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It told me everything they were going to do to me, everything neither one of us would be able to prevent.
Bound.
Trapped.
Shackled.
I’d just taken the place of the man from Amadeo’s basement, and that knowledge made me tremble so hard, my teeth clacked together.
“I don’t know where it is, Amadeo. I don’t. I—”
“Listen to me, Heidi,” he cut in. “You’re going to be okay. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, but the choppy movement flung loose tears that had gathered in my eyes.
“I do a lot of bad things,perla,but tell me, have I ever lied to you?”
“No.” I breathed in a ragged breath and let it out. “You haven’t.”
“I’m not lying to you now,” he said, meeting my eyes once again. There were no cracks this time, nothing to reveal what was going on beneath the surface.
I wanted to believe him, but how on earth could he be so certain?
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he said as he shifted like he was searching for a more comfortable position.
I just stared at him, for surely, I hadn’t read that right.
“You saw what I said. I want you to tell me something you haven’t told me.” Though I couldn’t hear it, I could feel the command in his tone.
I tried to think past the terror, past the trembling and the racing heartbeat.
“My only friend when I was a teenager was a man in his sixties,” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
He cocked an eyebrow at me, expecting me to continue.
“He was a cantankerous, old Brit who lived next door to the last foster family I had.” I shook my head wistfully, remembering the old man with a full head of white hair, more wrinkles than a well-read map, and a different cardigan for every day of the week.
Of course. “That’s who Aurelio reminds me of,” I said, shaking my head. It was no wonder he’d moved so easily past my defenses.
“I’d gotten locked out of the house after school one day,” I went on. “I don’t remember the reason. It was raining, and the house had no overhang. Trumble was on his front porch—Mr. Algernon Mortimer Bertram Trumble. He once told me his parents must have hated him from the day he was born to give him such a horrific name.”
“It is a mouthful,” Amadeo said with a wry smile.
I nodded. It really was. “Trumble waved me over, but I remember I just blinked because I didn’t think he’d ever acknowledged anyone. And then he yelled, ‘Quit dawdling, you numskull, and haul your sorry self out of the blasted rain’.”
“Pleasant fellow.” Amadeo shook his head, but he looked amused.
I shrugged. “I ‘hauled my sorry self out of the blasted rain’ and sat with him on his porch until Tracy—my foster mum—got home. And after that, he waved me over every day after school until I just started coming on my own. He told me stories of his childhood and helped me with my homework. I tidied the house and made dinner for him on days his ‘blasted joints’ ached too much to do it himself.”
I smiled, but it was fleeting, as was our friendship.
“He died,” I said as my heart clenched painfully. “It was at the beginning of my final year of high school—I was set to graduate two years early—and Trumble and I had been talking about my college admissions. I hadn’t quite settled my mind on which career I intended to pursue.”
I shrugged again, but this time, my shoulders felt heavier.
“He had a heart attack. I didn’t know CPR; I barely had the presence of mind to call for an ambulance. And then I sat there next to him. I just… sat there, willing him to breathe. But he didn’t, not ever again.”
“And that’s why you decided to go into medicine,” Amadeo said. There was no question in his expression, but still, I nodded. I’d vowed never to just sit there again.
