Chapter 2 - THE MAN ON THE WRONG NUMBER
“My mommy won’t wake up.”
Nathan Pierce sat down slowly.
“Sweetheart, what’s your name?”
The child sniffed.
“Kira.”
“Kira, my name is Nathan.”
Another tiny voice cried somewhere behind her.
Nathan heard the sound and forced himself to breathe evenly.
“Who else is with you?”
“My brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Caden.”
“How old are you?”
“Three.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
Three.
Both of them.
Alone.
“All right, Kira. I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?”
“I want Mommy.”
“I know.”
He kept his voice low.
“We’re going to help Mommy.”
That was a promise he had no right to make yet.
He made it anyway.
Nathan grabbed his cell phone with his free hand and texted his assistant.
CALL 911. CHILD ON LANDLINE. TRACE THIS NUMBER. NOW.
His assistant, Rachel Kim, called him immediately.
He rejected it.
Text only.
DON’T CALL ME. I NEED THIS LINE OPEN.
Kira was crying harder.
Nathan heard something scrape.
“Kira?”
“I’m getting Mommy water.”
“No.”
He spoke more firmly.
“Don’t give Mommy anything to drink while she’s asleep.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“Because I need you to keep her safe.”
That answer worked.
“Okay.”
“Can you tell me where you live?”
“Our house.”
Nathan almost laughed from terror.
“Yes. What street?”
Kira said something that sounded like “Marlboro.”
“Marble?”
“No.”
“Mar-bur.”
Nathan typed possibilities into his phone.
Columbus.
Marburn?
Marborough?
His assistant sent:
911 tracing. KEEP HER TALKING.
Nathan leaned toward the desk.
“Kira, is there anything by the door with words on it?”
“I can’t read.”
“That’s okay. Can you look out the window?”
A pause.
Footsteps.
Then:
“There’s a red car.”
Nathan rubbed his forehead.
“Anything else?”
“Big trash.”
“Dumpster?”
“What’s dumster?”
“Never mind.”
Caden began crying loudly.
“I hungry!”
Kira yelled away from the phone:
“WAIT, CADEN.”
Nathan heard her small feet moving.
Then the receiver thumped against something.
“Kira?”
No answer.
His heart climbed into his throat.
“Kira?”
“I’m here.”
He exhaled.
“What happened?”
“Caden wanted peanut butter.”
“Did he get it?”
“No.”
Good.
He didn’t want two unsupervised toddlers handling jars, knives, chairs, or anything else.
His cell phone buzzed.
TRACE PENDING. COLUMBUS POLICE REQUESTING LANDLINE PROVIDER.
Nathan stood.
His office occupied the twenty-first floor of Pierce Freight Solutions downtown.
He could see half the city through his windows.
Somewhere below, maybe three miles away, maybe twelve, a woman was unconscious on a kitchen floor while two children waited beside her.
“What color is your building?” he asked.
“Brown.”
Of course.
“How many floors?”
“I don’t know floors.”
“That’s okay.”
He thought.
“Does Mommy ever tell people your address?”
“Yes.”
“What does she say?”
Kira became quiet.
Then slowly:
“Two… four… something.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
Think like a three-year-old.
“Do you get mail?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Little silver box.”
“Can you reach it?”
“No.”
Good.
Don’t send her outside.
“Kira, stay inside.”
“Okay.”
“Can you tell me Mommy’s name?”
“Mommy.”
Nathan almost smiled.
“What do grown-ups call her?”
“Amara.”
Amara.
He typed it.
“Last name?”
“Johnson.”
His assistant texted immediately.
POLICE HAVE ADDRESS. 247 MARBURY AVE APT 3C. EMS EN ROUTE.
Nathan exhaled so hard he nearly dropped the phone.
“Kira.”
“Yes?”
“People are coming to help.”
“Who?”
“Police and doctors.”
“Mommy says police only if bad.”
“No.”
He softened his voice.
“Police come when people need help too.”
“Are they mad?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
A knock came through the receiver.
Hard.
Kira screamed.
Nathan stood.
“It’s okay. Kira, listen to me.”
More pounding.
“Columbus Fire Department!”
Nathan heard it.
Relief nearly took his knees out.
“Kira, those are the helpers.”
“I can’t open.”
“Don’t climb.”
“I know.”
The firefighter outside shouted:
“Kira? Can you hear me?”
She yelled:
“Yes!”
“Stay back from the door!”
Nathan’s grip tightened.
Then came a crash.
Wood splitting.
Caden screamed.
Kira screamed louder.
Nathan stayed on the line.
“It’s okay! Kira, I’m still here.”
Boots.
Voices.
Then a man:
“We’ve got two kids.”
Another:
“Adult female, unresponsive but breathing.”
Nathan shut his eyes.
Breathing.
Good.
A firefighter picked up the cordless phone.
“Hello?”
Nathan answered immediately.
“My name is Nathan Pierce. The child dialed me by mistake. I’ve been on the line.”
The firefighter paused.
“You called this in?”
“My assistant did.”
“Mom appears severely dehydrated. Possible hypoglycemia. We’re transporting.”
“Which hospital?”
“I can’t disclose—”
“I understand.”
He stopped himself.
Not his family.
Not his right.
Then Kira’s voice came from farther away.
“Nathan?”
The firefighter looked down.
Nathan could hear it in the silence.
“She wants the phone.”
“Please.”
Kira came back.
“Nathan?”
“I’m here.”
“Mommy going in truck.”
“Yes.”
“Can we go?”
“The firefighters will take care of you.”
“I want Mommy.”
“I know.”
“You coming?”
Nathan froze.
That question changed the room.
He was a stranger.
A wrong number.
A man with an acquisition meeting in twenty-three minutes.
He should say no.
Instead he looked at the eight-million-dollar logistics report on his desk.
Then at the city beyond the glass.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come.”
He ended the call only after the firefighter promised both children would ride with police to the hospital.
Then Nathan walked out of his office.
Rachel stood.
“Acquisition team is waiting.”
“Cancel.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“You never cancel acquisitions.”
“Today I do.”
Twenty minutes later, Nathan entered Grant Medical Center.
He found Kira first.
She was sitting on a plastic chair in the emergency department wearing purple pajamas and hospital socks three sizes too large.
Caden sat beside her holding the stuffed dinosaur.
A social worker crouched nearby.
Kira saw Nathan.
She stood.
The social worker reacted immediately.
“Sir?”
Nathan stopped.
Good.
Security.
Boundaries.
“My name is Nathan Pierce. I was the person on the phone.”
Kira pointed.
“That’s Nathan.”
The social worker looked surprised.
Then cautious.
“You came.”
Kira did not wait for permission.
She ran toward him.
Nathan barely had time to crouch before a three-year-old he had never met wrapped both arms around his neck.
He froze.
Then carefully hugged her.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
Caden approached suspiciously.
“You got food?”
Nathan almost laughed.
The social worker finally smiled.
“We can handle that.”
Thirty minutes later, both twins were eating crackers and applesauce.
Nathan sat across from them.
He had no reason to remain.
He remained.
A physician came through the doors.
“Family for Amara Johnson?”
The social worker stood.
The children looked confused.
Nathan stood too.
Then stopped.
“I’m not family.”
The doctor looked toward the twins.
The social worker said:
“Mother’s only listed emergency contact is disconnected. We’re trying to reach relatives.”
Nathan’s stomach tightened.
“How is she?”
The doctor looked at the social worker.
Then at Nathan.
“Are you authorized?”
“No.”
He hated the word.
The social worker disappeared with the physician.
Ten minutes later, Kira fell asleep leaning against Nathan’s arm.
Caden followed.
Nathan did not move.
At nearly midnight, the social worker returned.
“Mr. Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Johnson is awake.”
Relief hit unexpectedly hard.
“She’s asking about her children.”
“Good.”
“She also wants to know who you are.”
Nathan looked down at Kira sleeping against him.
“That seems fair.”
The social worker hesitated.
“There is another problem.”
Of course.
“What?”
“Children’s Services has been notified.”
Nathan’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because the children were alone with an unconscious parent.”
“She collapsed.”
“I know.”
“The apartment had almost no food.”
“I know.”
“She needs admission overnight.”
Nathan understood before she finished.
“There’s nobody to take the twins.”
“Not yet.”
He looked at the children.
“What happens?”
“Emergency foster placement may be necessary.”
Kira stirred.
Her fingers tightened around Nathan’s sleeve.
He stared at the social worker.
He had known these children for less than four hours.
May you like
But somewhere between the wrong phone number and the emergency room, leaving had stopped feeling simple.
“What needs to happen,” he asked quietly, “for that not to be necessary?”
