Jackson frowned. “It wasn’t locked.”
Wyatt smiled. “Give it to me.”
Jackson frowned harder but handed the phone over, grateful he didn’t give it to Jimmy when he’d asked for it. They all watched while Wyatt went through Day’s phone, scrolling far faster than Jackson could have managed. “No pictures of the guy or the location. No phone calls. Hah,” he cried. “Look, he tried to text you, Jackson. He never got a chance to hit send,” he added, his voice not nearly as excited anymore.
“What’s it say?” Shepherd asked.
“Ser.” Wyatt now sounded deflated. Jackson didn’t blame him. What the fuck was he supposed to do with S.E.R.?
“Is it a code of some kind?” Calder asked in his slow southern drawl.
“None that I understand,” Wyatt said. “Only the first letter is capitalized. Could it be a name? A place?”
Jackson racked his brain to try to understand what Day might have been trying to spell and why he’d suddenly been interrupted. Was he still alive? Was he still breathing? “Fuck. I don’t know. He had a friend. A girl. Sarah.”
“Maybe she’s his stalker?” Charlie asked.
“She’s dead,” Jackson said, voice dull. “She died when Day was seventeen.”
The room went quiet, eyes downcast, nobody speaking. Jackson understood, though. There was nothing to say. They had no leads. No evidence but for a grainy photo of a man who meant nothing to any of them. Any of them except Day. Day who couldn’t tell them anything because he was gone. Snatched right out from under Jackson’s nose. Was he scared? Was he alive? Was he hurt? Was that fucking piece of shit hurting him even now while Jackson sat there, useless? Why hadn’t he just taken Day back to the office first?
“We’re gonna find him,” Webster said.
There was a sharp exhalation of breath from Wyatt and a strange almost moan of dread that chilled Jackson to his core. “I think maybe he found us.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jackson snapped.
This time, it was his own phone that Wyatt held up. He handed it to Jackson. “I subscribed to Day’s OnlyFans account the day we met at the office. It just sent me a notification that he’s planning on going live in an hour.”
All eyes looked at Jackson, and all the stalker’s taunts about Day staying untouched, about the stalker intending to take Day’s virginity, came rushing back. Hands shaking, he handed Wyatt back his phone.
“What’s that mean?” Robby asked. “What’s OnlyFans?”
Robby was the most naive of the group, a preacher who rescued kids and animals on his little farm up north. Charlie leaned close enough to whisper in Robby’s ear. The color drained from the boy’s face. Jackson was sure his complexion was ashen. He dropped down in the conference room chair. What did they do now?
Webster began typing on his laptop. “I’m going to try to find an IP address. The guy clearly seems to be unraveling. Maybe he’ll make a mistake.”
The man already made a mistake as far as Jackson was concerned, and as soon as Jackson found him, he wasn’t going to put him in jail. He would put him under it.
The scent of rot permeated Day’s nose, causing him to cringe away before his eyes were even open yet. He wanted to open his eyes, but it was almost like he couldn’t. It couldn’t be from the taser. His brain felt foggy, his tongue too big for his mouth. The rot stench got closer as Day realized he was on a mattress. Was that the smell? A finger with a jagged nail traced along Day’s cheek and the scent of musty earth made Day recoil. He recognized the smell immediately, and he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down when chapped lips wormed over his.
Carl. Why? How could this be happening again? Day laid there, eyes closed, hoping his former landlord wouldn’t rape him while he believed Day to be unconscious. He tried to stay limp until Carl moved away, leaving a trail of saliva across Day’s chin. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Dayton. I can feel the way your breath increased when I kissed you. The drugs should have worn off by now. Open your eyes.”
How long had it been since he’d last heard that nasally, gasping voice? Three years? Four? It still made his stomach clench and his whole body heavy with dread. Carl had always sounded half out of breath, even when he’d just been sitting there, petting Day’s head while he blew him and telling Day he was worth every penny in that whiny, disgusting voice. Day didn’t want to open his eyes. If he looked at Carl, then this was all real, it was all happening, and once again, Day’s chance at a fairy tale was snatched away from him.
“Don’t push me, Dayton. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble for you. The least you could do is show me the courtesy of looking me in the eye.”
Day could do this. Day was good at this. He’d been faking this for as long as he could remember. He just needed to buy time. He’d never gotten to finish his text. He didn’t even know if he was spelling it right, but he’d been too afraid to use his voice to text. Would Jackson figure it out? Would he find him in time? Day fought back the bile rising in his throat. He’d rather die than submit to whatever Carl had in mind for him. He just couldn’t do it. Not again. But he could pretend… That was his goal. Pretend and fake interest to buy time until Jackson found him.Fuck, Jackson. Please, find me. Please.
Day forced his eyes open and gave a weak smile. “Sorry,” he croaked before clearing his throat and trying again. “Whatever you gave me is making me groggy.”
Carl hadn’t aged well, though it was clear he’d tried to hide it. Despite being well into his late fifties, the man had dyed his thinning hair shoe polish black, his lips looked puffy like he’d had lip injections, and his unlined face seemed shiny, like it was pulled too tight. Like a mask. A grotesque mask.
“You look…different. Good,” Day said, trying to ignore the stench coming off the man and his soiled, unwashed clothing.
Day forced himself into a sitting position, his head swimming and stomach sloshing when he saw the usually dim motel room was eerily bright from stage lighting, cameras surrounding the old mattress he’d once shared with Sarah. It was like being sucked back into a nightmare after he’d fought so hard to claw his way out. The walls, which were once a dingy white, were warped and dotted with brown water stains, the dark carpet had a fine layer of fur that Day could only imagine was actual mold. The mold that had killed Sarah. Rage flared in his gut. Why the fuck would Carl bring him back there?
Carl ignored Day’s compliment, sliding off the bed to busy himself making adjustments to the cameras surrounding the room. It was obvious Carl planned on getting what Day had dangled before his audience, with or without Day’s consent.
