Chapter 40 - Dave

“Well, it sounds like your story checks out,” the officer says as he closes a manilla folder and looks at me with a nod.

“Imagine that,” I respond sarcastically. He says nothing, only stands up and opens the door for me.

I’ve been stuck in that interrogation room for three hours. I told them everything I knew. I told them about my grandfather, gave them the names of the nurses, told them to check the CCTV. It’s killing me, being away from Izzy. I need to see her and to make sure she’s ok.

I hope she didn’t see my text. It would kill me to think that as she was going through that trauma she had the added stress of thinking I was mad at her. I shouldn’t have doubted her like that.

“Your girlfriend is at the New York Presbyterian Hospital,” the officer tells me. I nod.

“Thanks.”

I walk out of the station and breathe deeply once I’m outside. The dim light of early morning is just starting to break over the horizon. I’ve been questioned, interrogated, suspected for multiple hours. I wanted to throttle the officers, punch them in the face at the mere suggestion that I was involved. My mind is reeling. They told me Izzy’s mom took Jess, but how is that possible? I need to talk to Izzy. I pull out my phone and look at the address of the hospital.

Izzy’s house is on the way, so I’ll go pick up my car and drive to the hospital. With any luck I can take her home with me today. I grab a cab and within a few minutes we’re back at her apartment. I look at the tall building, its dark windows staring back at me like empty eyes. I look away from the house as a shiver run down my spine.

Within a few steps I’m at my car. I check the front windscreen - no parking ticket. The black Mercedes looks a little out of place sandwiched between a rusty old pickup and a worn sedan. I pull my keys out of my pocket and press the ‘unlock’ button, grabbing the handle and opening the door.

“So you must be her new mysterious benefactor,” a raspy female voice calls out from behind me. I turn slowly and my jaw drops.

Vera Daniels.

The woman who killed my family.

There she is, dressed in old baggy jeans and a faded jacket. Her hair is sticking out in every which direction, streaked wit grey and white. I can see Izzy’s features in her - the high cheekbones and fine nose - but it’s like they’ve been corrupted. Where the features are striking on Izzy’s face, balanced out by the softness of her eyes and the curve of her lips, in Vera they look harsh and unforgiving.

Her eyes are staring at me with fierce intensity. They’re not hazel-coloured like Izzy’s, although they have the same shape. They’re black. As she stares at me I see a flicker of recognition and all of a sudden she’s laughing.

“Well if it isn’t little David Langley,” she says with a snarl. Her lip curls up on one side to reveal her yellowing teeth.

I say nothing.

“How did you get involved with my daughter?” She asks.

“Are you still calling her your daughter? You haven’t been around in ten years.”

“That’s true,” she says with a nod, taking a step closer. I feel my whole body tense. My hand is still grabbing onto my car door, keeping it open beside me. “I left ten years ago right after that tragic accident.”

I bristle.

“Where’s Jess?” I bark. She laughs again and I feel a wave of cold fear wash over me. She doesn’t care about her daughters at all. I’m staring at pure evil personified.

“Jess is safe. For now,” she says. She nods to the car, then flips up the hem of her shirt. I see a glimpse of hard black metal. My blood runs cold as I realise it’s a handgun. I flick my eyes up to hers and she grins. “Let’s go for a drive. Haven’t been in a car this nice before.” She pauses and grins, staring at me with her dead black eyes. “I did crash into one once, though.”

The rage boils up inside me and I glance around, trying to assess my options. I should call the police, but how to do that without her knowing? She has a gun, and I have nothing. I don’t want to get in my car with her but I don’t see any other way. I need to help find Jess, and maybe she’ll take me to her. I need to help Izzy.

If it means sitting next to the woman who killed my family, then that’s what I need to do.

Nodding, I gesture to the passenger’s seat. She grins at me and stalks over to the other side of the car, slipping in and closing the door. I sit in the driver’s seat and try to control my breathing. She shifts and reaches for her waistband, pulling the handgun out and laying it casually across her lap.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. My thoughts are racing. How can I get to my phone and call the police without her seeing?

“For now we’re just driving,” she responds. I can sense her turning her head towards me. “Isn’t this ironic, us in a car together, after what happened. I couldn’t think of anything so perfect!”

Her laugh grates on my ears like nails on a chalkboard. ‘Perfect’ is the last word I’d use to describe this situation.