ANNASOPHIA
Asking Satish if he’s interested in my idea about the location of Michael’s body is like asking a condemned murderer if he’s interested in clemency. His stare lasers me with enough force I scoot closer to the bench’s edge. Maybe I’ve pushed him too far. My toes curl under.
His jaw works with his unspoken assassination of my character.
Gotcha.
The ocean beyond the Golden Gate, true to its name, is flat and pacific. Its calm soothes me and makes my small victory childish. My Michael-frustration is an attempt to drive a wedge between Satish and me. To shatter all fantasies about entering into the other’s world.
I tease him with my “hunch” for another ten seconds—so accustomed to hiding the truth I can’t let go of my blip of power.
He is so Hindi cool—and an ex-cop—I capitulate. Prove I’m a grownup. “I’m guessing his body—or at least his head—is stored in a cryogenic vat. Location known to no one but the lab director. Waiting for science to make the leap to defrost him.”
Satish cocks his head, it and gives me a sidelong stare. “That’s how he terrorized your kids—telling them he had plans to return from the dead.”
“Return revitrified.” I spit out the word as if scalds my tongue. “Very creepy if he gave them any details. Which, I’m sure, he gave them plenty of facts intermixed with his warnings. Maybe he included a picture of a cryogenic lab ...”
“Jesus—sonuvabitch.”
The image of me reduced to a toddler trapped inside my own body evaporates, and I straighten my shoulders. “He did a job on his children. On me, not so much. I’ve tried talking to them. They shot me down. Refused to talk to Shosanna. Until Maverick was killed, we’ve never mentioned death or dying in our house. Now, with Jenn … why haven’t they freaked?”
He opens and closes a fist. “What about talking to Alexandra’s shrink?”
“On my agenda. Once Alexandra gets better.” If Rachel can bring Alexandra back, I’ll trust her with the second scariest of my secrets. The skeleton Satish guards for me.
“What about you?” he takes my numb fingers into his warm, uncallused hands. “Do you need to talk to someone?”
“I’m not afraid. He’s dead.”