by Dee Ellis
“At least we know where to start, Hunter. Shit, I see you. Let’s get some of the boys and head that way.” Glancing up, I saw Diggs pacing in front of the station.
Without bothering to park, I slowed the truck down. Finn came rushing out after him, and they both climbed in. No words were said as I rushed to the address Diggs rattled off. Blocks before we got there, I was shaking with rage. I barely made out Diggs ordering some plain clothes officers to the same address.
Once the hotel came into view, I punched the gas. I had to find her. Had to be sure she was safe. The very idea of what Seth could be doing to her made me almost manic. I slammed into park in front of the main office, barely able to breathe at the thought. Seth had done fucked up things to her when they were together. It made me sick to consider how far he’d push her now.
“Lola Bear will be fine, Hunter. We’re going to find her, I promise.” Finn laid a heavy hand at my shoulder, and I almost broke down.
Diggs leapt from the truck and I watched him rush inside. He flashed his badge, screamed something at the clerk, then came rushing back out. Before I could ask anything, four cars pulled up on either side of me. Diggs rushed to each window, shouted a room number, and then nodded my way.
I was across the lot in seconds, seeking that room number. Lola was mine. I’d be the one to find her. I spotted a pricey looking Range Rover and squinted at the door it was parked in front of. Bingo. I punched the gas, closing the distance, praying I’d find my Lola behind that door.
“Go get your lady, bro.” Finn spoke from behind me, even as we both climbed from the truck.
Diggs beat me to the door somehow and pounded once. The other cops, all men I knew well, flanked us on all sides. After Diggs announced he was with the police, he pounded once more. The officer to his left, a mouthy fuck named Stiles I had shared many beers with at O’Malley’s, kicked the door open.
I stormed inside, past all of them, before I could think. I stumbled once I made it past the threshold. I didn’t make it far. The room is empty. It reeks of cigarette smoke and sex. Bed sheets are twisted, and I see Lola’s bag hanging from the edge.
Sheets of her graphic novel are spilled out onto the floor. Torn and ruined. I fall to the floor to gather them up, careful with the pages. The past months of our lives are in those pages. Some of what was supposed to be our future, too.
Lola had started a new page about a big party with all our friends. I clutch the sheets, smiling down at them. Both of us are there, Lola beaming up at me. It’s colorful and bright and it rips my fucking heart out.
“Where is she!?” I scream back at Diggs, who places a hand on my shoulder.
“We tracked them here last. Got Stiles checking with other guests, see what they saw. Can’t be far behind them, bro. Come on. This is her stuff?” Diggs reaches for her bag, and I nod, carefully stacking the bright colored storyboards.
“We have to find them.” I can barely breathe as I say this.
“Hunter, we will find her. I promise you.” Before he can say more, uniformed cops flood the room.
We stand aside as they take photos and dust for finger prints. All the shit that is basically a waste of my time. I am in full panic mode when they find her clothes in the bathroom. I identify them, then step outside where I get sick in a flower pot.
Four hours since I spoke to her last. When I’d promised to be there for her. It’s all my fault. I knew Seth was following her. And I knew that Poppy’s visit had felt wrong from the beginning. Now, I suspected it had more to do with Seth’s progressive behavior than sisterly bonding.
Finn updated the girls about what’s happening. Cage and Levi were calling me nonstop for news about Lola, but I can’t even find the words. Diggs takes my phone and fills them each in before we’re ushered from the hotel room. I’m still clutching her colorful art, and one of the uniform cops, an unfamiliar face, demands I give them up.
“Why don’t you fuck off, you noob. Get out of his face, bro.” The way Finn barked the word ‘bro’ sounded anything but friendly.
“They may be evidence, and we” Before Columbo can finish his sentence, Finn advances on him.
“Fairly certain I didn’t stutter. Kick rocks, before I make it so your next request is spoken through a wired shut jaw. Got it, friend?” Now, I can’t be sure, but I could swear the young cop literally trembled in his department issued boots.
“Hunter, we need to get out of their way, though. Come on.” Diggs gave the slightest push at my shoulder, and Finn had to steady me from falling over.
Following them numbly, I took one last look back at the room that held the faintest scent of my wife. Something felt wrong. More than her being gone. As I watched them bag items and gather the last of the items they called evidence, I couldn’t shake it.
It was the darkest feeling of finality.
Four hours turns into four days. Four fucking days. No calls, no leads, not a single word about where my wife is. The fear I felt the night of the fire is nothing like this. Not even close. I didn’t even know a feeling like this could exist.
Diggs reports to me every few hours but they’ve found nothing. No proof of Seth taking her somewhere; at least not by plane, train or anything they can trace. Meanwhile, he has begun digging into her family and friends back home even deeper than before.
On day two, I learn that perhaps I didn’t really know Lola as well as I thought. That snarky sister of hers had left a few breadcrumbs for me to follow during her visit. I was just too stupid to follow them then. Now, I’m grasping at any morsel of information.
“Real name: Violet Lawton. Born May 17th, 1989, Westbrook, Maine. The oldest of two daughters born to Reginald and Victoria Lawton.” Diggs tells me all this over coffee at the same Dunkin Donuts we met at just last week.
Last week. While I was celebrating my honeymoon. With a woman I thought I could spend my life with. One who, apparently, never felt the need to tell me her real name. Or her hometown, or a single other thing that fucking mattered.
I told her everything. About where I grew up, my family, and all the things that I thought you tell your spouse. Hell, a real name is high up there on things you tell on a first date. I knew she held parts of her past back, but I had no idea how much.
Took me a bottle of whiskey and a long chat with Gerdie to get past that. Finn and Gigi were taking turns with Cage and Charli, and even Levi, checking up on me. I jockeyed between being livid and being crushed that after everything, I couldn’t trust what we had.
I didn’t even know if I could trust her.
Most of the second and third day, I spent pissed. Confused. Heartbroken. But then I sit in our place—at least the place I considered ours—and I look at those scenes. Read over texts. Think about what we had together. I want to trust it. Want to trust her.
By the fourth day, I am a new man. I spent the first hours of the morning on the phone with Deacon. He confirmed questions about the fire. It was arson. Deacon said they have some good physical evidence. Good for us. Bad for Seth.
Just as I am planning a trip east, to find my wife and bring her home, I get the call. The call that should end most marriages. Especially one as new and fragile as ours. Maybe it should clue me in that we’re doomed. Instead it reminds me, more than that bottle of whisky or those chats with Gerdie ever could, just what I had with Lola.
“Hunter...” The sun is just beginning to set when I hear her voice again.
I go ice cold then fever hot as I fall to the floor. I don’t respond at first. I can’t even breath, let alone form a coherent sentence. Then she says my name again and I am talking over her.
“Tell me where you are, Darlin’. I’m coming for you...” Her soft cry breaks my heart in two.
“No. Please, don’t. I’m...I’m home. Back home, where I should be. I was foolish to run away. I just...had to tell you.... I meant it. I meant it all, Hunter.” I’ve been burned before, but those words leave their mark. Singe the edges of everything we had. Burn me deep.
“Your home is here. With me. With Gigi and Charli. Us. Not them.” I bite each word out.
“No, I belong here. I was always going to come back home. Eventually. I was being foolish and rebellious. I never meant...I didn’t mean to get so involved.” I am stunned by the detachment in her soft voice.
Lola says the word ‘involved’ like she’s bored. Tired. As if she had grown weary of whatever lie she was perpetrating. Whether it be to me, her family, or herself, I wasn’t sure. Until she said one last thing.
“I meant it all, Hunter.” The line goes dead and I know I have my answer.
Lola is lying to her family and probably to herself. But, she wasn’t lying to me. Not about wanting to be married to me or creating a colorful life here in Chicago. Still took me a moment to recover from the iciness she had delivered those blows with.
My Lola was warm and bright, not like the ice queen her sister was. After Lola had gone missing, I’d called her immediately. I knew Poppy was involved somehow. Two words into that conversation, it had been confirmed.
“Big sister pulling the theatrics again. Hunter, you seem like a good guy. I tried to warn you. Lola is.... still Lola.” Once again Poppy had curled Lola’s name with disgust; now I knew why of course.
I already didn’t like Poppy, and even less after that phone call. I knew she came to Chicago to drag my wife back home, one way or another. Part of me felt sorry for her, though. Which kind of made me hate her even more.
The Lawtons had created show pieces, not children. Lola had been too vibrant and free to contain. Poppy, on the other hand, allowed them to prop her up and pose her however they saw fit. It had turned her bitter and resentful. Mostly towards the sister who had gotten away from it.
Regardless of my pity, I loathed the woman. I knew she came here under orders. Lola tried to make up for lost time, repair the bond damaged by their destructive upbringing. Poppy rebuffed her efforts, remaining stoic and icy. So, basically, fuck her and her debutante ass.
My concern was for my Lola; no one and nothing else.
That’s why, after licking my wounds on the fourth day, I was boarding a plane on the fifth. They would never expect me to come to Maine. Not after the elaborate rouse they had perpetrated.
After that call from Lola, which was about as staged as my Mama’s favorite musical, Oklahoma! Diggs had news for me. Or rather, the news had it, but Diggs had tried to beat them to it. Soften the blow, I suppose.
“Bro, the news is gonna sting today.” Diggs had warned as I packed my bags to head off to try and save my girl.
I had just a few hours before my flight when he showed up at my door. They had some updates about the fire, but that’s not why he’d paid me a visit. Instead, he’d turned on CNN. They were covering the primaries, and Senator Lawton was a hot topic.
“Media favorite Reg Lawton had quite the show of family support at his fundraiser last night. Daughter Poppy, his second in command, and her fiancé Bart are often present during Lawton’s events.” Camera’s panned the crowd, chanting and clapping, before focusing back on the Lawton family.
As it pans the stage where Senator Lawson is talking at a podium, my heart stops. Lola. My Lola. Only she’s not my Lola now. I actually move to crouch in front of the TV, taking deep gulps of air that I can’t push back out. I can’t feel anything, but I can hear the broadcaster talking.
“Also in attendance was Lawton’s oldest daughter and her husband; the two have been MIA from the spotlight while Seth Fairchild, senator Boyd Fairchild’s oldest son, did some volunteering in third world countries. What a lovely couple though, Greg.” The news desk dicks chat it up, unaware they’re breaking my heart.
Really, it’s seeing her that way that breaks my heart. Flanking Lawton on one side is Poppy and her fiancé Bart. On the other? My wife, holding hands with her ex-husband. Only, she doesn’t even remotely resemble the woman I love.
Gone is her dark hair and bright colored tips. It’s blonde and longer than it was four days ago. It washes her out, but so does the darkness beneath her pretty purple eyes. I’ve never seen Lola wear makeup, but now she’s lined and buffed and looks so polished she looks fake. A dress reveals she’s lost weight already, and her arms are bare of the tattoos I know are there.
Lola twists just a little to look at her father, the same fake smile on her lips I’d seen so often on Poppy’s during her visit. The move brings their laced hands more into focus. Seeing her hand is the only reason I finish packing and get to the airport.
They might have covered up her pretty book and bird tattoos, but one remains. The one that anchors her to me for good. The one that I drew on her finger, and she then had branded on her skin. Her bright red wedding band is still there, and I see a flash of the anchor with its heart. Her hand fidgets within Seth’s, and I see something new. It must be marker, but I see it just the same.
Between the wedding band and anchor is one letter. B. Byrne.
I board the plane hopeful and anxious, but scared as shit. I don’t know what I am walking into. Could be heart break. It would destroy me. Losing Lola might end me. Certainly feels like it.
As the plane banks and I feel bile rising in the back of my throat, I consider it. The possibility that Poppy was right. That I don’t know Lola at all. Maybe I don’t. It felt like I did, though.
Then again, they only know Violet. The angsty, rebellious daughter who ran away from their cold, monochromatic life. Who followed a boy because he promised her color, but instead, gave her nothing but shadows. That is not the woman I know.
Either way, I made a promise to a colorful, mouthy woman, regardless of who she once was. I promised her I wouldn’t let them take her away from what she wanted. Wouldn’t let them hurt her. I intend to keep that promise. Even if it breaks my heart while keeping it.
16
At first, I thought for sure it was a joke. A sick, twisted joke. I woke up with a searing pain in my head, and my lungs filled with the smell of cigarettes, bleach and Clive Christian No 1—my baby sister’s signature perfume. I knew before I could open my eyes, which took quite the effort, what I would find.
And yet, when I managed to open my heavy lids, my blurry vision focusing on two dark figures, I almost cried out. I knew better though; Seth had taught me to keep my mouth shut.
In the nicest suite in the Waldorf sat my sister and my psychotic former husband. They were bickering, like they always had. I always thought Poppy harbored a crush on Seth. Maybe she did. But the two could not stand one another. Even now, all these years later, they stood in a posh hotel room, with me doped up in audience, bitching at one another.
“I told you to wait. I was working on it.” Poppy sneered at him in that way only a Lawton could.
“Fuck your working on it. She married that redneck fuck. Married him, Pops. You don’t think mommy and Daddy might find that out? Don’t think the press will?” In the bed, I shrink away as he sinks in beside me.
Seth reaches skinny, dirty fingers out to trace my face. Bile rises up in the back of my throat, but I choke it back. Poppy joins him on the bed, sitting close beside him. As I watch, she closes her fingers around his, bringing those dirty nails to her lips. Licking them slowly, she makes her eyes go heavy before she purrs sweetly, almost seductively, at him.
“Baby, who cares. You don’t care, do you, baby?” More bile. More panic.
Guess I was right about that crush. Seth softens, twisting away from me to press into her. Still, I don’t move. I barely breath. He lifts her into his lap, moving them into the chair across the room. They’re talking, but it’s fast and low now. I can’t make out much, and I’m thankful for that, really.
“No, doll face. Course not...I just....and they know we...” This is Seth, as he’s sucking and kissing at my baby sister’s neck. The neck of his brother’s fiancé. Cool guy.
“They don’t.... mother doesn’t even care.... baby...please trust....” Poppy mumbles this between moans as they start taking clothes off.
I look away, bury my face in the pillow. I still hear the moans. Hear the ripping of clothes. The grunting and thrusting. I know what’s happening, and I know how I should feel about it. But I don’t feel hurt or betrayed. I just feel dirty and scared.
Because I don’t know why I’m in this hotel room. Why Seth took me. Or why my own flesh and blood is in on it. I don’t think I want to know why they’re fucking feet away from me, to be honest.
When I wake up later, Seth is beside me. Shirtless, in pricey torn jeans, and freshly showered. The room smells like weed, sex, and stale cigarettes. I flinch when his fingers trail over my face again. Seth notices. A slap to my face makes my eyes fly up to his.
“There she is. Look at you, babes. I remember this girl.” He twirls his now clean fingers in my hair; hair that is now blond and longer than my chin length bob.
“Fuck you.” I shove away fast, tumbling off the other edge of the bed to the floor.
My tongue feels heavy, so I think I said fuck you. My body, which is naked, aches. I cringed, my hands flying between my legs, certain I’ll find evidence he took me too. I’m clean. Washed, in fact. Seth watches this all with that crooked, filthy grin at his face. The smile I grew to hate.
“Mmm, you thickened up in all the right places, V. Might still go a round, so don’t look so relieved, babes.” Despite the shudder his dark voice sends through me, I keep moving.
Backing up on my hands and knees, I move until I hit the wall. Using it, I haul myself up, careless that I’m naked. Seth has seen it all. Abused it all. I’m tucked away into the alcove between the bed and the bathroom. A wide mirror hangs there, and I see myself for the first time.
My hair is blonde. Which explains the bleach smell from earlier. Longer, almost to the middle of my back. That explains the pain in my scalp; Poppy had extensions done. My eyes burn because the blue contacts they shoved in them. I’m once again the girl I ran away from.