Page 57 of An Honest Lie

Greetings, fellow bondservant! This is Paul!

Paul who? Am I supposed to believe you’re some rando who kidnapped my friend?

She was digging her fingernails into her palms, eyes tightly shut. He was addressing her in a way that was...familiar. A coil of a sentence misted through her brain, but when she reached for it, it was gone. Was this happening? This was happening. Her body felt wired. Her phone pinged, the sound violent in her ears. Paul had sent his response:

That’s the question, Rainy! Now you’re getting somewhere. Who. Am. I.

She tossed her phone on the bed, frustrated.

Paul was a Biblical name, one of the most important figures in the New Testament. What else did she know?Think.He was Saul before he was Paul...that’s right...

She paced in small circles, her brain really whirring now. He was a persecutor of the first church until he had a conversion experience on the road to Damascus, after which he became Paul. None of this made sense.

Paul who was converted on the road to Damascus, or Paul the Beatle, or are you your own fucked-up type of specialty Paul?

Choices, choices...

Okay...so what do you want?

Now that’s an interesting question! You’re really on a roll here.

Stop fucking around, you’re wasting my time.

On the contrary, you have all the time in the world. Braithe does not.

Rainy tried calling, but Paul sent her to voice mail.

“Dammit!”

We’re a little under the weather, Rainy. Let’s stick with texting for now.

Where are you?

But Paul didn’t answer her question. Instead, the reply read,I’m mostly up to date on Tara’s and Braithe’s texts. They never did figure out why you were so averse to their little predatory trip. Do you want to tell me? They spent hours talking about it and I gotta admit—I’m curious

Rainy made her way over to her laptop. She lifted the lid and typed in her password.

You tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me.

When she hit Send, she thought she’d made a mistake. If someone truly had kidnapped Braithe, making him angry was the last thing she wanted to do. But everything about this guy’s tone indicated he enjoyed banter.But only if he has the upper hand, she thought. That’s how bullies worked. If she could keep his mood light, she might be able to get him to tell her something useful.

You like to play games! What a night you girls had playing games, wasn’t it?

Were you watching?

No. But I got the firsthand account from Braithe, and boy is that girl a talker when she is drunk. Yowza!

Braithe had gone to a bar the second night alone, hadn’t she? So, whoever this guy was, he’d positioned himself to meet her.

Where’d you meet?

That’s not important. What’s important is what I know.

She pressed her fists to her eyes, the coolness of her hands grounding her. She was hot and cold, scared and angry; every time this guy sent a text, the hairs on her arms stood up.

Which is what?she sent back.

It was getting dark outside; she could see the indigo of the sky above the strip. For her, time seemed suspended in this nightmare, but below her the city throbbed, unknowing.

---