by Evelyn Glass
I made my way back inside the house slowly, the horror of being in there without my daughter hanging heavy over my head. I was so used to her company, to hearing her and having her and being near her. But now…I had to walk back in there and know that I hadn’t done enough to keep her safe.
Mona was just hanging up the phone when I arrived. She turned and raised her eyebrows when she laid eyes on me. “What’s wrong?”
“They slashed the tires to my bike,” I explained, defeated. “And your car too.”
“What?”
“They must have planned this out for a long time.” I ran my hand over my face, trying to pull myself back to reality. Surely, this had to be a nightmare—there was no way this could have happened. A fever dream, a leftover from everything that had already happened. Because this was absurdly horrible. Impossibly so.
“I called the cops, and they’re on their way to take a statement,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, and I could tell that she was having as much trouble with getting her head around this as I was. I just… I knew this wasn’t how it worked, but everything had been so perfect so recently. It didn’t feel right that everything should be snatched away so quickly. It didn’t feel possible.
I sat down on the edge of the couch, where we’d fucked only a few hours earlier, and stared out of the window blankly. Waiting for the cops to arrive, I found myself willing Ella to walk through the door and put an end to this nightmare. But I knew that getting her back wouldn’t be as easy as that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I had never known a silence like the one we sat in while we waited for the police to turn up. Jazz paced back and forth, the only sound in the room that of his shoes hitting the floor over and over again. A rhythmic pattern, every step sending a shiver down my spine.
When I walked into Ella’s room and saw that she wasn’t there, I felt as though my heart had been ripped straight from my chest. Even as I had crossed the corridor to her room, I had tried to assure myself that I was overreacting and that nothing was really going on. Jazz was just paranoid, that was all. But when I saw her bed, empty, the sheets pulled back and her dinosaur plush sitting next to her pillow, I wanted to tear my hair out of my scalp just to distract from the agony that was lancing through my body. And when I returned downstairs to find Jazz, telling me that she was gone and that someone had taken her, I didn’t know how to do anything else but sink to the ground, call the cops, and try to convince myself that this was all some awful nightmare that I was about to wake up from at any second.
It was late and we were far out from the center of town, so the cops took a long time to arrive; hell, maybe it was only a few minutes and it just felt as though the time stretched out in front of us for what seemed like hours. My mind raced as I went over everything that had happened. How could we have been so naïve, naïve enough to think that all of this was over? There we were, playing happy families, playing at being in love and safe and sound—all while we should have known that it wouldn’t be done with that easily. I wanted to slam my fist against the marble counter, furious with myself, furious with Jazz, furious with everyone for no good reason.
But who could have done this? I racked my racing mind. Ian was locked up—that was the only reason we had come back here in the first place, and I was certain that Scott would have called if he knew something to the contrary. I couldn’t think who else would have done this—Addison, maybe? Perhaps he was in on the deal? Or that person who’d been following us in Ian’s car?
He had to have had an accomplice—it was bad enough knowing that we had one crazy guy after us, but the thought that someone might be working with him was even worse. Not just because of the danger it put us in, but the knowledge that Ian had convinced someone else that his path was righteous and important and worth committing unthinkable crimes over…it didn’t bear thinking about. As a social worker, I knew there were people out there who would do bad to kids, but usually I was able to hold them at arm’s length. I never thought one would make themselves so important in my personal life.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door; I sprang to my feet and raced for it, throwing it open, and found myself faced with two police officers, a man and a woman. Behind them stood Scott. My heart dropped, as though I’d half-expected whoever it was to be bringing Ella back, this whole thing written off as some giant mistake.
Scott pushed through the officers and into the house, looking around as though he expected to see something terrifying huddling in the shadows—instead, he saw Jazz gripping the side of the couch, turned to the door to see who had arrived. The officers followed Scott inside and approached Jazz.
“Jazz?” the woman officer asked gently, holding her hand out to him. “We just need to—”
“You need to get after him, now,” Jazz ordered, snapping into the motorcycle-club leader that I’d seen so often before. “Do you have a car? Whoever it was, they slashed the tires on our—”
“We have an APB out on your daughter,” the officer assured him. “But we need details of the car, and of everything you else you saw tonight.”
Scott approached me, gesturing for me to come aside so he could talk to me in private. Jazz glanced over at the two of us as the officers closed ranks around him, but he turned his attention to them, knowing that they were the ones who could help him right now. Scott took my arm and led me into the kitchen. He must have been able to see the strain on my face, as he pulled me into a hug as soon as he had me out of sight. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his shoulder; I was too exhausted to cry, and even though the hug didn’t solve anything, it made me feel marginally better about everything.
He pulled back, and held me by the shoulders; he examined my face carefully.
“What is it?” I asked, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
“It’s about Ian,” he began, hesitantly. My pulse picked up.
“What? What about him?” My voice was louder than I intended, and Scott motioned at me to keep quiet.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder at the officers talking to Jazz. “But when I heard that the call had come in about a missing child and I recognized Jazz’s address I had to come down. I was going to tell you in the morning, but…”
He dropped his hands from my arms and let them hang uselessly at his sides. I could see the guilt etched heavily on to his face. I knew how he felt.
“Scott, please tell me,” I begged him. I felt raw and sore and open, like a wound; I didn’t have time for him to mess around. I felt as though I might collapse at any second. He paused for another moment before he spoke, then held his hands up as though apologizing in advance for what was about to come out of his mouth.
“He got out,” he finally replied. “I’m sorry, I should have told you—”
“He—” I exclaimed loudly, then lowered my voice, pushing my face closer to Scott’s. “He got out?”
“Three hours ago. And none of us thought—well, we just assumed that he wouldn’t go back to your place as quickly as that, that he would go into hiding for a while to let the heat die down. But it turns out he didn’t.”
“And you’re just telling us this now?” My voice was low and steady, but that wasn’t because I was in control.
“I’m sorry,” he implored, and I could see that he meant it—for what it was worth. “I wanted to tell you, but they said they would send over a unit to watch over the house as soon as they could get the paperwork through—"
“Paperwork?” I snapped. “That’s the reason we’re in this whole mess? Because of paperwork?”
“I know, I know.” Scott bowed his head, conceding the point. “Trust me, if I had it my way…none of this would have happened.”
“Thanks for telling me, at least,” I sighed, closing my eyes and fighting the urge to lay my head down on the counter right there and then and go to sleep. “Is there anything else? Any idea where he might have gone to or why…why he might have taken Ella
? Beyond what we already know?”
“I don’t think so.” Scott shook his head, and I opened my mouth, but he cut across me to speak again. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we only know as much as you do. We’re in contact with his brother Addison, but he doesn’t seem to have a clue either.”
“So that’s that?” I threw my hands in the air. “We just have to wait for the cops to get on this?”
“That’s what everyone else has to do, Mona,” he reminded me gently. I knew he was just trying to help, but his tone felt more condescending than anything. I found myself glaring at him against my better judgement. I needed him on my side, and we had already put his ex-mentor in the hospital. The last thing we needed was for me to sprout an attitude.
“You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?” I took his hand and squeezed tightly, imploring him. He met my gaze and nodded, and I knew he meant it.
“I’m sorry about…all of this.” He waved his hand around the house impotently.
I sighed heavily. “I think we all are.” I met his gaze—and the expression on his face was almost enough to have me breaking down in tears right there and then. I could see the guilt, see the fear, see the regret over getting involved with this in the first place. It was everything I was feeling, and seeing it reflected on the face of my friend like that was almost unsettling in its prescience.
“I should go.” Scott glanced over at the officers. “Please don’t let anyone else know that I told you about Ian being out of jail.”
“I won’t,” I promised him. “And thank you. I know I’m not acting like it but…I’m grateful for this. Really.”
“I know.” He nodded, and gave me another quick hug. “Just take care of yourself as best you can, okay? I’ll see you soon when I know more.”
He made his way out of the kitchen, and there was a small chatter of voices as he and the officers headed for the door. As it clicked shut behind them, silence spread across the room once again. Jazz took a second to come find me, but when he did, I could see the tears pricking in his eyes.
“They’ll be back tomorrow,” he announced, his eyes drooping.
“Did they tell you?” I came towards him as he approached me, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders; I wasn’t sure whether I was holding him up or offering him comfort, but either way, he seemed as though he needed it. He looked up at me blankly.
“Tell me what?”
“About Ian,” I replied. I didn’t want to be the one to break this to him, but I didn’t see any other way around it. His face tightened. I mean, he must have known on some level what I was about to tell him, but that didn’t make it any easier to get the words out. Why wouldn’t the cops have told him? Maybe they were trying to keep him from panicking. Hell, he probably hadn’t been all that useful—I knew what he was like with cops.
“What about him?”
“He got out.” I forced the words out before I had a chance to back out—not that Jazz would have let me even if I wanted to. His face darkened, his jaw tightening, and he closed his eyes as though he could pretend that he hadn’t heard it if he tried.
“When was this?” His voice was soft but firm; I could hear the conviction there, and it sent a shiver down my spine. God help the man who hurt this man’s daughter, because he would rain down hell upon them.
“A few hours ago,” I replied. “Scott told me. We’re not supposed to know, but—”
“And they didn’t tell us?” Jazz cut across me. I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or himself, but either way, he sounded mad.
“They were going to send a unit around to keep an eye on us, but they need to get the paperwork in place first—”
“The paperwork?” Jazz exploded, his voice raising suddenly and making me jump. I knew this wasn’t aimed at me, but it was still scary, being alone in this house with a man who had nothing left to lose.
“I know, I know,” I tried to soothe him. “But Scott’s going to keep us updated with everything he finds out. He’s on our side here, he really is.”
“What good is that?” Jazz pulled himself away from me, planting his hands on the counter and turning his back on me. “We need action. And I can’t do anything until I get my fucking bike back.”
“That won’t be long, will it?” I took a step towards him, reaching out to touch his back comfortingly. He shrugged his shoulders, brushing me off.
“I have no idea.” He put his face in his hands, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t your fault. I just—”
“It’s okay.” I held my hand up, accepting the apology before he could finish it. “We just…I think we need to get some sleep. Then we can deal with it again in the morning.”
“You go to bed.” Jazz jerked his head towards the bedroom. “I can’t. I’m going to stay up and make sure no one else comes by here.”
“Jazz, please—”
“I can’t sleep either way,” he spoke softly. I wondered if he would sleep at all while Ella was still lost to us. “Please, I need to be alone right now.”
“Whatever you want,” I agreed, and made for the stairs. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to let him know that I loved him and that we would find a way through this together, no matter what. But I knew there was nothing I could say to make this better.
I trooped slowly up the steps, and found the door to Ella’s room open where I’d left it like that; I went to close it, and for some reason, I couldn’t resist looking inside. I knew I would just be torturing myself, but I needed to see it. It was the only way any of this would seem real to me.
I knew I shouldn’t mess with anything—they would probably be able to get fingerprints or what have you when they came back the next day. But seeing her bed like that—all pulled back and empty—was more than I could bear. I covered my mouth to hold back my sobs, and fought the urge to reach out and touch it, to smell her scent on it one more time.
Closing my eyes, I made my way back through to the bedroom, undressed, and pulled the covers over my shivering form. All I wanted in the world was to reel back time far enough that none of this had happened yet, that I was still in love and safe and happier than I’d ever been before. As the adrenaline of the last hour or so began to wear off, my eyes drooped shut, and fell into a restless sleep haunted by dreams of Ella.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I guess I never thought about what would happen if a tragedy struck my partner. I always thought of these kinds of things as inevitable, as taking the form of a death in the family or something similarly unavoidable. But the loss of a child? There was no getting away from that, no arguing, no pretending it hadn’t happened.
It had been three days since Ella had been taken, and Jazz hadn’t slept a wink that whole time. I had watched him, sat up with him as long as I could every night. He would sit in the window hour upon hour, watching every car go by—the only time he left the house was to get new wheels for his bike and my car, and he returned quickly and grilled me on everything that had happened in his absence.
I had taken a couple of days off work—Amanda seemed to understand, but I heard an underlying suspicion to her voice when we spoke on the phone a few days earlier. She knew that Ella had been taken—the social services had been alerted along with the cops, as they always were when a case involved a child like this—so I knew she didn’t doubt my story. But then, what was it?
I did my best to put that out of my mind as I focused on supporting Jazz through all of this. Maybe I should have been more focused on myself, but there was something cathartic about focusing in on what he needed instead of me. If I’d taken a look at myself, maybe I would have had to confront the bottomless pit of grief and guilt that seemed to have taken up residence somewhere inside of me.
That pit was present in Jazz, too—I could tell, every time I caught his eye and every time I heard him let out one of those long, pained sighs of his. He would sit in the window and stare out into the nothingness outside, watching as the neighbors
walked by. I could tell how much he resented them, the same way I did, simply for being happy. I mean, they had no idea what was going on. Why should they sit around in misery because of something that Jazz would never dare share with them? They already thought he was a bad father, and this would just confirm that in their eyes. I knew he couldn’t handle that, and I couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t even told the motorcycle club, though a few of them had heard through the grapevine and had attempted to visit or offer phone calls or assistance. Jazz cut them all out, relying on nothing but himself to drag his way through this nightmare.
And his insistence on keeping this between the two of us was beginning to impact the relationship. The last time we’d said “I love you” had been the first time, the night where Ella went missing. I found myself resenting him, longing for the lively, funny, compassionate man I had fallen for and instead finding a sullen, hollow, single-minded wraith in his place. I wanted him back, but I didn’t know how to drag him from his pit. I wouldn’t know until I figured out how to do it myself.