The walk feels like it takes forever, but I know it only takes about fifteen minutes. Turning the corner on his street, it’s dead. Everyone is still sleeping off the day before, even though it’s past three in the afternoon. I’m able to walk down the broken sidewalk with no interference. The weirdness of hearing no birds chirping or seeing anything alive prowling is unnerving.
Approaching David's house, I walk past and pause between his home and the dilapidated house next to it, maneuvering between them to remain unseen.
Random trash is strewn all over the overgrown grass. I peek through the window; thankfully, the blinds are broken, allowing me to see inside. It’s a bedroom with only a bare mattress on the floor, with scattered random objects. Other than that, it’s empty.
I can’t walk to the front of the house, so I decided to go through the backyard. The metal-wired fence is broken and almost lying flat on the ground, allowing me to step over and enter the backyard easily, but I stop immediately as a tent greets me. My eyes scan the rest of the backyard, but other than the tent, it’s all clear. Hastening my steps to the back door, it's barely shut and seems ready to fall off its hinges. Closing my eyes, I timidly push it open, stopping as it whines in protest.
“Fuck.” Deciding I’m already in to win it, I push it the rest of the way, my shoulders rising with the noise.
Entering the house, the smell assaults me. A mixture of cigarette smoke, dust, and uncleanness. It’s revolting. As sunlight filters into the kitchen, I see roaches scurrying from the countertops, their mission interrupted.‘I’m on my own mission, you little fuckers.’I silently tell them as if they can read my mind. I don’t shut the door behind me, in case I need a quick escape, but also, I don’t want to make any more noise than I already have. I creep across the floor, my shoes unstick with each step. My eyes pan around, and I’m not surprised this is the way he lives. We are speaking of a man who gave his daughter to the devil themselves. He is the lowest of the low. I mind my footing as I make my way through the house, exiting the kitchen and into the living room. And it’s no better than the kitchen behind me. Needles and beer cans litter the floor; ashtrays are piled with ashes and cigarettes. My nose scrunches up at the smell. Tryingnot to breathe in too deeply, not wanting to fill my lungs with this filth.
Slowly making my way to the back of the house, a built-in shelf catches my eye. It’s littered with random things, but it's the picture half-heartedly placed in the corner of the shelf that catches my attention. I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. With each step closer, my heart slows down. It’s just a picture, but as I hold it, it feels like it weighs my hand down. My finger rubs the tiny face that’s forever captured in time, on it, the dust spreading as I do. I couldn’t have been more than five years old in it, sitting on a chair. Looking more closely, after removing all the dust, I'm confused. I don’t recognize the place I’m at. It doesn’t jog any memories. I see what looks like an enormous chandelier hanging above and a staircase to the side, but I don’t recognize it.
Pocketing the picture, I force myself to finish searching the house, but not before taking out my knife, unsheathing it.
With a deep breath, I turn and enter the dark hallway; by the layout, I know that the room in front of me is the room on the side of the house with just the mattress. Forgoing that room, I tiptoe to the next door. It’s already cracked, and I peer inside; a bathroom greets me. Ignoring it, I straighten up and head to the next door. My hands shake as I reach for the knob and softly twist it. You could hear a pin drop in this house; the quietness is unnerving. At a snail's pace, inch by inch, I open the door; my eyes fall on the figure lying on the floor. I stop, and my hand is still on the turned doorknob, scared that if I let go, it’ll make a noise. I know before I even see the person fully, it’s David. Closing my eyes, face squished, I let my hand move with the doorknob to place it back in the right position. ‘Please don’t make a noise.’
Once my hand is freed from it, I still don’t move. I just stand there, watching him, the knife in my other hand shaking. I could end this all right now, at this very moment. But I’m not readyto. I have to be smart with this. I need answers, and I need him to know what’s coming. He doesn’t get a free pass… I fucking didn’t.
Stepping backward out of the room, I don’t turn around until I’m standing by the living room, eyes never leaving his door, knife straight out.
Swallowing isn’t possible with how dry my throat is.
I watch my steps but hurry around the living room until I find what I’m looking for—a torn piece of paper and a pencil.
I scribble on it; the lead pierces through the scrap as I hastily write.
An eye for an eye
To be theatrical, I take a used needle and stab the paper with it, pinning it to the threadbare sofa. Taking another quick glance around me, I spot lipstick on the table. My eyebrows raise. I don’t know why any woman would want to be in this house.
I didn’t leave the way I had come. Instead, I exit out of the front door, slamming it on my way out, taking off at full speed. Knife still in hand. I don’t look back as I turn down the street, my lungs screaming, feeling like they’re on fire.
I run until I make it back to my car, falling at the side of the door, my legs numb and my chest hurting. Only then do I re-sheath my knife and feel like I’m okay to take a moment.
The ride back feels like it takes forever. I keep looking at the picture that now lies on my passenger seat. My hands shake uncontrollably, my anxiety spiked, forcing me to pull over an hour in. And that’s when I let the dam break. As the fear seeps in, the anger boils over.
“You should have just killed him, Rowan,” I berate myself. I place my head on the steering wheel, trying to calm myself down. I hate the person I have become, the one they have turned me into. Luca helped me find her again, but still so much of meis missing, so much. And it’s because of him. It’s all because of him. He could have been a real father and just loved me and protected me, but he did the complete opposite. He served me up on a silver fucking dish to them all. Does he even know what they did, what they had planned for me? Did he even care? And I know I won’t get that Rowan back I was before, but maybe I can get closer to who I was. Maybe?
I feel broken inside, deep down where light doesn’t touch. Can I truly give Luca all of me when I can’t even find her? That isn’t fair; he deserves so much more than a broken woman.
The tears come down like sheets of rain, never running out, I feel like. My body shakes with tremors. My heart breaks with the realization I just made. He deserves better. Better than me.
Chapter Twenty-two
Luca
Exiting the plane, Weeks waits in the car with it idling. Every nerve ending is on fire. No one knows where Rowan is. She left her phone at the gym, along with her purse. Only her wallet and keys are gone. This has forced me to make the decision that every vehicle we have will have a goddamn tracker on it.
“No word. I have the crew at Hard Knocks keeping an eye out; they’re supposed to call as soon as she walks in,” Weeks informs me. “I’m sorry, man,” he says before taking off like a bat out of hell.
“Shit,” Thomas groans from the back seat as he slides on the leather. “Give a fucking heads up.”
Thomas was supposed to stay in Las Vegas, but once we heard Rowan was gone, he jumped on the plane with me. It was the longest two hours of my life. I prayed the entire time. Praying for her to return unharmed. Fuck, praying and offering my soul in replace of hers.
I look to Weeks, whose knuckles are turning white from squeezing the steering wheel so hard. “It’s not your fault. I should have known. And Weeks, she’s a grown ass woman.” I bite out the last few words. I’m no longer scared for her, but now I’m pissed. Pissed that she has gone and done something stupid. She knows all she has to do is ask me, and I’ll burn the fucking world for her, but no, she thinks she needs to do everything onher own. My ears are on fire, my blood pressure is raised, and my thoughts are going a thousand miles a minute.
Weeks flies through the forest, the wheels screeching with each curve. I say nothing, but watch the trees blur by, while Thomas is in the back praying repeatedly to let us arrive safely.
