I am buried under an avalanche of paranoia. I don't want to be a dad—not now, maybe not ever. My lifestyle isn’t conducive to a family, and then there’s Red.
“Shit.” I grab my phone and dial Emily’s number as I slam my feet into my jeans and hop into them. The phone goes to voicemail.
I try again, throwing my t-shirt over my head and brushing my hair out of my face with my fingers. No answer.
I run downstairs and out of the house, signing in and relieving James from his shift. He’s not happy and I don’t give a shit. I feel as though I am in a hurricane. My whole world is tilted and blown over and I need to talk to Emily.
The day drags on, and there is no sign of her. She doesn't join us at the studio and doesn't pick up any of my calls. I’ve already left her over twenty messages. By the end of the day, I feel like I’ve been run over by a train. Anger, confusion, and frustration all rage inside me, each stabbing and twisting my insides. I sign off and knock on Emily’s door. There’s no answer. After a second knock, I try the door handle, the door cracks open.
“Emily?” I'm greeted with silence, and I step into the dark room. I flick the light on and find the room exactly how I had left it that morning. She hasn’t been back. I decide to wait. I sit on the edge of the bed just to stand up again and pace like a caged animal. Where the hell is she? I try her number for the hundredth time and throw my phone across the room when the automated voice tells me I've reached her voice mail. “Fuck,” I roar and my fist hits her wall, leaving behind a large cavity and a trail of blood on my knuckles.
The next few hours feel like a torture device designed to send me over the abyss. My jaw hurts from the endless grinding and everything feels tight, especially my chest. I feel so many things I don’t even know where to begin, or how to process this—my body aches.
I rub my palms into my eyes, thinking for the hundredth time about my words last night. How I pushed her away, how I made sure we both agreed and knew it was nothing more than two bodies needing relief at the end of each day working for an intolerable fool. It would have never lasted, never worked between us. It was all circumstantial and fleeting. I would have gone on to another job in a few days, and she would have gone on tour with Daryl and our paths would never cross again. Except that the more I feed myself the idea, the more I hate the fact that I could be wrong, that we could have been more. And now, she could be pregnant with my child. Mine. Ours. Do I even want that? Do I get a say? Could I even make that work? Could we be a family?
Questions swirl and crash inside my skull like a crazed, out of control pinball machine till I fall into a fitful sleep.
Her warm legs snake through mine and all I feel is her naked heat against my body. I don't remember hearing her come in or when I got naked, but I don't care. She’s here and she’s mine. I grab her hips and flip her on her back, I’m inside her in a second and she’s hot and wet and willing. Her moans are so fucking sweet, I never want to leave this bed. I don’t want to break our kiss or pull out of her, I want to make her quiver and sweat and come. Forever.
My eyes pop open, and I blink in the dark room. I’m fully dressed on her bed, and I’m all alone.
“Shit” I run my hands along my face and draw in a long breath. I reach for my phone. Nothing.
I ignore my massive hard on, shower and dress for the day. I call her. An automated voice tells me the number I've dialled no longer exists.
I go through another day and my insides are a playground of emotion, swinging from anger to frustration to wonder and sheer, white panic. I try her number a few more times just to get the same message. The number doesn’t exist. When I ask Daryl about Emily he frowns then says she just quit—up and left—and left him in the fucking shit. I ruin his mood for the rest of the day and pay for it. As if I wasn’t suffering enough.
I don't bother going to her room when I finish my shift, she won’t be there. Instead, I go to the office. I need to pull a few favours and find out where Emily is.
15
Hunter
I sit in my car and watch the windows. It's pathetic really. It’s my bloody office and I should be able to just walk in there and do what I want. But there are already too many rumours and too many smirks, and I’m sick of everyone’s shit. I just need to be alone.
The lights go off and I watch Rob swagger out of the office, phone to his ear, smile on his face. Probably organising his date for the night. He gets into his BMW and checks himself out in the mirror before backing up and taking off down the street. When his lights vanish, I get out of my car, cross the road, and let myself into the office.
It smells like some kind of curry, and I feel sorry for whoever is going to be spending any time with Rob tonight. I smirk, fuck him, fuck them both. I’m not in a generous mood. I turn on the computer and fall into my chair while the screen comes alive.
I find Daryl’s employee file and pull out Emily’s clearance paperwork.
Emily Shepard, twenty-five, born in West London. I quirk my eye at this. She didn’t seem the type. Then again, I have a feeling apart from knowing her body intimately, I know very little else about little miss Shepard. However, I'm about to get very well acquainted. The file isn't very detailed and should have been flagged to Rob as suspicious information.
I take note of the address listed in her paperwork, scribble it down and shove the paper into my pocket before I start to dig in. I open up one of my fake Facebook accounts and input Emily Shepard. There are less than ten profiles under that name. None of them appear to be hers. I use some open source tools online to go through all the other usual social media apps. She doesn’t exist online, not even a LinkedIn profile. She was talking about making contacts and getting to know people so this strikes me as odd. I search for her parents, all the information about them is vague at best or conveniently unavailable. There is no home address associated with them. When I look into her university qualifications there is a graduate called Emily Shepard, she did graduate top of her class, but she is dark-haired with slanted, piercing blue eyes and her face is round and chubby. None of this makes any bloody sense.
A Google search yields no results. The name is ordinary and common. I pull out a list of local hospitals and start calling each one searching for an Emily Shepard. I’m both relieved and annoyed when three hours later I still haven't found her.
I look at the clock. It's too late to call Mark at the cop shop, his shift would have ended a few hours ago. I kick myself for waiting this long. But even if I did, I might be well out of favours with him. Still, I can always owe him one. With his access, he can run her name through his database and search her credit card numbers.
I shake my head feeling like a stalker. How far am I willing to take this?
I slam the door to my car; frustration skitters along my neck. My search has yielded nothing. I push the car into gear and hurtle out of my parking space and onto the road. I drive too fast and too recklessly, but I feel reckless. Anger sweeps over me. She can’t just do this, she can’t just crash into my life, make me feel this way, and then fall out of it without a word.
I find a parking spot down the road from her apartment and jog down to her place. I watch from across the road feeling like a creep. The place is dark, with no movement. I keep watching just in case. Telling myself it's part of the job to use counter-surveillance techniques. When after a while nothing changes, I go to knock on the door. Lightly at first. When no one answers I pound louder. “Emily? Emily!”
A door opens, but it’s not hers. It's the neighbour. An older woman that might be in her late sixty’s. She eyes me suspiciously and steps back into the safety of her own home, holding the door firmly, ready to slam it shut. I can’t blame her really, a guy my size pounding on the door after midnight. Shit, I didn't realise how late it was. We stare at each other for a few seconds before I try for a smile.
“Hi, I’m looking for Emily, is she here? Has she been here?”
The woman’s eyes narrow slightly, the suspicion et
ched deep into her face. “You mean Emilia?”
Emilia.
“Yeah, has she been in?”
“Not for months, she often travels with her boss and doesn't spend much time here. I have her key to look after Murry.”
“Murry?” I grind my teeth as I wonder how I will deal with this Murry.
“Her plant.”
I bite down a grin. Typical Emily naming her fucking plants. And still another thing I knew nothing about. “And has she been in this week?”
“Who are you?”
“A friend.” I try to erase the tension from my face and smile again.
“A friend would have her phone number.” The gap in her door shrinks.
“Wait. Please.” I take a tiny step forwards not wanting to scare her. “We were working together and she just took off, I just want to know if she’s ok.”
The woman’s face softness a little and she sighs. “I didn't see her, but when I went in this morning a few things had been moved around and removed.”
“A few things?”
“Her wardrobe is empty and she took Murry.”
My head drops in defeat. My last lead is gone just like Emily. I turn to leave then swivel back around, “Hey, just one last thing. Why do you call her Emilia?”
“Cause that’s her name.” The woman closes her door, and I know our conversation is over.
I get back to my car, pull out my phone and type in Emilia Shepard. Hundreds of images pop up. I scroll through a few then throw my phone on the passenger seat and smash my palms on my steering wheel. “Fuck.” My growl echoes in my car.
I’m missing something and I don't know what it is. It’s late and I'm tired, so I give up for the night and go home. I walk into my empty house to find all my discarded laundry still waiting and a layer of dust mocking me. I know the fridge will be empty too, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. I crash onto my bed and fall into a restless sleep.
The rest of the week is no better. Despite my efforts, I can't locate Emily—if that's even her name. Mark refuses to use his police resources to help dig into her. It’s bullshit, but he keeps going on about privacy laws and I don't want to hear it. Daryl is an agitated mess and I’m babysitting a beehive with some angry fucking bees. I go home stung, bitter and irate, and even if I don't want to admit it, I miss her.
Tom pulls up at the airport and goes to deal with Daryl’s bags. The rock star shuffles out of his car, two women climb out behind him, both giggling and ogling the private jet. He sends them to the stairs with a cliche smack on the bum and watches as they walk away. Apparently, he doesn’t like to fly alone.
“Well, thanks mate.” He looks at me and offers his hand which I shake.
“Thank you, sir.” We’ve already had the ‘if you’re ever back in town’ talk. Of course, I didn't mean it, but it’s expected.
“You’re a free agent now.”
“Yes, sir.'' I nod and wait for him to leave. He doesn’t, instead, he watched the two women climb up the stairs, their short skirts riding up their exposed thighs.
“Free to go where you want and do what you need to do.”
I nod again wondering what the fuck he wants.
“They’re a thing of beauty, hey lad?” He waves at the two women who stand atop the stairs and wait for him.
“Sure.” The heat beats down my face and all I want is to get out of there and forget about Daryl Dark. And Emily.
“You know, when there’s something that beautiful waiting for you, that makes your heart come alive, you should chase it.”
He looks at me meaningfully, like he thinks I know what he means. He nods, smirks, and pushes away from the car. “Don’t live on memories, they're never as good as the real thing.” He walks away, leaving me with his strange bit of wisdom then rushes up the stairs where he swoops on his two companions, they giggle before disappearing inside the jet.
16
Hunter
I reach over to the bedstand and check my phone. No calls from Emily.
It’s been two months. I haven’t heard from her. She’s clearly moved on.
I don’t remember the last time I had a day off. My body is a wreck and Wolf insisted. Something about days of stubble on my jaw and dark circles under my eyes. He’s right. I've been working nonstop for weeks, living on coffee and a few hours of sleep each night. The work keeps me occupied and the loud music quiets my mind. The occasional blow job from some random girl helps, but not as much as I’d hoped. I’ve been so fucking grumpy lately; nothing is as much fun as it used to be.
I’ve tried to move on. Screwed a few girls—happy to make them smile. But fuck it, I leave their bed emptier than when I walked in. Everyone else just feels average compared to her, and there’s the nagging feeling that shadows me wherever I go. Could she be carrying my child?
Ever since Emily vanished it’s like being thirsty in the rain. My throat feels dry and my lips cracked, and no matter how much I drink, the thirst won’t be quenched. A never-ending drought I can’t break.
My dreams of her are so vivid, I wake up hard and in pain. My hands grip the sheets, missing the shape of her ass. She consumes my thoughts, drives my emotions, and I find myself spending too much of my free time searching for her. It's easy to tell myself that all I feel is curiosity, the need to know where she is, how she is, and if she’s carrying a part of me inside her.
The idea of an imaginary baby is hard to grasp, and every time I think of her having our child and keeping it from me, my blood boils under my skin. I know what abandonment feels like, what it’s like to know you’re not loved or wanted. No one deserves that. The thoughts gnaw at me endlessly like a ravenous monster and everything around me suffers.
My ringtone pierces the quiet room and my heart leaps. It's a ringtone I haven't heard for a long time.
“Hey.” My voice croaks down the phone.
“Hey. How are you doing?”
“Fine.” I lie.
“Shaw seems to disagree.” Red dismisses my words.
“Tell Wolf he should mind his own business and go fuck himself.”
“How about you come have coffee with me instead? We have some things to talk about.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” I would. I miss Red too. Why are all the women in my life angry at me?
“Great, come around at two.”
She hangs up and I let the phone drop onto the bed. Maybe we can resolve some of our shit and move on.
The door opens and Red’s face draws into a frown, “You look like shit."
“Nice to see you, too.” I give her a tired smile before she wraps herself around me. I gather her to me, giving her a long hug. I think we both need it.
I release her and she steps aside letting me in. The place radiates happiness and it makes me feel a little ill. I follow her into the lounge and she gestures for me to sit down. I sink into the comfortable sofa and look at my sister. She looks good. That son of a bitch is actually keeping his promise and I feel like a right twat. She could have felt like this for much longer.
She goes into the kitchen and comes back with two steaming cups in her hands.
“You look happy,” I tell her as she hands me my coffee.
“I am.” She grins.
“Stop! I don't want to know.”
Her grin widens and I push all the thoughts out of my head, vacating my brain and concentrating solely on the coffee in my hands. I sip, then meet my sister’s scrutinising eyes. “How have you been?”
Her eyes dart around the room then meet mine again. “Really good actually. I’ve got another show coming up in a few months, and Becca says this is the one that will set me up.”
Her eyes light up and she’s all animated as she speaks, her whole body joins in the conversation, limbs flying around as her mouth moves. “I’m so proud of you, Red.”
“Thanks.” Her smile rips through her face.
“Look, Red, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” She holds up her hand and I fall sil
ent. “I know your intentions were coming from a good place. Everything you ever did for me, you did because you cared. You had no choice, you had to be strong. You’ve always been strong.”
I scoff. Everyone keeps telling me that—you’ll be ok, you’re strong. All they ever see is a boulder, a solid rock that can take every hit. Every lash of the elements, the scorching sun, the whipping winds, the raging seas of everyone’s fucking emotions. But boulders get scuffed, and over time, they shrink to rocks, and then pebbles. Sure on the outside they’ll always be solid and strong, they’ll always look like a rock, but no one will ever notice how much of themselves they’ve shed, how much they lose over time as they erode, how much pain and hurt and anguish they go through.
Her voice pulls me away from my thoughts. “Let’s just move on. I think we’ve both said everything we’re ever going to need to say about it. I needed time to process it and I took it. Shaw helped me see your point of view too.” She sighs, “Let’s just chalk all that to the past. I’m happy, I'm safe, and I'm not angry. Not anymore.”
I nod. I guess there’s nothing left to say then.
“Now, what's going on with you? Why are you walking around like someone killed your cat?”
“What cat?”
“Hunter.” She folds her hands across her chest and stares me down.
I put my cup down and run my hands over my thighs a few times before I lean back and look at the ceiling. “There’s this… person.”
“Emily?” My eyes snap to hers and she shrugs, “Everyone knows.”
My brow arches so high it feels like it touches my hairline.
“Come on. You’re grumpy, you take your shit out on everyone at work, you’re working inhuman hours, and Shaw said something about your code 22 average dipping to non-existent.”
I’m going to kill that fucker. I shake my head. “Well, then you know.”
Hunter (The Fractured Fairytale Series) Page 14