I lean over to the edge of the cot, reaching out for the tray of food. I take a moment to appreciate the view of all the items on the tray. It’s nicer than anything else I have to look at down here. It’s a shame. He really took the time to place everything in neatly on the tray. There’s even a small familiar blue flower placed in the middle. It’s a blue butterfly pea flower, just like the ones I stared at for hours in my old neighbors’ garden when I wanted to hide from my shadows. But the flower has taken on a different meaning for me. Because even then, he always knew where I was and what I was doing. He was always watching, always following, even in a place where I thought I was safe from his prying eyes. In this moment, I realize I was always hiding from him, and I know that no, I wasn’t truly happy. You don’t hide from happiness.
I run my finger over the small petals. I trail my finger down the stem, then over the smooth top of the tray towards the edge. I continue tracing along the side until my finger hitches perfectly under the lip of the tray, and tip it over in an almost slow-motion manner. I watch as the food scatters, a cup of water tips over and splashes on Marcus’ shoes, and the flower is crushed under the rattle of spilled dishes off the tray. Beautiful, and ripped from the longevity of its life in the matter of a moment. One slow, almost everlasting moment.
Just like Luna.
I stare at him calmly. Probably a little too calmly, if you ask me. I’m not angry. I’m not sad. I’m not sure I’m feeling much of anything. I’m just here, living the nightmare. Taking joy in the small satisfaction of watching him tick away, like a bomb.
Go ahead, explode.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t move. He stands as still as stone with the water dripping from his shoes. Once again, I’m curious. Will the tray be what breaks his game?
I give him a small smirk as I watch the ticks in his jaw visibly spread to his left eye. It’s a twitch he can’t control, though he’s trying. After a few short huffs of his breath, he turns and walks through the door with a slam and a loud click. The dreaded click wipes this damn smirk off my face. The noise of the lock being turned in place now echoes within my mind. I wince knowing a single sound has brought me to the brink of my emotional existence.
I let out a sigh and scan the bare walls. I think of all the pretty things I could place on them.
I can’t stand the smell of this place. The disinfectants overwhelm my senses. It reminds me of a dank, musty closet, and the smell fills the entire hospital. I round the corner at the nurses station and come face to face with the door I’m looking for. I never thought I’d be in this situation—where I had to tell my girlfriend’s mother that her daughter is missing. If I’m honest with myself, I never thought I’d find someone like Fallon. Someone I couldn’t live without. This is one of the reasons why I didn’t let myself love. Beating the hell out of someone is much easier than caring about a person’s life. And to have her ripped away from me, to worry about her and not know whether or not she is okay, is almost more than I can handle. Now I have to face her mother, and I know in my gut this will be harder than any confrontation I’ve ever had.
I stop in front of the door and take a few deep, steadying breaths as I prepare myself to go tell Fallon’s mother that her worst nightmare has come true . . . and on my watch. While I was supposed to be protecting her. I can’t blame her if she hates me after this. In fact, I expect her to hate me. Fallon is the most precious thing in her life, and here I am telling her I couldn’t protect her.
I reach for the doorknob, gripping it tightly. My hand fits perfectly around it but I can’t seem to bring myself to twist it and open the door. After a moment of trying to force myself to not be a wimp, I drop my forehead to the door and close my eyes. My hands are sweating, my heart is beating scarily fast, and I think I might begin to hyperventilate at any moment. This is unlike me; I’m fucking unraveling. Thank fuck I’m at a hospital.
How the fuck do I do this?
“Sir, is everything ok? Is there something wrong with the door?”
The voice breaks me out of my daze, and I look up. A middle-aged nurse with dark circles lining her eyes is standing at my side watching me. She looks exhausted, but the sincerity and concern behind her words tells me the exhaustion is worth it to her. I know she wouldn’t continue to do this job if that wasn’t the case. We push ourselves for the things we love.
I shake my head. “No, sorry I’m good. Thanks.”
She reaches for my shoulder, giving it a gentle pat, and says, “Having a loved one in here is hard. If you need anything, let me know.”
I give her a nod and she walks away to help the next poor soul who is going to need the encouragement of an army.
I turn the knob with a shaky hand, but it slips before I can push it open. I wipe my hands down my jean-clad leg and try again. This time the knob turns fully, the click pounding in my ears as I push the door open and step inside the dimly lit room. The glare from a TV mounted on the wall highlights the petite woman lying in a typical hospital bed with the railings down on the sides. As luck would have it, most of my dealings with my girlfriend’s mother have been a result of bad situations, and today is no different. And there always seems to be one common denominator: Marcus. If we all manage come out of this safely somehow and this woman is still willing to let me be in her daughter’s life, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
“Jesse? Is that you?” Her mother peers up at me with a smile. “Where’s Fallon?”
She leans over to look around me, expectantly waiting for her daughter to appear in the door. It kills me to know she might not ever grace that doorway—or any other door in our lives—again.
No, I can’t think like that. I will find her. She will be safe.
“Hi Darla. It’s just me today,” I cough out as I sit down on the brown cloth chair next to her bed. I can feel the tension creeping into me, and my leg starts to bounce involuntarily.
“Oh.” She reaches for the remote and mutes the television before looking over at me. “Is everything ok?” she asks, unable to hide the hint of fear in her eyes. She knows. I don’t know how she knows, but I know she does. I’m not sure if she’s like my mom and can read minds, like all those times my mom knew we were lying to her as kids. But I can see it in her face. She knows, and I’m about to tell her it’s even worse than she’s probably imagining. “What’s wrong?”
I bend forward and put my head in my hands, running them through my hair and giving it a hard tug before rubbing them over my face.
“Jesse?”
I sigh out a deep breath before I speak. “She’s gone.” Fuck, that doesn’t sound right. “I mean, missing. I don’t know—maybe taken?” I start to ramble into my hands.
“Wait! Slow down. What do you mean she’s gone? Start from the beginning,” she says. I look her in the eyes and see it clear as day in her expression. She’s not dumb; she knows who is behind it all.
Was there really any question as to who did this?
“He fucking took her. We were at a barn party, and she was there one minute and then gone the next. I looked everywhere for her. We all did,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I fucked up.”