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Yes, they identified the two assailants. Omar Cardenas and Alexis Flores. I shot and killed Alexis Flores. Both men were American. Records show ties to hate groups and gangs. Omar served time previously for grand theft larceny. Alexis was previously charged on two different occasions with assault and battery, but both times, charges were dropped. Omar Cardenas lived in New Mexico and Alexis Flores lived in Arizona. It’s not clear how the two ended up working together.
“Sage? You okay? You don’t need to see it. I told the guys?—”
“I’m coming.” Frustration escapes through my exhale. I’ve been moving slower. My head isn’t right. I shouldn’t take it out on Knox. Two steps toward Knox and I realize I left my tea on the side table. A guest shouldn’t leave glasses out and about. I return, pick up the lukewarm mug, and follow Knox.
He leads me into Jack Sullivan’s ocean-view office. Dark walnut adorns the walls. Leather-bound books fill one bookcase. There’s no dust, but the matching gold lettering and smooth bindings give the volumes a decorative feel. There’s a flat-screen television mounted on one wall. The screen is black, but there’s a click clack of keyboard keys, and the screen comes to life with static.
“We think this is staged,” Jack says. He’s wearing tortoise-rimmed glasses and a dark suit. The grays soften his wavy brown hair, but I can imagine not too long ago he was a formidable person.
The static clears on the screen. The visual sharpens on a corner of a metal desk. The background is black. The camera view swings.
Sloane.
They have a dirty white rag tied over her mouth. Her dark hair is flat, bound tight around her scalp by the rag. She’s not crying.
No, I know my sister. Molten anger blazes in her eyes. Whoever she’s looking at, maybe the man holding the camera, she hates.
“What do you want to tell your sister?”
She lets out a loud garbled sound.
A shadow steps out from the darkness. A beige thermal bunched on a forearm comes into view, reaching behind her head. The olive skin is covered by a rather thick coat of black curly arm hair. The rag falls below her chin, and the man backs out of camera view.
Sloane glares at the camera with a lethal expression. My sister isn’t one to put up with bullshit. I halfway expect her to leap out of the chair and bite someone. But her arms are behind her. They strapped her to that chair. If her hands weren’t strapped down, I don’t doubt she would attack.
“Do you want to find out what we do to disobedient women? We don’t have all day. “
My insides cringe. Have they been hurting her? I’ve been telling myself she played a role in this, but that’s not what I’m seeing.
“Sage, do whatever they say. Don’t fight them.” She directs her gaze to the right of the camera. But then, she shifts, and her gaze centers on the camera lens. It feels like she’s looking at me, as if she can see me. “It’s going to be okay. Just do what they say. They’ll bring you here, and we’ll be together. Together. We’ll get through this together. Do what they say, and they won’t hurt you.”
The video ends.
“Was there a hidden message?” Jack asks.
“Hidden…what do you mean?”
Jack runs a hand through his hair. He’s also in a suit, but his is a three-piece suit. He paces in the space between the back of his desk and the window. “I just thought…sometimes siblings have ways of communicating. My brother and I…we had code words. Maybe it’s just something brothers do.”
“Play the video again.” Sloane and Sam played together. They’d play all kinds of games, running through the house. I was too young. And I wasn’t allowed to run. If I tried, Sloane would yell for Mom or Dad. In some ways, she was my third parent.
Together. We’ll get through it together.
She’d said it to me at the hospital. Many times, actually. It never made sense to me. I was the one being poked and prodded and stuck in the hospital.
“Nothing?” Knox asks, hovering close. With a deep inhale, I smell the scent of the guest bath soap, a soft floral, wafting off his skin.
“No.” There’s no point in telling them about the together reference. It’s doubtful Sloane remembers. It means nothing.
“Well, the good news is,” Jack says, “with this video, and others on their phones, we’re getting closer to her location. Omar didn’t film this. They sent it via an encrypted text to him. They blacked out the perimeter, but we have experts reviewing the video for things we might not pick up on. Sounds. Details. Interpol is assisting. Did Sloane ever mention Laos? Or Cambodia?”
“No.” The Caymans are nowhere near those countries. And to my knowledge, they aren’t hotbeds for scientific research.
“Her passport doesn’t show that she ever traveled to those countries.” It’s a statement, but Jack says it like he’s asking for confirmation. As if I kept track of her whereabouts.
“She thought about taking a vacation to Thailand one year, but she canceled last minute.”
“Why?” Jack asks, coming around the front of his desk.
