Page 114 of Play With Me

The drive to the convent is tense, with snow coming so hard my wipers can barely keep up. The prediction for that dump tonight has definitely come early. Nora is looking as worried as I feel. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and even go so far as to whistle before Nora says, “Jude, it’s okay to be worried. Hopefully they have a phone, and we can at least check on Cap.”

I stop tapping. “Thanks, Nor.”

But all I can think is,you lost focus, you fuck!

The drive up to the convent is shorter than the one to the cottage; the building is visible from the road. It’s an old stone church with a long stone building attached to it, with a large van parked off to the side.

“There,” Nora says, pointing to a door on the longer building. There’s a light on over it.

We run to the front door with our jackets pulled tight against us. I bang on the door, my heart now thudding with concern. I grip Nora’s hand while I wait, and she squeezes tight.

“He’s trained, remember? Griff vouched for him.” She has to practically shout to be heard over the wind. But she knows exactly where my brain is going.

I smile, gratefully, but all I can think about is Cap, out in this snow.

Without me.

I’m about to bang again when the door opens, and a small round woman with a leathery looking face appears. I guess I expected an old-school nun in a habit, but she’s wearing a dull gray sweater and navy skirt not unlike the kind Nora normally wears. Her eyes go wide when she sees us.

“Güte Güte!”She reaches out and takes both our hands, pulling us inside and slamming the door shut behind us. The foyer is tiny, the walls a pale yellow, with ancient thin red carpeting on the floor.

“Wer bist du? Was um alles in der Welt machst du bei diesem Wetter draußen?”

“Please,” I say, my voice strained. “We need a phone.”

I realize I’m speaking in English, and she’s not going to understand me.

“Phone,” I say, holding my thumb and pinky fingers in the shape of one to my ear.

Nora’s fumbling for her phone, pointing at it and frowning with a thumbs down.

“I’ll get the translator,” she says to the woman, who clearly can’t understand.

“Carolina!” the woman cries out.

She tsks, then beckons us to follow her. We do, up a couple of stairs to a long hallway, then through a door to what looks like a lounge area, with an ancient couch, several easy chairs arranged around an elderly looking TV set on a stand, and shelves lined with books. There’s even a ping-pong table and a little kitchen. And sitting all over the room are half a dozen women of various ages and sizes, almost all of whom startle at the sight of us. Almost all of them stand up, too, except for an ancient-looking woman in a rocking chair with a book in her lap. She just watches curiously.

“Carolina!” the woman who let us in cries again, and a skinny young woman with short black hair comes scuttling over.

The woman speaks briskly in German and the woman—Carolina, I guess—nods.

“Hello,” she says in a thick German accent. “Can we help you?”

I breathe a sigh of relief and explain the situation as briefly as possible. I only realize I’m rambling when the woman looks deeply lost, and Nora places a hand on my arm.

“Our phones—they don’t work here. May we use your phone to call his son? He’s outside.”

“Yes.” Carolina nods, looking relieved herself. “Please, come. Mrs.—?”

“Nora, please,” she says. “And this is Jude.”

She moves quickly to the kitchen, pointing to an old landline phone on the wall.

Nora helps by reading out the number from her phone, then I’m dialing with wobbling fingers.

It rings. Twice, then a third time, and I’m about to break the goddamned receiver in my hand when a voice comes through on the other end.

“Hallo?” The line is crackly, but I recognize Gerrard’s voice.

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