“What do you mean?”
He sighs, prying at his choker while he tells me of the images he’d seen on Tara’s phone, the demands sent along with them, and the look of pure terror in her eyes as she confronted him.
My heart sinks as he speaks, and the knot turns slowly to a gaping hole. One I’m almost positive is going to swallow me before this is over.
“I feel sick,” I mutter.
Elliot hangs his head, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I had the same feeling.”
I look up at the sky in hopes of stifling the burning pain in my eyes and see the moon has already begun her slow retreat back into the dark, waxing as she looks down on us.
Sometimes, I wish I could do the same—disappear, I mean—but even if I could, I know I wouldn’t.
This is my fault. This is what happens when the monster runs free.
I don’t regret what I did to Grey. He earned his punishment. But the monster always leaves a trail behind.
Mother’s monster left Isaac and me. Mine has trapped Tara and Elliot in its orbit. And in moments like this, I can’t help but wonder if it was worth it. I know Elliot’s answer would be yes. But I doubt Tara would say the same.
“What am I supposed to do, Elliot?”
It seems I’ve lost my battle with my unshed tears as Elliot sweeps his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I will find him, Iris. I promise you.”
“How? There’s no scent trail. There’s nothing. And now he’s calling me.”
Elliot’s face hardens to stone.
“He’s what?”
I swipe furiously at my face, wishing I could shove the tears back in. It’s bad enough Elliot is picking up the pieces of this mess; he shouldn’t have to pick up my pieces, too.
“My phone,” I say. “It keeps ringing. Some unknown number. I haven’t answered but?—”
“Good. Don’t. It’ll only give him a reason to keep calling.”
I nod, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“Baby, please don’t cry. You know I don’t like it when you cry.”
I don’t like it when I cry either. But I’m not sure I have a choice in the matter.
“Oh gods, Iris, please…” he pleads, stroking his hand down my back.
But tears keep coming, slow and steady, and Elliot turns from me, rummaging through the saddle bag on the side of the bike.
“Here,” he says, offering me a small package wrapped in brown paper. “I was going to give you this tomorrow, but I really need you to stop crying.”
“What?”
His eyes roll.
“Stop saying that and just take it.”
He waves the package at me impatiently.
