Chapter 39

Forrester

Forrester found Phil’s motorcycle outside the police station and started it up. It was a powerful machine. It wouldn’t be safe to drive in those conditions, but it would definitely be the fastest and that’s all he cared about.

He started it with a kick and rode down the street to the diner, flinching in pain at every movement of his muscles. When he got off the bike he limped as quickly as he could through the door.

“Forrester,” Kelly cried when she saw him. Her jaw literally dropped.

“Kelly,” Forrester said.

“Where the hell were you? Where’s Elle? We’ve been worried sick.”

“What do you mean?” Forrester said.

“She didn’t show up for work this morning. We dropped her home last night and we thought she’d be safe there. Her ex, Gris, has been harassing her.”

“She’s not here?” Forrester said.

“No,” Kelly said.

Grace came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Forrester watched as she approached. She seemed very mad. She walked all the way up to him and stopped when she was just inches from his face.

“Forrester Snow, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” Forrester said, but he didn’t offer any explanation. What good would it do now to make excuses? He had to find Elle.

“Your mother would be ashamed of you, standing up that poor girl the other day.”

“I never stood her up,” Forrester said. “I wouldn’t purposefully stand her up in a million years.”

Grace looked him over. She saw the bruises on his face, the way he was holding himself up on the counter, the obvious wounds he’d suffered during the past couple of days.

“Something went wrong,” Grace said. “Someone did something to you.”

Forrester shrugged. “You knew my mother?”

“Of course I did, but this isn’t the time to talk about that. You’ve got to find Elle.”

Forrester looked around the diner. “I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“I’ll tell you where,” Gracie said. “Her apartment.”

Kelly gave Forrester directions to the attic apartment and explained how to get a key to get in. Forrester half limped, half ran down the street toward it.

When he got there he knocked on her door. When there was no answer he started looking for Dennis. He went into the bar that occupied the ground floor of the building.

“Sir, are you Dennis?”

“That depends on who’s asking,” the old man said.

“My name’s Forrester Snow. I’m a friend of Elle’s. Your tenant upstairs.”

“Forrester Snow. I know that name.”

“Yes, sir. I grew up around these parts. You probably knew my father pretty well.”

The old man grimaced. “I knew him. He was no friend of mine, but I knew him.”

“I came home to bury him.”

“So you did,” Dennis said, nodding. “So you did.”

“I’m nothing like him, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Dennis nodded some more. “I’m sure you’re not. You’re the boy who got taken away, aren’t you? The one who was locked up with the pit bulls.”

Forrester nodded. Dennis looked at him closely and then sighed.

“Well, what can I do for you, Forrester Snow? You said you were a friend of Elle’s?”

“Yes, sir. And I need to get into her apartment.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I need to check if she’s all right. Her ex has been harassing her. He might have taken her away.”

“You know,” Dennis said, “I’m not supposed to let anyone in there.”

“This is a matter of life and death,” Forrester said.

Dennis nodded. “I don’t know about all that, but I can tell you’re trustworthy, son.” He dug into his pocket and came out with a set of keys. “It’s the silver one on the end. Have a look around, but don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Forrester said, hurrying back out to the street.

He unlocked the door and called out Elle’s name. There was no answer. He climbed the stairs and took in everything. A bed, made neatly, a hearth with the ashes of a small fire, a coffee pot over the fire. On the desk was a journal, and Forrester looked at the open page. It was a quote from a writer.

* * *

It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not.

* * *

He looked at the words. He didn’t pick up the journal because he assumed it was private, but he read the words on the open page over and over to himself.

That’s her, he thought. That’s who she is. That one sentence.

He understood the words perfectly, and he knew that Elle did too. They were both cut from the same cloth. More than anything in the world, they each wanted to be loved. But only on their own terms. The only love that had any value, was the true love of someone who knew who they really were. Neither of them wanted to have to hide their past. Neither of them wanted to have to apologize for what they’d been through in their childhoods. They wanted to be loved, really and truly loved, for everything they were. No more and no less.

He brought his fist down on the table.

The sound shocked him.

Gris had her.

He knew it. Gris had taken her back. He wanted to put her back in her box. And Forrester wasn’t going to allow it. Elle had the right to chose her own life. She had the right to be the person she wanted to be. She had a right to be loved for who she was.