Every part of Tenly Albright’s life is chronicled in these papers. Important milestones. Report cards. Photographs and news articles.
They are all right here in my hands.
I am hungry for these details. And it doesn’t feel wrong, like Mack said. I want to know these parts of her, no matter how ancient.
It comes as no surprise that the girl was a genius, even twelve years ago. But she certainly doesn’t look like the shy, somewhat awkward girl in the family photos. The girl dressed in ball gowns and school uniforms.
She’s not smiling in any of the photos. And there’s a sadness on her face that she doesn’t wear openly anymore, but it still exists inside of her.
I want to know her thoughts as she poses next to her friends and a family that looks so different from her. She doesn’t belong in that world, and she never did.
I am possessive of her now. And a very selfish part of me likes knowing how much she hates that world and everyone in it.
Because she’s in my world now. In my bed and my car and my thoughts and on my lips.
They don’t even know she’s alive.
The missing persons case is still open, unresolved.
But the news articles have been scarce over the last five years. The occasional anniversary post and photo of Tenly, asking if anyone has seen her.
They have all moved on from her. Left her memory to diminish over time.
It’s no wonder she goes it alone.
To be so easily forgotten by everyone you once knew. Forsaken by your own family. I ache for her, and I touch her face in the photos. Wishing I could turn back time. Wishing that I could save her.
I can’t change the past.
But I can make it right now.
The thing I really want isn’t in this file, and when I look up at Alexei, he knows it.
“She never reported it,” he tells me. “So finding the names will not be easy. But I’ve printed off the most likely candidates, given what you’ve told me.”
His report has well over fifty names on it.
“Are ye bloody kidding me with this?” I ask. “Is there not another way?”
“There is,” he says. “But I suppose it depends on how badly you’d like this to stay quiet.”
Twenty-Eight
Rory
Ihaven’t spenta whole load of time in New York.
Boston is generally where I conduct business and spend my free time, other than the occasional ticket back to Ireland to see mammy every couple of years.
It only stands to reason that Scarlett dragged me up here to set into motion the events with Ethan that night. I wonder how many other trips she’s made that didn’t include me.
The address on file is Park Avenue.
When I walk inside the building, it’s a far cry from where Scarlett lives now.
A doorman greets me and asks who I’m there for.
I give him the names of Scarlett’s parents, and he promptly tells me I’m not on the list. When I mention I’d like to speak to them about their daughter, his polite disposition withers.
