Three rings, and then Frank’s calm and even voice spoke on the other end of the line: “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Why you calling me from this—” Frank cut himself off. Then, concerned, his voice lower: “Why are you out of breath? There a problem?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said, his voice pinched tight, “you might say that.”

CHAPTER 10

THE HANDFUL OF childhood memories Ellie had of her brother were either snapshots or brief videos attached to bursts of intense emotion: young Ellie scared and wearing incredibly bright, almost neon orange inflatable floaties around her tiny arms and fiercely gripping J.C.’s hand as they stepped together into a pool for the first time. J.C. insisting on wearing them when he took a bath, afraid he was going to drown—and also insisting on wearing a swimming mask, because he was terrified of getting water on his face. Ellie wailing when she discovered J.C. had given the doll she named Miss Bee-bee a haircut that had left her looking like something from a science experiment gone horribly wrong. Oh, here was a really funny memory, one of her favorites, that always made her smile: J.C., three, maybe four years old, sitting buck naked on the toilet and gripping the seat for dear life so he wouldn’t fall in, his face a dark red from straining to crap, tears running down his cheeks as he scream-sobbed, “Poopy, get out of my body!”

Ellie had had no idea her brother was a carrier until after he’d been abducted. She also had no memory of that night. She had been staying at the home of her mother’s friend, a woman who also lived in Westmont, a suburb of Los Angeles. Her mother had to drive out early the next morning to Children’s Hospital to discuss ear tube surgery—because of J.C.’s chronic ear infections—and she couldn’t do that while trying to juggle a pair of rambunctious twins.

Ellie vaguely recalled staying with her mother’s friend—an older woman with graying hair who loved wearing scarves—for two days, maybe three or four. She couldn’t recall the name of the friend, but what she could recall, vividly, was coming home and seeing the bandages on her mother’s still-swollen face, her left arm in a sling because she had broken her arm. Her mother was crying, and Ellie was crying, too, even though she didn’t yet know what had happened, but it had to be bad, real bad, because her mother looked all hurt and banged up, and the car was packed with boxes.

During the drive to Maryland, her mother told her that J.C. was a carrier, which meant he had very special blood that could heal people, make them look younger. Very bad people had abducted him. You’re not a carrier, her mother explained, but these bad people think you are and may come back for you. That’s why we’re moving—and why we need to change our names. We need to make sure we’re safe—and we will be, sweetheart. I promise you, we’ll be safe. Her mother said it like she was trying to convince herself instead of her terrified six-year-old daughter.