Free Point of Balance by J.G. Jurado

sent the text right when he did. He wanted to make it obvious he was eavesdropping on my every whisper. But that morning I had to go to work. He had made it abundantly clear I was to keep to my regular routine and do nothing at all to draw attention to myself. I was sure he had tapped my home phone and cell. But would he have tapped the hospital phones too? I kind of doubted that. An attendant told me once therewere more than nine hundred lines in the building. White couldn’t possibly tap them all. Unless he had hacked into the exchange and screened calls to particular numbers, such as 911 or the FBI. Damn, I didn’t even know whether such a thing was possible.
    At that very moment my cell rang. The caller ID was blank.
    It was him.
    â€œGood morning, Dave. You’d better get a move on, there’s bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sixteenth.”
    â€œThanks for the traffic update,” I said in a tone which belied my words.
    â€œStop looking at that lamp. There’s no camera there.” I jumped back from it and turned my head every which way.
    â€œNeither is there one on that picture, nor that wall, Dave. Or maybe there is. That’s none of your business. You will not search for cameras or bugs. Should you find one by chance, you will leave it be. We don’t want to lose touch, do we?”
    â€œGuess not,” I mumbled, swallowing my humiliation.
    â€œNow you have to call Julia’s school and tell them she’s sick and won’t be back until Monday. Go on, I’m waiting.”
    I obeyed, using the landline. When I picked up my cell again, White was humming a tune I couldn’t make out.
    â€œGood job, Dave. Just one more thing. You’ll be spending a lot of time in a huge building full of telephones, computers and all kinds of other items that are perilous for your daughter. You will be tempted to use them to cry for help. Don’t be. You may not think so, but I am watching. Continually. In more ways than you can comprehend.”
    The message chimes sounded. I pulled the phone away from my ear. A text had now landed with a photo. When I opened it I saw my daughter imprisoned in that filthy pit. She had her eyes shut and her arms were wrapped around her knees, her head resting on them. She was trying to sleep.
    â€œIf you don’t play ball, Dave, this will be the last picture you see of her. Don’t forget.”
    He hung up without giving me a chance to reply. I looked at the photo for a second longer, but it evaporated in the blink of an eye.
    I looked for it like crazy in my inbox and the photo gallery, but it had been deleted from both. That shithead had total control over my phone, a point he made in a text I got that very moment.
    TIME FOR WORK.
    Cussing again, I got into my car and tried to think.
    A half hour later, as I went down to the changing room, my mind was boiling over.
    I tried to weigh all my options, but some things I had worked out. First, White was full of it. He couldn’t watch me every second, the less so in as big a place as that. Second, I had to get in touch with someone. Third, if I, or whoever I got in touch with, took one wrong step, Julia was dead.
    Because I had seen his face, they would likely kill me too. Although if I lost Julia, I cared little what they might do to me.
    I went to my locker, but instead of grabbing my own white coat and scrub set, I walked to the storeroom and took out some of the worn gear that smelled of cheap bleach, which the residents wear.
    All of us surgeons are alpha personality types. Men and women in this job all fight to be top dog, the best there is. We spend our whole day in pissing contests and the same goes for how we dress in surgery. Believe it or not, they make overpriced monogrammed scrubs and caps in the most outrageous colors imaginable. That’s how we set ourselves apart from the residents, nurses, staff physicians and others. We’re on top, and we like to rub it in.
    I