Page 29 of Cash

12

Carissa

By the timemy phone rang with a call from an unknown number, it had been a week since the last call. The longest week of my life.

My nerves were worn thin enough to see through. And my hand shook so badly when I went to answer, I almost dropped the damn thing on the floor.

“H-hello?” I whispered, looking at the closed door between Cash and me.

Could he hear through it? Unlikely—I could barely hear a low roar from whatever show he was watching on TV. It wasn’t soundproof, but it was pretty close.

“Aunt Cari.” That same robotic voice, chilling my blood.

“What took you so long to get back to me?” I hissed. “Where’s Tommy? What’s happening to him?”

“You’ll get the chance to speak with him before we end the call,” the voice on the other end promised.

“He can’t possibly be happy right now. He has to wonder where I am.” I could barely get the words out of my mouth, it hurt so bad to talk about him.

“You might be surprised how happy he is here. He’s a very easygoing boy.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my nails into my palm to keep from screaming. “He’s all right, then?”

“He’s fine. What about our agreement?”

I leaned over and opened the fridge. “I have a half-full refrigerator of 10-milliliter tubes. I’ve taken six tubes a day for the past week.”

“Nice job. That’s a very good start.”

My stomach turned. “No. No, that has to be it. It’s been a week, damn it. I want him back.”

Silence. Had I pushed too hard? Panic soured in my stomach, and I was fairly sure I was about to throw up. What happened if I pissed them off and they decided not to work with me anymore? What would they do to him?

“I just want Tommy back. I need him back.”

“That’s a very nice story, Carissa, but I don’t recall asking you what you need.”

A single tear escaped before I could catch it. “How much more do you want?”

“How much more can you get?”

“Please, don’t play games with me,” I begged. It was a struggle to keep my voice at a whisper. I wanted so much to weep and plead and sob my heart out. As if that would help.

“Nobody’s playing games, Carissa. It’s best for you to understand that now. Do you understand it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I was being sincere. I want you to get all the blood you can. We need every drop you can get your hands on. We’ve stopped short of telling you to bring the shifter in so we can do it ourselves.”

“The blood will only stay fresh for so long,” I lied.

“You’re lying,” he crooned in that robotic voice. “You know as well as my friends and I do that his blood will stay fresh for a very long time. Do you have any idea how old he is? Has he told you?”

“No,” I admitted.

A chuckle. “You might want to ask. It will make for a very interesting conversation. Suffice it to say, you can store his blood for years and there wouldn’t be a moment’s age on it. So try again.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

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