And apparently, neither did Phantom.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Zhang,” he said with a mocking tone as he opened the back door. “Hope you had a nice shit.”
“I did. Thanks for asking, Phan-Phan!” she answered, her tone ten times as mocking. “And congratulations to you, too. I just thought you were a little off when you broke into a high school to threaten three underaged boys. But you’ve really upped your psycho with this kidnapping stuff.”
For once, Phantom didn’t have a smart comeback. And even if he had, she slipped into the car before she could receive his retort.
Something visible ticked in Phantom’s jaw as he asked Victor through clenched teeth, “You sure about this, man?”
No. No, Victor wasn’t sure at all.
She had changed, Victor noted. Gone was the girl who could barely look him in the eye. The sweet teenager who had always tried to be kind to his glowering cousin despite Phantom’s enmity was nowhere to be found.
That girl had been an illusion, Victor reminded himself. She had been playing him all along. He couldn’t let himself forget that he decided as he climbed into the car.
No matter how hard she made his cock.
Ten years. Ten years for her to rot, the same as his father would have if he had lived.
Ten years for him to inure himself to her. His only weakness.
He’d leave Dawn her family at the end of the sentence as he’d promised. But by the time he was done with her, family would no longer matter. He planned to break her, to destroy her mind and soul. The girl who played him for a fool would never hurt him again.
And then, he would finally be free. This, he assured himself as they drove away from the town hall.
4
DAWN
“Are you taking me back to New York now?” I asked as soon as Victor got into the car.
We’re married. Married! But he still sat across from me as an adversary. Not beside me like he used to insist on when we were in Japan.
“No,” he answered. Man, he loved that sign to death these days.
“Then where are you taking me?”
He didn’t answer.
And just in case you were wondering…no, getting the silent treatment from someone who can’t talk didn’t feel any less irritating.
“I have to report in for an internship in New York on Monday,” I pointed out. “It’s a little clinic, and they need me there.”
He began to sign before the words were entirely out of my mouth. “Actually, you’ve already been replaced.”
My stomach iced over at his answer. “What do you mean?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a device shaped like a rectangle.
My eyes widened because it looked like the iPhone 3GS that Steve Jobs had just announced at a special conference. But it couldn’t be. They weren’t even out yet.
Yet, here Victor was, extending a phone that looked exactly like the one showcased in the latest “Stevenote” to me.
I took it. Partly out of shock. Partly out of curiosity. “Is this an iPhone 3GS?” I asked. “But how did you get this? I thought they weren’t coming out until June.”
“Check your email,” he signed as if he didn’t hear any of my other questions.
I did as he said. I’d never had a smartphone. They’d come out the summer after my sophomore year of college, and I was barely keeping up with the annual tuition raises at Mount Holyoke, so no fancy iPhone for me. But all the hype I heard about it had been correct. It was ridiculously easy to navigate, and I instantly found the envelope icon.
I pressed it, wondering whether I’d have to use some kind of syncing process to get to my Yahoo account. Nope. Both my school and Yahoo accounts immediately popped up on the front screen. And the Yahoo account had a 1 beside it, which I assumed meant I had a new message.
I clicked on the mailbox, and my heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the sender. Dr. Olivia Glendaver. She was the assistant director at the Women’s Disability Clinic, the small medical center where I was supposed to start interning next week.
The subject line didn’t bode well. Re: dropping out of the internship
I pressed on the message anyway.
“Dear Dawn…” I read out loud. “Thank you for letting us know you wouldn’t be joining us for the summer internship. Though your message was brief and received only three days before you were due to start, I’ll assume this must have been a hard decision for you to make. Fortunately, we have a long waiting list for this incredibly prestigious internship, and I’ve already filled your spot. Best of luck with your future endeavors. Dr. Olivia Glendaver.”
I dropped my gaze to the original message below her polite but obviously-pissed-off reply. It simply read, “I changed my mind about taking the internship. Replace me with someone else.”
