On rubbery legs, Emory groped for the wall and sat on a step. A flash of gold invaded his vision.
Blonde hair. Bloody face. Light breaking through the trees.
“I trailed them as long as I could,” Thomas said. “They were heading east in a silver SUV. I got the plates.”
“You’re sure it was her?”
“Yes. She’s with them. Amelia’s gone.”
“Gone,” Emory whispered in a dumbfounded little echo, still suspended in horrified disbelief. “Gone.” Louder that time, he snapped into focus and stood from the stairs. “Call Disco. Have him run the plate. Tell him to call me with anything he gets. You and Mirabelle stay there. We’re coming.”
Emory hung up and bolted down the steps. He grabbed his keys and Glock from the kitchen and cut through the foyer.
“Get the others and meet me out front,” he told Jack. “Tell Zulu to bring his gear and Corey extra mags.”
Jack sprinted up the stairs and hollered for Liam and the others. His voice blared through the foyer but faded as Emory took the steps to the circle drive two at a time. Liam and Pete raced out the door as Jack relayed what little he knew. Zulu and Corey followed not long after, and the men gathered around Emory.
He felt himself drifting away, the way he had in the woods; in the golden hour when the air smelled of blood and dew. Long ago, his brother promised revenge. Emory knew how it ended, could recite it in his sleep, and said it with haunted detachment.
“Ivan has Amelia.”
Liam released a shaky breath, and Corey mouthed “Jesus Christ” to the sky. Stunned into silence, Pete gaped at Emory, and Zulu must’ve known enough because he paled and shook his head. Jack eyed Emory with the same fear that, even as boys, they reserved for Ivan alone.
“No one comes back, not a soul, until we find her,” Emory said shakily, on the cusp of coming undone. “I don’t care how long it takes.”
They split up into two cars—Liam, Emory, and Zulu with all his gear in one, and the rest in the other. Reckless and reeling, Emory sped down the highway. The miles melted away, but the road never ended, and Emory’s heart hammered in his chest with every silver SUV they passed. Eventually, he spotted Thomas’s car parked on the broken patch of asphalt that passed as a commuter lot.
With a jerk of the wheel, Emory veered off the road andslammed to a stop in the lot. The other car screeched behind him, halting inches short of collision. Emory kicked open the door as Thomas hopped from his car, ashen-faced and wide-eyed as Emory bounded toward him.
“How thefuckdid this happen?” he bellowed as the setting sun burned hot at his neck.
Mirabelle scrambled from the passenger seat. Mascara stained her cheeks, and her eyes were red and swollen. Like hurtling herself in front of a freight train, she threw her weight into Emory who lurched toward Thomas.
“It’s not his fault. I lied to him!” she cried and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket but struggled to unfold it. Emory snatched it from her and read.
I’m sorry. I have to go home.
Please tell Emory that I’ll miss him and to find me again when the time is right.
Thank you both for everything.
Amelia
Emory flipped over the page. Amelia smiled up at him, so tenderhearted and sweet; everything he wanted and all he really needed.The last you’ll ever see.
He closed his eyes and asked on a broken breath, “You’re sure she wrote this?”
Only the afflicted indulged in lies like that; lies to make it bearable, to sleep at night, to live with themselves. Emory’s lie might’ve been that she didn’t want to go and Richard took her unwillingly. But the polished manners and swooping handwriting belonged to Amelia and smothered the lie before it took hold.
Mirabelle balked at the question. If she weren’t so consumed by grief, maybe she would’ve laughed. They all might have laughed at his expense, and good on them. What a fitting end for a fucking fool. Call in the clowns. It was a heartbreak riot, a storyfor the ages. He brought her there to keep her safe but instead baited the hook for a beast.
“I told Thomas and Amelia that you said it was okay for us to leave. I lied,” Mirabelle said again as if honesty was the currency to buy back trust.
The note crumpled in Emory’s fist, his anger simmering toward explosion.
“You’re going to get her killed! Do you have any idea what Ivan will do to her?”
None of them truly knew. They read it in the paper and said how very tragic. Cal Havick and his vendetta against evil couldn’t vanquish the monster, so pretty girls with dazzling smiles were ripped apart and everyone asked, “Who rapes a corpse? Who cuts out their tongue so they can no longer scream?”
