The line rang. My stomach was actually in knots. I knew if someone called my parents at five-thirty in the morning, they would be pissed. Maybe not as much if I was missing, but enough that it made me nervous.
A man answered the phone. He didn’t sound sleepy, he sounded a little upset, not angry, but certainly not happy.
“Parakaló?”
“Um, hello. My name is Jennifer Meriwether. Is this Mr. Iordanou?”
“You mispronounce my name. What do you want? I need this line free.” He responded in a heavily accented tone.
I suddenly realized, my mind went blank. Damn it. This was the worst time for that to happen. I took a breath and tried to focus.
“I’m calling about your son, Zephyr.” I said.
“He’s not here.” He replied. “You’re calling because you have him?”
The sound of a woman talking
