My pulse spikes. I sink onto the arm of the couch because my knees won't lock. "He didn't call you?"
She repeats, "No. I'm sorry."
"That's okay," I say, even though nothing about this is okay. "Thank you."
I hang up and stare at the wall across from me. The artwork blurs. My reflection in the glass looks wrong. My eyes are too wide. My skin looks pale under the bruises.
Think!
I dial Demi. It rings until it cuts to voicemail.
Her cheerful greeting sounds cruel today.
"Demi," I say when the beep hits, words tumbling over each other. "It's me. Call me back. Now. Please. Something's wrong."
I end the call and immediately dial Red again, but still get his voicemail.
My phone buzzes in my hand. My heart leaps so hard it hurts, then my gut sinks.
It's a text from Amy.
Amy: Let me know when you find him, and if I get ahold of him, I'll let you know, too.
Me: Okay.
My stomach twists. I pace again, faster this time, each step sharp and uneven. My thoughts won't line up. They crash into each other, loud and relentless.
Mikhail.
A chill runs down my spine.
He called this morning.
I call Demi again. When it goes straight to voicemail, I throw my phone onto the couch and press my hands to my face. My nails dig into my cheeks. I sink them in until my skin aches and bones feel like they might break.
"Think," I mutter. "Think."
My phone buzzes again. Demi's name flashes across the screen. I snatch it up so fast, my fingers slip. "Demi."
"Blue. Are you okay?"
My chest tightens. "I think Mikhail has Red!"
She exhales. "Why?"
I shake my head. "I don't know for sure, but he called this morning. Red didn't answer and left for work. He was supposed to call and wake me up, but he never did. Amy hasn't seen or heard from him. Mikhail has to have him!"
Silence fills the line.
"Demi!"
"I'll call you back." She hangs up the phone before I can object.
Waiting turns my skin restless, like my body doesn't know where to settle. I pace until the floor feels too small, my knuckles hurt from clutching the phone, and every second stretches longer than the last. My thoughts circle the same fear without mercy. Every imagined outcome lands heavier than the one before it.
Red warned me this would happen.
Maybe I'm overreacting.
