“Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

Seconds pass. He says, “I think you want to ask me a question.”

“Where is Matty?”

“He’s with me.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“That’s up to you.”

“What do you want?”

“You know the answer.”

She leans on the steering wheel, her forehead against her fist. Murmur of the engine. A hazy light. The snowflakes land on the windows.

“Don’t say it,” he says.

“Say what?”

“The thing people always say.”

“What do they say?”

“They say, ‘I’m begging you.’”

There is silence. She can hear him breathing into the receiver.

She waits.

“See,” he says. “You’re better than that.”

“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“If you kill him, you won’t get the money.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t have to tell you what you already know.”

She waits. Games. Always games.

“I met your friend Jack. He has a pretty face. Doesn’t he? Do you think his face will stay pretty?”

She twists on the wipers and watches the snow slide off the glass. She looks at the road. As if there is something there to be seen. But there isn’t.

“Even so,” he says, “you should try to save them.”

“You want the money. But you want something else even more.”

“Clever bird. Tell me. What do I want?”

His voice is soft. So full of need.

“We used to be friends,” he says. “We aren’t anymore. Why is that?”

“We were never friends.”

“It’s because of you. You made a choice. I can’t take it away from you.”

“No. You can’t.”

“Life is a labyrinth. Do you see? Every moment is a turning. The pattern is already there. A person’s path through the world. The angles and curves. Dead ends. You’ve been in the tangle of it since you were born. You can lose yourself. Can’t you? End, start, middle. You can get turned around.”

“And maybe,” she says, “you escape.”

There is a pause.

“No, you don’t. You don’t. You don’t.”

She doesn’t answer.

“You are mine, Ava. You are mine.”

She doesn’t answer.

She bites her lip, tastes blood.

“Where are you? Tell me where you are. Tell me.”

She watches the road. She takes a breath. She asks the question: “Where are you?”

“Where I am doesn’t matter. What matters is where I will be.”

“Where will you be?”

“Think about it. You know.”

After he disconnects, she just sits there. Watching the road. Snow twisting down. No sign of life. She turns off the engine. There is little gas left. She closes her eyes and exhales a breath of pale air and waits for Jack. He will come back. If she leaves, he won’t know how to find her. She won’t leave.