In the Dark: A Thrilling Romantic Suspense Novel (The Dark Series Book 1)

by Danah Logan

  I think for a second. "Yeah, I guess. The furniture or room was probably made to look antique. Like a specific style or theme."

  Lilly nods and straightens, pulling her hand away from me. The loss of contact hits me more than I would’ve expected. She’s immediately distant. Is she purposefully putting space between us?

  I ignore it and say, "You did good. You were in a nice and well-furnished room. Whoever it was wanted you to be comfortable."

  She snorts and gives me a "Yeah, right" look.

  I hold up my hands. "Let me finish my train of thought for a sec. Whoever it was didn’t just take you and toss you in a cell or locked room. He wasn’t a child molester, and he didn’t lay a hand on you otherwise. This was planned and had a reason. Now, we have to figure out what that reason was."

  "I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse," she huffs.

  We keep throwing ideas back and forth, but none really make sense. Why did this person choose Lilly, and why is she the one he still wants?

  I peer at the clock and realize it’s already four in the afternoon. Reality comes crashing back, and I almost beg her to tell Mom and Dad just so this torturous charade can finally be over. I don’t want to leave. But instead, I force myself to sound nonchalant as I say, "They’ll be home soon. I should probably head out. Otherwise, they’ll know right away that something is up."

  Lilly nods, and her face falls slightly. She composes herself quickly, but not before I see the change in her. "Okay, yeah, you’re right. Where are you going?"

  "Wes’s."

  She pauses and then asks, "What about Katherine?"

  Good point.

  I haven’t talked to her since I hung up last night, and not hearing from her means I’m on her shit list. But that’s none of Lilly’s concern. "She’s probably shopping for Christmas presents somewhere."

  She just nods at me, and I squeeze her shoulder on my way out.

  Chapter Nine

  When Rhys takes my hand, the touch startles me, yet I hold on like a lifeline. The emotional turmoil instantly fades away, and I’m able to stay in control, concentrate on the task at hand. It’s almost as if he...anchors me?

  The soothing motion across my knuckles calms the anxiety that had started to rise to the surface as soon as I thought about the room. But when I open my eyes, my first thought is he knew this happened to me, and he didn’t say a word for ten years! I pull my hand away, and for a fraction of a second, hurt flares in his eyes. Having perfected not letting anyone see his real face, he smoothes his features and immediately pretends like nothing happened. But I did see it.

  The rest of the afternoon is easier. We stay busy, and I get comfortable being around him. I don’t have time to think any further than the case and searching for answers.

  So, when he leaves later, I’m surprised about the feeling of loss settling inside of me. It’s been only twenty-four hours, and I shouldn’t just fall back into our old relationship. Scratch that, I can’t go back to that—since he’s not my brother. But even as friends, he kept my past from me, for goodness’ sake. I can’t just ignore that. I don’t like how I’m already used to him being around. It opens me up to get hurt, and I refuse to let that happen. I force the anger to rise back to the surface, and instantly feel more in control.

  Heather and Tristen come home around five-thirty. In my head, I call them by their first name, even though Rhys is right and they are my parents, blood relation or not. It’s self-preservation. I need to figure out what really happened to me, and for that, I need distance. I can’t let them distract me with their love for me.

  I spend some time downstairs. They tell me about their trip, and Natty is chatting about her weekend with Olivia and their friend Adelyn, who also slept over. I smile and nod when appropriate and then excuse myself under the pretense of finishing homework. I’m drained. Getting a slight glimpse into Rhys’s life, I’m starting to understand why he’d rather stay away. Keeping up a façade is exhausting.

  I sleep better than I have in the last few weeks, but not as good as the night before. I’m restless. I haven’t seen Rhys since he left this afternoon.

  Monday morning, I automatically search for Rhys’s Defender in the school parking lot but don’t see it anywhere. That’s strange, he usually is here early for some sort of practice—wrestling, football, whatever is going on at the time.

  I don’t see him all morning or during lunch. Without thinking, I ask Denielle, "Have you seen Rhys today?"

  Den looks at me like I sprouted a third eye and sneers, "Why?"

  Dumb, dumb, dumb.

  I haven’t asked her that in years. We have a silent agreement to ignore everything involving Rhys, ever since the day she found me crying in a girls’ bathroom stall. The week before, Rhys had started to call me Lilly, but I kept telling myself he was just distracted. Then, during one of my first days at WH, I had run up to Rhys, excited to tell him something, and he completely brushed me off. As I was walking away, I heard him laughing and making a comment to his friend, Kellen Jager, about how his life is over now that his little pest of a sister is here. That was also the day I officially stopped talking to him.

  I look back at Den. "Oh, um..." Think, damn it. "Uh, Mom wanted me to tell him something because she missed him this morning."

  Missed him? Jesus, I need to shut up. Denielle is fully aware that Rhys doesn’t sleep at home, but thankfully, she ignores that fact. Instead, she narrows her eyes at me. "Why doesn’t she just text him?"

  Crap.

  I don’t think I can dig my hole any deeper. I set myself up for that one. I shrug and ask, "So, when is Charlie coming home again?"

  She barks out a laugh. "Dude, you suck at this," she says but lets it go. "Next week. He says he has a surprise for me."

  And with that, we speculate the rest of the day what it could be.

  For the remainder of my classes, I debate if I should text Rhys to see where he is. We didn’t talk about staying in touch when we’re not at home, but I kind of want to know. He is finally back in my life.

  Then, the voice in my head reminds me: He lied to you. If you let him back in, he could hurt you again. It works until I check my phone again—still no message from him.

  The anger and betrayal keep me going, but Rhys grounds me in a way that I can’t explain. I need both to stay in control, and I don’t like it. As if I don’t already have enough conflicting feelings, it’s like a tug of war for sanity in my head.

  I sit in the Jeep and pull out my phone. The voice screams at me to stop and put the phone away. I hesitate one more time. Screw it. Scrolling through my contacts, I realize I still have the picture of Rhys from our last family trip as his profile picture; a smile tucks on my lips at the memory. I haven’t had a reason to text or call him in so long that I had forgotten about it.

  We were at the Grand Canyon, and he made me take picture after picture, trying to capture himself jumping in the air with the Grand Canyon as the backdrop. We did get the shot eventually, but his profile picture is one of the outtakes. He jumped, realized he miscalculated, tripped during the landing, and spread-eagled on his stomach in the dirt. I took the picture right after he pushed himself into a sitting position and was flipping me off for laughing so hard that I had tears running down my face.

  Selecting the text option from his contact, I start typing.

  Haven’t seen u all day.

  I hit send. Okay, I’ve done my sisterly—uh, friendly—duty.

  God, what a cluster fuck.

  I put my phone away and drive to Butler’s. I have gymnastics practice every day this week, which will hopefully keep me distracted. But despite all the physical activity, I’m already looking forward to Saturday when I meet with Spencer. He promised we would start incorporating some new moves, and I could use that type of training for my emotional state.

  After practice, I check my cell and see a response from Rhys.

  @Georgetown with Kat & Wes. Back later 2NTE. Everything ok?r />
  My jaw clenches as a pang of annoyance hits me. This past weekend has altered both our lives in ways no one else could ever relate to, and him going back to his old habit of not talking to me is...frustrating? Disappointing? I have no idea how to categorize this. But then, why would Rhys tell me? I insisted we keep going as before. Plus, I don’t want to fall back into my old habit of depending on him. I can’t. Why would I expect something different from him? I start typing a response and then think better of it. Before saying something I may regret, I pocket my phone and head home. Our relationship is so complicated, and with everything else, I need to focus on myself and what happened to me. He says he’s helping me, but until I know the truth of what happened ten years ago, do I really want to let someone else in? Even if it’s Rhys?

  I’m sitting in bed, re-reading some articles, when I hear a soft knock on my door, and Rhys comes in. My eyes widen. Heather and Tristen are home.

  What the hell is he doing?

  I try to glance around him to make sure no one sees him.

  "Mom and Dad already went upstairs, and Natty is sleeping," he says while closing the door quietly.

  Him being home by itself would raise questions, but I just nod, not sure what to say. I’m still annoyed with him and, at the same time, mad at myself for caring. I really don’t need to add any more irrational feelings to my already confused mental state.

  Rhys hesitates for a moment by the door before walking toward my bed and sitting down on the edge. "You didn’t respond. Everything okay?"

  "Yeah, all good."

  He arches an eyebrow. Of course, he knows it’s not all good. I grind my teeth.

  "You’re mad at me." Not a question, but a statement.

  "No, yes, no—gah! I don’t know." I throw my hands up. I. Don’t. Want. To. Care.

  But you do, the voice whispers in my head.

  "You’re mad that I didn’t tell you about Georgetown." Another statement.

  I’m going to have a cramp in my jaw soon.

  "How do you always know everything?" Sarcasm drips from the question.

  Rhys grins smugly at me, and I want to sucker-punch him.

  "Not everything, Cal. Just you."

  Right, I forgot; he has spied on me for the past two years.

  I press my lips together in an attempt to hide my smile and remain angry, but it’s not working. He’s always had the ability to pull me back from any sort of emotional cliff. So much has happened between us, but he still knows me that well. I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

  "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It didn’t occur to me to text you. I’m glad you did, though." He genuinely smiles at me.

  I sigh. "Okay. Just..." I try to think of the right words, and something clicks. "I can’t do this alone." I gesture at the papers. As much as I don’t want to let him in, I need his help, which scares me almost as much as the reason why I need him.

  Rhys understands the meaning. "We can message during the day. You can tell me what you’re up to, and I can text you when I’m home. We can meet up after everyone goes to bed and work on things."

  I frown. "Um, what are you going to tell Heather and Tristen about coming home all of a sudden?"

  He shrugs nonchalantly. "Nothing. Not my problem what they think."

  "Rhys!" My pulse increases; he promised not to act any different.

  "Calla!" he mimics my tone. "Calm down, if they ask—which they won’t since you and I will still ignore each other—I’ll just say Wes is sleepwalking again. He confuses the couch for the bathroom, and I don’t enjoy getting pissed on every other night. It’ll be fine. I promise." Without blinking an eye about the ridiculous lie, he switches gears and gestures to the articles. "What are you doing?"

  I snort. "Not so fast. First of all, that’s the most unbelievable story I have ever heard come out of your mouth—and that’s saying a lot after last weekend. And second, what about Wes?"

  Rhys rolls his eyes. "You’re overthinking this. I haven’t had to explain myself to anyone in years. If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell Wes I’m staying at Kat’s."

  No, that doesn’t make me feel better.

  Not satisfied with his answer, but refusing to analyze why the excuse of him sleeping at his girlfriend’s house causes a red haze to settle over my vision, I frown at the paper still in my hand and admit, "I was hoping something would trigger another migraine, something that can give us a hint as to where to start looking."

  He looks concerned now. "Nothing?"

  "Nothing," I huff.

  We’re both so busy during the week with our individual routines that, twice, I fall asleep before Rhys gets home.

  Thursday, I finally remember something. We go over the room I was in, and I try to outline where everything is when I recall a small bookshelf with lots of used children’s books and a small dresser on the other side of the door that contained clothes—all around my size.

  So creepy.

  It all points even more toward the incident being planned and thought out.

  Why did he pick me?

  Aside from Lilly remembering more furniture, we’ve made zero progress. It’s getting late, and she sits cross-legged, leaning against her headboard, laptop on her lap. I sit at the foot of the bed, facing her, and sift through notes.

  "I feel like there has to be something in this house."

  Lilly glances over her screen, trying to stifle a yawn. "What do you mean?"

  I shrug. "Like adoption papers, medical files, whoever erased your memory about Emily and Henry. I don’t know. Something. I mean, you have my last name; there must be a paper trail for that."

  Lilly doesn’t flinch anymore when I mention Emily and Henry. I’ve told her everything I remember about them, which, unfortunately, isn’t a whole lot. After all, I was seven when everything went down. But I do remember that they seemed to be good people. Good parents. I make sure to emphasize that to Lilly. I want her to understand that not everyone in her life is—or was—bad.

  Her internal battle is obvious. She is angry, and I do my best to understand. She refers to Emily and Henry by their first names, instead of her parents, and also starts doing that with my parents. It hurt the first few times, but I get it—she is protecting herself.

  Lilly tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, a gesture she does when she’s thinking something over, and it makes her look freaking adorable. She stares off toward the other end of the room, and I use the opportunity to gawk at her openly. She is wearing her usual gray PJ sweats, but instead of a Henley, she has my old hoodie on. The navy blue is so faded that it appears more gray than blue. I had given it to her a few months into my freshman year. I had bulked up from practice and had to get a bigger one. I’m surprised to see her in it tonight. I was sure the one day she had worn it to school was a mistake, and now I wonder if she did it on purpose or if she hasn’t given it a thought at all. Either way, seeing her in my clothes stirs something deep inside of me.

  I’m completely distracted when she speaks. "If there is something in the house, it’s probably in the office. Maybe the safe? I don’t think they would just keep it anywhere, like their bedroom."

  Her words make me snap out of my internal debate about the hoodie. "I agree, but I’m not sure how we can search for it properly with Mom and Dad around."

  Lilly taps her pointer finger against her lips.

  God, she is so sexy when she does that.

  I all but drool at the sight. When she looks back at me, I avert my eyes quickly.

  Get a grip, dude.

  "We’re allowed to leave during lunch; one of us could drive home."

  "That could work. You think you can do it without anyone asking questions?" I say, thinking that if I disappear, either Kat or Wes will notice immediately.

  She thinks for a second. "Yeah, I can always say I forgot something."

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, after lunch, I’m sitting in English Lit when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. Mi
ss Cipriano is reading something from the book we’re currently discussing, so I take a chance and pull it out. Both Kat and Wes are in this class with me, which means it’s most likely Lilly, and she wouldn’t text me unless it’s important. None of my other friends text in the middle of class; we’ve all gotten into trouble for it over the years. The school has had a no-cell-phones-in-class policy ever since a group of seniors, a few years ago, somehow used their phones to cheat during several exams. It was never released what they did exactly, but if someone gets caught with a phone out in class, you can kiss it goodbye for the rest of the day. None of us are willing to risk that twice—except for me right now.

  I swipe across Lilly’s name on the screen.

  Got something.

  My heart immediately hammers in my throat. Got what? A migraine? Did she go home? I didn’t think she would try so soon, but I’m not surprised. Neither of us can claim patience as one of our redeeming qualities, and she’s been dealing with this much longer.

  I keep my reply short to not attract attention: ?

  With my phone on my thigh, I wait for the vibration so I don’t have to look at it constantly. I can’t help myself, though, and take a peek. I see the three little dots on the screen, but it seems like an eternity until I feel the familiar sensation on my leg.

  Went home during lunch. T never changed combination to safe, but there were only family documents, passports, etc.

  I am about to respond when she types again. The next message makes the blood pound hard in my ears.

  Still had time. Looked through T’s desk. Found folder taped to bottom of middle drawer with a discharge form for a Jane Doe from a hospital in Santa Rosa, CA and a copy of my passport. With my REAL name.

  Holy fuck!