Page 41 of You'll Never Know
“Let go of the kid.”
I glance over my shoulder at a man wearing a flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and a pair of shit-kicker boots. He’s shorter than me, and thinner. But he’s got plenty of muscle, and I can tell by his stance and the way he’s got his head cocked to the side he won’t shy away from a fight. And I can’t get into it with this guy. It will bring way too much attention, which is the absolute last thing I need at the moment.
I release the kid, and he scrambles away as I raise my hands. “It was just a misunderstanding,” I say. “I don’t want any trouble.”
The man twists his lips to the side and sends a wad of tobacco juice to the blacktop. “It sure don’t look that way to me.”
I don’t reply. Nothing I say to this guy will make things better. Instead, I slowly slide into my car and pray he’ll be gone when I look in the rearview mirror. He’s not—he’s still standing there watchingme with his arms crossed, his lower lip packed with chew. I start the car and pull forward, not stopping again until I’ve driven around the back of the building and he’s completely out of sight.
And then I sit there, staring at the envelope resting in my lap, feeling like every nerve in my body is about to blow. I don’t want to open this thing—I can’t handle another visual reminder of what they’re doing to my wife—but I have to. What choice do I have? Whatever’s inside is my only chance of getting Avery back.
They won’t give her back. Not after all of this.
It’s another thought I instantly squash. I can’t spiral right now. Not when I need to concentrate on what’s in the envelope. Either way, after this, I have to find a discreet way to contact the police. I’ve already decided to. I can’t keep doing this on my own. I need help.
I peel the envelope open and tilt it down.
Something rolls out and drops onto my lap.
Bile rises up my throat. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
There’s a finger lying in my lap.
A fuckingfinger.
The world around me turns to slush. I gawk at it for a full ten seconds as blood from the severed digit seeps onto my jeans. It looks fresh, the skin tinged pink, the nail painted a light blue. A pale bit of bone extends from the base, roped in tendon. Above it, there’s a wedding ring—one that belongs to my wife. My stomach rolls, and I barely get the door open before I vomit.
When I pull myself back into the car, the finger is no longer on my lap. It’s lying on the floorboard. It’s Avery’s finger. I remember the pale blue nail polish from yesterday morning. And I know the ring by heart. I’m the one who gave it to her. I’m still staring at it when a familiar buzzing comes from the envelope. Another phone. I tear it out of the envelope and hit the green accept button.
“You motherfucker! If you—”
“Grant?” The voice snuffs out my angerlike a cold wind.
“Avery?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She’s crying as she says it, her voice thick.
“Why are they doing this to us?”
“They say …” She sniffs and then starts again. “They say it’s a warning.”
“Jesus! For what? I’ve done everything they’ve asked.”
“They think you’ll go to the police. They told me they’ll send more body parts if you do.”
Warmth trails down my face. Tears hit my lips.I’ll kill them for this.I will tear them apart. “I won’t contact the cops,” I say through gritted teeth. “I swear. I’ll do whatever they want.”
A man’s voice rises muffled in the background, sounding angry. I can’t make out the words. My heart thumps harder.
“Baby, where are you?” I ask. “Tell me where you are.”
There’s a long silence, and then: “They say I have to read the next riddle now. Grant, I’m so scared.”
There’s a shout, followed by the cold smack of a hand on flesh. Avery shrieks.
“Leave her alone!” I roar into the phone. “Hurt me instead!”
The scuffle ends and Avery returns, her voice quivering. “I—I have to start now. Do you have something to write with?”
