he’d done for Ashlyn, but he wouldn’t make eye contact. Instead, with one hand on my daughter’s elbow and another on mine, he hustled us both toward the doors.
Behind us, I could hear the engine as the van started up. Hiding it,I supposed. The van would be tucked somewhere outside, we would be tucked somewhere inside, and then no one would be the wiser.
Doors, closing behind us. First one set, then another.
The kid and the second commando dragged us deeper inside a vast, empty space. If this was a prison, then this must be the receiving area. I could make out stark white cinder-block walls, a dingy yellow linoleum floor, some kind of command post straight ahead with thick windows all around it.
The room was dimly lit, only a fraction of the overhead lights in use. I had a feeling that was to our advantage, that when every light was flipped on, the starkness would be nearly blinding, miles of bone-white walls to bounce the light and hurt the eyes.
I tried to sneak a glance at my daughter again. She stood on the other side of Radar, her head still bowed, hair down, shoulders trembling. Z was not around, but I still didn’t dare to speak. I noticed for the first time she wasn’t wearing her usual gold hoops in her ears, or the small diamond pendant Justin had given her on her thirteenth birthday.
Belatedly, I glanced down only to discover my engagement diamond and wedding band were also missing. Damn thieves, I thought irrationally, considering everything else they’d done. Robbing us of our own jewelry while we were heavily sedated.
I stole a glance at my husband’s wrist, confirming that his Rolex was also gone. Then my gaze drifted up, and I found my husband’s eyes. He was watching both me and Ashlyn, his features etched with sorrow.
If I could’ve, I would’ve reached out my hand then.
For the first time in six months, I would’ve touched my husband and meant it.
Instead, the three of us just stood there, not speaking, waiting to see what terrible thing would happen next.
Z REAPPEARED SHORTLY, his footsteps ringing down the hall as he approached from a different direction. His minions hadn’t spoken in his absence, and I had a feeling that’s the way things worked. Z called the shots, the other two did the shooting.
The kid, in his jeans and tennis shoes, didn’t bother me. He had a tendency to duck his head and hunch his shoulders self-consciously, almost as if embarrassed to be there.
The other one, with the checkerboard hair, worried me. His eyes were too bright, some shade of neon blue I associated with drug addicts or lunatics. He held Justin’s arm in a white-knuckled grip, his face openly daring Justin to do something about it. The bully, looking forward to the fight.
I noticed the kid, with one hand upon each of our elbows, kept Ashlyn and me a good distance from his partner. And I noticed Justin made no attempt to close that gap.
When Z appeared, both the kid and the checkerboard commando stood a little straighter, ready for the next set of instructions. I wanted to brace myself, call upon some kind of internal reserve. I had nothing.
My stomach hurt. My head pounded.
I needed my purse.
For the love of God, I needed my pills.
“Would you like a tour?” Z’s voice sounded taunting. Because he had not said we could speak, none of us answered.
“It’s a twelve-hundred-bed medium-security facility,” Z continued crisply. “State-of-the-art, completed just last year and, conveniently for us, currently mothballed.”
I glanced up. My confusion must’ve showed on my face, for he expanded: “Welcome to your tax dollars at work, where one hand builds the prison, but a different hand funds the opening and operating of said facility. Basically, capital expenditures fall under appropriations bills, whereas operational costs fall under the government’sannual budget. Except the state’s budget has been facing the usual shortfalls, so this prison has never been opened. It simply
Behind us, I could hear the engine as the van started up. Hiding it,I supposed. The van would be tucked somewhere outside, we would be tucked somewhere inside, and then no one would be the wiser.
Doors, closing behind us. First one set, then another.
The kid and the second commando dragged us deeper inside a vast, empty space. If this was a prison, then this must be the receiving area. I could make out stark white cinder-block walls, a dingy yellow linoleum floor, some kind of command post straight ahead with thick windows all around it.
The room was dimly lit, only a fraction of the overhead lights in use. I had a feeling that was to our advantage, that when every light was flipped on, the starkness would be nearly blinding, miles of bone-white walls to bounce the light and hurt the eyes.
I tried to sneak a glance at my daughter again. She stood on the other side of Radar, her head still bowed, hair down, shoulders trembling. Z was not around, but I still didn’t dare to speak. I noticed for the first time she wasn’t wearing her usual gold hoops in her ears, or the small diamond pendant Justin had given her on her thirteenth birthday.
Belatedly, I glanced down only to discover my engagement diamond and wedding band were also missing. Damn thieves, I thought irrationally, considering everything else they’d done. Robbing us of our own jewelry while we were heavily sedated.
I stole a glance at my husband’s wrist, confirming that his Rolex was also gone. Then my gaze drifted up, and I found my husband’s eyes. He was watching both me and Ashlyn, his features etched with sorrow.
If I could’ve, I would’ve reached out my hand then.
For the first time in six months, I would’ve touched my husband and meant it.
Instead, the three of us just stood there, not speaking, waiting to see what terrible thing would happen next.
Z REAPPEARED SHORTLY, his footsteps ringing down the hall as he approached from a different direction. His minions hadn’t spoken in his absence, and I had a feeling that’s the way things worked. Z called the shots, the other two did the shooting.
The kid, in his jeans and tennis shoes, didn’t bother me. He had a tendency to duck his head and hunch his shoulders self-consciously, almost as if embarrassed to be there.
The other one, with the checkerboard hair, worried me. His eyes were too bright, some shade of neon blue I associated with drug addicts or lunatics. He held Justin’s arm in a white-knuckled grip, his face openly daring Justin to do something about it. The bully, looking forward to the fight.
I noticed the kid, with one hand upon each of our elbows, kept Ashlyn and me a good distance from his partner. And I noticed Justin made no attempt to close that gap.
When Z appeared, both the kid and the checkerboard commando stood a little straighter, ready for the next set of instructions. I wanted to brace myself, call upon some kind of internal reserve. I had nothing.
My stomach hurt. My head pounded.
I needed my purse.
For the love of God, I needed my pills.
“Would you like a tour?” Z’s voice sounded taunting. Because he had not said we could speak, none of us answered.
“It’s a twelve-hundred-bed medium-security facility,” Z continued crisply. “State-of-the-art, completed just last year and, conveniently for us, currently mothballed.”
I glanced up. My confusion must’ve showed on my face, for he expanded: “Welcome to your tax dollars at work, where one hand builds the prison, but a different hand funds the opening and operating of said facility. Basically, capital expenditures fall under appropriations bills, whereas operational costs fall under the government’sannual budget. Except the state’s budget has been facing the usual shortfalls, so this prison has never been opened. It simply
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