4 – End of the line
All the color drains from my mother’s face. I imagine mine looks the same, judging by the cold rush over my skin.
The doorbell keeps ringing and ringing nonstop while the two of us stand frozen, alternating glances between each other and the front door.
“Maybe it’s a new neighbor trying to be friendly,” I say, without much conviction.
My mom jolts off the couch like she just snapped out of a trance. She checks the tablet on the side table. The woman is paranoid about security and has cameras and sensors all over the apartment, including the bathrooms.
“They’re not neighbors, Leonor. Of course they’re not neighbors.”
She paces back and forth, then stops and looks at me.
“I’m going to distract them while you get out through the emergency exit.”
“Emergency exit? What are you talking about, Leonora?”
She’s already dragging me toward one of the guest rooms, one of the useless ones we never use.
“Since when do we have an emergency exit inside the house?”
“Since I bought this building specifically for its emergency exits,” she says, and I genuinely don’t know what to think. She’s either a paranoid lunatic or a visionary heroine.
“And you never thought to mention that you own this building?” I ask, picking up my pace.
“I was going to tell you today. I spent all night thinking about telling you. But then you ran off and ruined everything. I should’ve never trusted you. Never.”
I don’t respond. My heart’s beating too fast for arguments. It’s too much information all at once. My mom owns the building. My dad’s been hunting us for fourteen years. We’ve had an emergency exit this whole time? And how did they even get into a place this secured?
She locks the door, types in a code, scans her fingerprint, facial features, and even her eyes. Again: paranoid lunatic or visionary heroine?
She shoves me inside and glances over her shoulder. I realize what’s happening, the doorbell stopped ringing.
“Go, Leonor. Remember that beach house my friend owns? Text your friends to meet you there. Say you need help. But don’t actually go there.”
She talks so fast I can barely keep up, but I nod anyway.
“Give your phone to the doorman. If he’s not there, just leave it on the front counter. Take the car from the neighbor in 213, the one you said you wanted for your birthday. Unfortunately, you’ll have to part with your real gift tonight. Go straight to your old school and wait for me to contact you. If I disappear, only answer calls from numbers where the last two digits add up to 14.”
She finally pauses for breath.
“But what phone am I supposed to answer with? And what about you?”
I try to hold her hand. She pushes me through the doorway and starts closing the door.
“I’ll be fine, my love. I always am. Don’t worry about me. When you get to the school, they’ll give you a new phone. Always take two rights and one left.”
She shuts the emergency door in my face. It’s more of a secret passage than an exit.
“Leonora, open this door and come with me!”
I pound on it, but there’s no sign of what’s happening on the other side.
She’ll be fine. She’s my mother. No one wins against her in a fight, not verbal, not physical. I’ve seen her drag me down a staircase without losing her heels. I once saw her take down a guy twice her size when someone tried to rob our car after a party.
Leonora is the strongest person I know. She will be fine. She will find me.
Two rights and one left. Got it. I can do this. It’s simple. She’s planned for everything. She always does.
I move quickly. One more right, then a left.
Or have I already taken two rights and now it’s just the left?
Everything around me looks the same, yellow walls and floors, matching the awful emergency lighting. The whole vibe is pure claustrophobia.
This will work. This has to work.
I stumble the rest of the way, disoriented, until I finally find the exit. I fight back the sob building in my throat. This is not how I imagined my birthday.
God, I’m such an idiot. I had to enroll in the one conservatory Mom told me to stay far away from?
Not the time to fall apart. Or maybe it is the perfect time. I can regret my terrible decisions later, when I’m safe, next to my mom.
The exit door opens into a small cleaning supply room. I find another door and open it, straight into the lobby.
I was supposed to speak with the doorman, not the receptionist. This is the commercial wing, not the residential.
I took the wrong exit.
I can’t believe I took the wrong exit.
The door clicks shut behind me. No way to reopen it.
Before I can even think of a plan B, two massive men appear on either side of me.
I thrash and scream for the receptionist to see me, but she’s busy talking to one of the men I bumped into earlier, the one from the street.
I struggle, breathless, voiceless. They drag me to the place I was supposed to end up, the garage. No one around to help.
They open the door to a blacked-out car. Tinted windows. I’m shoved inside.
Only then can I make a sound, not a scream, just gasping for air.
The moment I catch my breath, I start screaming for real.
The man holding me clamps his hand over my mouth again. This time, I bite him.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarls.
The second guy takes over while the first checks the damage I did to his hand. This new one grips my throat and mouth. The first one holds my legs. I can’t move.
The car begins to drive. There’s a divider. I can’t see the front. I’ve ridden in cars like this before, the kind built for privacy and security. Child locks. No escape.
“I suggest you shut up. It’ll be easier for you that way,” the first man says.
I keep thrashing.
“I warned you.”
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the other one.
I break free for less than three seconds, just enough to headbutt the second guy.
Blood starts pouring from his nose.
“Crazy little bitch,” he hisses.
In the next moment, he slams my head against the car door. I’m dazed. The first man comes at me with a bloodstained cloth.
I turn my head in vain. The chloroform hits my nose and mouth.
And everything goes black.