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But what about Dad?
Wait, so do I really think the deal is still on after they blindfolded and manhandled me here?
I still hurry inside the room. Anything is welcome if it means getting away from the terrifying beast in the hallway.
“Examine her,” his low voice demands from behind me.
I startle forward even quicker into the bright light of the room.
The room, like everything else in the place, is all wood, but the window dressing and bedding is done in whites and grays.
My eyes quickly zero in on the petite brunette woman in her mid-forties, dressed in scrubs. She has a small table full of instruments and is standing beside the large bed that dominates the center of the room.
She looks past me and nods, I assume at the giant, then steps back and gestures toward the bed. “You’ll need to remove your clothing for the examination.”
My mouth drops open. And then I feel my cheeks flame.
Bracing myself, I turn back to the door. I keep my eyes somewhere in the vicinity of his giant chest. The dark-gray and blue flannel shirt he’s wearing appears to be straining at the seams to contain his biceps.
Oh God, oh God, what have I done by putting my life in this man’s hands? Still I manage to find my voice. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.”
One word is all I get.
I steel myself. “Where is my father being taken?”
“To a place where he’ll be free of the reach of the United States government. And anyone else who might wish him harm.”
Mr. Owens intimated so in the car, but this seems to confirm it. He knows about the trouble my father is in… Or he’s behind it. I can’t help looking up, needing to see his face so I can try to gauge whether or not he’s telling the truth. His voice is so… not monotone exactly. That’s the wrong word. Just matter of fact. Like of course that’s where Dad’s headed.
I only manage to look at him for a half a second before I have to glance down again. That face… just ugh.
I couldn’t tell if anything about him looked trustworthy or not. It’s wrong and shallow of me. If we were out in polite society, I’d try to be more politically correct about someone with a disability or disfigurement, but considering the circumstances, I’m running a little short on empathy at the moment.
“How do I know you aren’t behind all this?” My whole body trembles as I ask it. “That you aren’t one of the very people my dad warned me about who wants him dead?”
“You don’t,” comes his grumble. “Not until tomorrow when he gets to his location. Then I can show you proof of life pictures of him with the local paper. You’ll get regular updates every week throughout the year.” There’s a short pause. “Or however long it takes.”
I swallow hard. Oh my God. If what he’s saying is true, then it is all real.
A baby in exchange for my dad’s life…
And all the things it takes to make a baby.
Holy shit. Is this actually my life?
“You can put this on while I examine you.”
I turn around to see the doctor holding out one of those terrible, thin hospital dressing gowns. I go forward and clutch it like a lifeline.
“The bathroom’s ju
st over there.” She points to one side of the room where there’s another small door.
Yes, apparently this is my life, whether I want it to be or not. The giant at the door and those thugs with the black bags seem like no take-backs kind of guys.
***
