“Bathroom is in there.” He gestures to one of the two closed doors. “I’ll bring dinner at eight.” And with that proclamation, he’s gone, shutting the door behind him.
The safety of solitude brings on another wave of exhaustion, but I don’t let myself give in to it. I could be in more danger than I know, so I force myself to stay awake by checking out my new surroundings. The bedroom suite is equally as luxurious as the rest of the apartment—nicer than I’ve ever known. A queen-sized bed is fitted with soft cotton linens and plenty of pillows. The neutral colors and minimal decor create a modern aesthetic that is simple but not overly cold.
I’m just settling in when Tommy appears with a plate of food as he promised at 8 p.m. on the dot, according to the bedside clock. He doesn’t say a word and is gone as quickly as he arrived. The lemon chicken with asparagus and pilaf rice is delicious. I don’t realize until the smell hits me just how starving I am. I haven’t eaten all day. Once I’ve downed every last bite, I decide to venture out of my room to return the plate to the kitchen. He never said I couldn’t leave the room, and the door isn’t locked. If I am, in fact, a refugee rather than a prisoner, I figure the least I can do is clean up after myself.
I don’t see Tommy while I’m out of my room and have no idea where he is. I figure it’s none of my business and plan to return to my room as soon as the dishes are cleaned. It feels safer back there. But when I see the last bit of sunshine melting into the river beyond his wall of windows, I can’t look away. Going right up to the glass, I sit cross-legged on the floor and absorb the view. When the first firework of the night goes off, I startle out of my haze and remember what day it is. Independence Day. And this apartment has a perfect view of the city’s fireworks show over the river.
I take a minute to turn off the living room lights, leaving the kitchen on so I’m not in total darkness, then return to my seat on the floor. I’m fascinated by the way fireworks can explode into shapes, but my absolute favorites are the giant glittery gold ones that sparkle as they fade.
I’m so engrossed in the show that I don’t hear Tommy come into the room and have no idea he’s joined me until he speaks.
“While you’re here, you don’t touch anything. I like my home in a certain order. I expect it to stay that way.” The softly spoken words are a warning.
I peer back and see that he’s sitting on the sofa behind me, eyes glued to the brilliant display out the window as though he can’t even bring himself to look at me. I get it. This isn’t how he expected his day to go, either.
“I understand,” I return. “And I appreciate what you’re doing. I really am sorry to have barged into your life.”
Briefly, ever so briefly, his gaze flits to mine, then returns to the fireworks. He doesn’t say another word, and when the show is over, I look back to discover he’s gone.
It’s time for this wretched day to end.
I go back to my room and find my bag sitting on the bed, which is an enormous relief. I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d get it back or if my belongings had been confiscated. I check to verify that my tablet computer is still safely inside my duffel, then scrounge inside the bag to see what else I crammed in there. I was so disoriented when I packed that I have no idea what I grabbed.
I manage to find a pajama set and a couple of pairs of underwear, which is a good start. There are also two mismatched socks, a silk blouse, a pair of leggings, a sundress, and a tank top—a perfectly worthless capsule wardrobe. Oh, well.
When I pop into the bathroom, I see a travel-size toiletries kit on the vanity, which wasn’t there before. It’s an unexpectedkindness. I still don’t feel safe, but it’s sufficient to help me relax enough to shower and head to bed. But before I do anything else, I get out the disposable phone Sachi got for me.
Me: Hey, Sachi, it’s me. All is well.
It’s a little white lie, but I don’t want her to worry.
Sachi: Good! Man, I’ve been worried. What kept you?
Me: Just being cautious. It’s all good, and I’m headed to bed. Exhausted.
Sachi: I bet. Night, babe
Me: Night ??
Next, I text Mom to let her know I’m okay. It’s probably not the safest thing to do, but I’m sure she and Gran have been worried sick.
Me: Marco
To help minimize the risk to both of us, I decide to be discreet and use a game we’ve played since I was a kid. I think Marco Polo is supposed to be played in water, but we never had access to a pool. I started playing the game with her while hiding in clothing racks at department stores, and it stuck with us, evolving into a silly thing we do when we’re looking for one another.
She won’t know the number for the disposable phone. All I can do is hope she sees the message and realizes it’s me. She’s not great about looking at her phone, so I know she must have been waiting for me when a message comes back almost instantly.
Mom: Polo ??
My relief is overwhelming. So much so that if I don’t get in the shower now, it’ll never happen. The absence of a lock on the bathroom door gives me the motivation I need to take a record-fast shower. Before crawling into bed, I set the chair in front of the bedroom door. I’m not sure what it will do because it’slightweight, and I can’t get it to stay wedged under the handle, but it’s better than nothing. Two minutes later, I’m fast asleep, but it doesn’t last long.
I wake groggily at the sensation of ice on my wrist. When I try to pull away from the cold, I realize I’m not alone. A flood of adrenaline ensures I’m now wide awake.
“Get away from me. What—” I frantically try to figure out what’s going on.
“Calm down,” Tommy cuts me off harshly while struggling to keep hold of my hand. “I just need to—”
Something cold clamps closed around my right wrist. I instinctively yank my arm to get away and use my other hand to try to remove the hard metal cuff, but in the dark, I can’t see what I’m doing. Hands flailing, mind in total panic, I pant as I struggle to free myself.
