Page 19 of Cash

Thomas Lomax. Signed out at 3:00 by a scribble. A fucking scribble.

“Did you see them?” I shouted, shoving the clipboard at her chest. Useless damn thing. “Man or woman? Old? Young? Who was it?”

“We can check the security footage,” she babbled. “I’m sure we have them on camera, whoever they are.” She turned to ask somebody a question, but I didn’t know who she asked or what she asked because I was falling into a deep, dark hole I would never climb my way out of.

Every breath I took, I fell deeper. I would never stop falling.

When my cell buzzed with a text message, snug in the pocket of my jacket, I barely noticed.

“Maybe that’s the person who picked him up for you,” the secretary suggested, like she was clinging to any last shred of hope. Just like I was.

“What?” I fumbled for it, pulled it out so fast I almost dropped it on the floor. There was a message, all right. From an unknown number.

Aunt Cari. If you’re as smart as your nephew says, you’ll act like this was a misunderstanding. You won’t say a word to the cops or the administrators at the school. Just go home and wait for our call.

I had barely finished reading those horrifying words before a second message came through.

We’re watching the school, so don’t even think about calling the cops. Leave. Now.

I kept reading, over and over. The painful truth loomed large. Somebody took him away from me. Somebody might be hurting him. And they were watching me, or so they said. I wasn’t in any position to second guess them.

“Carissa? Who is it?”

I managed to find my voice. “It was a misunderstanding. I forgot that I’d secured a pickup for today—I wasn’t sure what time I’d get out of work.”

Amazing how easy it was to lie. I didn’t have to think about the words before they spilled out. The only way to get my hands to stop visibly shaking and giving me away was to jam them into my pockets.

“Oh. What a relief.” The old woman let out a nervous, fluttery laugh, but her smile never reached her eyes. She was disgusted with me. I had nearly given her a heart attack and had probably upset the handful of kids who were still waiting to be picked up. I had disrupted her day.

She had no idea what it meant to have things disrupted.

“I’m very sorry,” I whispered. I couldn’t hear myself speak. My heart was pounding too hard, my blood rushing too fast and too loud. I stumbled out of the office, down the hall. Past the rows of student artwork lining the wall. One of those pictures was Tommy’s. I had seen it at the Back to School night only a few weeks earlier. He had been so excited to get started, and so proud to show me what he did in art class.

I couldn’t breathe. Something was sitting on my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I had to get home. They were going to call me. Tommy. What did they want for him? What had I done to get their attention? Images of drug dealers raced through my mind, dealers my sister had stolen from, who wanted their payment through any means necessary. Who wouldn’t stop at anything, even stealing and hurting an innocent little boy? A scream tried to force its way out of my throat as I threw myself behind the wheel of the car.

How was I supposed to get home? I couldn’t remember how to get there. I couldn’t even get my key in the ignition—it kept missing, skittering off to the side. You have to do this. You have to get home and wait for their call, like they said. It was bad enough traffic would be terrible, as it always was anywhere remotely near D.C. I couldn’t afford to lose any more time.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then inserted the key into the ignition and turned. One step out of the way. Now, foot on the brake. Put the car in Drive. I talked myself through every step of pulling out from in front of the school, then driving home. My empty home where Tommy’s bed waited. Would he be in it later? I had no idea.

My cell rang the moment I stumbled in the front door. I didn’t even have time to close and lock it behind me before I answered the call. “Yes? Yes? Who is this?”

“The people who have your nephew in their care.” Robotic, like they used one of those modifiers to disguise their voice.

It added another layer to my horror.

“Where is he? Is he all right? Let me talk to him.”

“You’ll speak with him once we’re on the same page, Carissa.”

“Who are you?” I whimpered, leaning against the wall and sliding down until my butt touched the floor. “Please, please, I’ll do anything I can. I just want him back, unharmed. That’s all.”

“You’re asking for quite a lot, Aunt Cari.” The teasing, mocking tone. The gentle laughter. “And don’t worry. You’ll have to do something to get him back.”

“What? What do you want? Money?” I closed my eyes and tried to think of everything I had. If I sold the car and liquidated my 401k…

“No, no. Nothing like that. We’re not barbarians, Carissa.”

My eyes flew open. “What, then?”

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