Page 14 of Roma King
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, okay. And what’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Corey. C-O-R-E-Y. That’s how you spell it.”
I choke on a ragged breath. Corey. Corey Petrov. Oh god, this isn’t happening. It can’t be. A shiver of alarm makes me turn around to look behind me. Am I being watched right now? I doesn’t feel like I am, but I must be. There’s no other reason someone would steal this recording and then play it down the phone to me, only days after Corey Petrov went missing. Someone is doing this for kicks. They want to watch my reaction to the recording. I don’t believe in co-incidences, and even if I did, this particular coincidence is just too unbelievable to wrap my head around.Itook Corey’s call.Ihelped him. And now his recording is being played down a phone outsidemyapartment?
“Well, hi, Corey. So, you said your big brother isn’t moving? That’s pretty weird, huh? Did he just go to sleep? Did he say he felt sick?”
“No. A man came. He was shouting at my brother. He was…very angry. Jamie told me to go to my room.”
“And did you go to your room, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“And then what happened?”
“And…and then, I heard them fighting. And Jamie was shouting. And I was scared.”
I listen, a river of horror coursing through my veins, but the moment I hear Corey tell me he is scared, something inside me snaps. Tightening my grip on the handset, I grind my teeth together and hiss into the mouth piece. “Where is he? Where did you take him, you sick fuck?”
There isn’t a doubt in my mind. Whoever’s playing this to me now, tormenting me with it, has to have taken Corey. This seems like the twisted action of a madman who craves attention. Is this recording being played for Corey’s parents, too? Is Corey’s kidnapper playing it down the phone to the cops, taunting them with Corey’s small and frightened voice?
No one answers. The recording continues on without pause.
“How long ago were they fighting, Corey honey?”
“Um…I don’t know. I was scared, so I was hiding. And when I came out of…from under the bed, Jamie won’t wake up.”
“Is there any blood on him?”
Corey hesitates, and I picture the little boy turning around to look at his dead brother, checking for any visible blood.
“No.”
“Can you tell if he’s hurt anywhere?”
“No. But his eyes are open.”
“Is the man still there with you, honey? The one who was fighting with Jamie?”
I can hear the clear edge of worry in my voice now. To Corey, I probably sounded like someone he could trust and who would keep him safe, but I can still hear the timorous lilt when I speak.
“No. He went away. It’s just me and Jamie.”
“Okay, baby. Someone’s coming to help you. They’re gonna be there real soon. Can you open the door when they knock?”
“I… No. I can’t reach the handle.”
“Okay, baby. That’s okay. You don’t need to worry about that. Corey, can you tell me how old you are?”
“Yes. I think I’m four years old. But… maybe…I am five now. I’m not sure.”
“Wow. Five! You’re a big boy, then. You’re being very brave.”
“Mmm. Thank you.”
He sniffs. Sounds like he is trying to hold back tears. Leaning against the payphone, focusing every ounce of my attention on the crackling line, I find myself trying to do the same. He was braver than he should ever have needed to be at five years old. I’ve never been hit by the maternal urge that drives lots of women baby crazy, but I’ve always been driven to protect those who can’t protect themselves. Corey had no one to protect him when I took his call. He was alone and terrified, and listening to the recording play back now is a unique and cruel form of torture. I can’t say anything further to comfort him now. I can’t tell him to go and hide in a closet. I can’t wrap my arms around him and hold him to me and keep him safe.
