Long Lost (Myron Bolitar) (23 page)
I choke. Lungs burning. About to burst. Muscles screaming. Must move. Can’t. No escape.
No air.
Dying.
I hear someone weeping and realize the sound is coming from me.
Sudden searing pain.
My back arches. My eyes bulge. I scream.
“Oh God, please . . .”
The voice is my own, but I don’t recognize it. So weak. I am so damned weak.
“WE have some questions for you.”
“Please. I answered them.”
“We have more.”
“And then I can go?”
The voice is pleading.
“It’s pretty much your only hope.”
I startle awake to a bright light in my face.
I blink. Heart racing. Can’t catch my breath. Don’t know where I am. My mind travels back. What is the last thing I remember? Putting the gun under the bastard’s chin and pulling the trigger.
Something else is there, in the corner of my brain, just out of reach. A dream maybe. You know the feeling—you wake up and the nightmare is so damn vivid but even as you try to recall, you can feel the memory dissipating, like rising smoke. That is what is happening with me now. I try to hold on to the images, but they’re fading away.
“Myron?”
The voice is calm, modulated. I am afraid of the voice. I cringe. I feel horrible shame, though I’m not sure why.
My voice sounds meek in my own ears. “Yes?”
“You’ll forget most of this anyway. That’s for the best. No one will believe you—and even if they do, we can’t be found. You don’t know where we are. You don’t know what we look like. And remember: We can do this again. We can grab you anytime we want. And not just you. Your family. Your mother and father down in Miami. Your brother in South America. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Just let it go. You’ll be fine if you do, okay?”
I nod. My eyes roll back. I slip back into the dark.
23
I woke up scared.
That wasn’t like me. My heart raced. Panic seized my chest, making it hard to breathe. All of this before I even opened my eyes.
When my eyes finally did blink open—when I looked across the room—I felt the heart rate slow and the panic ease. Esperanza sat in a chair concentrating on her iPhone. Her fingers danced across the letters; she was working no doubt with one of our clients. I like our business, but she loves it.
I watched her for a moment because the familiar sight was so damn comforting. Esperanza wore a white blouse under her gray business suit, hoop earrings, her blue-black hair tucked behind her ear. The window shade behind her was open. I could see that it was night.
“What client are you dealing with?” I asked.
Her eyes widened at the sound of my voice. She dropped the iPhone onto the table and rushed to my side. “Oh my God, Myron. Oh my God . . .”
“What, am I dying?”
“No, why?”
“The way you rushed over. You usually move much slower.”
She started crying and kissed my cheek. Esperanza never cried.
“Oh, I must be dying.”
“Don’t be a jackass,” she said, wiping the tears off her cheek. She hugged me. “Wait, no, be a jackass. Be your wonderful jackass self.”
I looked over her shoulder. I was in your basic standard-issue hospital room. “How long have you been sitting there?” I asked.
“Not long,” Esperanza said, still holding me. “What do you remember?”
I thought about it. Karen and Terese being shot. The guy who killed them. Me killing him. I swallowed and braced myself. “How is Terese?”
Esperanza stood upright and released me. “I don’t know.”
Not the answer I was expecting. “How can you not know?”
“It’s a little hard to explain. What’s the last thing you remember?”
I concentrated. “My last clear memory,” I said, “was killing the bastard who shot Terese and Karen. Then a bunch of guys jumped on me.”
She nodded.
“I was shot too, wasn’t I?”
“Yes.”
That explained the hospital.
Esperanza leaned back into my ear in and whispered, “Okay, listen to me for a second. If that door opens, if a nurse comes in or anything, don’t say anything in front of her. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“Win’s orders. Just do it, okay?”
“Okay.” Then I said, “You flew to London to be with me?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“Trust me, okay? Just take your time. What else do you remember?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing between the time you got shot and now?”
“Where is Terese?”
“I already told you. I don’t know.”
“That makes no sense. How can you not know?”
“It’s a long story.”
“How about sharing it with me?”
Esperanza looked at me with her green eyes. I didn’t like what I saw there.
I tried to sit up. “How long have I been unconscious?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Again I repeat: How can you not know?”
“For one thing, you’re not in London.”
That made me pause. I looked around the hospital room as if that would give me the answer. It did. My blanket had a logo on it and the words: NEW YORK-PRESBYTERIAN MEDICAL CENTER.
This couldn’t be.
“I’m in Manhattan?”
“Yes.”
“I was flown back?”
She said nothing.
“Esperanza?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how long have I been in this hospital?”
“A few hours maybe, but I can’t be sure.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“I don’t quite get it either, okay? Two hours ago, I got a call that you were here.”
My brain felt fuzzy—and her explanations weren’t helping. “Two hours ago?”
“Yes.”
“And before that?”
“Before that call,” Esperanza said, “we didn’t have any idea where you were.”
“When you say ‘we’—”
“Me, Win, your parents—”
“My parents?”
“Don’t worry. We lied to them. Told them you were in an area of Africa with spotty phone service.”
“None of you knew where I was?”
“That’s right.”
“For how long?” I asked.
She just looked at me.
“For how long, Esperanza?”
“Sixteen days.”
I just lay there. Sixteen days. I had been out for sixteen days. When I tried to remember, my heart started racing. I felt panic.
“Just let it go . . .”
“Myron?”
“I remember getting arrested.”
“Okay.”
“Are you telling me that was sixteen days ago?”
“Yes.”
“You contacted the British police?”
“They didn’t know where you were either.”
I had a million questions, but the door opened, interrupting us. Esperanza shot me a warning glance. I stayed silent. A nurse walked in, saying, “Well, well, you’re awake.”
Before the door could swing closed, someone else pushed it open.
My dad.
Something akin to relief washed over me at the sight of this admittedly old man. He was out of breath, no doubt from running to see his son. Mom came in behind him. My mother has this way of always rushing at me, even during the most routine visit, as if I were a recently released POW. She did it again this time, knocking the nurse out of the way. I used to roll my eyes when she did it, though I would be secretly pleased. I didn’t roll my eyes this time.
“I’m okay, Mom. Really.”
My father hung back for a moment, as was his way. His eyes were wet and red. I looked at his face. He knew. He hadn’t bought the story about Africa with no phone service. He had probably helped peddle it to Mom. But he knew.
“You’re so skinny,” Mom said. “Didn’t they feed you anything there?”
“Leave him alone,” Dad said. “He looks fine.”
“He doesn’t look fine. He looks skinny. And pale. Why are you in a hospital bed?”
“I told you,” Dad said. “Didn’t you hear me, Ellen? Food poisoning. He’s going to be fine, some kind of dysentery.”
“Why were you in Sierra Madre anyway?”
“Sierra Leone,” Dad corrected.
“I thought it was Sierra Madre.”
“You’re thinking of the movie.”
“I remember. With Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hep-burn.”
“That was
The African Queen
.”
The African Queen
.”
“Ohhh,” Mom said, now understanding the confusion.
Mom let go of me. Dad moved over, smoothed my hair off my forehead, kissed my cheek. The rough skin from his beard rubbed against me. The comforting smell of Old Spice lingered in the air.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. He looked skeptical.
They both suddenly looked so old. That was how it was, wasn’t it? When you don’t see a child for even a little while, you marvel at how much they’ve grown. When you don’t see an old person for even a little while, you marvel at how much they’ve aged. It happened every time. When did my robust parents cross that line? Mom had the shakes from Parkinson’s. It was getting bad. Her mind, always a tad eccentric, was slipping somewhere more troubling. Dad was in relatively good health, a few minor heart scares, but they both looked so damn old.
“Your mother and father down in Miami . . .”
My chest started to hitch. I was having trouble breathing again.
Dad said, “Myron?”
“I’m fine.”
The nurse pushed through now. My parents stepped to the side. She put a thermometer in my mouth, started checking my pulse. “It’s after visiting hours,” she said. “You’ll all have to go now.”
I didn’t want them to go. I didn’t want to be alone. Terror gripped me, and I felt great shame. I forced up a smile as she took out the thermometer and said with a little too much cheer, “Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you all in the morning.”
I met my father’s eye. Still skeptical. He whispered something to Esperanza. She nodded and escorted my mother from the room. My mother and Esperanza left. The nurse turned back at the door.
“Sir,” she said to my father, “you’ll have to leave.”
“I want to be alone with my son for a minute.”
She hesitated. Then: “You have two minutes.”
We were alone now.
“What happened to you?” Dad asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He nodded. He pulled the chair close to the bed and held my hand.
“You didn’t believe that I was in Africa?”
“No.”
“And Mom?”
“I would tell her you called when she was out.”
“She bought that?”
He shrugged. “I never lied to her before so, yes, she bought it. Your mother isn’t as sharp as she once was.”
I said nothing. The nurse came in. “You have to leave now.”
“No,” my father said.
“Please don’t make me call security.”
I could feel the panic start up in my chest. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m fine. Get some sleep.”
He looked at me for a moment and turned to the nurse. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Regina.”
“Regina what?”
“Regina Monte.”
“My name is Al, Regina. Al Bolitar. Do you have any children?”
“Two daughters.”
“This is my son, Regina. You can call security if you want. But I’m not leaving my son alone.”
I wanted to protest, but then again I didn’t. The nurse turned and left. She didn’t call security. My father stayed all night in that chair next to my bed. He refilled my water cup and adjusted my blanket. When I cried out in my sleep, he shushed me and stroked my forehead and told me that everything would be okay—and for a few seconds, I believed him.
24
WIN called first thing in the morning.
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