“Hello? You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“What did I say?”
“What?”
“That got you all tongue-tied? What did I say? Is it because I know who you are? Is it a big secret or something?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Well, what do you want? I can relay the message. I can’t promise you he’ll answer me, and he’s not calling you back, but I’ll let you know what I find out. Even if it’s nothing.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I like Wendy.”
“How’d you know I was gonna ask him about Wendy?”
“Please.” She huffs. “Unlike you, I didn’t think I needed to ask. But. Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Trust me. I know way more about you than you do me.”
“Probably true. Anyway. If you’re worried about Wendy, then I’m worried about Wendy. And doesn’t everyone worry about Wendy?”
I think about that for a moment. Because I always kinda felt that Wendy was well-liked, but it’s weird to hear people talk about her. I’ve only been a part of her secret life and whatever friendship she has with Indie and Adam’s crew is way outside of what she and I have together.
“But,” Indie continues, “I don’t think Nathan is in contact with her. Things have been kinda crazy here.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard.”
“Donovan is…” She lets out a long sigh. “In a bad way.” Then she goes quiet. It’s a weird quiet. And I’m trying to put my finger on what it means when she comes back. “I’m so upset over it, Nick. And I know you don’t know me, but you just said you know me, right?”
I almost laugh. “Well. I know of you, Indie. And I thought Donovan was dead. That’s what the grapevine is saying. So—”
“Cut the shit, OK? Adam told me you called. Well, Adam told McKay, then McKay told Nathan, and Nathan told me. I know you know he’s still alive.”
“So?”
“I love Donovan. He’s like… well. It’s hard to explain, but I need him, Nick. The way… the way Angelica needs James. You understand? I need him like that, Nick.”
I don’t know what she’s expecting me to say to this, but I say nothing. Because she basically just admitted she’s insane. That the only reason she still functions is because Donovan, or maybe Carter, has been holding her together. With tape, apparently. And not duct tape, either. That flimsy, cheap cellophane tape that barely holds anything together. Her grasp on reality has always been precarious but now it’s in danger. And she knows this.
How does that feel? I wonder. To know you’re about to unravel and there’s nothing you can do about it? It’s a mental death sentence.
“Do you understand what I mean?” Indie asks.
“Oh, I thoroughly get it.”
“I need him to come through.”
“He’s fully awake then?”
“No. He woke up, but the doctor put him back into a coma. We can’t take any chances that the… the… personality that survives is Carter.”
“OK. So what do you want from me? This is what you’re doing, right? Negotiating? I need Wendy, you need Donovan. You’re gonna get me something but I have to do something for you, right?”
“Of course,” she says airily. “That’s how the world works.”
“So what do you want?”
“It’s not just me. It’s all of us. And you already know. Adam already told you we’re looking for Merc.”
“Who?”
“Don’t insult me, OK? I know you know him. What part of that aren’t you getting? I have been filled in. Adam called Sasha and she agreed to make the call for us, but this isn’t good enough for me. I don’t know Sasha, but I know I don’t trust her.”
I don’t want Indie to know Sasha. I don’t want Indie to speak Sasha’s name. I don’t want Indie to even think about Sasha.
All of this is echoing in my head as my world narrows down into a black tunnel, but what I’m really thinking about—what’s really lurking in the background as I live in this muted in-between existence of the phone call—is that this is the end. Every bit of the lie I’ve been living for the past decade is about to be over.
And when I imagine all of the millions of consequences that this conversation will lead to, every single one of them ends up with me and the girl I tricked coming eye to eye one last time.
I do not want this.
Regardless of all the daydreams I’ve had about seeing her again, I do not want to see Sasha Cherlin again.
It will be the unraveling of my lifetime and I’m not ready to fall apart.
Not yet.
Because I still owe Wendy that perfect present.
“—so do we have a deal?”
“What deal?”
“Do we have a bad connection? I just fucking spelled it out for you.”
“Spell it out again.”
“You get me this Merc guy and I’ll find Wendy for you.”
“How?”
“How do you find Merc? Or how do I find Wendy?”
“Wendy, Indie. Where the fuck is she?”
“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” She laughs a little. And again, her attitude is light and carefree. Must be nice to be an insane Zero. One who has been taken care of her entire life. One who still lives in the fantasy that she is safe. I wish her fear in this moment.
It’s a shitty thing to wish for, and allowing that meanness inside me to take over, even subconsciously, is a bad move. It comes with all kinds of sad karmic moments in my future, even if I never utter this wish out loud.
But I want her to be afraid. Who does Indie Anna Accorsi think she is? She’s no one special. She doesn’t deserve this flippant existence.
Wendy does.
Wendy deserves to be that confident. That safe. That loved.
And I know that Indie has nothing to do with how Wendy’s life has played out, but I want to blame her anyway.
I take a breath, ready to threaten Indie into submission and make her tell me where she is going to look, but she cuts me off. “I can find her. I promise you, I can. I know a little bit about her regular job.”
“Regular job?”
“You know. What she does for a living.”
“She… works? I mean, I know she works. She’s… like… a…”
“She’s a liaison, Nick.”
“Right. Liaison. I knew that. I was just looking for the right word. I thought you meant she was like… settled in some normie job.”
Indie guffaws. “Right. She’s an executive assistant for a scumbag CEO. Good one, Nick.”
“She works for me. Sometimes.”
“She works for Adam too. Lots of the time. I know he only just got back a couple months ago, but they talk regularly.”
“Regularly as in—”
“No. Not recently. I heard him calling her the other day. The day he talked to you, in fact. But she didn’t pick up. Have you tried her home?”
“The cabin? I was there a couple weeks ago. She hasn’t been home. Not since Christmas.”