Falling(21)

“?‘Internet repair. 11:30 a.m.’ Well, here we are,” he said, and laughed. “By the way, your internet’s fine. I put a jammer on the side of your house a couple nights ago. Clearly I already turned it off. Oh, I’m also the person who makes the technician appointments. That was me you talked to on the phone the other day. Your appointment also never made it officially on the books. Plus, today’s my day off. CalCom also thinks my name is Raj.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “So what I’m trying to say is—there’s no reason for suspicion. No one is coming to help you.”

Carrie didn’t react. She just listened, giving a small nod to express her understanding. His smile slowly dissolved. She wondered what kind of reaction he wanted from her.

He continued on his personal tour of the kitchen and, upon reaching the sink, stared out the window for some time before turning to lean back against the counter, arms crossed.

“Carrie,” he said, “do you know where Italy is?”

At first she didn’t bite. Then hesitantly, she nodded.

“And how about Australia?”

Reluctantly, her head went up and down. He nodded too, looking down at the floor. For a long time he didn’t say anything. Finally, he looked up.

“I will let you and your family go, I swear to god,” he said. “Carrie, I will walk out the front door and never come back—if you can point Kurdistan out on a map.”

Carrie could sense an undertone of hope beneath his deadpan expression. But the longer she sat unmoving, the fainter it became. He shook his head with a cluck, tapping the detonator against his arm.

She tried to speak but the words came out as unintelligible sounds against the gag. Sam considered for some time, then walked over, bending, his face hovering in front of hers.

“I won’t regret this twice. Understood?” he said.

He untied the gag and the saliva-covered clump of fabric dropped into her lap. She stretched her jaw.

“How many,” she said finally. Hoarse, she cleared her throat. “How many kids do you have?”

Sam stared at her. “What?”

Carrie lifted her chin at Scott. “No one wipes a child’s nose like that unless they’ve done it before.”

A smile flickered briefly across Sam’s face. He considered her for a long moment before walking back to the sink, to his tea, to staring out the window.

For some time no one spoke. Sam finally gave in, choosing his words cautiously.

“I don’t have any children. I had siblings. I’m the oldest of six. I was eighteen when the youngest was born and I was planning to leave home not long after that. I was supposed—” Sam stopped himself. “Plans. I had plans.”

He took a sip of tea. Elise cooed. He regarded the baby with a forlorn glance.

“Four days before I was supposed to leave, my father died. My mother was disabled and while she could do most things, she would need help. Five young kids, Ahmad was only four months old—” He stopped and shook his head.

Ahmad. Carrie made a mental note of the name. The youngest sibling. The deepest wound.

“I couldn’t leave. I knew I couldn’t.” Sam shrugged. “So I didn’t. I stayed. For seventeen years I took care of my mother and I helped raise my siblings like they were my children. The younger ones barely remembered our father, if they could remember him at all. I was their father.”

Sam stared into his tea like he was staring into another world. Carrie didn’t intrude; she waited for him to come back on his own. When he did, his voice was soft and sad.

“And then I left,” he said, and told her nothing else.

“What—if I may—” Carrie said cautiously. “What happened to them?”

Sam cocked his head.

“You speak of them in the past tense,” Carrie said. “What happened to your family after you left?”

Whatever had happened to them, whatever memory or image it brought to mind, it hit Sam with such force that he actually took a step forward. He looked to Carrie, tears filling his eyes.

Carrie’s jaw dropped and she managed to stammer, “I-I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to…”

She’d crossed a line. Glancing at Scott and Elise, she worried about what Sam might do if he snapped.

Sam folded his arms across his chest in a way that appeared defensive and almost wounded. In any other situation, she might have felt the motherly urge to comfort him. He seemed exposed in a way that came off as unfair.

“I—” he began weakly.

The high-pitched whine of a braking vehicle came from the front of the house. Sam grabbed the gun off the counter and pointed it toward the hall to the entryway. His eyes were wide and he breathed through his mouth. Any softness or vulnerability Carrie had glimpsed only a moment before was gone.

Sam walked to the far side of the kitchen and stood across from Carrie, who was seated at the computer in the family room. “Can you see out the front window?” he asked.

“If I stand over there,” she said, pointing her bound hands toward the end of the family room. He motioned for her to move.

As she crossed the room, she heard the sound of a heavy engine rattling to a start. Reaching the far wall, she peeked her head out to see the left side of the picture window in the living room. Tall shrubbery covered their front yard, but she could glimpse the top of the brown UPS truck as it pulled away from the neighbor’s house across the street.