She drops it, picks it up again, and hits the talk button: "Yes."
"Hey, Susie-Q. You sound stressed, babe, you okay?" It's a different man's voice, smoother, familiar, and through her panic Sue realizes that it's Brad from the office. "Listen, just a couple quick questions about the bank meeting tomorrow morning-"
"I can't talk right now."
"What's wrong?" He's dropped the hipster affectation for a more genuine concern, but Sue's already hanging up on him, still crouched down so that her kitchen and dining room sprawl high above her. She assumes the world looks like this to Veda all the time. The ceiling just goes up and up. She has another vivid flash of her daughter in her car seat, scared and crying inconsolably, and feels her jaw yawn wide to let out an aching scream that comes out more like a sob.
Through all the crazy shifts she's worked at Commonwealth Emergency Response and the death and bloodshed she's witnessed in those early days, only once has Sue experienced anything of this intensity, a hot summer afternoon that she scarcely remembers except on the most subconscious level. Yet in some terribly practical way that experience has inoculated her against certain dangerous extremes-the very real possibility of losing herself to hysteria, for example. Even now she has found that she does not get hysterical, and in a moment her breathing has restored itself to a shallow but steady rhythm.
The phone rings again. She goes flopping across the floor as if struck by a cattle prod but this time she does not scream.
"Hello."
"Who was that, Susan?" the voice asks.
"Brad. He works at my office. I didn't tell him anything."
"I know," the voice says. "I told you I would be listening. You were a very good girl. It was an unexpected test, but you passed with flying colors. I believe you're ready to move to the next level. What do you think?"
"Please, just let me talk to her." It is so deadly quiet on his end, with only his voice relayed to her through the shallow acoustics of a wireless line, the closest thing she can imagine to hearing voices in your own head. "Just for a second. May I, please?"
"Absolutely," he says. "Didn't I promise I'd let you do that? I always keep my promises, Susan." And there's a rustle of fabric or skin against the mouthpiece, then a silence, followed by soft, intent breathing that she recognizes instantly as her daughter's.
And just like that Sue Young's hard-won composure disappears.
She just melts.
"Veda, honey?" she says. "It's Mommy, baby. Sweetie, can you hear me?Veda…? " She feels the tears swell up behind her eyes, pressure mounting in her chest like a balloon expanding between her lungs and ribs, filling her with all the horror and fear in the world until it's leaking out her eyes and nose and mouth. "Veda, it's going to be all right, honey, Mommy promises, everything's going to be okay, okay?"
Veda makes one of her sounds, a repeating two-syllable noise coiled in puzzlement-dukka-dukka?-and that does it. The fear and grief just take over. Sue breaks down. Tears stream down and the screams start backing up in her throat and somehow she manages to hold her breath for one more second because she wants to hear if Veda says anything else. But there is nothing else coming, just another rustling sound and the voice coming back on, sounding deeply pleased with itself.
"She's very good with strangers," he observes, almost mildly.
Sue forces herself to stop crying, bites her lip, balls her left hand into a fist, and mashes it to her mouth. "Anything," she says finally. She can taste blood mixed with tears and her lip aches faintly from biting it. Her chest, her face, her throat all ache. "Anything you want. Just please, don't hurt her."
"I told you, we'll get to that. You passed the first test, Susan, but I just need to be absolutely sure that I can trust you not to call the police."
"I won't. I swear."
No answer.
"You want money," she says. "I can give you however much you want. Just name your price."
"You're not listening to me."Abruptly the voice has taken a nasty turn. "I'm assuming that you're smart, Susan, but right now you're losing IQ points by the second. Now, if you want to see your daughter alive, then shut up and listen." He doesn't wait for any acknowledgment beyond her silence. "All right. Are you ready to listen and do what I tell you?"
"Yes."
"Good. You're going to go outside and get in your car. I'm giving you ten seconds to get out there. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Go."
He hangs up and she drops the cordless, pivots, and bolts out of the kitchen and down the hall in her stocking feet, jumping out the front door and down the driveway. The darkness and cold against her skin don't even register. The door latch on the Expedition catches the first time and she jerks it again, jumps behind the wheel, and grabs the car phone, which is already ringing. Like the radio it is designed to carry a residual charge allowing for its use even when the motor isn't running.
"I'm here," she says.
"Start the engine."
Sue gropes instinctively for the ignition and finds nothing but air. The keys aren't there. Of course they aren't. She brought them into the house with her and dropped them on the counter right before taking off her shoes. She feels a cramp of dread and improbable embarrassment. "I didn't bring my keys."
"Susan, shame on you. You used to drive an ambulance for a living, how could you forget yourkeys?"
"How do you know that?"
He ignores her. "I guess you don't have to be rich for very long before you start forgetting all the practicalities of daily living, isn't that right?"
She doesn't answer. What's she supposed to say?
"That's all right, Susan. I'll give you another chance. I'm a big believer in second chances. What about you? Doyou believe in second chances?"
"Yes."
"Good. Right now I just need you to sit here like a good girl. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes," she says, and for the first time, sitting out in the darkness of the Expedition, which is still warm and smells like the steamed lobsters she left out here by accident, she thinks that the voice on the phone is familiar somehow, from a long time ago. She does not know where or when-her mind will not grant her access to that information-but the familiarity nags just the same, and she thinks again about the idea of voices in her head.
"I'm holding a knife in my right hand," the voice says casually. "It's a hunting knife, one of my favorites. I've had it for many years, but it's still fairly new and in excellent shape. It's stainless steel with a nine-inch blade. It's terribly sharp."
Sue hears herself trying not to make a sound. She makes one anyway, an awful-sounding groan. If he hears this on his end, he doesn't comment.
"Now I'm going to make another promise. In exactly twelve hours, I'm going to plant this knife in little Veda's throat. The police will never find her body and you will never see her again, but for the rest of your life you will know exactly how she died, and her blood will be on your hands. And how will you know that?"
Sue waits, not getting it. Then she understands. "Because," she says, "because you always keep your promises?"
"That's right, Susan! You remembered that! That's very good!" She can almost hear the grin in his voice. "There's hope for you yet, I think. Now, as I said, the only way that this isn't going to happen is if you do exactly what I tell you. The choice is yours, but I'm going to suggest that you don't waste any more time bargaining with me or offering me money. And I especially don't want to hear any more pointless questions. I'll give you all the information you need. That means all you have to do is listen to what I tell you and do what I want. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she says. "Yes, yes."
"Good. You're going to go back into the house and get your jacket and boots. Get a pair of gloves, a flashlight, and a shovel-the one from the garden shed, not the snow shovel. Are you getting all this, Susan?"
"How do you know about…?" She stops, catching herself. Then it hits her. Has he actually been inside her house?
"Get the nylon rope from the hook in the garage, and the canvas folded up in the shed. Take all of it and put it in the back of the Expedition. I'm going to call again in three minutes. If you're not back behind the wheel in time with everything you need, you'll miss my call and you'll never hear from me or little Veda again. You don't want that to happen, do you?"
"That's not enough time."
"What did I say about bargaining? You're not listening to me, Susan. These terms aren't negotiable. The only decision you have to make is whether you want to see Veda again."
"All right," she says softly.
"Good. And Susan?"
"Yes?"
"This time, don't forget the car keys."
And he's gone.