He turned the television off. He phoned the number he always phoned. It was picked up immediately, the voice answering hard and flat –
“You’ve seen it?”
“I’m not understanding,” he said. “It makes no sense.”
“You were careless. Worse than careless. Complacent.” A silence, save the sound of breathing. He said nothing. He waited. He was filled with self-loathing. The voice continued, every word a lash –
“You’re shameful. You’re an embarrassment. Always you seek to disappoint me. And always you succeed.”
He found his voice. “Sorry.” He bit his lip. He truly was sorry. He felt like sobbing. He held his tears in, requiring effort. He swallowed, tried to contain his emotion.
“But I’m not understanding,” he said. His tone was like a whine, which made him feel worse. “The picture they’ve got makes no sense. What does it mean?”
The voice did not answer immediately. He waited.
“I don’t know.”
His heart caught. So strange and terrifying to hear those words.
“What will I do?”
“How can you ask this?” the voice rasped. “Your stupidity offends me. Is that what you’re doing? Are you trying to offend me?”
He swallowed again, hard, took a second to answer, though his voice faltered.
“No.”
“You still haven’t found her. You keep going, until I say. You understand? Next time, no mistakes. You don’t want to disappoint me again. You know how much I hate it when you disappoint me.”
He felt crushed. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Again, a staggering breath, to contain the tears. But the tears came.
The voice suddenly soothed. “You’re forgiven.”
A surge of joy. Though the fear remained. “But the picture they’ve got. It makes no sense.”
“I know.” A pause, then – “A storm is brewing.”
“Please say you’ll sort it.”
“Of course. I sort everything.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The phone disconnected.
A storm is brewing. For the first time in five years, he felt scared.