He called her office phone, knowing that at least his side of the conversation would be private, since an inspector would surely be sitting with her.
“Arianna Drake,” she droned.
“It’s me. Don’t hang up,” he said, and held his breath. “You there?”
“How can I help you?” she asked stiffly.
“I just want to know how you’re doing,” he said. “And how you’re feeling about everything. I know you can’t talk, but just tell me in a word.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Talk? Or talk to me?”
“Both.”
“I’m sorry. But I can’t stand this! I miss you like crazy.”
She coughed. “Well, sir, if there’s nothing else I can do for you—”
“Let me see you tonight.”
“No.”
Trent paused; her tone was inarguable.
“Fine,” he said. “But I still have to call you later on your cell. He needs to hear us talking normally. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he replied, but the line was already dead.
* * *
By Wednesday morning, Arianna was more exhausted—both emotionally and physically—than she had ever been in her life. She was sleeping thirteen hours a night, and still struggled to consciousness when her alarm clock beeped. Always, in her dreams, she could walk, and always, in the morning, she woke to a half-lifeless body. It was enough to make her want to pound sensation into her legs—even pain would be a victory. Someday I will feel it, she told herself during random moments: brushing her teeth or dragging herself into her wheelchair or sitting at her desk in front of the new, equally hostile inspector.
She felt mechanical most of the time, as she played it cool in front of him, and on the phone to Trent, and as she passed Dopp’s shark-gray car, pretending not to notice it. During these minutes, her mind was nothing but a receptacle that held a single number—how many days until the transfer. This awareness had become as innate as her body’s need for water; she never had to stop and think to know if she was thirsty, or to know how much time was left until Friday night. It stood now at two and a half days.
Even spurts of nostalgia had been coming on less and less. She hardly recognized the clinic anymore as her own, and her apartment was just a familiar space. It was privacy and peace she craved, and each day her eagerness to flee grew. Especially now that she was sitting at her desk across from the new inspector, a skinny, fifty-something man whose mouth appeared to permanently taste sourness. He wore the requisite gold cross pin, at least two inches long lest it go unnoticed on his lapel. In its sheen, Arianna could see the reflection of her own pupil. Her lid hung tiredly over her eye, whose usual bright blue seemed gray.
The inspector reached up to stroke the pin. On his face was the hint of a smirk. “You like it?” he asked.
She looked away, at her computer. Fuck you, she thought. If she ever decided to make small talk with him, that would be the gist of it.
Her office phone rang sharply and jolted her.
“Arianna Drake,” she answered, hoping it was not a professional call. Everyone in the group knew that her office line was not bugged, and called it to speak privately to her.
“Hey,” came Megan’s quiet voice.
Arianna tried not to display any relief. “Hi, how can I help you?”
“So Sam’s old apartment is cool now,” Megan said. “I cleared out a bunch of junk. His wife’s entire wardrobe was still in the closet, filled with mothballs. But I threw everything out. It’s still pretty dusty but livable enough. A bit small for four people, but the two rooms are decently sized. I’ll put in a few air mattresses and a bunch of dry food. And I just got off the phone with the electric and cable companies, so that should be up and running on Friday.”
“So nice to hear from you,” Arianna remarked. “I just love to hear from former patients. And how is little James?”
Megan continued softly, her tone unchanged. “What I need now are everyone’s suitcases, because I doubt there’ll be enough room when we’re all in the car. So I’m going to call Sam and tell him to drop his off at your apartment later today after you get off work. First I’ll make a stop at the Ericsons’ place down in TriBeCa tonight to get their stuff, then I’ll stop at your place and get yours and Sam’s, and then I’ll schlep everything uptown so it will be ready and waiting in the apartment. Okay?”
“Glad to hear it.”
“And please, please, tell me you’ve made progress with Trent.”
Arianna cleared her throat.
“Arianna!” Megan exclaimed sternly. “You have to figure something out. Or am I doing all of this for nothing?”
“No…”
“I seriously want to believe you. I’ll see you tonight. Around eight.”
“Thank you so much for calling,” Arianna said. “Take care.”
She hung up feeling chagrined. Here was Megan, going to great lengths to help her and the others escape; then there was Sam, toiling away over the cells in the lab; and the Ericsons, both tirelessly keeping up the practice, as long as they had to; and then there she was, contributing nothing.
But she dreaded facing Trent.
Part of her wondered about that, though. As much as she hated their phone calls for the sake of Dopp’s listening pleasure, those moments made her feel most alive. Her heart pumped harder at the sound of his voice, like an addict sneaking a hit. That she derived any enjoyment from these brief conversations
