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“You too, Kimmy.”
I slide my phone back into my handbag and grin. This is a touch of luck. Perhaps this is all the luck I need, and he can lead me to where I want to go.
I'm just going to play this. Men like him are dangerous. They are murderers. Killers. Sadistic and cruel.
Or - I could be wrong, and he is not who I think he is. That is a possibility as well, but there is only one way to find out. I wonder when he will call or if he will call at all.
Without the books weighing me down, I decide to walk home rather than catch another taxi. It's not far, and It's a beautiful day. When I get home, I want to search online for jobs in New York. I want to put applications together and applying. The sooner I get there, the better it will be.
I open my front door and walk inside my apartment; it was another hot day, and I need some iced tea. I toss my handbag onto the counter, and it thuds, and I remember I bought an interesting book today.
I pull it out of my bag, placing it on the counter as well.
Once I have poured some iced tea, I gather the book and my drink and head over to the sofa. The first few pages arean introduction and explanation of why the author chose a pseudonym and didn't use his real name. Blah blah. We know. It’s obvious.
I flip through the pages until I find the chapter one.
An hour goes by without me even realizing it. I only put the book down because I need to pee and can't hold it anymore.
When I return to the living room, I stand next to my coffee table, staring at the book, face down, pages open.
I wonder if there is anything online about Antonio and if I can find out if he was that boy that all the stories are about.
I rush to my room to grab my laptop, very interested in what I want to do.
I type in his name. Antonio Aoi.
It's like he doesn't exist. He is a ghost. There is nothing online about him. Not even about his role in whatever businesses he runs. Nothing. Literally nothing.
After an hour of scouring everything I can think of, I close my laptop and pull a face. It's frustrating, but also, somehow, it confirms my suspicions. If he was the boy who was hidden all those years, then, of course, there would be nothing online about him.
I grab my phone, checking to see if I have any new messages. Nothing.
Now, I'm even more eager to hear from him.
He is linked to the death of my parents, and I want to know how. I have to know how. This is the closest I have ever been to someone like him and gaining information about my parents’ murder.
The rest of the afternoon seems to drag on and I keep checking my phone even though I pushed the message and ringing volume up to the fullest it can go. I'm so patient, playing the long game, but I feel this underlying excitement.
Perhaps I need to distract myself. This is ridiculous. I can’t sound too eager on the phone if he calls.
I need to fill my time.
I grab my gear and head over to the gym. I can get a session of kickboxing in. If he calls or messages, I'llstill hear it in the gym and if I don’t, I can always call back. He is interested in me, so it’s not like he is going to give up after one call.
The gym felt great. I worked out a lot of my energy, and I feel less agitated waiting now. I got home, had a long shower, and started cooking a simple vegetable stir-fry. I spread out the fresh greens I purchased from the market on the kitchen counter and I’m chopping and tossing them into the pan one at a time.
The methodical process is soothing.
I pad around the kitchen on bare feet, wearing oversized tracksuit pants I took from Maddy the last time I slept over there and a gym crop top. Her hips are fuller than mine, so I have to pull the drawstring tight around my waist, and they still slip down. But the fabric is so comfortable, and I love the dark green color; I just declared that they were mine, and when she laughed about it, I knew it was fine.
I toss the vegetables and lower the heat as they sizzle.
My phone rang so loud, I drop the bamboo spatula and laugh at myself.
I hold the phone in my hand, an unknown number on the screen, letting it ring two more times before I answer.
“Hello?”
