Chapter 3 - THE MESSAGE ARTHUR LEFT FOR ME
I left through the library’s employee stairwell.
I didn’t ask permission.
Fear has a way of making locked-looking doors feel surprisingly optional.
I emerged into an alley, pulled my hood over my hair, and walked quickly toward Sixth Avenue.
I didn’t run.
Nico had taught me that once.
Running tells people exactly who is afraid.
I entered a department store, changed floors three times, exited onto another street, and took the first yellow cab I saw.
“Anywhere downtown.”
The driver looked at me through the mirror.
“Anywhere?”
“Just drive.”
My prepaid phone buzzed.
Nobody had the number.
Nobody.
I stared at the screen.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
I let it ring.
A voicemail appeared.
I listened.
Arthur’s voice.
“Mara, don’t hang up if I call again. I am not bringing you back to Nico. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I almost threw the phone out the window.
Instead, another message arrived.
Check the inside pocket of your denim jacket.
I froze.
The denim jacket was inside my duffel.
I had left the bag at the hotel.
Then I remembered.
I was wearing it underneath my hoodie.
My fingers slipped into the inner pocket.
A folded piece of paper was there.
I hadn’t placed it there.
Three lines were written in Arthur’s handwriting.
THE STUDY WAS BUGGED.
NICO FOUND IT TWO DAYS AGO.
DO NOT TRUST ANYONE WHO KNEW YOU LEFT.
I stopped breathing.
The study.
The conversation.
Nico saying I meant nothing.
I heard his voice again.
She stays because my life is comfortable.
If she left tonight, I wouldn’t care.
I’d change the locks by morning and forget her name by Friday.
Had he known someone was listening?
Was that why he said it?
My phone rang again.
Arthur.
This time I answered.
“You have thirty seconds.”
“Mara—”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Vincent has been stealing from Nico.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Arthur said:
“You found the drive.”
“Why was it in my bag?”
“Nico put it there.”
My anger arrived so quickly it almost erased my fear.
“He used my belongings to hide evidence?”
“He needed somewhere Vincent wouldn’t search.”
“Vincent searched it anyway.”
“That means he knows.”
“About me?”
“About the drive.”
I looked through the cab’s rear window.
No sedan.
Yet.
“Was Nico lying last night?”
Arthur hesitated.
That hesitation hurt.
“Partly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He knew the study was compromised. He needed whoever was listening to believe you weren’t important enough to use against him.”
I laughed once.
It sounded broken.
“He could’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“He could have trusted me.”
“I know.”
“He could have spent three years treating me like a person instead of an expensive possession, Arthur.”
Silence.
Then Arthur said quietly:
“I know that too.”
The cab stopped at a light.
A motorcycle pulled beside us.
The rider turned his helmet toward my window.
Arthur suddenly shouted through the phone.
“Mara, get down!”
The window exploded inward.
I dropped beneath the seat as the motorcycle accelerated away.
The cab driver screamed.
No second shot came.
Because it hadn’t been a bullet.
A small metal cylinder had shattered the glass.
Inside it was a rolled piece of paper.
May you like
The message contained seven words:
BRING THE DRIVE OR NICO DIES TONIGHT.
