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Come play with us, the text says.
And then a second one:
AGAIN
All of the blood in my body drains into the ground.
I should wake Drew. I should cry. I should gasp. I should scream.
I don’t do any of those things.
Instead, I stare at the words.
This will never end, will it? They’re relentless. They’re not going to back off. In fact, they’re emboldened now.
They should be.
They’re succeeding.
It only stops when I’m dead.
Or when they are.
I find the text from my hacker contact and reply with the pre-determined code. A picture appears on the screen. It’s Blaine Maisri, shaking hands with my dad, Anya in the background, beaming.
A second picture appears. It’s Drew, on his side, naked, the top half of him exposed, his body limp with sleep. In the upper right-hand corner, the tiniest hint of red cloth appears. His face is bruised, his hip a deep red.
I go cold.
I know that red cloth.
It’s one of the scarves. One of my scarves.
You have a choice. Drew’s words chill me now, a premonition he didn’t realize he was making. He meant I had a choice about touch and sound and feel and goodness, but I also have a choice about stopping those bastards once and for all.
Or do I? Maybe I have no free will.
Maybe I can’t control what needs to be done.
Moonlight shines through the slit in my curtains, drawing my attention to steel and leather.
Drew’s gun.
An idea pours into my mind, like concrete into a mold, injected and fully formed. I can’t fight it, though my rational mind tries. It flails and objects, but impulse overrides it, pinning logic in place, smothering it.
I look at the gun.
I stare at Drew, his steady breath so vulnerable and strong at the same time. He trusts me. He gave himself to me. What does that picture of him mean? And why would my darknet contact from the Island send that?
A third picture appears.
It’s Blaine.
Making a kissy face at me.
Can your heart start and stop in the same second?
I look at the gun again.
