Chapter 4: The Call I Almost Didn't Make
The bathroom tile was cold against my bare feet. I sat with my back to the locked door and my knees pulled up, trying to keep the collar of my pajamas closed with one hand while I held my phone with the other. The light in here was flat and white, nothing like the warm low light out on the marble floor. I could hear them through the wood. Not shouting now. Just breathing and low talk and the creak of someone shifting his weight.
My hands were shaking so bad I had to type Ray's name with my thumb and then delete it and type it again.
I didn't want to call him. That was the truth. House Lancaster had always been the line I used when I didn't have anything else. I could hear myself saying it out there, my voice thin against his. I knew what it sounded like.
Uncle Ray picked up on the third ring. He wasn't really my uncle. He'd run security for the foundation since I was in middle school, drove the black Suburban for my mom's charity galas, checked the window latches at the lake house before anyone stayed over.
"Ray," I said. My voice cracked. "It's me. I'm in the upstairs bathroom. I locked the door."
He was quiet for a second. "Where's upstairs? You at the foundation house?"
"Yes. The main bedroom wing. With the marble floor and the big window." I swallowed. The collar of my pajamas had a little blue piping and I was twisting it. "Two men came in. Leather jackets. One shaved head, stubble. The other long hair, beard, vest. They had me on the floor. They grabbed my pajamas."
I heard him inhale. "Are you hurt?"
"Not yet," I said. "I told them what I've always told people. I said, 'If you dare touch me, House Lancaster will tear you limb from limb.'"
Saying it again out loud made my chest tighten. It had sounded strong at first, like a shield. Now it sounded like something a kid would say.
Ray didn't answer right away. I could hear a TV in the background on his end and then it went muted.
"Hey, kiddo, listen," he said, and his voice got lower. "You need to stay where you are. Don't open that door."
"Can you come get them out?" I asked. "That's what you do. You remove people."
He cleared his throat. "I need you to breathe for me. Those two men. Are they still inside?"
"Yes. Outside the door. Marta's out there."
"Marta saw them?"
"She's standing in the hall. She isn't leaving."
Another pause. Longer this time. I stared at the white grout between the tiles and listened to the faint thump of a hand against the door. Not pounding. Just testing.
Ray said, "Those sound like the Voss brothers."
The name meant nothing to me. "Who?"
"Donors' sons. From out of county. Their dad gives to the foundation every year, big check at the winter gala. They were supposed to get a tour of the lunar suite. That's the north wing property, the endowment house." He said it like he was reading from an email. "Your cousin Michael was supposed to let them in this afternoon to look at it. For the gala brochure."
I felt my stomach drop. The fragment came back, the last thing the shaved-head man had said before I scrambled away. "If I get to have the lunar" — he'd never finished the sentence.
"Someone invited them?" I said.
"Michael did," Ray said. "He put them on the access list. I saw it this morning. I thought it was just a walk-through."
"They didn't do a walk-through," I said. My voice was flat now. "They came straight to where I was. They pulled at my top. He said, 'Bitch, you dare hit me? By the time we're done, you won't even be able to close your legs.'"
Ray was quiet. I could hear him breathing.
"House Lancaster invited them in," I said. I wasn't asking.
"Kiddo, Michael didn't know you'd be there," he said quickly. "He thought the house was empty."
"But he gave them the code to the private wing."
"He gave them the front gate code, yes."
I leaned my head back against the door. The wood was cool. On the other side, one of them laughed, short and low.
"When can you be here?" I asked.
Ray hesitated again. That hesitation was the crack. Two months ago he would have said ten minutes and meant five. Now he said, "I'm twenty out. I'm at the county line. Let me call Michael first, make sure we do this clean. We don't want a scene with donors if we can handle it quiet. You stay locked in. I'll be there as fast as I can."
Twenty out. Call Michael first. Handle it quiet.
I understood what that meant. He was going to ask permission to protect me from people the family had invited.
"Okay," I said. "Hurry."
I hung up before he could say anything else. My thumb hovered over the screen. The photos I'd taken were still there, the fabric pulled, the jackets, the window light. I had Marta outside, but Marta worked for House Lancaster too.
May you like
I took a breath and dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, I gave her the address on the foundation house, the marble floor, the window, everything. I said two men had assaulted me and were still inside and I was locked in the bathroom. She said to stay on the line.
I didn't. I set the phone on the tile next to me, kept the line open, and kept my hand on my collar and my back against the door. I was done waiting for family to decide if I was worth the trouble.
