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Nausea rolls through me. He’s not exactly being forthcoming. “How?”
“That isn’t your concern.”
I straighten. “Yeah, it is.”
“No, it’s not.” A wave of annoyance rumbles off Eli and I’m finally smart enough to shrink back. “I said I’ll take care of it and I will.”
Lars sighs again with a whine, but this time he moves closer so that his head is on my knee. My hand finds his body without thought and I pet him because I need the comfort.
“Listen,” Eli continues. “I know you’re scared, but I swear to you, you’re safe. You have an army of men willing to lay down their lives for you. Fort Knox would be envious.”
I don’t want an army of men. I want my dad. Images pour into my mind of Oz grabbing me. The dark, serious set of his face as he hid me from view. My blood pumps faster as I remember the sound of the bottle rolling. Of how it had grown closer and closer... “What would have happened if Oz wasn’t there?”
“What?”
“I went to get something to drink. Oz yanked me into a corner and guarded me. I mean—” my eyes dart in front of me as I watch the memory play in my mind “—he pulled out a knife and he told me to stay put while he made sure it was okay for us to leave. If Oz wasn’t there, what would have happened? How dangerous are these people?” The reality of everything Eli is saying is sinking in. “Are you like those TV shows? Do people die around you? Oh my God, do you kill people?”
“No, Emily. Listen, you’re safe...”
And he keeps talking, but I can’t listen because the fear inside me is becoming a monster and I slide my feet off the bed until they hit the floor. The walls are closing in and so is the ceiling and it’s hard to draw in air. “I need to go. Like now. Right now. Aren’t there witness protection programs or something?”
Except I didn’t witness anything to be protected from and they won’t save me and this terrible pain happens when I breathe and... “I need to go home. Take me home.”
“Emily!” Eli shouts.
I quake with my name and freeze in the middle of the room. He releases a long breath and crosses the room to me. Eli settles both of his hands on my shoulders and lowers himself to meet my eyes. “You watch too much TV.”
“But you said—”
“I said you’re safe. Your mom, Jeff and I—we are overreacting to this. Plain and simple. When it comes to your safety, none of us will mess around.”
This little voice in my mind whispers that this is too simple. Too easy. But the rational part says that he’s right. That stuff is only on TV. Gangsters and murderers and anything else are not real life. This is real life and in real life people don’t behave like thugs.
I inhale then nod my head to my internal thoughts. Yes, this is business negotiations and Eli is being overprotective because my mom is being overdramatic.
Eli stands there looking mean and tough because that’s what he is with those stars tattooed up his arm and a skull on his bicep. Anger and wrath and vengeance ooze off him just from existing, but his eyes soften to the point of pleading.
I shift my footing. “What happens now?”
“We’re going to take things one step at a time. First you get some sleep and then we’ll meet up with your parents this afternoon. Okay?”
It sounds like a question, but the way he speaks reminds me of my earlier conversation with Oz. Eli wants to create the illusion that I have a choice, but everything has already been decided. Even if I stomped my foot and demanded that we leave now it would be fruitless, so I give in. “Okay.”
He smiles and it’s a brilliant smile. It’s that darn one that he flashes whenever he sees me and it’s the one I hate because it causes me to smile in return. Like how I am now.
Eli draws me into a hug and repeats my answer. “Okay.”
Oz
A SOFT LIGHT fills the room thanks to Olivia’s prized Tiffany lamp on her bedside table. As a child, I used to be mesmerized by the mosaic blue-and-green-colored glass and forget my nightmares. Too bad I can’t lose myself in that lamp now and block out Olivia’s cancer.
The only air-conditioning unit in the house is wedged in the window of her room, but it hasn’t been turned on since last summer. Her treatments make her cold.
Olivia lies in the bed wrapped in a comforter even though it’s warm. I grab the blanket at the end of the bed and spread it over her. She rolls her head against the pillow to study me. The black circles under her eyes resemble bruises. What she should be doing is resting, not worrying about the prodigal child.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she demands.
“Eli’s with Emily. She’ll be resting here this morning and then she and Eli will be meeting with her parents later this afternoon.”
