Voices

“What do you want?” I squeak.

  “Simple. You’re coming with us. And you’re going to tell me where your chicken shit boyfriend is hiding.”

  I push myself beyond the weight of his darkness. My fear expands into anger. I search around for anything that could be useful as a weapon. All I see is a plastic knife.

  “What?” Zeke pushes at his glasses and laughs in a gurgling growl. Josh laughs with him. “You gonna kill me with a piece of plastic?”

  I need to do something.

  Josh grins, as if daring me to make a move. He’s easily the size of a mature bull. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him, even if I were in track shape.

  “I have no idea where he is,” I manage to say. “I don’t really even know him.”

  “Right. Nice try. You sure you want to play that hand? A couple calls. That’s all it’ll take me.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Get changed in the bathroom. Don’t lock it, unless you want me to start making phone calls.” He takes my cell phone and crushes it into the floor with his foot, then throws me my street clothes.

  I shuffle into the bathroom and shut the door. What am I going to do? There’s not a window to crawl out of or a nurse call button. I’m so screwed. Mom is spending the day in her office and I don’t expect Hank for another couple hours.

  Zeke knocks on the bathroom door. “Hurry the hell up. You have thirty seconds. You hear me?”

  Oh God. I have no choice. “Give me a sec.”

  I do what he says and change into my jeans and blouse.

  When we leave my room, the hallway is empty. A distracted nurse walks out of a patient’s room, but doesn’t notice me. Then a male nurse glances at me as he walks by, but quickly looks away when Zeke clears his throat.

  Great. Zeke paid off the nurses too.

  We continue on to the elevator and ride it down.

  Even the security guard that Reizo knows has been called away. He’s missing from his security desk at the hospital entrance. Anyone that could stop Zeke has suddenly taken a mid-morning break, been called away from their post, or is walking with eyes lowered.

  When we step outside, Josh starts up a black Dodge Challenger, which is parked at the curb in front of the lobby.

  Zeke opens a back door. “Get in.”

  The entire situation is surreal. My heart is ready to explode, and my head tells me to turn and run. But I do what he says. As I reluctantly climb into the car, Zeke shoves a wet rag reeking of chemicals hard against my nose and mouth. I try to scream, but muffle instead.

  I collapse onto the seat and everything goes dark.

  chapter thirty-six

  After hours of browsing through hundred-year-old books, Thomas’s diary, and gazing at old black and white photos, I’m bored as hell.

  Screw Zeke Sarov.

  I’m done playing hide-and-seek. Steve at the hospital can probably sneak me in to see Aimee. But Zeke’s paid-off cops might be staking out the place. They might be watching my apartment too. There’s only one person besides Mom that might be able to help. JT.

  I’m out of here.

  With my ball cap and hoody on, I climb out of the storm shelter, hide the entrance cover with the same large dead bush, and take off jogging toward the hardware store.

  Just as I pass the pond’s oak tree boundary, the voices started in. “Typical.” I groan and pick up the pace as a distraction.

  “Where have you been?” asks Honesti.

  “Brother man, youz one stupid cray!” shouts Bouncer, obviously needing to brush up on English 101.

  At first, with my adrenaline pumping, I ignore the voices. Then I decide to try what Aimee had suggested—define basic rules and lay them out. I’ve always been the first to blink. Not anymore.

  When I reach the middle of Murdock’s grassy field, I stop and began to shout.

  “You both need to shut the hell up. I’m in deep shit here. That means you are too. You got that?”

  A flock of birds takes flight, but the voices stay silent.

  That’s new.

  I lower my voice and speak slower. “If I get caught, we’ll all be stuck in Willowgate for way longer than any of us can handle. Or worse, we’ll be dead. So I have new rules for us. You speak only...” and I emphasize only, “when you have something important to say that can help me.”

  I start jogging again. “Let me repeat. Speak only when you have something important to say. Next. No bullcrap, no rants, no endless arguing, no whispers. It messes up my head. And no random opinions about shit that doesn’t matter.” I raise my voice. “Got it?”

  “Screw you!” shouts Bouncer. “No way I’m listening to a punk ass kid—”

  I interrupt, shouting at the top of my lungs. “Oh yes, you will! I’m not backing down this time. No way. If you don’t listen, then we’ll all just die together. Or better yet, we’ll sit here in this field until the sun turns us into jerky. You feel me?”

  For the first time ever, Bouncer stops arguing and Honesti stays silent. Maybe Ames was right? The assertive badass approach works.

  I refocus on the hardware store and jog. “So here’s the plan. I’m going to talk with my friend JT. After that, I’ll either sneak home or sneak into the hospital to check on Ames. Then I’ll return to the shelter and regroup.”

  I’ve never thought it possible to get the voices to listen. For the first time ever, I’m in control. Talking to the voices with authority works.

  “You both have been recruited to be my eyes and ears. Speak only when I need to know something. No superficial blah-blah-blah. You help me, I’ll listen. You don’t help me, I’ll end up full of Stewart’s pills and you’ll be gone anyway. Deal?”

  “He does make a good point,” says Honesti. “I’m in.”

  “I’m still thinking,” says Bouncer.

  I stop jogging and drop to my butt, sitting in a field at a ranch along the highway. “I’ll sit here until you agree.” I lower my voice to an angry growl. “Understand?”

  The breeze whistles across the tall grass. A moment passes. I’m determined to stay sitting until Bouncer agrees.

  “Fine,” says Bouncer, his voice sounding whiny. “You could have been nicer about it.”

  I roll my eyes, wondering why I didn’t try the demanding, direct approach earlier. “Okay, Team Reizo. We do this together.”

  I get up and take off in a sprint.

  chapter thirty-seven

  I’m in the backseat of the black Dodge with my hands tied with a plastic tie-wrap.

  Zeke leans in close and slaps me across one cheek, then the other. “Tell me!”

  My wrists throb. “Jerk!” I scream. “Stop it!”

  Zeke fidgets as if his body itches. “Where’s Reizo hiding?”

  “Screw you,” I say, looking away and coughing.

  Josh lets out a sigh, as if being bored hurts worse than getting shot.

  Zeke pulls out his handgun and rubs it like a bottle with a genie inside. He glares at me. “You think you’re really smart? Is that it, Smiling Aimee?”

  I turn my head and stare blankly out the car window. “Screw you.”

  Zeke chuckles. “Oh really? You’re just making it worse for yourself.” He puts his gun under his belt and straightens his shirt out while he lets out a groan. “So be it. I’ve had enough of your shit. We’re going to Willowgate.”

  He leans forward toward Josh. “Turn around.”

  Josh appears nervous for the first time. He turns the car around while tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I keep my mouth shut, trying to think of a getaway plan. But it’s hopeless. I’m in no shape to jump out of a moving car with my hands tied. Besides, where would I run if I could? I’d never make it to Uncle’s ranch. I can’t go to the police. Mom’s law firm is across town.

  My shoulder aches.

  “If she won’t help us find her boyfriend, we’ll have to make an example out of Rush’s smiling girlfriend.” Zeke leans in clos
e to my ear and pushes his glasses up with one finger. He smells like month-old bread. Gross. “That’s you, Miss De Lucca. Isn’t it?”

  He’s confident, but frustrated. I use all my strength to lean away. “Get the hell away from me!”

  Zeke barely moves. He retrieves a cell phone from his pocket and taps the screen. “Dr. Stewart, please.”

  A moment passes while he glares at me.

  “Oleg. I’m bringing over De Lucca . . . Yep, admit her. Later in the week, we’ll move her to one of the old cells down in the basement after we send out the shipment. I expect Rush to go cray when he finds out she’s missing.”

  Zeke covers the phone and sneers. “Go cray, get it?”

  “Go to hell.” I look away.

  He continues talking on the phone. “Uh huh. Yep. . .No. I won’t screw this up. The next load arrives later in the week . . . Yep. A thousand kilos . . . uh-huh. The route is clear. . .all my buyers expect delivery once we cut it up and prep it for shipment . . . Don’t worry yourself, no one will ever enforce the will. I’m taking care of it . . . I realize we’d lose control of Willowgate. Just relax. Jeez . . . Good. Oh, and I have two tickets for you. Dad is kicking off his campaign for governor next week . . . I’m pulling up right now. Arrange a room for the girl.”

  He puts away his phone. “My great-great-great grandpa would be proud.” He laughs.

  I scowl, but he ignores me.

  “Good old gramps dealt in acres,” says Zeke and chuckles. “I deal in kilos. Willowgate will be your new home . . . at least for a few days, until I can get rid of you, Miss De Lucca, and your little boyfriend.”

  Josh drives the car behind Willowgate’s sprawling building to a delivery truck entrance made of crumbling mortar and aged reddish-gray bricks. Large rusty iron letters cap the rear entrance: CO NTY PSYC IATR C HO P TAL. Smaller letters below spell out: SI CE 1881.

  Zeke directs two other muscle-bound twenty-something orderlies in green scrubs toward the car. One pushes an empty wheel chair to the passenger door on my side.

  My eyes dart from Zeke to Josh as he opens the passenger door. I glance at the guys in scrubs. Flight or fight.

  Fight is out. I’d have no chance against the hulk.

  Flight it is. But where do I run? There’s nothing but grass around the hospital and dense trees a half-mile away. It’s doubtful someone would help me.

  I have no choice. Without thinking, I kick the passenger door as a guy opens it. He flails backward. Before he can react, I’m outside the car and running as fast as I can across asphalt toward the grassy field, my hands tied together in front of me.

  Even with my hands bound, the two muscle-bound orderlies are slower than me. I’m easily out distancing them. Zeke’s guys may have thick necks, but my track experience is paying off. There’s no way they’re going to catch me.

  Then it happens. A pain in my chest stabs me like a butcher knife. Oh God. Not now. More pain, sharp and deep, taking my breath away, and causing me to stumble.

  I force myself to shake it off and keep running, but the pain spreads to my shoulder and down my arm. It rocks me to my bones.

  I lose my balance and tumble to the ground, struggling to breathe. It hurts so much worse than before, worse than ever. My ears ring. The world has stopped, but I’m still spinning. I suck in air with effort and wheeze it out again.

  One of the muscle men catches up with me and picks me up into his arms. I don’t resist. I can’t. He carries me back to where Zeke and the others are standing, then drops me into the wheelchair.

  I try to speak, but can’t.

  “Way stupid,” says Zeke, shaking his head. “Everyone knows you’re a little broken-hearted track star with no gas in your tank.”

  I want to curse back at him, but sucking in air takes all my effort. No way I’m giving up. I take in a deep breath and ready myself for another escape attempt.

  Zeke’s hired hands surround me. One light-skinned man, with tattoos all over his neck and extending upward, covering his shaved head, pushes on my shoulder to keep me in the chair. Another guy looks a couple years older than me, skinny, with tied-back long hair and a nose too big for his face. He pushes down on my other shoulder. A third man with a buzz cut towers over the others. His close-set eyes give him a cartoon look. And his unnatural body is chiseled in some places and puffy in others. They’re all wearing scrubs and appear to be in no mood to take anymore shit from me.

  I struggle to breathe and come to the obvious conclusion that I’m screwed.

  “Get an oxygen bottle for her!” Zeke yells. “Now!”

  Moments later, the skinny guy shoves tubes into my nostrils and attaches a metal canister to the wheelchair. He turns a knob. A hissing sound forces air into my nose.

  I sniff it as deeply as I can to let the oxygen fill my lungs. It feels as if I’m drinking in water after going without for days.

  I’m breathing now, but the pain in my chest is lingering. I glare at Zeke. “Why . . . are . . . you . . . doing . . . this?”

  “You don’t listen very well, do you? We’ve been through this already. Remember? Back in your hospital room?” Zeke shakes his head. “You had your chance. Too late. Not smiling anymore, huh?”

  I use all the remaining energy to shape my right hand into a fist, then release my middle finger and wave it up at him. “G-o . . . t-o . . . h-e-l-l . . . y-o-u . . . b-a-s-t-a-r-d.”

  He shakes his head and grins. I want to punch the jerk in the face.

  Just as my breathing slows, the tattoo guy pulls both shoulders from behind, forcing me to sit back in the wheelchair. I try to pull his arms off of me, but I can’t move. The skinny guy wipes my arm with something wet, then sticks me with a needle and pushes whatever is inside the syringe into my vein.

  I instantly smell alcohol.

  WELCOME TO THE CLOUD

  Login: general

  Password: *********

  How may I be of service, General?

  >>search system status

  ?I have encountered an error?

  >>search system status

  Attempting to rebuild memory access

  One moment please......

  Success

  Password: *********

  >>command

  ?Please specify command?

  >>update on reizo rush

  Unable to locate the enforcer

  Secured Secondary Soul As Leverage

  >>logout

  Good-bye General

  Login:

  chapter thirty-eight

  I’ve been watching the back door of the hardware store from behind a dumpster for thirty minutes. I’m convinced the cops aren’t staking it out.

  After another ten minutes, JT exits the backdoor with an employee for a smoke break. But I stay hidden behind the dumpster until he's finally alone.

  “Remember what I said,” I whisper to Bouncer and Honesti. “Silence. Only speak up if you can help. Any nonsense bullshit won’t be tolerated. I’ll lose it and they’ll find me. Then you know what happens, right?”

  “Locked up at Willowgate,” mutters Honesti.

  “Right.”

  “Fine,” grumbles Bouncer.

  I pull the hood over my cap and jog to where he's smoking. When JT sees me, he scowls and shakes his head.

  Not a good start.

  “Where the hell have you been?” JT throws down his cigarette and stomps it into the cement with the toe of his black shoe. “The cops have been here twice looking for your ass, asking where you could be. Shit, dude. Your mug shot is on every news channel.”

  “Sorry. I needed to find out how hot I am. I need some advice.”

  “Seriously?” JT peers past me, shifting his head to the right, then to the left. “You’re nuclear. They’re determined to put you away.”

  “Two cops tried to arrest me. I had no choice. I bolted. They just happened to show up at the hospital right after Zeke threatened me. I don’t get it. Why do cops care so much about a t
agger?” I pace and rub my face.

  “Reiz, you’re rambling,” says Honesti. “Ask JT the most important question.”

  Good point.

  I continue. “I thought Zeke was just a small time drug dealer. Are the cops on his payroll?”

  JT looks around as if someone might show up at any minute. He lowers his voice. “Don’t be stupid. Zeke’s daddy is the one paying the cops. The little creep just does what he’s told.”

  “Zeke is the son of a drug kingpin?”

  JT nods nervously. “The word going around is that Zeke’s dad has family connections. Russian, I think.”

  My stomach tightens. “As in Russian Mafia?” It sounds too farfetched. JT is still acting weird, but I don’t know why. “Yeah, right. Russian Mafia in Franklinville? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but some are saying Isak Sarov Corp. is just a cover for the Russian mob. Zeke and his father are involved.”

  It starts to sink in. The Sarov family is wealthy. Big houses, expensive cars, and anything else money can buy. Mafia?

  I shake my head and chuckle. “Why would some foreign mafia be interested in Arkansas?”

  “I know, right? But I’ll give you one reason: The Isak Sarov Corp. owns most of the land and old buildings in Franklinville. And guess who controls the Isak Sarov Corp.?”

  “Isak Sarov?”

  “Nope. The Russian Mafia. Hell, they even planted a fake doctor to run Willowgate.”

  “Fake doctor? At Willowgate?”

  JT rubs his palms on his pant legs. “They use Willowgate for other things.”

  Other things?

  “So this is all about drug smuggling?”

  “Sort of. Once Zeke’s dad is elected Governor, the Russian mob will control the state of Arkansas. I heard they plan on making Franklinville a central distribution point. Who’d ever expect Arkansas, right?”

  So the operation is bigger than just Zeke supplying drugs outside of Franklinville. But something still doesn’t add up. “How do you know all of this?”

  He fidgets and pushes me. “Look. Just talk to Zeke. Forget about the will. That’s what I’d do, if I were you.”

  JT opens the backdoor and glances back. “Where you headed next?”

  “The hospital. I need to check on Aimee.”

  He stops, letting the backdoor close. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  “Aimee De Lucca is missing. Her mom has been sobbing on the news, asking for any information about her whereabouts.”