enough.
“Find anything?”
“No, sir. Are you certain this is the place?”
“Of course. My source is reliable. Keep searching. We need that evidence.”
Evidence? My foolhardy marvelous curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek over the log. A man in an impeccable tweed suit stands with two other men in dark, matching suits. The man in tweed is so tall, and broad-shouldered. His hair is a shocking white, and he has an old-white-guy-in-charge aura about him that makes me instantly dislike him. Not Avery’s dad – I’ve seen him at open house. And he’s rich, but not rich like this guy – Rolex watch, Italian leather shoes, and anybody who runs around with two guys in suits taking orders from them is rich enough to have a lot of enemies.