Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
He places his other hand on top of mine. I let the feelings of our strength and unity twist together like two indestructible cords being tied together with perfect knots. With him here again by my side, with his touch, it’s as though a piece I was missing has finally been restored.
“When I woke up a few hours later,” he continues, “my parents were gone. Taken by whatever insane Albanian gun-smuggling cartel he and his partner were doing business with.”
“Oh my God, Jameson...did you call the police?”
“Yup.” He nods. “They were no help. I didn’t even have a chance to get to the station to make a full statement, either. This cartel—they had connections with the local cab drivers, and one snatched me up and took me to a warehouse somewhere.”
I gasp and clutch his hand tighter in mine. I’m seeing everything he’s describing in my mind—watching it play out as though it were a movie. And it’s terrifying me. But I have to be a rock for him now. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through recounting this to me. Or what he went through when it all happened.
“This is crazy, Jameson. Are you sure you want to go into all this?”
He nods and pats my hand. Still comforting me at a time like this. “This cartel, they basically imprisoned me, questioning me about everything my dad was into. I guess they thought I was working with him, for him, some kind of father-son business thing, and it took me forever to convince them that I had no idea what he was up to.”
“How long did this go on for?”
“Eleven months.”
My jaw drops. “Eleven months, Jameson?”
“That’s when they finally stopped badgering me about my dad. That’s also around the time my parents’ bodies were found.”
A jolt of shock and sadness stabs me straight in the chest.
“Your parents…they’re…?”
“Dead,” he says with a somber nod. “That’s right. I don’t know what happened to them, and I guess I never will either.”
There have been times in my life that I’ve felt isolated from the rest of the world—like when Mom and I weren’t getting along due to her drinking and I would look across the lawn at Jameson’s empty house and feel like I simply had no one in the world to lean on or to be with. But at least I had my freedom. At least I was able to go for a walk and clear my head. At least I was able to make up fantasies in my mind about my dad returning one day and all of us becoming a happy family again. I can’t imagine what Jameson must have been going through, isolated and imprisoned across the ocean, knowing he was completely on his own now.
“I don’t even know what to say, Jameson,” I say, forcing strength into my voice. “I can only imagine what you went through. But…what about the next two years? Why didn’t you come home? Why didn’t you get in touch with me? I would have done something to help you!”
Jameson shakes his head and does something resembling a laugh again. It’s like that thing guys do when a girl would probably be crying because the situation is just so sad and screwed up.
“Well for one, they took my phone, so I had no way of getting in contact with you in any kind of way. And on top of that, they took my passport and wouldn’t allow me to use any electronic devices.”
“What?!”
He nods and shakes his head, scoffing again. “See, they still thought I was some kind of covert arms dealer working with whoever their competitors are—whoever they thought my dad was involved with. They figured if I got on a device, I would reach out to them with some secret spy-code crap or something–”
“Jameson, this is insane.”
“I know!” He actually laughs this time and squeezes my hand. “It wasn’t until they went to war with the other guys and wiped them out that they finally let me go. And that was when I finally was able to make it back home.”
“So what were you doing until then?” I ask. “And how did you make all this money? You weren’t…working for them, were you?”
Jameson cocks his head to the side and gives me the did-you-really-just-ask-me-that look.
“You mean, was I selling guns?” He chuckles.
“Well, I–” I start to stammer. “I didn’t mean to imply that you–”
“Yes, Iris, that’s precisely what I was doing,” Jameson replies. “I was selling rocket launchers, AK47s, and nuclear bombs to the Russians. And I got filthy rich doing it.”
There’s a long moment of silence between us, and then we both burst out laughing. After such an intense conversation, such a moment of levity feels like the greatest relief ever. It’s just like how we used to screw around before he vanished on me.