“Why would someone do this, Charles?” I straightened the slivers of canvas back into position. In bright red paint, across the top was printed the word MINE.
“I don’t know, Izzy.” He shook his head sadly. “Of course, the photos can be reprinted. But I’m so sorry about the paintings. I know how much The Gift of Flowers piece meant to you.”
“Yeah,” I croaked. The painting depicting our childhood love, innocent and pure, was now ravaged by hate. Maybe it was an omen.
“What do you want me to do about this? The gallery’s insurance will cover the value of the damaged works. Do you want to file a police report?” Charles asked, pacing the floor.
“I just need some time to think. My mind’s a wreck right now. Can I call you tomorrow?”
I’d gone from riding the crest of a wave to being crushed beneath its force in a matter of hours.
“Sure. Take your time.” He squeezed my shoulder
“I need to go.” I needed Dawson. Only he could settle the chaos that was waging war on my soul.
Hastily, I fled the building, stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. With tears blurring my vision, I made my way down the sidewalk and pulled up Dawson’s number on my phone. Before I could press send, a roar filled the air behind me. I was knocked to the ground. Pain ricocheted in my skull. Voices came from far away as the world went black around me.
Chapter 10
Dawson
Showering and changing took a little longer than normal since I took the time to shave. I wanted to look my best for Izzy. To be the boy she loved years ago.
Rubbing my towel over my head one more time, I stepped out of the bathroom. “Sorry that took so long, flutterby.”
Silence greeted me. I yanked the terrycloth from my head and looked around. My dressing room was empty. Frowning, I turned back to the bathroom and tossed the towel inside. With hurried steps, I moved to the door. Joe was ten feet down the hall, leaning against the wall.
“Hey, Joe, did Izzy head on into the meet and greet?” I prayed he’d give an affirmative answer.
Please don’t let her have been frightened off by the dozens of underwear that filled my dressing room.
“Nah, man. I assumed she was still in there with you,” Joe said, moving towards me.
“But you’ve been here in the hallway the whole time, right?” I asked, frowning.
“I had to go take a leak, but I was only gone for like two minutes.” His bulk ate up the distance between us.
Turning, I stepped back into the dressing room. My gaze flickered over everything, looking for any clue as to where she’d disappeared to. Joe was doing the same thing.
“What’s with the underwear draped all over everything?” He shook his head as he pushed some out of the way. “I hope they’re all brand new.” His shoulders shuddered.
“A while back the fans started sending panties to all of our rooms. One of the staff members from the record label took care of disposing of them before we had to use the rooms. I forgot about it until I brought Izzy in here. You don’t think she bailed because of all this, do you?” I waved my hand around the room.
“It’s been a while since I’ve talked with her. But the Izzy I knew wouldn’t be scared off by something like this.” Joe shifted some things on the table next to the couch.
I moved a vase of flowers on the surface of the dressing table and noticed a square envelope. Recognizable writing on the outside spelled my name. My blood ran cold as I reached for the familiar looking paper.
“Hey, I found a note from her. It says: Got to go. Emergency at the gallery. TTYL. I love you,” Joe said.
His words didn’t register. Only the message I held in my trembling fingers did.
“D, did you hear me? She had an emergency, so just call her,” Joe’s voice sounded like it was traveling to my ears through a tunnel.
Black hearts slid from the paper pouch into my hand. Mingled with them were two photo puzzle pieces. My face in profile in one. More of my torso in the other. Drawn on my torso was a black heart and the word MINE printed under it.
“Dawson, are you OK?” Joe’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, jarring me out of my trance.
I held my palm out to him, showing him the picture scraps. “What does the letter say?”
I unfolded the paper to find the magazine clipped words I’d become accustomed to.
Dear Dawson,
I'm planning a little trip before I can completely be with you. You know they say heartbreak is inspiring. I bet Izzy will create some beautiful things to share with the world once I tell her you don't want her.
Love,
Me.
“Look,” Joe whispered and pointed to the mirror.
Written across the reflective surface in red were the words: You’re MINE.
“She was here,” my voice was stony. “She’s going after Izzy. We have to find her. Now,” I snapped, instantly frantic.
“Call her. I’ll see if any of the other guys happened to go with her. They all know not to leave her alone,” Joe said authoritatively.
As Joe spoke into his phone, I thumbed her name on my phone’s screen. Pacing the floor, I waited for the call to go through. “Hi, this is Isabelle. Leave a message.”
“Straight to voicemail, Joe.”
My chest heaved in and out, panic rising. Nothing could happen to her. I was only just starting to get her back. I couldn’t suffer through losing her again. I’d sacrifice whatever it took to have her safely in my life.
“Keep trying. Her note said there was an emergency at the gallery. Do you know the name of it?” Joe asked, still holding his own phone to his ear.
“No. But how many could there be in Charleston?”
I redialed her number. “Hi, this is—”
I ended the call.
After I opened a web browser on my phone, I searched art galleries in the area. “Damn it, Joe. There are like six galleries.”
“OK. I’ll get Key to start calling them. It’s a long shot since it’s after hours, but if something’s going on at one of them, maybe someone will answer.” He spoke into the black rectangle in his hand.
“Joe, did anyone see her leave or go with her?” Hope surged in me for a moment.
“No. Everyone else was dealing with fans in the meet and greet line or some groupies who tried to sneak backstage. I’m sorry, man. Let me call the local PD, see if anyone can help us out,” Joe stated, the epitome of authority and calm.
“OK. But hurry. I’ve got a bad feeling.” My insides roiled like a sea being mixed by a storm.
“Don’t think the worst. Go fill Brooks in, so the guys will know why you aren’t showing up. I’ll call the station. Meet me in the hallway in five minutes,” he ordered and pointed.
I hit redial again as I pushed through the door and into the hallway. Following the sounds of chaos, I burst into the room where the meet and greet was in full swing.
“Dawson,” the fans clamored.
I didn’t even offer a smile at any of them. Hands reached out to touch me, to clutch the fabric of my shirt. I shrugged each one off, zeroing in on Brooks.
“Thought you might skip out on this one, dude. Not that I’d blame you. You’ve waited a long time to get back with Izzy,” he said, smirking at me from behind the scantily clad woman on his lap.
“Izzy’s gone,” I choked out.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Brooks nudged the woman off him as he stood and approached me.
“I mean, she left me a note that there was an emergency at the art gallery while I was in the shower. And now she isn’t answering her phone,” my voice was high-pitched and shaky in my ears.
“She probably just never turned it back on after the show ended.” He gave me a reassuring smile.
Leaning forward, I spoke in his ear, “My stalker was here too.”
“What?” He shifted back so he could look at me.
I nodded. “There was a new note with some photo pieces and a message wri
tten on the mirror. Not to mention my dressing room was filled with underwear. I’m worried something bad has happened to Izzy.” “What do you need me to do?” His hands gripped my shoulders, helping to keep me upright.
“Just cover for me with the fans. I gotta go try to find her.”
“Say no more. Just go. Call me when you find out anything,” Brooks said.
He drew me into a one-armed hug, clapping me on the back. When he let go, I turned to the door. The crowd had surged, blocking my path. Just as I was about to start shouldering my way through the pulsing mass, Ty appeared at my side, and Deric flanked my other side. They pushed through the crowd and delivered me to the door.
Ty turned to me. “I’m so sorry, D. I came to help out down here with the crowd. I didn’t think she’d need watching.”
As much as I wanted to blame someone, I couldn’t blame him. “It’s not your fault, dude. You’ve been up here watching over her for me all week, and there weren’t any issues. There was no reason to think she’d be in danger here of all places.”
“As soon as the fans disperse, I’m gonna meet up with you guys and help any way I can,” he offered.
“Thanks.” I gave him an appreciative smile.
“Let’s go.” Joe grabbed my shoulder and steered me towards the back exit.
I had to practically run to keep up with him. “Where are we going? Did you find out anything?” The words fell out of my mouth in a rush.
“It might be nothing. There were no reports filed from any of the art galleries. But there was an accident reported outside of one of the galleries.” He pressed the lever on the exit. The sound echoed in the empty hallway.
“An accident?” My throat started closing at the thought. Cool air rushed over my skin.
“I don’t know much. Just that there was a hit and run. Drunk driver. The victim has been taken to University Medical. Until you can get through to Izzy, I figure we’ll start at the hospital,” he explained, glancing over at me.
We climbed into the car. Before either of us had fastened our seatbelts, Joe pulled away from the arena.
Though he wasn’t from the area, he maneuvered the darkened city streets as if he’d lived there his whole life. In record time, he pulled into the parking lot by the emergency room entrance. Without waiting for him to shut off the engine, I leaped from the car.
“Dawson, wait up. You can’t just barge in there alone. You might be recognized,” Joe huffed as he hurried to catch up with me.
“I don’t care if someone recognizes me, so long as they give me information.” I yanked open the door.
Scanning the expanse of white and shine stretched before me, I stalked to the receptionist’s desk. She was on the phone.
“Excuse me,” I whispered.
She held up one finger as she continued her call. Time slowed while I waited. I cast an exasperated look at Joe.
“Ma’am, we’re really sorry to bother you. I’m a retired police officer, and I was alerted that one of the people my security firm is responsible for may have been brought in a little while ago. If you could just check in your computer to see if Isabelle Clark has been admitted, I’d really appreciate it,” Joe said calmly.
“Just give me one minute to finish up. You can have a seat over there.” She pointed to the crowded waiting area as she went back to her call.
Joe leaned forward. “Seems like things are nice and calm over there. They won’t stay that way if you send him—” He gestured at me with his thumb. “—over there. He’s the lead singer of Lyrical Odyssey. So, in order to keep things quiet, we’ll just wait here.”
She looked up at me critically, studying me. Finally, recognition dawned on her face. She hung up the phone without saying goodbye. “Could I get your autograph for my daughter? She’s a huge fan. Has your posters all over her wall,” she gushed.
“I’ll sign something for you if you could just check to see if Isabelle has been brought in.” I was willing to agree to just about anything to get the information I needed.
The click of her fingernails on the keys created a syncopated rhythm. It was a little nerve-wracking.
“Ahh, here she is. Isabelle Clark. They just moved her from triage up to a room. But visiting hours are going to be over in ten minutes,” the woman said apologetically.
“What room?” my voice was bordering on hysterical. It had to be serious if they’d admitted her.
“She’s in room 503.” A paper slid into my field of vision. A pen lay across it. “My daughter’s name is Amy.”
With the speed of a cheetah, I scrawled my name and a message across the square slip. As I pushed it back to her, she handed over two sticker badges. “Those will buy you a little extra time.”
“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder as I dashed for the elevator.
I didn’t wait for Joe to check the metal box when the doors opened. I didn’t care if there was a threat inside. Let anyone try to get between me and room 503. It wouldn’t end well for them.
My finger jabbed the five button then pressed the door closed one over and over until mercifully it closed.
Joe remained a silent sentry next to me as we ascended. When we finally stopped on the fifth floor there were only six minutes left of the official visiting hours—not nearly enough time for me to make sure my girl was OK.
I marched to the right the instant I could fit through the crack in the doors.
“Dawson,” Joe called from behind me.
“What?” I snapped impatiently.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he said pointing to the placard on the wall with directions to sets of rooms.
Sheepishly, I turned around and followed him until we reached Izzy’s door. I hesitated outside, trying to prepare myself for what might be on the other side. The door was slightly ajar. Soft voices drifted out into the hallway. None of them hers.
“You gonna stand out here all night?” Joe asked softly.
Sighing deeply, I pushed the door open a bit farther, so I could peer inside. I froze when I saw Beckett sitting next to Izzy’s hospital bed, clutching her hand. Her eyes were closed. She looked so small, framed in metal and sterility. Beckett was speaking with a dark-skinned man who looked like he could be a bodyguard.
Why was Beckett with her?
Spinning, I moved to leave. I couldn’t let her go already, not when I’d only just begun to grasp her again. But my mind couldn’t process what was playing out on the other side of her door.
The squeak of my shoe on the shiny tile sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet hospital. My shoulders drew up around my neck. Joe smirked at me.
“Dawson. Thank goodness you’re here,” Beckett’s voice called out.
I turned and stepped back into the room but remained quiet.
“I didn’t know how to get in touch with you. When I called the hotel I figured you were staying at, the receptionist was no help. And neither was the concert venue. They put me on hold forever. Izzy’s phone cracked and won’t come on, so I couldn’t find your number in there,” he said in a rush.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“I’ll let Charles tell you. Dawson, Joe, this is Charles Strong. He owns the gallery where Isabelle has her upcoming art exhibition,” Beckett said, indicating the big man in the room.
“Dawson, I recognize you from her work,” the distinguished man said.
Huh?
The confusion must have been apparent on my face because he continued, “You and your band inspired much of the art Isabelle showed me as we prepared for her show. Anyway, someone snuck into the space where she was storing some of her show pieces and vandalized them. I called her as soon as the cleaning company alerted me. She rushed to meet me at the gallery.”
“Oh no. I’m sure she was frantic. Izzy’s art is an extension of her soul.” A vice squeezed my chest as I imagined her despair.
“Exactly. Anyway, she was very upset. She couldn’t understand why someone would do something like that to h
er work. I told her we could file a police report, but she said she needed some time. Then she rushed out. I heard the roar of an engine and a sickening thud. By the time I’d run out into the street, the motorcycle was speeding down the street, and Isabelle was lying on the sidewalk.” He shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe it.
I collapsed into the chair by the door, unable to imagine someone running my flutterby over.
“I called 9-1-1. When they arrived, they started asking questions about her medical history, so I called the hotel Beckett was staying at. I thought some of her past treatments may affect how the hospital handled her case,” Charles explained.
“I rushed straight here and tried to reach you on the way. I figured you could contact her parents. I don’t have their information,” Beckett finished.
“Yeah. I’ll call them in just a bit. So, what did the police say?” I leaned forward, anxious to know everything.
“They examined the pavement. Since there were no skid marks, they’re thinking it was a drunk driver because anyone else would’ve tried to stop. They’re going to pull the footage from any businesses with cameras in the area, see if they can find out anything,” Charles offered.
“I’ll get in touch with my contacts at the police department in a bit to see what I can find out,” Joe offered. His hand rested on my shoulder. “Izzy’s tough. She’ll be fine.”
I tried to believe in his words. But until I looked into those green orbs of hers again, I’d be holding my breath.
Charles stood and shook Beckett’s hand. Then he strode over to me and gripped my hand. “Please keep me posted about how she’s doing. I’ll stop by tomorrow to check on her. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” He withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket.
Without examining the colorful rectangle, I shoved it into my pocket. “I will. And thanks for everything you did to get her help so quickly. If any restoration can be done to the damaged pieces, do it. I’ll cover the expense. No matter what it is.”
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 57