Page 37
I HELP VICTORIA BACK up to the apartment. She’s got a laptop, one of Rhea’s old ones, and a bunch of notes and Manny’s inventory list.
She gave herself homework. Manny and Rhea made it clear they were grateful, and they just wanted her to take it easy and heal up.
They treated her like a long-lost cousin. They made her feel wanted at once, just like they did when they found me in town. They called her arrival perfect timing, a godsend, and an answer to prayer.
As she disappears into the bathroom, swinging her long dark hair over her shoulder and testing the limits of her movement, I wonder if she really is.
Well, no, what I’m wondering is, is she only the answer to Manny and Rhea’s prayers, or mine, too?
Yeah. ‘Cause I tried out praying this morning. For the baby to stick it out for another bunch of weeks. For Victoria to decide that wherever she’s going, I get to come along.
For Pazcuso and his entire rotten bunch of mad scientists and mobsters to fall off of a cliff into an ocean of angry alligators.
Victoria made me think. If I can choose what I do, if I can change my mind, then I’m not just an animal, a creature of instinct, or a machine, something they can program. So maybe...
Maybe there’s a little sliver of a secondhand soul left in me somewhere.
And maybe that part can pray. Might even get an answer.
Speaking of answering...
I hear a soft, almost noiseless buzz from somewhere near my feet.
Victoria’s phone. It’s plugged in and resting on the floor.
The shower is running now.
I let it buzz—but I look at the slightly cracked screen, and my heart throws out extra beats.
California area code.
Of course.
Unknown caller, it says.
But it isn’t. I don’t know why I remember certain names, addresses, and numbers, but I do, and I remember that one. It’s one of three that were programmed in.
That’s the boss. You see that, you pick up. You do what the voice says. That’s what you do.
I can hear Lazenby’s voice in my head, feel his hand on my chest, petting his handiwork as he shows me his own phone screen. A flashback that’s too real to ignore.
Answer it. The boss is calling. You pick up. You do whatever he says. You report back.
That was programmed in. Trained in. Beaten and shocked in.
My hand twitches involuntarily, because I know that number belongs to Vince Pazcuso, and I know why he’s calling Victoria.
He’s coming after her.
I rip the phone from the plug in the wall and answer it.
Can’t speak. Throat tight. Sealed up.
I will not do what he says.
He’s not even calling me. He’s calling Victoria.
Why?
