CHAPTER FIFTEEN - WENDY
NOT SURE WHAT DAY IT IS
NOT SURE ABOUT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE…
Something is wrong.
Wrong? No. That’s not the right word. The sick feeling in my stomach is familiar. I know it well. It’s the signal that I missed a very important detail and now I’m about to pay the price for this fuckup.
“Wendy.”
I feel like time has somehow… skipped. But I’m still on the phone with Merc and his voice is stern now. Commanding.
“Answer my question.”
I don’t even remember the question. I feel like an eternity has gone by since we last spoke. But it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be answering it, even if I did. I slam the phone back into the cradle and spin around. And then take a good, long look at Nick’s house.
It looks the same. I mean… I recognize the dishes in the sink. The curtains. The old table in the middle of the kitchen. The view outside. That all looks right.
I turn and go into the living room, scanning it with a critical eye. Couch, coffee table, more curtains. The wood floors, the rugs, even pillows. It’s all… right.
But nothing about this is right.
The phone rings, but I do not pick it up. Instead I walk into Nick’s bedroom and flip on the lights. Everything looks the way I remember. When he left here, whenever that was, he didn’t make his bed. That’s typical. So I feel good about the mess of sheets. When I open the closet, I find a familiar laundry basket filled with dirty clothes beneath t-shirts hanging from a rod and jeans and tactical pants stacked on shelves to my right. There are boots on the floor.
This is Nick. Everything about this closet says Nick.
But something is wrong here.
Didn’t I just check this room before the phone call? And wasn’t it empty? And there were no dishes in the sink. Just a few minutes ago—was it a few minutes ago?—no one was living here. And now…
Yeah. Something is definitely wrong with this place.
I leave the room, flipping the lights off as I pass through the door, and I go to the second room. The one I refer to in my head as the control room. The locked room. The room I’ve never been in.
I don’t think about it, I just kick in the door. The door jamb splits easily and this isn’t my first clue, but this is the one where my situation starts to become real.
The phone stops ringing.
I enter the room and find it empty.
Of course it’s empty.
I have no idea what’s in this room. I’ve never been in this room. But I do know that I should not be able to kick it open with almost no effort because Nick keeps important things in this room.
Maybe guns. Maybe computers. Maybe files and cabinets to hold them.
These are all good guesses and just as they enter my mind, they appear in the room with me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Do not panic, Wendy. You don’t know anything yet. Do not jump to conclusions.
I’m good at what I do. Damn fucking good at what I do. But I can’t stop the instincts that kick in when the reality of my situation starts to hit me. So I force myself to pause. I plant my hands on my hips, look down at my brown boots, and start talking myself out of a fucking heart attack.
They trained you for this, Wendy.
You’re trained. He’s good, but he’s not as good as you.
The silent pep talk in my brain isn’t working because suddenly there is a sharp pain in my chest and I’m gasping for breath.
The phone rings again.
I do not answer it but the machine comes on and Merc’s voice is loud. It booms through the house. “You’re OK. Take deep breaths, Wendy. You’re juuuuust fine. Nothing’s gonna happen as long you keep your shit together, do you understand me?”
I’m still gasping, but keeping my shit together is an instinct at this point. So I close my eyes tight, block out his voice, and just breathe and count.
“Good. Now I want you to lie down on the couch—”
Fuck that. I make a break for the kitchen. I cross it, pull open the door, and I’m already bounding down the steps before he gets to the end of his sentence. I head straight for my truck—and then skid to a stop. Falling on my ass as my boots slide in the gravel.
“What the fuck? What the FUCK!”
“Wendy.” Merc’s voice is still loud and booming even though I’m outside and there is no way I should be able to hear the fucking answering machine from outside.
That doesn’t even make sense, Wendy. It’s an answering machine! It’s not supposed to be a real-time two-way conversation!
OK. OK, calm down.
But I can’t calm down and who cares about how the fucking answering machine works? I don’t have time to think about that bullshit, because my truck is gone.