“Ma!” Her voice changed, sounding younger, helpless.
Although her helmet had darkened slightly, I still glimpsed the tears brightening her eyes, seeing her mother’s face in the glass.
I could follow the entire conversation from her one-sided replies.
“Mei you, Mei you. Wo mei shi.” No, he hasn’t tortured or raped me.
She clasped her hands in front of her face, fingers trembling as if she could keep her mother’s image there.
“Tell her I want three hundred million,” I said.
Her pupils dilated, then shrank, and she saw me again.
“Now!”
“Ta yao san yi,” she whispered.
“Put it in this account.” I gave her the cashcard number for the ghost account that had been set up, and she recited it. “You have two hours.”
“You liang ge xiao shi,” she repeated.
Her mom began asking frantic questions.
Who is he? “Wo bu zhi dao.”
Where are you? “Bu zhi dao!”
I typed a command and severed her connection.
She leaned forward, disoriented, almost falling off of the chair, then tugged her helmet off, throwing it to the ground. It bounced on the bamboo rug and spun twice before I snatched it up.
“Shit!”
She had pulled her legs into her chest on the chair, burying her face between her knees. Her shoulders heaved. When she lifted her head, her pale face was mottled.
“What if you had broken it?” I carefully placed her helmet on the dining table.
“Three hundred million? Are you serious?”
She had some nerve. I’d admire her for it, if her entitlement didn’t piss me off so much. “What? You probably have twice that waiting for you in your trust fund.” The yous didn’t lead the lives that they did without having a few billion to spare.
“What do you want with it?” she asked, crossing her arms, assessing me.
“What do you want with it?” I countered.
We stared at each another, both our breaths coming too quickly. Hers because she was unused to our foul air; mine because I was rattled. Damn this you girl.
“How does my family know to trust you?” she demanded. “That you won’t kill me anyway?”
“You know how it works.” There was an unspoken rule between kidnappers and their targets. The victims always paid in full, and the criminals never killed anyone. Not yet, anyway. But then, no one had ever asked for three hundred million before. That wasn’t my problem. And if I were a betting man, the ransom would be in the ghost account within the hour.
“Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.
I nodded toward the door and she disappeared within, shutting it behind her. I took the moment of privacy to pace the room and analyze my situation. I’d give her family two hours to hustle up the funds. Once cleared, I could deliver the girl back to the night market.
The shower had been running for some time, and I went to the bathroom door, which didn’t lock. “The window’s too small to crawl through,” I shouted. “And the drop to the other side will break your legs, if not your neck.”
The water turned off after another minute. She came out, looking exactly the same and still smelling of strawberries.
“Do you need a towel?” I asked, hiding a smirk behind the last apple I had found in the refrigerator drawer.
“No, thank you,” she said coolly, then proceeded to drink the vitapak I handed her with dainty sips. “Don’t you have any solid foods to eat?”
“Does this look like a five-star you establishment to you?” I asked. “I’ve only got liquids.” Because I couldn’t afford anything more. “Although . . .” Suddenly remembering, I opened a kitchen cabinet. “I do have two rousong bao from the bakery.”
I gave her one of the buns. “Don’t blame me if you get a stomachache,” I said, taking a big bite out of mine.
She stared at it for a long time, finally trying a nibble and chewing slowly before swallowing. Then she sat very still, as if waiting to die. I finished mine and brushed off my hands. “Well?” I was still hungry.
She took a full bite the next time, challenging me with a lift of her chin. “It’s good,” she said. She glanced out the expansive windows. “Are we on Yangmingshan?” she asked.
“No,” I lied. “Is that the only mountain you know in Taiwan?”
“I haven’t traveled much out of Taipei.” Her face took on an expression that looked like yearning as she gazed into the trees. “Can we go outside?”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “No.”
“I’ve never been in the mountains before. I won’t run away.”
“You’d get lost. And die.”
She walked to the giant window and pressed herself against it. I wondered what it was like, never having been in the mountains or seen the jungle so close—never to have gone outdoors without a glass bowl over your head.
“All right. Your helmet stays inside. If you’re willing to breathe the air, we can step out for a while.” It was a risk, but so was our entire plan. I was no kidnapper or thief—even if kidnapping and stealing were exactly what I was doing. I hadn’t gotten this far worrying over risks.
She turned, silhouetted by the afternoon light, and actually smiled. The most natural thing was to smile back. I ducked my head and turned. There was nothing natural about this.
“Come on. Stay close.” The heavy door clicked open with my voice command. “I’ve got cucumbers and tomatoes to harvest anyway.”
“What?”
I grabbed her hand, feeling the softness of her skin in my own rough palm. She jerked her arm back, startled, but my grip didn’t loosen. “Do you want to see or not?” I asked.
She nodded, jaw tense, two bright spots on her cheekbones.
I led her along the edge of the house, sweeping aside giant fronds and leaves, past a dozen massive cisterns that collected rainwater. The smell of wet earth filled my senses. We picked our way through the shaded dirt path and veered into a small clearing, where the view of the sky was unobstructed. The sun burned above us, a blistering orb tinged in orange.
The sky used to be blue. This was what my research on the undernet told me, some sites even displaying actual photographs from another time—a pale blue skyline punctuated by skyscrapers or in a deeper hue over a calm sea, so two shades of blue melded like some old painting by a landscape artist. My mind kept returning to this image, the crisp purity of it. Unapologetic and true.
But what could you believe from reading the undernet? Images were more easily manipulated than a you boy’s face. I didn’t know anyone who had ever seen a blue sky. It wasn’t until I had read a novel—published over a century ago—where the author described something in sky blue, that I let myself believe it, feeling wonder and joy and grief all at once.
I never did finish that book.
I suddenly felt the pressure of the you girl’s hand clutching mine. Her flushed face was turned up, eyes squinted against the dull sunlight. She coughed into her sleeve, and when she finally stopped, her breaths came quick and shallow. It was late afternoon, the summer day’s humid heat oppressive.
“Are you all right?” I asked.