"I'm sorry, Poison," I whispered to the empty room, to the ghost of her that haunted every corner of this house. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Tears came then, hot and unwelcome, burning trails down my cheeks. I didn't bother to wipe them away. There was no one to see, no one to judge this final breakdown of whatever remained of Ryder Purcell.
I don't know how long I sat there, slumped against the wall, bleeding and crying like a child. Time had lost all meaning in the weeks since Cade disappeared. Days blurred into nights, hours stretched and contracted without pattern or reason. Eventually,the tears stopped. Not because the grief had lessened, but because my body had run out of ways to express it. I stared blankly at the mess I'd made of my room, at the blood drying on my knuckles, at the shattered remains of the mug scattered across the floor. This wasn't helping Cade. Nothing I'd done in the past hour had brought me any closer to finding her.
With effort that felt monumental, I pushed myself up from the floor. My legs trembled beneath me, protesting the movement after so long without proper rest or nourishment. But I forced myself to stand, to walk the few steps back to my desk, to right the chair I'd kicked over. I sat down heavily, wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. The footage was still playing on the main monitor, an endless loop of the worst moment of my life. I reached for the keyboard, my split knuckles stinging as I flexed my fingers.
"Okay," I said aloud, my voice steadier now despite the rawness in my throat. "Frame by frame. One more time." Play. Pause. Zoom. Enhance.
I couldn't afford to fall apart. I couldn't afford to sleep or eat or even breathe if it meant taking time away from searching for her. Because somewhere out there, Cade was waiting. Waiting for me to find her. Waiting for me to bring her home. And if she was still alive, God, please let her be alive, then the people who took her were still out there too. The people who had hurt her, who might still be hurting her. I would find them. And when I did, I would make them pay. I would tear them apart with my bare hands. I would make them suffer in ways that would make the darkest corners of hell seem merciful.
But first, I had to find her. Had to bring her home. Had to see her face, touch her skin, hear her voice one more time.
"I'm coming, Poison," I whispered to her image on the screen, frozen in that last moment before everything went wrong. "I swear to you, I'm coming. Just hold on a little longer."
My phone buzzed with a new message. My contact, sending the first batch of adjacent street camera footage. I straightened in my chair, a fresh surge of desperate energy flowing through me as I downloaded the files. This might be it. The lead we'd been waiting for. The clue that would bring Cade home. Or it might be nothing. Just like every other lead, every other clue, every other desperate attempt to find her had been nothing.
"Frame by frame. One more time." Play. Pause. Zoom. Enhance.
But I had to try. Had to keep going. Had to believe that somehow, someday, I would see her again. Because the alternative, that she was gone forever, that I'd failed her completely, that I would never again see her smile or hear her laugh or feel her body against mine, was unthinkable. So I pushed aside the grief, the guilt, the bone-deep exhaustion. I locked away the images of what might be happening to her. I forced my bleeding hands to work the keyboard, my burning eyes to scan the footage.
"Frame by frame. One more time." Play. Pause. Zoom. Enhance.
And I prayed to a God I wasn't sure I believed in anymore, that it would be enough. That I would be enough. That somehow, against all odds, I would bring her home. Because without Cade, there was nothing. No Christmas. No future. No point to any of it. Without Cade, there was only this: endless hours in front of blue screens, searching for ghosts, haunted by failures, driven by a love that had become an obsession, an obsession that had become the only thing keeping me alive.
"Frame by frame. One more time."
Play.
Pause.
Zoom.
Enhance.
Outside my window, Christmas Day continued, meaningless and mocking. Inside, there was only the search. The endless, hopeless, necessary search for the woman who had become my everything.
"Frame by frame. One more time…"
The whiskey burned a path down my throat, settling in my empty stomach like acid. I stared at the bottle, tilting it against the dim kitchen light. Empty. Like everything else. Christmas Day was dying, the hours bleeding away into darkness. The house was silent around me, a tomb of memories I couldn't escape. Every corner, every shadow held her ghost.Cadence sitting at this table, laughing. Cadence arguing with me in this very kitchen, her eyes flashing with defiance. Cadence gone.
I slammed the empty bottle down hard enough that it should have shattered, but even that small satisfaction was denied me. My bloodied knuckles throbbed, raw and split from hours spent attacking the punching bag in the gym. The pain was welcome. It was nothing compared to what she must be feeling, if she was still alive.
If.
That word had become my personal hell. If I hadn't left her alone that night. If I had swallowed my pride and gone back for her. If I had protected her like I'd promised.
"Fucking useless," I muttered to the empty kitchen, my voice sounding strange and hollow in the silence. I pushed myself up from the table, swaying slightly as the alcohol sloshed through my system. Not enough, though. Never enough to drown out the memories.
I stumbled to the liquor cabinet, yanking open the door with more force than necessary. Empty. I'd cleared it out days ago. The pantry had nothing, nor did Ryder's room when I searched it earlier, much to his annoyance. Cole must have hidden the rest, his pathetic attempt to force me to face reality sober. I caught sight of my reflection in the window and barely recognised myself. Haggard, unshaven, eyes bloodshot and hollow. Good. I deserved to look as destroyed on the outside as I felt within.
My keys glinted on the counter, beckoning. Somewhere in this place, there would be a bar open. Somewhere I could find oblivion, at least for a few more hours. I grabbed the keys, not bothering to put on a coat despite the heavy snowfall outside.The cold would be another penance, another small punishment for my failures. I deserved to freeze. I deserved worse.
"Where are you going?" Cole's voice came from the doorway, quiet and tired.
"Out."
"It's snowing. You need a coat."
