I manage to get a few hours of sleep before Mom wakes me. Saturday became a day of long talks with the police, which actually felt more like an interrogation. It was grueling and depressing when the police told us they didn't have any leads on Dad's whereabouts. It got worse when they told us he's one of their suspects in the murder of our technicians along with the intruder we tied up.
Their only lead seems to be in the intruder, but I get the feeling they aren't getting much from him.
The day improved dramatically when Sun sent me a text saying Danny okayed the trip as long as I get my mom's signed permission on a form she attached. Another bonus was a text from Jake saying applying for our visas under Scientific Research got us an expedited Asiana Visa.
Nothing is holding us back. Knowing we are going to do something rather than just fill out paperwork and answer the same questions over and over again to the police, calms me.
But I don't even get a chance to talk to Mom about the trip until we trudge back into the house after being at the police station all day.
"I'm going to Bangladesh to find Dad," I blurt. Then I hold my breath, waiting for her to explode.
I'm not disappointed.
"Bangladesh?" Mom sputters, her eyes popping out of their sockets. "What do you mean you're going to Bangladesh? Is this some kind of joke?"
"Nope. I'm dead serious."
"Whatever for? Why would anyone take him there? Also, no. Absolutely not. I don't even—I can't do this."
It's too complicated to explain how we think that Jake's dreams, the $81 million bank heist, and the intruder's dream are all linked. Just thinking about it from her point of view makes our theory sound insane. Which, it probably is, but desperation does that to a person. I decide to keep things simple.
"Sun's brother has a plane and he's offered to fly us there tomorrow. We think there's a chance the kidnappers took Dad there. It will be a quick trip. We won't even be there more than two days."
She gapes at me like I told her I'd signed up for a one-way trip to Jupiter.
"Did you not hear me? You cannot, under any circumstances leave the country. And you definitely should not go where you think the kidnappers are! What are you thinking?" She starts pacing the room and launches into a ten-minute lecture on how irresponsible and unreasonable my idea is. Finally, she crosses her arms and plops into a chair at the kitchen table with a tired sigh. "Leave this for the police to figure out. They'll find your father. I know it."
Statistics say that with every hour passing, the slimmer the chance of that person found is." I rub my arms and grit my teeth. "We're running out of time and after talking to the police today, I don't have much confidence in them. They're making Dad sound like he's the murderer and thief!"
"They are the experts in this, not you." With shaking hands, she rubs her eyes and blows out a long breath. "Right now, we just need to be here and ready for when your father returns."
I'm so tired, I could fall asleep standing up. Maybe I am sleeping, and this is a horrible dream I can't control or escape. Discouraged, I turn to the kitchen counter and go about the task of making tea for both of us. I set our mugs on the counter, souvenirs from when we went to the Association of Dreams conference last year. Mine is a thick square celadon mug from Seoul that I bought at a local market while Mom's is her favorite teacup from Japan with a blue rim, dainty and delicate like her. This year, the conference is supposed to be in Warsaw and Dad was hoping to present the overview of the next stage of his studies on the Dreamscape.
My stomach churns. Now I don't even know what the next few hours will look like for us.
I place the tea bags into our mugs, trying to think about how I can convince her.
"I'm eighteen, Mom," I said. "If anyone understands this situation, it's our MaxLife team. We're going together and we can help each other out with the leads we have. I know the police will be on this, but I bet we're already one step ahead of them."
Mom remains silent. I'm not sure if she's thinking through what I'm saying or if her mind is locked away in her horror of Dad's disappearance. I pour hot water over the teabags and then add a teaspoon of sugar to mine, tapping the spoon against the rim twice. Just like I've done for the last seven years. I've always heard that when people's lives spin out of control, they revert to what they can control or what they know best.
"Honey, you're too young to understand the full complications of all of this situation." She closes her eyes and sighs in exasperation. "You need to leave this up to the experts. They've been trained for this kind of stuff."
I go to hand Mom her teacup, but her hands hang on her knees limp. So I set the cup beside her, then grab my own mug, soaking its warmth between my palms.
"I'm going to call Aunt Stacey," I finally say. "She'll want to be here to help out around the house."
Mom runs her hands through her hair, which is wild and sticks out like carrots. Dark circles ring her eyes, and her skin looks pale, too pale. She doesn't even bother with the tea, instead, she stands and shuffles to the counter. She pops two sleeping pills into her palm and swallows them without any water. Then she pads out of the kitchen toward her room.
"We'll talk about this in the morning," she says over her shoulder.
When her door shuts, I abandon my tea and storm into my room. I clench my fists in frustration and then pound them into my pillow until I've no energy left, and I sag onto my bed.
I get what she's saying, but she doesn't realize how much we already know about this crime and how deep it is. There's no way I'm going to tell her that I broke the rules of MaxLife to enter an assassin's dream or had Jake hack into the Federal Reserve or work with someone on the dark web.
I just need to focus. I shuffle to my mirror where all of my motivational quotes are written on sticky notes. One in particular catches my attention.
The moment you give up is the moment you let someone else win.
I peel that note off my mirror, staring at those words, letting them wrap around my mind and soul. Then I pocket it along with a few others. Taking a long, deep breath, I pick up a pen and print out the form Sun sent me. Before I can stop myself, I scrawl Mom's signature on the form. Technically I don't need her permission since I'm eighteen, but Sun's brother is covering his bases. I stare at the paper, hoping I'm making the right decision.
By the time she wakes up, I'll be gone.