I look down at the photograph in my hand. My mother has answered some of my questions, but I have more. I have a feeling that the only way I can possibly understand my son is to understand my father.
And there’s only one way to do that.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “I better go now.”
“Are you okay, Erika? You sound funny.”
“I’m fine.”
“Have they found that girl yet who went missing? Such a tragedy.”
“I’ve got to go, Mom,” I choke out.
I hang up the phone before my mother can ask again if I’m okay. I’m not okay. I don’t know if things will ever be okay again.
I stare at my phone for a moment. I feel slightly calmer. It must be the Xanax.
I looked back at my list of calls from the last several days. I select Frank Marino’s number from the list before I can chicken out. I’ve got a new job for Frank.
After five rings, when I’m about to give up, Frank picks up the phone. “Erika! What’s going on? Your little town is all over the news.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. Frank hasn’t mentioned Liam, which means his name isn’t in the news. Of course, since he’s underage, the media can’t mention him by name. But I have a feeling if he gets arrested, it will all come out somehow. The media can’t mention Liam’s name, but it can trend on Twitter or be shared on Facebook. Or whatever it is people do on Instagram. “Frank, I need you to find somebody for me.”
“Find somebody?”
“Yes, like where he lives. An address.” I take a deep breath. “His name is Marvin Holick.”
“Okay…”
“Just so you know,” I say, “he’s my father.”
Chapter 42
Olivia
I don’t think he’s coming back tonight.
Part of me is scared maybe he’ll never come back. Not that I want to see him—the thought of seeing him again makes me physically ill—but I’ve only got left three slices of bread, one apple, and one bottle of water. I’m doing my best to hold off on eating or drinking, but my throat is painfully parched. All I want is to guzzle the entire bottle, but I know that would be stupid.
What if he doesn’t come back for two or three more days? Then what?
If he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll die.
I can’t let that happen.
I’m making some progress with the mound I’m building. It’s hard to tell how big I need to make it, because I can’t actually see where the trap door is aside from that tiny dim slice of light that disappears entirely at night. It’s very hard to tell how high up it is. Also, I am essentially doing this blind. The hole is pitch black—it makes no difference if my eyes are open or closed.
And I’m so weak. All I want to do is lie on the ground and sleep. It would be easy to do. To let starvation and dehydration take me.
Every time that happens, I think about my parents. My friends. My bedroom.
But I can’t think about it too hard, or else I’ll start crying.
I’ve been doing all the digging with my fingers, and now they’ve become painful and raw. I can’t see what they look like, because I have no light, but I imagine they’re very red. I imagine pinpoints of blood.
I pat the mound with my palms. It’s not big enough—I can tell that much. It needs to be at least a few inches higher. I scrape at the ground with my fingers and wince. God, my fingers hurt. I don’t know what’s worse—my fingers or my ankle.
If only I had a tool to help me dig.
I’ve got the empty water bottle. That’s better than nothing, but it’s hard to grip. And other than that, the only thing down here even resembling a tool is…
Oh no, I’m not going to do that.
Yes, one of those bones lying in the corner would be ideal for digging. Not as good as a shovel, but much better than a water bottle and light years better than my poor fingers. But I can’t do that.
Can I?
I reach into Phoebe’s corner until my fingers touch the smooth surface of one of her bones. A shudder runs through me. I lean forward a little more until my fingers close around the bone.
It would be so perfect.
But I can’t. It’s bad enough I’m stuck down here. It’s bad enough I’m starving to death. But I won’t do that.
Of course, it might be the only way I’ll ever get out of here. The only way I’ll ever see my family again.
I pick up the bone, feeling the weight in my hand.
I have no choice.
I’m going to get out of here for both of us, Phoebe.