Chapter 29
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Andrew
I force myself to chew and swallow the overcooked cheeseburger. My all liquid diet was starting to get the wrong kind of attention from my sister, so I have to have at least one solid meal a day. It’s not worth it to deal with her constant nagging otherwise.
Earlier today, I finally followed one of her suggestions and attempted to paint. Needless to say, that was a shit show. I touched the brush to canvas to create tranquil landscapes, but every image twisted into nightmarish figures. Even my art can’t bring me peace anymore.
She stole away in the night with the best parts of me, and all that’s left is ash.
It’s been seven weeks, almost two months since she left. Whoever said time heals all wounds, is full of shit. Like a fresh scar, the stitches on my heart rip open every morning and ooze pain throughout the day. If she had tragically died, I could mourn her and move on, but she chose to leave, and all I have left is my bitter soul.
I wave two fingers at the hot bartender. “Make the next one a double, sweetheart.”
She shoots me a seductive wink as she sashays over to the liquor cabinet. She bends down to reach the last row of bottles, her ass cheeks on full display when her dress rides up over her thighs. No underwear, nice.
My dick doesn’t even twitch, the traitor.
“Been there, tapped that. Careful of the teeth, she’s a biter.” Chase slides onto a barstool as he snaps his teeth. “You realize it’s not even noon yet, right?”
Great, just the asshole I’ve been trying to avoid.
“Here you go handsome—Oh, Chase.” Her flirtatious smile transforms into disgust. “What do you want?”
He gives her a toothy smile. “Megan, baby, you know what I like.” Rolling her eyes, she walks briskly to the other end of the bar.
I throw back the first shot of whiskey. “You’re a pig.”
“You sound just like Beth. Growing up outnumbered by females really messed you up my man.”
My jaw tics. “Don’t talk about her, don’t even say her name. She told me what you did.”
“What? You gonna punch me again?” Chase goads.
Somewhere inside me, rage lights, flickers, and goes out. I don’t have the will, or the energy for anger. I’m hollowed out, haunted by the memory of her smile and ocean eyes. I suppose I’ve learned the one true cure for my anger—strip down my heart and soul until there’s nothing left.
I drain my next shot and move to a stool farther away, sliding the remaining shot glasses over with me. “No. I don’t want to fight anymore, just leave me alone, Chase.” I sigh when I hear shuffling and the sound of him moving to the stool beside me.
“You know instead of being a little Debbie Downer, you could actually help us.”
I glower over at him when he steals one of the shots and tosses it back. “Who is us exactly?”
“Me, and She Who Will Not be Named.”
“Could you not reference a noseless psycho when talking about my sister?”
“You told me not to say her name. . .”
“Chase,” I snap, “talk or fuck off.”
“Fine. We’ve been doing a little investigating, looking for clues and digging around.”
“My sister hates you,” I point out.
“We swap anything we find out through email on account of her not wanting to “see my ugly face”, but I guess one of our leads fell through in a major way, so we have a meeting soon over at your place.”
I scoff. “Leads? Clues? What is this a fucking Nancy Drew book?”
“Dude,” he says seriously, “I knew those books weren’t your sister’s.”
“Chase,” I warn.
“Look, while you’ve been drinking yourself into an early grave we’ve actually been doing shit to try to find her. I even spent a few days in Portland talking to our old co-workers and friends. Nobody has seen or heard from her. I’ll be honest, part of me hoped she did just run off because the alternative is a lot fucking worse, but I just don’t believe that’s what happened. I’m scared as fuck, Drew, she’s got a ton of enemies, and we can’t do this alone.”
I finish off the last shot, but his words have sobered me. Not once have I seriously entertained the fact that she didn’t just run off, but what if. . .? No. This is what she does, she runs. She made a promise, and she broke it.
End of story.
And on that note, time to get shit-faced.
“Meg—” Just as I open my mouth to ask for another round, the entrance door opens and light spills into the dim bar. Something around Megan’s neck catches the light and shines directly in my eye.
What the f—
It’s a crown. Her crown, hanging around the bartender’s neck.
I try to keep my voice casual as my heart thuds uncontrollably in my chest. “Megan, where did you get the necklace?”
“Hmm? This old thing?” she wraps her hand around the crown as she bites her lip nervously. “A friend gave it to me. Pretty isn’t it?”
I grit my teeth and slam my fist on the bar. “Bullshit.”
So much for acting natural.
Chase’s hand falls heavily on my shoulder. “What he meant to say is, our friend has been losing her mind trying to find that necklace. It was passed down from her mother who recently died of stomach cancer.” His words are laced with sadness.
Megan drops the necklace as she raises her hand to cover her mouth. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I was sweeping the back patio a few weeks ago, and found it lying under a pile of leaves. Here—” She undoes the clasp and drops the necklace in my outstretched hand. “I had no idea.”
“It’s fine, she will be relieved to get this back, thank you. Uh, Drew, you okay bud?”
Part of me knows Chase is talking, but I can’t focus on anything except the glittering crown that now sits in the palm of my hand. She never takes this necklace off. I even sat and watched her struggle as she cleaned it once, refusing to remove it. The clasp looks different, it must have been replaced, meaning it was probably broken.
A single clue that plants a seed of doubt in my mind.
A clue I could have found sooner, had I not been wallowing in self-pity.
What if—what if she really didn’t leave? What if something else happened? Something much more sinister?
It’s not possible, a ridiculous idea.
And yet.
I stare hard at the small crown and my body begins to tremble. Chase’s hands clamp down on my shoulders, and I’m wheeled outside the bar, but my mind is far away.
The lights inside me flip on one by one, and a red-hot fire threaded with rage and guilt moves through my veins at deadly speeds. A thousand thoughts and images fight for my attention, each one worse than the last—
Tessa bruised on the floor as a meaty fist wails on her.
She’s in a cage, skin and bones as she screams out my name.
Men are taking turns with her body, raping her as silent tears fall down her face.
Her bloated corpse is floating in the lake, bobbing with each wave.
Each scenario cuts into me like a blade.
“Calm down man, w—find her. Jesus—vein on your forehead—freaking me out, it—deep breath,” his voice cuts in and out like a poor signal on a radio.
My legs can no longer support me under the weight of my horrifying thoughts. Kneeling onto the sidewalk, I yank out a fistful of hair as the truth takes root in my soul.
She didn’t run.
She was stolen.
A murderous shriek rips through my body, then I take a deep breath.
And another.
Slowly, I wobble to my feet. I won’t allow myself to waste one more second wallowing in fear. All that matters is finding Tessa, and bringing her back home alive and well. Only then can I deal with such trivial emotions.
No matter what, I will find out who took her.
They will pay, oh, they will fucking pay.
And the price will be blood.