on the Mega State Jackpot team file into DeLuca’s office. I take a spot in the back of the room, near the door, with my pad and pen in hand.
The information given is very basic. The drawing to select the winning numbers will be conducted on Saturday at nine in the evening at the New York State Gaming Commission’s new studio, which was built for live drawings. We’re all expected to make the three-hour drive ourselves, and we will be reimbursed for expenses.
My mother is having a hard enough time with me leaving the borough to go to work. I can’t imagine how she’ll react when she learns I’m going to travel upstate.
This is good though. A distraction from the drama that is my life is needed. I’ll drive up, do my job, and come straight home. It’ll be fun. The police will be on hand for the drawing, so I’ll be safe too. I have to think positive or else I’ll go mad.
I stay at work later than usual. My desk is clear, and I’ve worked myself tired. Not too tired to drive home, but I’ve expelled enough energy that I won’t care to do anything but take a bath and go to bed.
My car is in a lot in the basement of my building. I take the elevator down and give my ticket to the attendant, pay, and then wait for my car to arrive. I find myself checking over my shoulder more times than I care to count.
When my car is brought up, I tip the attendant, slide into my front seat, and put my car in drive, waiting until I’m blocks away and at a red light before adjusting my rearview mirror.
When I check the mirror, I let out a scream.
A man is sitting in the back seat. He has black hair, beady eyes, and a menacing stare. I grab the handle of my car door, but the steel barrel of a gun pressing against my temple makes me halt.
“Calm down, and you won’t get hurt,” his deep, gravelly voice speaks loudly.
I nod slightly. My throat is a shaking, quivering mess of fright. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. I close my eyes and feel the tears falling down my cheeks.
My phone is in my bag. I swallow hard and move my hand very slowly toward it.
The gun clicks, and I flinch.
“You don’t want to do that, sweetheart,” he says, and I still.
My mouth turns down, and my breaths are shallow and erratic as my jaw trembles with fear. “What … what do you want?”
His expression is blank. It’s jarring that he’s not masked or concealed in any way. If he doesn’t care about me seeing who he is, most likely, it means he doesn’t plan on me living to tell anyone.
“I have a message for you. I’m only going to say it once. Are you ready to listen?”
“Yes,” I stutter.
“Good.” He pushes the gun into my temple, and it hurts, forcing me to scrunch my eyes closed. “Two hours before the lottery drawing, you’re going to ensure you’re one of the four people who are let into the machine room. Make sure they choose the third one from the right. They’re going to bring out two sets of rubber balls. One set is red, the other white. In your glove compartment is a pair of cloth gloves. You’re not to look at or touch them until you arrive at the building. You’re going to wear them when you load the white balls into the machine. Load every ball with your right hand, except for numbers seventeen, twenty-three, twenty-seven, forty-nine, fifty-three, and sixty-four. Those you’ll load with your left hand. You’ll remember them because each digit is the same as the last four numbers of yours, your mother’s, and your father’s cell phone numbers.”
I do a mental tally of our phone numbers and understand what he means.
“Do you understand me?” he asks.
“Yes. But that seems almost impossible. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to get near the—”
“Make it happen, or your family dies. I know your father is away, but mommy and sister are sitting pretty at home. Wouldn’t take too much trouble to end them.”
My own life being in danger is nothing compared to them being in harm’s way.
“Please don’t hurt them!” I wail out.
“I will—and early if I hear that you’re running to the cops.” The gun rolls down my head and into the curve of my neck. I move away