Chapter 5: The Hour
Patricia was a small woman with gray hair and reading glasses on a beaded chain.
She brought hot chocolate without being asked and sat in the chair nearest the door without making it obvious she was guarding it.
She didn't try to talk to me.
That was the right choice.
I drank the hot chocolate and watched the clock on the wall.
The minute hand moved the way minute hands do when you are watching them — slowly, then in small jumps, like it couldn't decide.
Forty minutes passed.
Then Evelyn's phone, which she had left on the desk by accident, lit up.
The screen showed a name.
Not a number.
A name.
HARLAN.
I stared at it.
Patricia looked up from her book.
"Don't touch that," she said quietly.
"I know."
It rang four times.
Stopped.
Then started again.
On the third round, Patricia stood up, walked to the desk, and answered it on speaker without touching anything else.
"Who is this?" Harlan's voice.
Smooth.
Unhurried.
The voice of a man who had never once believed he would not get what he wanted.
Patricia said nothing.
"Mother, I know you left the phone.
Stop performing." A pause.
"I have Sarah.
She is fine.
She will stay fine as long as this stays simple.
Send the girl to the front entrance.
My driver will collect her.
You and I will sit down tomorrow and discuss the financial matter like adults, and this entire evening disappears."
Patricia still said nothing.
"The child doesn't need to be part of this.
She's nine years old.
Do the right thing."
The line went quiet for a moment.
Then I leaned toward the phone and said, "Where is my mother?"
Silence.
"I know who you are," I said.
"I know what you did.
And there's a detective named Rourke who knows too."
The smoothness in his voice cracked — just slightly, just at the edges, but I heard it.
"Put Patricia on."
"She's here.
She heard everything.
So did I."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"You're nine," he said.
"I know."
He hung up.
Patricia looked at me for a long moment.
Then she picked up her own phone and dialed.
"Detective Rourke.
The subject just called the Whitmore phone.
Yes.
The child spoke to him directly." She listened.
"Understood."
She set the phone down and looked at me again.
"That was either very brave or very foolish," she said.
"Mom always said they're usually the same thing."
Patricia sat back down.
The ghost of something crossed her face — not quite a smile, but close.
Twelve minutes later, Evelyn walked back through the door.
She was alone.
Her coat was wet.
There was a small tear at the shoulder seam.
She looked at me and I looked at her and I knew before she said a word.
"She's safe," Evelyn said.
"She's in an ambulance.
May you like
She is awake and asking for you."
My legs carried me across the room before I decided to move.
