Wherever It Leads(47)

I flinch. Not only do I have a ton of texts from Pres, I also have a boatload of missed calls from her and my mom.

My stomach sinks. With trembling hands, I call my mother. Each ring takes an eternity. It rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, right before I disconnect the call and dial Presley, it picks up.

“Brynne,” my mother chokes out. Her voice is barely audible, a whisper through the line.

I spring to my feet. I feel the adrenaline kick in without knowing why. It’s an automatic response because my mother doesn’t call a million times. She doesn’t answer like this. The only time she’s done that is to tell me about Brady . . .

Oh. My. God.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Brynne.” She sobs again, each hiccup gashing me. I start to cry too—scalding, blinding tears streaking down my face. I realize the senselessness of it, but it’s unintentional. Just a reaction to hearing my mother break apart and knowing that soon, I will be too.

“It’s Brady . . .” I guess, holding my breath.

“He . . . we . . .”

My hand covers my mouth, choking back the wails that threaten to break free. I can’t see for the tears, I can’t talk because panic has squeezed my throat shut.

I feel the sofa at the back of my legs, but I can’t sit. I’m frozen, immoveable—a girl standing alone with a wound splitting her into tiny little pieces.

“We got a call today,” she says, “A video of Brady has shown up on a website. We were hopeful, you know, because they told us early on that any contact or proof of life was a good sign.”

“What was it?”

Her fear is palpable. The misery I felt when I got the news he’d been taken pierces me again. My hands shake, my legs go limp. I nearly fall, but lean against the armrest and catch myself.

“It was grainy,” she says, “And from a week or so ago they think. Of course they didn’t tell us until they tried to verify it and garner any useful information. But it was him.” Her voice breaks when she says the last word and tumbles in an unbearable sob.

The howl I’ve been choking back is too powerful, my mother’s agony the straw that broke the camel’s back, and it breaks free.

“He looked so thin, Brynne. He had a full beard and his hair was covering his ears. He was on his knees, his hands behind his back. And these men stood behind him with guns pointed at him like before,” she breaks off, struggling to stay composed for me. “His eyes . . . My baby’s eyes are just so empty. Your father has watched it a few times, but I just can’t,” she cries. “They demanded a ransom. There was no time frame to pay it, but the number was astronomical. We know the government won’t pay it and I just don’t know how we could ever possibly come up with that amount!”

Her lament barrels through the phone and all I can do is add to it. I don’t have answers. I don’t understand any of this.

I feel along the sofa and fall into it, covering my eyes with one hand.

My body wrenches, ready to expel my dinner.

I hear a rustle on the line and my father’s voice comforting my mother. “Brynne Girl,” he says, calling me the nickname he gave me as a child.

“Oh, Daddy!” I cry, the tears rolling again in full force.

“Hey, now,” he rasps. “It’s going to be okay. We will find a way.”

I feel Fenton at my side. I can’t make him out through the wetness, but I feel him kneel in front of me. One hand lands on my knees, the other wipes my hair out of my face. His fingers brushing away tears that come faster than he can rid them.

“I know, sweetheart,” my father says. “We are doing everything we can. I won’t believe this will end in any way other than the right way. We have to make a push to get him out and Hyland has promised me he’s doing everything he can. I have every contact I’ve been able to make working on it. But baby girl, we have to remember, focus on the silver lining—he’s alive.”

“To hell with them,” I say, my agony turning into anger. I lift off the couch, nearly knocking Fenton over. I can feel the pain being dulled by the fury and I welcome it. I feel it flow through my veins, making me light-headed. “You tell those bastards to go get my brother! He isn’t just another person over there. He isn’t a soldier that fled. He’s a doctor there to help people and he should be home with his family and not left to rot in Zimbabwe because of some stupid f*cking red tape!”

“I know, honey. But they’re sticking to the ‘not negotiating with terrorists’ line of bullshit.”

“So what? They don’t negotiate? They just leave him there to . . .”

I can’t say it. I can’t launch those words into the universe.

I dry my face with the top of my dress. I see Fenton standing near the sofa, watching me with wide eyes.

He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.

“He wasn’t working for the government, so he isn’t their liability. He’s an American citizen, so they’ll do a bit on his behalf. But with all the wars happening right now and the domestic terrorism on our own soil, Brady isn’t the highest priority.”

“I hate them, Daddy,” I blurt, my blood curling. “I hate every single one of them!”

“I do too, Brynne Girl.” My mother’s voice rings through the background and my father sighs. “Are you someplace safe? Are you with someone?”