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I can only stare at him. He’s not making any sense, and even though there is something deep inside me that’s finding truth, it’s a side of me that shouldn’t exist. Because there can’t be truth here. I know who I am. I know who my parents are. That’s all there is.
“And this is where I come in,” he says, leaning forward. “Because there are two sides that want you, and I’m the one that deals with both sides.”
I blink hard, nothing even close to making sense. “What, like a bounty hunter?” It sounds ridiculous the moment I say it, but then again, everything has so far.
He inspects his fingernails for a moment. “I prefer the term mercenary. Misleading word though, isn’t it? It almost implies that I have mercy.” He gets to his feet. “And I don’t.”
He walks over to the wooden crate in the corner and pulls out my Alexander McQueen purse. I can’t help but gasp, the mere bag reminding me of my life, my real life, the one I had before I came to this place where time doesn’t seem to exist.
“I’m going to show you something,” he says to me. He opens the bag, pulls out my iPhone. He displays it and taps on it, the phone turning on to show my wallpaper of blackened roses. Fully charged.
Hope leaps inside my chest, though I know this is too easy, that this isn’t going to go the way I want it to.
He puts the phone close to my face until it recognizes me and unlocks the screen. Then he walks around the chair so he’s behind me, his arms held out in front of me, holding the phone so I can see. He rests his chin on my shoulder, the side of his face pressed against my jaw and my neck, and his skin is so cold at first that it’s like being hit with a blast of nitro. Then it quickly warms up and it’s like all the blood inside me is drawn to his skin, while the scent of roses and tobacco and cedar fill my nose.
I’m drowning in him. I have to fight to keep my eyes open.
“Tell me what you want to see,” he murmurs, turning his mouth to my ear, his warm breath making me shiver. My nipples immediately go hard, heat pooling between my legs. This isn’t fair. My body is betraying me for no reason at all, jumping right from fear and straight into lust.
It’s the adrenaline, it has to be.
“Focus, Lenore,” he says. His voice is like whisky on the rocks, the way it sinks in, warm, smooth, intoxicating. “I know how you’re feeling. This is part of the change. But I need you to look at the screen right now and tell me what you want to see.”
Back to that change. What change?
But he quickly swipes through to my Facebook app, goes on my page.
“What do you want to see? Anything here? Maybe there are private messages from your friends wondering where you are?” He goes through my messages, but there’s nothing new since I last saw it. Then he goes to my wall. “Perhaps people have written there, talking about how you went missing.”
Nothing on my wall.
“How about we google your name? Surely you must be all over the news right now. A pretty white academic abducted in Berkeley? You’ll be every headline.”
He googles my name. There are a bunch of Lenore Warwicks, including me, but there’s nothing in the news at all.
Oh my god. What the fuck is going on?
Why aren’t people looking for me?
“Okay, we’ll go to your texts then,” he says, bringing up my messages. “That should explain it. Oh, here’s your mother.”
He pulls up the last texts from my mother.
Lenore, I had a dream. Where are you? Tell me you’re safe?
Sweetie, where are you? Pick up your phone.
Lenore, please, if you can … just somehow let us know you’re alive.
We’re sorry.
And that’s that. The last text is “we’re sorry.”
My stomach turns sour.
“And your friend, Elle,” Absolon says, bringing up her texts now. “Lovely girl. Let’s see what she has to say.”
I stare at the screen.
