was dead. This stranger on the other end of the phone was an imposter. Or maybe he was the real Paul Scott, and her husband, her friend, her lover, had been the lie. It was only when he put on that black leather mask that the real Paul showed his face.
She said, “I want to speak to my sister.”
“In a minute,” he promised. “The battery on your phone is probably getting low. Did you bring the charger from the house?”
Claire checked the screen. “It’s at thirty percent.”
Paul said, “Go buy a charger. And you need to juice up the Tesla. There’s a charging station at Peachtree Center. I downloaded the app for you so just—”
“Let me talk to Lydia.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Put my sister on the Goddamn phone.”
There was a rustling sound, then the tinny echo of a speakerphone.
“Wake up.” Paul said. “Your sister wants to talk to you.”
Claire gritted her teeth. He sounded like he was speaking to a child. “Lydia?” she tried. “Lydia?”
Lydia didn’t answer.
“Please say something, Liddie. Please.”
“Claire.” Her voice was so flat, so lifeless, that Claire felt like a hand had reached inside her chest and ripped out her heart.
“Liddie,” Claire said, “please, just hold on. I’m doing everything I can.”
Lydia mumbled, “It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late. I’m going to give Paul the USB drive, and he’s going to let you go.” Claire was lying. They all knew that she was lying. She started crying so hard that she had to brace herself against the wall. “Hold on a little while longer. I’m not going to abandon you. I promised you—never again.”
“I forgive you, Claire.”
“Don’t say that now.” Claire bent at the waist. Tears fell onto the floor. “Tell me when you see me, okay? Tell me when this is over.”
“I forgive you for everything.”
“Pepper, please. I’m going to make this right. I’m going to make everything all right.”
Paul was smiling when he put the phone down on the table beside the black hood. Lydia didn’t look at the phone, which she could not reach, but at the soaked black hood next to it, which she knew would eventually be wrapped around her head again. The spray bottle was empty for the third time. Paul was drinking filtered water so he could fill it back up again.
When he was ready, he would make her watch him fill up the bottle, then he would put the hood back over her head, then he would start spraying. Seconds before she passed out, he would shock her with the cattle prod or whip her with the leather belt or punch her or kick her until she gasped for breath.
And then he would start the process all over again.
He said, “She sounds good, right? Claire?”
Lydia looked away from the hood. There was a computer on a workbench like the one Paul had in his garage. Metal storage shelves. Old computers. She had cataloged everything in her head because she had been here almost thirteen hours—Paul updated her with the time every half-hour—and the only thing that was keeping her from going insane was reciting the inventory like a mantra while he tried to drown her in his piss.
Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner.
“I bet you want to know what’s on that USB drive, Lydia. I like to call it my ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner.
“Fred Nolan wants it. Mayhew. Johnny. Lots of other people want it, too. What a surprise. Paul Scott has something that everybody else wants.” He paused. “What do you want from me, Liddie?”
Apple Macintosh, dot-matrix printer, five-inch floppy disks, duping machine, disk burner.
“Do you want some Percocet?”
The question pulled her out of her stupor. She could almost taste the bitter pill in her mouth.
He shook the prescription bottle in front of her face. “I found it in your purse. I guess you stole it from Claire.” He sat down in the chair across from her. He rested the bottle on his knee. “You were always stealing from her.”
Lydia stared down at the bottle. This would be it. She had told Claire that she was already dead, but there was still an ounce of life left inside of her. If she gave in to her desire, if she took the Percocet, that would truly be the end.
“This is interesting.” Paul crossed his arms. “I’ve listened to you beg