“Excuse me.”
Michael pressed his hands against the smooth surface of the concierge’s podium. A nameplate, camouflaged on the lapel of the man’s blue suit, read Raul.
“My wife is missing,” Michael said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “My children are, too. I’m sure they’re together.”
In that moment, he suffered the strangest sensation ever. It was as if he were rising and falling at the same time; weightless. He didn’t want to occupy his body. He wanted only to be with his family.
The elderly man he’d rudely interrupted sent Michael another scathing stare. His wife, however, put her hand to her chest, letting out a slight gasp before pulling her husband aside.
“Oh dear,” Michael heard the woman say.
Calm. Stay calm, he urged himself. There’s always an explanation. This is just a misunderstanding. Everything is fine.
“Could you call up to The View?” he asked Raul. “See if they’re there.”
Raul’s brow furrowed and his expressive brown eyes became two slits.
“I’m sorry—I don’t follow?”
In his head, Michael screamed: What don’t you follow? But work, specifically the high-pressure world of managing other people’s money, had taught him how to appear controlled in a crisis. He tapped into that power, sensing his fuel was running down to fumes.
Forget the call. I’ll go up there myself, he decided.
Raul said something, but Michael was already on the move and out of earshot. Back to the elevators. He’d go up, up to The View, because where else was there to go? The pool? Maybe she took the kids for a swim.But with their luggage?
It was as if he had an angel on one shoulder offering up one possibility and a devil on the other quickly refuting it. A feeling of cold dread sank into his bones, the devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear:
You’re struggling here, Michael, because there is no explanation. You can’t get your mind around this one, can you, old boy? That sick feeling in your gut … that uncomfortable worming sensation, the twisting knot of concern you can’t shake? That’s the knowing, Michael. That’s your intuition talking to you, telling you things you don’t want to hear.
As he rode the elevator up, Michael found it utterly impossible to stop the images in his mind, quick flashes that played out like mini-movies. He had no doubt that the devil was the director of this film, and the story line was quite grim: a family on vacation gets kidnapped from their hotel room at gunpoint.
His mind-movie showed a man, his face obscured by shadows, or maybe a hat—he settled on a baseball cap—marching his family away, a gun hidden inside his army jacket. Bryce led the exodus out of the hotel with tears in his eyes, shaking with fright. Addie was right behind him, her coloring a fever kind of pale, blue eyes brimming. Natalie did everything she could to stay calm and keep her family safe from this predator.
This mystery man had knocked gently on their hotel room door while Michael was out getting pizza, announcing himself as someone from maintenance. Natalie opened the door just a crack. Just enough. The gun was in her face in a blink.
“Get your stuff,” the man growled. “Come with me.”
And with him they went, but in the chaos and confusion, Teddy was dropped along the way.
Maybe … or maybe not. Maybe it’s the other movie. The angel’s film. Natalie at the pool. Natalie and the kids dining at The View, taking one last look at the city skyline before they headed for home, thinking she’d sent Michael a text, but insomnia had changed her. She was frequently confused. Forgetful. Panicky. Suffered from anxiety. Paranoia. Hallucinations.
But … I wish I’d done this sooner.
The View was the fancy restaurant. Michael charged forward into the dining area, bypassing the hostess without an explanation. The floor made a slow, three-hundred-sixty-degree revolution, turning in a clockwise direction to give diners a different city view every few seconds. Outside the tall windows, lights from the nearby skyscrapers twinkled with the brilliance of stars.
Michael ran the circle like it was a track. In his peripheral vision everyone was a blur, meaningless shapes. The food might have been savory, but the only smell he registered was that faint whiff of vanilla. He could tell some people were gawking. And why wouldn’t they? He was a man with fear burned into his eyes, panic etched on his face. To them, he must have appeared utterly crazed, as if he’d just crawled out of a jungle following a plane crash, inexplicably clutching a stuffed bear in his grasp.
He didn’t bother calling out the names of his family. No need. He could see with his own eyes they weren’t here. And they weren’t in the fitness studio, or the pool.
Some things were simply too hard to comprehend, some problems too big to wrap his head around. Michael went small, sinking into himself, going to that place where he could feel his fear, a molten thing, like a fire burning inside him.
He thought: If she hadn’t been kidnapped, then she cracked. What kidnapper takes time to pack luggage anyway? It’s her insomnia. She broke.
He returned to the eighth floor. His eyes were downcast, but through his peripheral vision he caught glimpses of the people around him, worker bees and tourists flittering together, going about their lives. They had no idea his had just unraveled. He put Teddy to his face and breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of Bryce and the sweet scent of home the bear held in his fur. He used his breath to center himself, and that gave him space to think.
In a crisis what would Natalie do? Michael asked himself. He decided she’d call a friend, that’s what. A name came to him. Did he have Tina’s phone number in his contacts? Tina Langley was Nat’s closest confidante and coworker at Dynamic Media, a marketing company based in Waltham. Luckily, Michael found Tina’s number in a group text message, one rife with memes and laugh emojis.
Tina answered after one ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice held an edge of concern. Michael’s name must have come up on her display. He shouldn’t be calling, but he was going to play it cool. He didn’t want to hit the panic button. Not yet anyway.
“Hey, Tina, Mike here. How are you?”
He worried his cheery tone sounded phony.
“Good, Michael. How are you? How’s New York?”
“Yeah, fine, it’s great,” Michael said mustering some conviction into the lie. “Everything here is awesome.” Except I feel like I’m going to get sick and pass out. “Say, has Natalie called you? We got separated in Times Square, and she’s got the kids. I came back to the hotel to look for them, but they’re not here yet. Wondering if she might have called you to chat, or whatever, and told you where she was?”
Less is better. Keep it simple. Listen to Tina’s voice. Her voice will tell you what you need to know.
“No. I haven’t heard from her,” said Tina, sounding somewhat bewildered.
Michael picked up on her worry, but there was no hesitation, no pause before her answer.