Page 40 of Treasured By Them
I go back to the image of my camp bed. Nothing new sticks out at me.
My breathing comes faster as I look back at the triangle of numbers. I was trying to do something here. Did I think I was improving on Blaise Pascal’s absolutely perfect pattern? Doubtful. I love his triangle as it is, no notes, no room for improvement. It is utter perfection.
So, what’s my deal?
I flip to the next page. For the first time, I’m mad that I never write actual words in this journal. I could’ve explained my obsession with Pascal’s triangle, or explained those stupid extra numbers.
But the following page is absolute nonsense. The same string of numbers is repeated over and over again, filling the page.
61 11 41 13 19 41 61
61 11 41 13 19 41 61
61 11 41 13 19 41 61
Six to the power of one is six. One to the power of one is one. Four to the power of one is four. One to the power of three is still one, so why the fuck do I need to say it that way? One to the power of nine equals one. Four to the power of one, four. Six to the power of one, again—six.
It’s just random, jumbled numbers.
I slam the journal closed. This is pointless. There’s no revelation to be found in the numbers. Maybe the day after she went missing, I was worried about Britney and I sought comfort in Pascal. I’ve done it before, many times. I could flip through this journal and find several pages—some of them recent—where I soothed myself by writing it down.
This is freaking irritating. I down the rest of my beer and stand up to stretch—only to see a man standing right behind me.
I shriek before I realize it’s only Malcolm.
“Hey, sorry!” He holds up his hands. “I was just going to ask where the key to the shed might be. Craig said I could take out the canoe. Since I can’t hike, I thought I might as well row.”
I’ll never understand people who can’t sit still, but I nod toward the kitchen. “It should be in the junk drawer next to the stove.”
“Cool, thanks, Dani.” He goes back inside.
I slump back into my chair, thinking I should’ve asked Malcolm to grab me a beer while he’s inside. If I can’t figure shit out sober, maybe I can do it drunk.
Troy
I stand outside Ed Senior’s office, Arky at my side. He stares up at me with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, panting.
“I don’t have anything for you, bud.” I scratch his ears.
Ed starts shouting. I hear threats against the Vorsongs, against SEPD, against the Aseyevs. Then he yells, “Out!”
A second later, Caleb Morraine emerges. Not Edmund.
I raise my eyebrows. “Sounds fun in there.”
“Shut up.” He shoulders past me.
I almost feel bad for him. When he got back to San Esteban a couple hours ago, Edmund and I interrogated him hard until he explained some of Dani’s family had shown up. I still think he should’ve stayed at her cabin. While being out of town is the best thing for Dani right now, I’m not there to protect her. I want someone else to be, even if it’s this jackass.
Arky stares a long time at Caleb’s retreating back, so I do, too.
There’s more conversation going on in Ed Senior’s office. A group of them are talking: Ed’s buddy, Victor Shaffer; Edmund’s grandfather, Francis; Ed Senior; and Edmund, of course. They’re discussing strategy to deal with the Vorsongs.
If they were smart, they’d bring in some of the Aseyevs for this conversation.
I lean back, patient. I don’t care if I’m in there or not. It’s a lot of bullshit from Edmund’s dad. Francis is the one who really runs the show. You know how I know? Because he doesn’t make a whole production out of it. The weak guys, the ones without power, are always the loudest. If you’re strong, you don’t have to shout. You don’t even have to fucking repeat yourself. Say it once, say it quiet. Others will listen.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it from my pocket. Dani’s name appears on the screen. She’s texting Edmund and me at the same time. Hey, I’m just checking in because you two bossypants men told me to.
