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“One second, please,” he said. He hesitated a moment, and leaned in close, lowering his voice. “It will all be fine, Izzy,” he said. “Just be brave.”
As Izzy absorbed the odd message, Azaki gestured to the giant with a jerk of his head and the two of them walked out of the living area into the hall. Izzy wandered over to the window and stared down at the street, trying to create some sense from the crazy morning.
From the hallway she heard the apartment door opening. Then she heard a noise like a gasp or a yelp of surprise. And then there were two muffled thumps, and then two larger thuds, the sound of people hitting the floor, and Izzy froze.
The apartment door banged shut, and a moment later a third man appeared in the doorway, some sort of gun with a long tube on the muzzle in one hand and a bag down at his side in the other. He was a tall, bald man with round glasses. For some reason the very sight of him chilled Izzy to the bone.
“Hello again,” he said, smiling at her like they were old friends. He glanced around the room like someone contemplating moving in. “Wow. What a fucking awful place. Is this all you can afford?”
Izzy wanted to say something, a question to help her understand, a scream for help, but she was frozen. She watched as the man slipped the weapon he was holding back into a holster on his hip, the end of the muzzle reaching down his thigh, and then he pulled his overcoat around to hide it.
“You and I are going to have a little conversation,” he said, walking to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently encouraged her down onto the couch. She could smell his cologne, a spicy, abrasive scent that was too strong or applied too liberally. “You are going to tell me everything you know.”
“About what?” she asked. “Who are you? What did you do to the two detectives?”
He watched her for a moment, a very slight frown creasing his brow, and Izzy had the sense that he was drawing some conclusion.
“Very well,” he said. “You know nothing.”
He squatted in front of her, his knees popping audibly, and met her gaze. “We shall have to see if we can help you to remember.”
He smiled, and it chilled Izzy to the core.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, seeing something of her thoughts in her expression. “It’s going to be good. Really good.”
Cassie and Joe (2012)
“That’s him,” Cassie said, speaking to Drummond but looking at her grandfather.
“You should go speak to him,” Drummond said, making Cassie look at him. “It’s what you wanted.”
Itwaswhat she wanted, she realized. Her grandfather, Joseph Andrews, was studying the menu, as if he weren’t just going to order the same thing he always ordered.
“Go on, then,” Drummond said, his words touched with impatience.
She hesitated for a few moments more, watching her grandfather as he placed his order with the server. She knew what it would be: cheeseburger, home-style fries, and black coffee. It was what he always ordered at Matt’s. Then the server left him, and he was alone. He patted his pockets and then pulled out his phone—an old Nokia, narrow and rectangular with a tiny screen and a small keypad that was revealed by sliding the top part of the phone upward. Cassie remembered how much she had been dazzled by the phone when her grandfather had first brought it home, even though it had already been a few years out of date at that point. It had seemed so futuristic to her, and seeing it now brought that memory back to life for her, her excitement bubbling in her stomach like a shaken soda bottle. Her grandfather placed the phone on the table next to him. From a different pocket he pulled outa battered old Stephen King paperback and settled back into his chair to read.
Cassie got up and walked across the room, her stomach spinning like a washing machine. She sat down opposite her grandfather without saying anything. He looked up from his novel and a series of expressions flitted across his face: the spark of recognition turning to confusion, a quick widening of the eyes in concern. Then he just stared, blinking once, his eyes running up and down over Cassie’s face, seeing something familiar that looked different.
The server brought a coffee and left again, but Cassie’s grandfather didn’t even notice.
“Hi, Gramps,” she said, trying to smile, trying not to cry.
He gazed back at her with an expression she had never seen before, the innocent, astonished look of a young boy on the face of a middle-aged man.
“Cassie?” he said, a hesitant whisper.
She nodded once.
“But, you look...”
“I look older,” she said. “That’s because I am.”
He shook his head slowly, putting his book down on the table and sitting forward in his seat to study her.
He was a handsome man, Cassie saw now, something she had never noticed before. He was weathered from work and life, but he was handsome, with a square jaw and a full head of hair and dark blue eyes with crinkles at the corners. He had a broad chest and strong arms that had been developed over many years of physical labor. His hands were calloused and rough, with huge knuckles like bolts on screws, but they were hands that were capable of delicate work and tenderness. A craftsman’s hands.
“When I was six,” Cassie said, as she slipped her left arm out of her coat, “I fell and cut a wedge out of the skin by my collarbone.” Her grandfather watched her, his expression blank and his mouth slightly open. She pulled down her sweater and T-shirt to show the scar that was still clearly visible by the strap of her bra. It had a round head with a tail fanning out, and to Cassie it always looked like a comet.
