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“Okay,” she said calmly. “A few things you should know.”
I stood with my hands pressed against the Plexiglass, my heart racing. I was all ears. I wanted any information I could get.
“The loft is totally sealed, soundproofed, and lead-lined,” she said. “The elevator is locked, as you discovered. There are two staircase exits, also locked. Against fire codes, I know. But my house, my rules. In terms of the university, you’ve decided to take your sabbatical, effective immediately, on an island with no cell service. Your colleagues are annoyed by your sudden departure, but they’ll get over it. For now, Professor Racine will be taking over your classes.”
“Racine??” I said. “That moron wouldn’t know an Aborigine from an Inuit.”
“Not your first choice for a fill-in, I realize, but under the circumstances, he was the best option. He had some holes in his schedule.”
I pounded on the Plexiglass. I was confused and furious. How had this woman managed to get control of my life??
“Who the hellareyou??” I shouted.
“Wrong question,” she said, and then pushed right on. “Your colleagues will be receiving occasional emails from you through a VPN. The IP address will be untraceable. Your snail mail is being forwarded to a post office box. Your rent has been paid in advance. Your landlord has a note from you that you’ll be abroad and unreachable. Obviously, since you have no friends, nobody else will be looking for you.”
That stung. But she wasn’t wrong. I guessed that she knew that I also had no family, no girlfriends, no pets, no Facebook account. I realized that if you were looking for someone who could disappear without a trace, I was a great choice.
“In case you’re holding out hope,” she continued, “nobody witnessed your abduction. The street was clear and the surveillance camera at the intersection was disabled. The van will never be found. And according to the building plans, this floor does not exist.”
“Tell me who you are!”I shouted.
“Wrong question,” she said again.
“What do you want??” I asked. “Is itmoney?” I was getting frantic.
“Do you mean the five thousand, three hundred and sixty-two dollars in your PNC savings account?” she asked.
She stood up and walked right up to my enclosure. We were just two or three inches apart. I could see her face clearly, even without glasses. She was very attractive. Stunning, in fact. It felt weird to even be noticing that.
“What do you mean, ‘wrong question’?” I asked.
She leaned in even closer, almost touching her side of the clear cell wall.
“I don’t need money, Doctor,” she said. “All I need is you. This may be hard to believe, but I’m actually going to turn you into somebody worth kidnapping.”
CHAPTER 6
SHE TAPPED A combination on a keypad and let me out of my cage. Then she nodded toward a shoebox on a chair. “Put those on,” she said, walking back to the kitchen.
I picked up the box and pulled off the lid. Inside was a pair of orange and turquoise running shoes with the Nike swoosh on the side andZoomXstamped on the heel. I slid them on over my socks and laced them up. Perfect fit. Light as air.
“Nice, right?” she called out from the kitchen. “Carbon fiber sole plates.”
I had no idea what that meant, but they were the most comfortable shoes I’d ever worn. I walked over to the kitchen counter and pulled up a metal stool. Morning light was streaming through the massive windows. It felt like a cozy little domestic scene, except for the fact that I’d recently been snatched off the street, punched in the jaw, and stuffed in a body bag—and the perp was fixing breakfast. I figured I had no choice but to play along until I found a way to escape. Unless she decided to kill me first.
I watched as she pulled ingredients off the shelves and out of the fridge. Fruit. Powder. Seeds. Olive oil. She started dumping everything into a huge industrial blender. She gave the blender a couple of quick pulses and then dumped in a load of plain yogurt and a bunch of spinach leaves. She put the machine on high until the ingredients turned into a thick green fluid.
I waited for the blender noise to stop, and then I spoke up. I was sure she would say “wrong question,” but I had to give it a shot.
“Do you have a name?” I asked. “Or should I just call you Dear Leader?”
She gave the concoction a few more pulses and lifted the top to check the consistency. She looked up. “Call me Meed,” she said.
“Is that your real name?” I asked.
“Not even close,” she said.
She lifted the pitcher off its base and poured two glasses of the gross-looking drink. She slid one glass across to me and raised the other in front of her chin.
