The weekend passed smoothly—although, silence filled the walls of our home most of the time. When Jackson made his way into the house early Sunday morning—finally sober enough to crawl out of my car—I rolled over and faced the other direction, unable to look at him.
He didn’t wake up until early afternoon, which was fine by me, but the second he stumbled out of the room, he asked where his truck was, and I just knew the rest of my day would be ruined. I told him it was still in my sister’s driveway, but he didn’t seem to have any recollection of the day before or how it’d even gotten there. He simply stared at me with confused, narrowed eyes, and then walked away.
To make matters worse, I had to drive him to Sara’s to pick up his truck in complete silence, without even the sound of the radio to fill the space. My thoughts were noisy enough without adding to it.
He never asked any of the details or why his truck was there. I wasn’t sure if he remembered and chose not to speak of it, or if he had no memory of his actions and just assumed this behavior was normal.
But I was thankful of one thing—it was finally Monday morning. I could distract my mind with work and immerse myself in doing my part to help others with their problems instead of focusing on my own.
As I drove through morning traffic, my phone rang, and Sara’s face lit up the screen.
“Hello.”
“Holy shit, dude. It’s a good thing I wasn’t holding my breath waiting for your ass to call,” she scolded into the phone, and I felt guilty for not keeping my word and calling her like she had asked.
“Sorry, I sent you a text.” It was a lame attempt to defend my actions.
“Yeah, well that’s not good enough,” she reminded me. “You agreed to call…a text is not a phone call.”
“I know. I just didn’t feel like talking after what happened. It was embarrassing,” I admitted, still disgusted by the whole situation.
“I get that, but I don’t count. You can’t fucking ignore me. I’ll hunt your ass down.” She giggled, and I knew she was right.
I should have known better than to try and shut her out. “I’m sorry. How’s Mama?” I hoped my attempt to change the subject would be successful.
“She’s okay. I could tell she wondered what happened to you on Saturday. I told her you didn’t feel well, but I don’t think she bought it.”
The thought of Mama knowing what kind of man Jackson had turned into felt like a punch in the gut. Sure, he didn’t beat the hell out of me or torture me like the bastard had done to her, but I knew I didn’t have the life she’d wanted for me. The marriage she’d wished for me. And knowing it hurt her was far worse than the fact that I was actually living it.
“Any more nightmares?” I held my breath for a better answer than the one I knew she’d give.
“Yeah, they weren’t as frequent, but they were so fucking intense. I just wish I knew what they were about,” Sara mumbled into the phone, although we both knew what they were about. They were about the one person who continued to haunt her—had haunted all of us for most of our lives. And it didn’t seem to be close to ending anytime soon.
And I fucking hated him for it.
As I rounded the corner, I saw a crowd had gathered in the parking lot outside of our small office building. I was surprised until I noticed the different types of vehicles, and then dread filled my senses.
“Sara, I gotta go.” I focused my attention on the people scurrying around the building.
“What’s wrong?”
“Um, I don’t know. There are cops and stuff at my job. Shit. Oh my God.” My voice was low and shaky.
“Call me when you can. Love you,” she quipped, and I ended the call once I sent my love back to her.
I pulled into the lot and found the closest spot available. My eyes darted in all directions as I grabbed my keys, but I forgot my purse and lunch inside. I walked closer to the uniformed officers paired with a couple of men in suits. I started to move past them, praying this location was just a coincidence and they weren’t actually here at my job.
“Ma’am, you can’t go in there.” A female officer held her arm out in front of me, halting my steps immediately.
“Um, I work here. What’s going on?” I peered around her, trying to find Amie in the crowd of people.
She owned this building; surely, she knew what was going on.
“What’s your name?” she asked, pulling a notepad from her back pocket and clicking a pen against her thigh while staring at me and waiting for my answer.
“Um, Rachel. Rachel Fisher.” I stumbled over my words, staring at the scratch pad and wondering why she wrote my name down.
I glanced at the men in suits standing in a tight circle and noticed Amie’s husband behind them, obvious distress marring his features. I’d never met him personally but immediately recognized him from the photo on Amie’s bookshelf. He had on khaki’s and a bright-yellow Polo, in direct contrast with his dark skin. A light dusting of scruff covered his cheeks, a little more than a five o’clock shadow. But the pain on his face almost caused me to drop to my knees.
“Is Amie okay?” My bottom lip trembled, scared of the answer she would give me.
“Detective, can you come over here?” The female officer’s voice boomed over her shoulder, and a man in a dark-blue suit headed in our direction. I couldn’t take my eyes off Amie’s husband and the distress on his face.
“You’re Mrs. Fisher? You’re the secretary?” he asked, pulling out his own hand-held notebook.
“Yes, is Amie okay? Where is she? She always gets here early.” My hands began to shake when the realization of what was going on hit me.
“When is the last time you saw Mrs. Brooks?” His tone, coupled with his giving me a once-over with squinted eyes, rubbed me the wrong way. But I tried to ignore what felt like an interrogation and did my best to focus on the fact that he had a job to do.
“Um, Friday afternoon. She let me leave a few minutes early. Is she okay?” I felt like a broken record repeating the same question over and over.
“Mrs. Brooks has been missing since Saturday.” He spoke with a clear purpose and continued to scribble on the tablet of paper.
“What?” I placed my hand over my trembling lips and ignored the tear sliding down my cheek.
“You haven’t heard from her since you left the office on Friday, is that correct?” He lifted his gaze from his notes and raised his brow.
“Yes. We never really talk outside of work. She’s my boss. She’s a good boss, though.” My voice cracked and fear washed over me.
“I’m going to leave my card with you. If you think of anything that might be helpful, please contact me.” He slid the card into my shaky hand before walking away.
“You can go ahead and leave, ma’am. We have your information if we need you,” the female officer informed me before retreating to her co-workers.
I returned to my car, but peeked over my shoulder numerous times along the way.
He did this.
I wanted to tell them. They needed to know. But fear kept me moving.
I’d left a man to die in a ditch.
And now he was coming after me.
It wasn’t just the lookalikes anymore.
He was here.
He took Amie.
And I was next.