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Ann pulled her dad’s jacket off the coat hook and tugged it around her body like a hug. She sniffed the collar where remnants of his aftershave still clung to the wooly fibers. She closed her eyes, breathed it in, and wrapped her arms around herself, pretending they were his.
Something in the lining poked her back. She took it off and prodded around it. Near the bottom cuff, she found some large haphazard stitches.
Ann grabbed a pair of scissors and cut through them. Inside, still stuck to a safety pin, was a square envelope with her name on it. The envelope contained a writable DVD and a folded piece of paper.
The paper was a copy of Maggie’s adoption certificate naming Derrick and Teresa Hart as the parents, signed by someone named Gail Park.
Heart pounding, Ann turned on her dad’s old tube TV and the DVD player. She put the disc inside and sat back on her heels.
The video was dark at first, the recording grainy, then the strike of a match and the glow of fire. A figure entered the frame and sat down. Ann grabbed the sides of the television.
Her dad sat before the camera. He wore a scraggly beard and his favorite Indiana Jones-style hat, a little worse for wear. His eyes sparkled in the flickering light.
“I hope this thing’s working,” he muttered. He focused on the lens and rubbed the corner of his right eye.
“Hey, Angel.” His pet name for her. “If you’re watching this, I’m probably dead. How cheesy is that?” He smiled and let out a laugh that held no mirth. “But it’s true.” His eyes shifted down. “Where to start . . . There’s too much to tell you. I don’t have a lot of time.” He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes hard.
“I’m sorry this is going to be so cryptic, but I know you’ll figure everything out. You’re smart. If this gets into the wrong hands . . .” He shook his head.
Bram Logan sighed on the screen. The sigh was full of weary exhaustion. Ann sighed with him.
“I’m so tired,” he whispered. “I’ve been running . . .” He cleared his throat again. His eyes twinkled with tears and jumped to the lens. “I am so proud of you and what you have accomplished. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be around for you when you needed me. I listened to every one of your voicemails. Saved them. Every time I heard your voice, your plea for help, my heart broke.”
Ann’s eyes welled with tears.
“It was for the plan. It was all for the plan. You needed to come home. I hope you are home.” He looked to the right of the camera then back. “I know you’re home. You have to be . . . the book, the girl . . . the angel in the box.” His brow furrowed. “There are forces at play beyond most people’s understanding. Beyond your belief system.”
Ann slouched a little. Was he going to go into some strange rant like Louise now?
His eyes drifted from the camera, and he looked into the middle distance. “God, I hope she’s safe.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial way, and when he spoke again, his voice was lowered.
“I took care of both records, and I put something for you in the angel’s hideout.” He nodded one slow dip of his chin. “It might be helpful. If she’s safe, all is well.”
The video went silent. Her dad stared off again. She touched his face on the screen, wishing she could feel the stubble of his beard.
“I know you have a lot of questions, and I wish I was there to answer them for you. To fight by your side. I don’t even know if you’ll get this in time, or at all. I have to believe, though.”
He sighed, and Ann let out a long breath at the same time.
“If you’re watching this, Raghib followed my instructions and contacted you. You can trust him.”
She paused the video and stared at her dad’s mid-word face. She’d hung up on Raghib without even thinking to get his contact information. With no idea where he was or how to get in touch . . . She’d killed her only lead.
Way to go, Detective.
She pressed play.
“I have to go now, Annie. I . . . Remember . . .” His eyes met the screen, and for a few seconds, Ann felt like they were in the same room. The silence continued as if he were waiting for her to respond that she was listening—the way he always did.
“I’m listening,” she said, despite herself.
“You must believe, Ann. Summon your strength. Summon the angel.” His eyes bored into hers. “Summon the angel. It is the key. I hope you get this.”
He reached forward, and his hand obscured the screen. The television displayed the DVD player’s menu.
Ann stayed on the floor staring at the menu options but not seeing them. He really was gone. Grief spilled into her body. She got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge, drank it as fast as she could, then another, and another, until her belly filled with gas and she let out a horrendous belch, followed by a giggle. Then she drank the last one.
Numb. Just the way she liked to feel, but her woozy brain kept cycling through key points of the video.
The book, the girl. Angel’s hideout. What the hell was the angel’s hideout?
Then the patch of healing skin over her heart started to burn again. The blue-white glow spread from her heart down her arms to her hands. Ann doubled over, prepared for the onslaught of pain, but it didn’t come. The feeling subsided and the glow dimmed until it disappeared altogether.