Chapter 3: The Plan

The city looks like a blanket of little lights below me.The only light is from the buildings outside my big window. I like the dark. It's true. In the dark, you see what things really are.

I stand at the window, a glass of whiskey in my hand. The ice is all melted. I've been standing here a long time. Watching the little cars. The little people.

Tomorrow, one of those little people becomes mine.

The door behind me opens with a soft click. I didn’t turn. I know the sound of his shoes on the floor. Silas.

"Sir," he says.

"Silas." I take a drink. The whiskey is warm now.And watery. I put it down on the windowsill. "Is it ready?"

"The final check is done. Dante is at the warehouse with the team. We switched vans, like you asked. No patterns. The drug is ready in a new way. A cloth, not a spray. Less chance of the wrong person breathing it in."

I nod. Good. The small things matter. "The alley?"

"Cleared. The back door to the old building is open. Dante will take her through there, to the inside loading area. The second van will be waiting. Three minutes from when we get her to the second van.

A seven-minute drive to the private garage under your building. The elevator from that garage goes straight up to your floor. No one will see her at any point."

He talks in clear points.

"And her friend? The roommate. Sloane."

"Miss Walsh has a study group tomorrow night at the college library. From six forty-five until about nine. She is a creature of habit. She will not change her plans. She will not be home when we take the girl."

"Good." I finally turn from the window. Silas stands just in its light, a folder in his hands. He looks tired. More than usual.

"Sit," I say, walking to the leather chairs by the window. I sit in one. He sits in the other, putting the folder on the table between us.

"The money," I say.

"The transfer to the Havencrest account will start at 9:05 AM. It will look like a charity gift from the 'Thorne Family Foundation.' The papers are perfect. It will pay for a new roof. New pipes. A year of good food. It is, as you said, a big blessing."

Then he clears his throat. It's a small sound, but in the quiet room, it's loud.

"You have something to say, Silas."

He takes off his glasses. He cleans them slowly with a cloth from his pocket. He's stalling. "I looked at her profile again. What happened with that dealer last night… it scared her. Our man watching her window said she didn't sleep. Her light was on until almost four AM."

"She was scared," I say. A flicker of irritation sparks. "The world is a scary place.I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. I look right at him. "It wasn't random. It was a lesson. And it was needed. He touched her. No one touches her."

"I get the idea," Silas says, looking back at me. "But you are using the rules of our world on a girl from a different world. Kieran… she is not from here.

She doesn't think about property and owning things. She thinks about being kind and what's fair. What we are about to do… in her mind, it won't be saving her. It will be the worst kind of unfair. The worst kind of mean."

"That's why I picked her," I say, my voice low. "This world is full of women who know the game. Who wants the money, the power, the fame of being with a man like me.

They're already ruined. They're already broken. She is pure. She is real. I am not bringing her into this world to play a game. I am bringing her here to… to change the game. For me."

Silas shakes his head, "You are not bringing her. You are taking her. You are ripping her from everything she knows, everyone she trusts. You will tie her up, drug her, and lock her in a nice apartment.

You will tell her she has to marry you. Kieran, listen to what that sounds like. Through her ears."

I feel a heat rising in my neck. He's pushing. He's saying it in the ugliest way. He's not wrong. But he's missing the beauty of it.

"I know what it sounds like," I say, my voice tight. "I don't care how it sounds. I care about what it is. It is a beginning. Her old life was a slow death. A death of her spirit. Of hope. Working until her feet hurt for pennies.

Smiling for tips. Giving her last dollar to an orphanage everyone forgot. That is not a life. That is a prison sentence. I am setting her free."

"A freedom she doesn't want and didn't ask for," Silas says back. He doesn't raise his voice. He just says it. "You saw her strength. That strength comes from that life.

From that fight. It is who she is. If you take the fight away, you take away what makes her strong. You will break her."

There it is. The word again. Break.

I stood up. I can't sit still. I walked back to the window.

"You keep using that word," I turn to face him. "You think I don't know she will break? Of course she will break. The old shell has to crack so the new thing can come out. That's not a problem with the plan, Silas. That is the plan."

I walk toward him, my steps quiet on the rug. "I will break the waitress. I will break the volunteer. I will break the girl who counts coins and rides the bus. And from the pieces, I will build the queen.

I will build my wife. She will have strength, yes. But it will be a new strength. A strength that protects what is hers. A strength that understands power. My strength."

Silas looks up at me. His face shows nothing. "And if the pieces don't fit back together the way you want? If the heart of her that light you say you want goes out when you break her? What then? You will have a pretty, quiet doll.

A ghost in a golden cage. Is that what you've waited five hundred and seventy three days for?"

His question is a needle to my heart. It touches a fear I won't name. A fear I drink to forget and bury deep.

"That won't happen. I won't let it happen. She is stronger than you think. And I… I have more patience than you can know. If it takes weeks, months… I will build her back up. Piece by piece. I will be the base. And she will stand on me."

We stare at each other. The air in the room feels heavy. He sees my obsession, total and unchanging. I see his doubt, clear and plain.

Finally, he looks down. He opens the folder. He has given up. Not because he agrees, but because he knows the talk is over. I have spoken.

"The schedule," he says, his voice going back to its professional flatness. "She finishes at Havencrest at 6:50 PM. She will go into the service alley around 7:12 PM. Dante gets her at 7:15. We have a ten second window where she will be completely alone."

"I want to be there," I say.

He looks up, "Sir. That is not the plan. You being there is an extra risk. Feeling.."

"Is not a problem," I cut him off. "I will be there. In the second van. I will not be seen. I will not get in the way. But I will be there." I need to see it. I need to be close when she becomes mine.

Silas closes his eyes for a second. "Fine. You will be in the second van, parked on Mulberry Street. Dante will bring her to you. You will switch to the third car for the last part."

"Good."

He stood up picking up the folder. The meeting is over. He walks to the door.I walk to my desk. I open the top drawer. Inside, there is was a paper faded paper napkin, folded neatly inside a clear plastic sleeve.

I take it out. I don't need to open it. I know what's there. A kid's drawing of a sun with a smiley face. A shaky signature: Elara, age 8.

I got it five hundred and seventy-four days ago. My first day. I went to Havencrest, pretending to be someone who might give money.

She was there, a teenager helping the little kids. A little girl gave her this drawing. She loved it, put it in her pocket. Later, when she was cleaning up, it fell out. She didn't see it.

I picked it up. And kept it.

My first piece of her.

I run my thumb over the plastic, over the faded crayon sun.

"Your last day in that world starts in a few hours," I whisper to the drawing.

I look out at the night ending, at the first pale light coming into the dark sky over the city.

"Be good one last time, Elara. Then come be mine."