Page 53 of The Art of Dying

“Well, that’s comforting,” Caroline said to me, nodding. “Right?”

I frowned. “Nothing about Mason is comforting.”

Naomi let her hands fall to her lap, still holding the note. “Who do we know in Russia?”

I held up my hand. “It’s enough that we’ve gone through these letters and the smartest woman I know believes he’s stuck overseas.” I put my hand down and began gathering the letters. “Yes, it’s concerning that he has a contact who has access to my information, but thus far he hasn’t done anything with it.”

Caroline handed me her stack. “She’s smart but she drank most of the wine.”

I laughed. Caroline laughed. Naomi didn’t. Despite consuming a bottle on her own, she looked more focused than ever on the letter in her hand. She stood up on my bed in her bare feet, letter in one hand, nearly empty bottle in the other.

“What?” I asked.

“This is the latest one,” she said, still reading. “The one that was sent to my house by mistake.” She cleared her throat and shifted her weight to her other hip. “Dear Mack, it’s been ten years today since I’ve seen you. Ironically, it’s also two days before you’re alone.”

“Well,” I said. “We know he doesn’t have kids yet or he wouldn’t have said that.”

Naomi continued to read, “I can’t stand thinking for another day of how miserable you must be, how your free spirit has been chained to that life, with children who look so different from the ones you described to me when you dreamed out loud about our future. You couldn’t dream of the ways my life has changed, and I often lament not sharing these luxuries and experiences with you.”

“Since when did he become so poetic?” Caroline said, her lip curled in disgust.

Naomi continued. “I fantasize about your escape daily—among other things…” Naomi paused and looked at me. “Ew.” She continued, “Every inch of your body has been burned into my brain. It’s been no small feat to erase the thoughts of those parts of you being sullied by someone else’s hands, and how you inevitably compare his touch to mine.”

“I can’t hear anymore,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s just trying to piss off Kitsch at this point. It has nothing to do with me.”

“It’s so different from the previous letters,” Caroline said. “Had he ever talked to you like that before?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

“It’s his handwriting, but something’s off,” Naomi said. “It’s like… I don’t know. Like someone else is telling him what to write.”

“That was my first thought,” Caroline said.

I looked through the letters. “Look,” I said, showing my friends. “It’s been eighteen months since the previous letter, which is a lot longer break than any of the others.”

“A lot can happen in a year,” Caroline said. “Maybe he went through something that changed him? Maybe he met someone who’s trying to help him get you back? But… now that you mention it, the last four or five before that were a little different, more with each one. They were more professional, and if I didn’t know it was all in his head, it would almost sound romantic.”

“Maybe he’s finally snapped,” I said. “Total mental breakdown. Because every word in that letter is delusional. Even more than normal.”

Naomi abruptly threw the letter on the floor and lunged for her phone, startling Caroline.

“What’s the name of our contact at the FRO?” she asked, furiously scrolling through her phone.

“Um,” Caroline said, thinking. “Natalie. Right, Mack?”

“Right,” I said, watching Naomi with confusion.

Naomi tapped her phone a few times and then held the phone to her ear, waiting for someone to answer.

“Nomes, what is it?” I asked.

“Pick up!” Naomi yelled.

“Sshh!” Caroline said, holding up her hands and looking toward the bedroom door.

Goosebumps formed on my skin as my stomach sank. “What did he say, Naomi?”

The letter had fallen between the nightstand and the wall, so it took several seconds for me to reach it, but once it was in my hands, I scanned past what she’d already read to find what made her scramble to make a phone call.

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