“That little fire was just to get you on the run, away from your other guards so we could easily take you.”
Other guards? Why was I surprised?
“I plan to sell your body.” Mr. M shook his head, and beads of sweat streamed down from his temples.
“How can you do this? I thought you cared about me.” I’d seemed to be making that mistake a lot.
“Your father fired me after that little bitch Janice ran you over. I spent my entire life in his service! And just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “he turned me out. I lost everything!” Mr. M screamed. “Because I don’t fucking exist in the real world! I can’t get a normal job.”
“So you’re going to get even by killing me? How will that solve anything?” I asked.
He shook his finger in the air. “Ah! It won’t. But selling you to the highest bidder will. There are people who’ll pay millions just for the pleasure of sending your body, piece by piece, to your father.”
If I ever got free, I made a mental note to ask my father, What the fuck? I wasn’t sure I believed he was the spawn of Satan; however, he had to be doing a lot more than simply gathering information and protecting a few people if his enemies were willing to pay millions for the joy of chopping me up.
Christ. What a bunch of sick, evil bastards. No wonder Paolo was paranoid.
Now, so was I.
“If it’s any consolation,” I said, “I thought you were the best teacher I’d ever had. I cried when you retired—wasn’t even sure how I’d get through the rest of my senior year without you.”
Anger flickered in his eyes. “Then you know a fraction of the pain your father has caused me.”
He left the room and promptly returned, tossing my backpack on the floor. “Get comfortable, it will be a few days before we find a buyer.” He left, and I heard him bolt the door.
I stared at the floor for what seemed like an hour. Maybe two. A little over five months ago I was just about to turn eighteen, sitting in Mr. M’s homeroom, pining for a cute boy, and wishing my life would change. I was a girl—naive, awkward, lonely. A few months had changed all that.
I grabbed my backpack and riffled through it. My clothes were still there along with my toothbrush—Oh goody. Wouldn’t want my teeth to be dirty when they are shipped off in that nice FedEx box—and my notebook. The frigging pen was still in there.
I unscrewed the top and shook out its contents. There was the inkwell attached to the ballpoint, and inside the cap was a tiny little wire, about the length of a grain of rice. I chucked it into the toilet. “Asshole.”
I reassembled the pen and opened up my book. I wrote about how Paolo had unknowingly handed me over to my father’s enemies, who drugged me and took me to some horrible dark basement. I wrote about how Mr. M was behind it all and crazy as a loon, seeking money and revenge.
But sitting here alone, I wrote, in this dingy basement, knowing that in a few days I’ll be sold to the highest bidder, I still can’t bring myself to be mad at Paolo for this when he only did what he thought was best. He thought he was saving me. If anyone ever finds this—if you, Paolo, ever find this, please know that I don’t blame you. In some twisted way, I find myself appreciating you even more. Your fatal flaw is loyalty. Perhaps, even, devotion. Both are things I’d always hoped to find in the man I’d love forever. But I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. My only regret is that I never had the chance to tell you that I think our ghosts, our fears from the past aren’t there to hold us back or to make us feel afraid, but to teach us to value what we have. To fight for what we love. Losing everything has taught me that.
I love you. And if you find this, I want you to know that I will haunt you, but only so you’ll remember not to let the next woman slide through your fingers.
“Damn it. I’m so corny!” Was this really what I wanted to leave behind?
I scribbled wildly over my words, blacking out every letter.
Dear Paolo and Dad,
If you find this. Give those bastards hell and make them pay.
Love,
Dakota
P.S. Mom, I love you.
I sighed with contentment. That felt much better. If the world was full of sick, evil people who enjoyed kidnapping and dissecting the innocent, well, I was damned glad there were men out there ready to take them down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Two days later…
“Get up.”
Cold water splashed on my face, bringing me out of my deep sleep. Mr. M stood over me, holding an empty glass.