“No, sir.” David’s respectful, avoiding my lingering gaze.
“You look young.” The weasel peers over the register. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” I lie. “Thanks for the application, David, I’ll stop in next week.” I decide to add that part so I seem like a local.
“Yeah, no problem.”
The owner gives me a second glance, whistling. I hear him telling David to hire me based on looks alone. Ugh.
I turn to go, feeling both sets of eyes on the back of my skull.
Walking about ten feet, I stop, turning around. The owner grabs a cash bag and heads in an employees’ only room.
Waiting until he’s out of sight, I ask. “One more thing. Why’d you ask if we were underage?”
He takes a ragged breath. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“Say it, please,” I plead. “My younger sister is missing.”
Lowering his voice, he whispers. “We don’t want trouble here, this can’t get around.” He looks over his shoulder to make sure his boss hasn’t sneaked up behind him. “Word is that Will and his posse like to drug young girls. They provide fake IDs or IDs they find to sell and get girls wasted.”
“For what purpose? I ask, my stomach churning.
He looks at me like I’m dense. “What do you think?”
“Got it.” I shiver involuntarily.
“Yeah, he likes to mess around with them when they're blackout drunk.” He looks down at the row of bottles lining the bar shelf. “Some people are into weird shit.”
“Why doesn’t anyone do something about it?”
“We’ve threatened to stop serving him before since so many girls were leaving shit behind – clothes, phones, purses. It became an issue.”
“What does he think?” I nod in the direction of the weasel.
“George?” A bitter smirk plays across his face. “He doesn’t care what Will does as long as the tabs get paid. He brings in a lot of business, if you catch my drift.”
“But Will didn’t pay his tab last night…”
“Yeah, but we charge his card and he never complains or argues about the amount.”
“Does he go anywhere else?”
“No idea. I’ve just heard a couple girls mention having no memory of their night out with him. Some have gotten arrested for public intoxication after having one or two drinks here. The police used to threaten to hold us responsible for serving clearly-intoxicated individuals, so I had to lay into Will about that last year.”
“And he admitted to drugging girls?”
“No, I didn’t accuse him of that. I just asked him to cool it with the fake IDs. I talked to him like we were pals looking out for each other. I want him to take his biz elsewhere so it doesn't draw attention from the cops. That’s the last thing he would want as a felon anyway.”
“Felon?”
“Yeah, rap sheet a mile long.” He leans his elbows on the bar. “I wouldn’t tell anyone you got in with a fake or someone else’s ID. The police will jump all over you. If you’re underage, they’ll totally make an example out of you.”
“David?” The weaselly boss yells. “Let’s do inventory before it gets busy.”
“Gotta go.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Good luck, but I’m sure she’ll turn up. Probably just embarrassed because she had a rough night.”
I nod, overwhelmed, because I’m starting to realize I’m in way too deep and that means she is, too.
Walking towards the hotel, I keep my eyes peeled. It’s as if I’m seeing the horizon in a new light.
Every crowd, I scan for her face.
Glancing towards the setting sun, I trudge through the sand, slipping my flip-flops off so I can walk barefoot. Keeping my eyes on any man-made holes and the long row of sand castles, I accept my purse is by now long gone with my wedges.
But Bristol – she’s not an inanimate object. She can’t just disappear into thin air, can she?
My stomach lurches as I consider another scenario.
What if she passed out on the beach and wasn’t as lucky as I was? Got dragged into the current and didn’t wake up until it was too late. Could she have drowned in the Pacific?
She’s a strong swimmer and has great upper-body strength but with the amount of alcohol we drank, she could’ve been washed away.
Will her body eventually float to the surface, bloated and purple?
Nauseated, I cover my mouth.
Staring over the shimmering water, waves churn with fury farther out, crashing and burning. Beautiful but in the wrong setting, deadly.
But what about what David said?
His lackadaisical attitude concerns me about drugged girls – what if Will raped her? She’s not from around here, he could’ve just dropped her off somewhere when he was done with her. She’d be disoriented in a new city and lost.
Putting a hand to my forehead, I shield myself from the glare of the sun. I’ve gotta get back to the hotel. I convince myself she’s there, sitting in our hotel room, my note in hand, waiting dutifully for me.
Holding my breath as the elevator rises, same with my apprehension, my stomach undulates every floor we pass that takes me closer to our room. When I arrive back on the seventeenth floor, the metal grinds to a halt and I step forward, almost banging my head into the door, willing it to open, wanting to know my baby sister’s safe.
Except the hall’s eerily empty, and I don’t see her blonde hair covering her face in front of our door, clenching my note as she laughs at my unfounded fears.
A wave of terror washes over me, a gut feeling that something’s just not right.
I shakily insert the key card, barely making it past the threshold before sinking to my knees. Cradling my head in my hands, a panic attack sets off a chain reaction as I struggle to breathe. Hyperventilating, I’m convinced I’m dying, my heart galloping as if it’s going to explode once it reaches an invisible finish line.
Tears flood my cheeks and I know I have to do something, like involve adults.
Tell my parents.
I look at the digital clock on the side table, it’s now after 6 P.M.
Calling Bristol again, it goes straight to voicemail. I can't leave a message, it's full.
Scrolling through my phone, I look for any missed texts or calls. Nothing new.
I decide to call Will again.
Same thing. Voicemail.
I’m able to leave him a message. It’s nonsensical and rushed, but I repeat my number, blubbering the digits, in case he misses it the first time.
Mark. I have Mark Matsen’s card. I dial his cell.
He picks up on the second ring. “This is Mark.”
“Mark, it’s uh…it’s Blair Bellamy. Room seventeen ninety-eight.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I hear the television in the background and kid’s giggling. “You called to tell me your sister’s back?”
I pause.
Silence.
“No.”
Another lull.
“Mark?” I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do... if I should call the police? I talked to a bartender from where we were last night and he said Will's bad news.”
“Bad news in what kind of way?”
“Drugging girls.” I stammer. “Forcing himself on them.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“No.”
“You need to call them. Are they at home?”
“No, vacation.”
“Are they reachable?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m going to head over. Stay put. I work with a lot of people on the Honolulu police force. I’ll look up Will’s record and address.”
“Thank you.” I’m relieved he's going to help.
“He teaches surf lessons right down the beach, right?”
“Yeah, Aloha from the Surf.”
“Did the bartender remember anything else?”
“Will and his friend didn’t pay the tab, but both are local.
Said he brings in out-of-town girls. It’s like a game for him.”
“What’s your sister’s full name, birth date, and age?”
“Bristol Anne Bellamy. She’s seventeen, junior in high school, birthday in June. June eighteenth.”
“Okay. I’ll do some checking. Sit tight, should be there within an hour or so.”
“Thanks.”
“And Blair?”
“Yeah?”
“Call your parents.”
My silence echoes through the phone line.
“I know you don’t want to, but you have to.”
“Is this because you think she’s missing now?”
There’s dead air, he’s already hung up the phone.
And as I put the phone back on the cradle, I realize I don’t want to know the answer.
16
Blair
My parents’ number is on the pad of hotel paper, staring at me in black ink.
I pick up the phone, then slam it back down.
Bristol’s fine, I tell myself. She’s just having a good time. Why get them upset over nothing?
Mentally, I can’t force myself to call them. I can’t tell my mother her favorite child is misplaced. The word ‘missing’ too much of a negative connotation.
They will interrogate me with a ton of questions, none of which I have the answers to.
Standing, I stretch my arms over my head, ignoring the hunger pains in my stomach.
If she can’t eat, neither can I.
I chastise my empty belly, willing it to settle down.
Searching through her luggage, I tell myself that maybe I’m ignoring a clue. Her favorite sweatshirt, a black and yellow one with the words Hawks Cheerleader Squad, is folded neatly in her suitcase.
I pull it out, sniffing it. It smells of the laundry detergent my mother uses at home, a mix of spring time and fresh laundry.
Taking my Creighton one off, I replace it with hers. I settle under the covers and wait, the clock ticking down the minutes in my head, until I hear a knock at the door.
My ears perk up, considering it might be her.
“It’s Mark,” the deep voice bellows.
I hop up, opening the door as he stands there, this time in khaki pants and a red hooded sweatshirt. “I brought someone with me. This is Detective Paul Goodman.” I can’t see him at first, Mark’s height blocking him from sight. He must be 5’6 or 5’7, rail thin, and dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and black shorts with boat shoes.
“He’s off-duty,” Mark adds, noticing my eyes darting up and down Goodman’s island attire.
Goodman flashes a badge. “Hi, I’m Detective Goodman. Mark and I go way back, high school actually, and he told me your sister hasn’t returned, is this correct?”
I nod, my hands gripping the door so hard I’m afraid I’ll remove them to find splinters in my palms.
“Mind if we come in?” Goodman asks, peering behind me into the room. Sunglasses hang from an elastic around his neck.
“Sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my face. “Come in.” I hold the door open as they brush past me, both examining the room and making mental notes, their eyes darting from corner to corner.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Mark says, holding up a paper bag. “I brought you some chicken nuggets and fries.”
Surprised, I sink into a chair at the small wooden table.
“I figured you hadn’t eaten all day.” He pushes the bag over to me.
“I haven’t,” I say softly. “Thanks.”
His eyes are kind. “Eat something and then Goodman will want to ask you some questions.” I open the bag, the smell making my mouth water, but my insides coil. There’s a bottle of water from the hotel and I use it to swallow the food, every bite getting stuck in my throat.
Goodman checks the sliders on the patio, steps out on the balcony, scans the views from our room, and looks down onto the cement sidewalk seventeen floors below. His eyes flit back and forth over the railing and the metal patio furniture. He steps in our bathroom, our closet, and then goes back outside to walk the hall. I hear him knocking on the neighbor’s doors. I should warn him about the grumpy woman I woke up.
When he leaves, Mark takes the chair opposite mine. “What did your parents say?”
I take a sip of water, my mouth parched. “I…I couldn’t call them yet,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to say. They’ll ask a million questions that I don’t have the answers to.”
He stares at me, his eyes never leaving my face.
“I feel helpless,” I add.
“Does your sister like to run off?”
“No. Never.” I say. “She’s the star of everything. Popular. Nice. Involved in activities, volunteers.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
“We aren’t allowed to date in high school.” I play with the plastic bottle top, avoiding his curious stare.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“She’s dating someone,” I say, “someone at her high school.” But I hurriedly add, “My parents can’t know. It’s their rule.”
Mark leans back in his chair. “I’m not worried about him. He’s not here, is he?”
“No, he’s back in Nebraska as far as I know.” I look down at my ragged hands. “Unless he went on his own spring break trip.”
“And your parents, you mentioned they’re on vacation?”
“Florida. I don’t want to interrupt them.”
Mark takes pity on me. “I’ll call them with you. They can talk to both Goodman and me.”
A tear falls down my cheek. “I’m so scared and I don’t know... this isn’t like her.” He’s searching for kind words to say, but I see a troubled glimpse cross his face. He won’t say it, but he’s starting to worry.
Goodman comes back inside, a notepad and pen in hand. “You get enough to eat?” He asks me.
“Yeah, thanks.” I rub my stomach, ignoring the sick feeling.
“I’m going to ask you questions about your trip here, what you’ve been doing, your relationship with your sister, some generic questions that will be easy to answer, some more personal.”
“Okay.”
“I brought a tape recorder, but I’ll also take notes to keep track in case I miss anything. I don’t want you to have to keep repeating the same answers over and over.”
“Yeah.”
“You aren’t going to like all the questions. Some aren’t going to be easy to answer. They will be about boys, sex, drugs, and anything else that might be relevant to the case.”
I look down at the half-eaten box of chicken nuggets as heartburn fires up in my chest, sudden and brutal.
“It’s important I tell you this because I don’t want you to shut down. You have to realize that this is to help find your sister.”
“I want to help find her,” I offer.
“I’m sure you do, and most likely this is nothing but a misunderstanding.” He sits across from me. “Okay, Blair, this isn’t going to be easy, but let’s first establish a pattern of trust.”
Angling my head at him, I say, “I don’t understand.”
“I’m going to let you in on a secret.” He raises his brows. “But you can’t tell anyone.”
Confused, my eyes swivel to Mark for verification of what I’m being told. Pulling my legs up underneath me, Goodman’s locked in on my face.
“You’re not in trouble, understand? Whatever you say, even if it’s illegal, you’re not in trouble. You’re not getting arrested. The purpose is to locate Bristol. Got it?”
“Yeah.” I pick at another nail, the polish crumbling.
“Okay, so for my secret, in high school, I got drunk and wrapped my car around a tree. I lied and told my parents that my friend had been driving my car and I wasn’t with him. They still think he crashed it and that I was at my girlfriend’s house at the time.”
I peer between him and Mark.
“They still don’t know the truth.” He points to the phone. “You could c
all them today and they would have no idea I lied.”
“Yep, they think it was me.” Mark grins. “And they still hate me for it.”
Goodman sits on the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap. “Am I making myself clear, Blair? You’re not in trouble, but even the hard details, we have to know. It could help find your sister.”
Mark adds, “If she’s even in danger. She could just be partying it up with a new friend.”
Goodman turns on the recorder, asking me basic questions like do I have his permission to record statements I give. Starting with the date and time, he proceeds to ask questions like my age and birthdate, where I live, where I grew up, and then the same about my sister.
Next he asks about our parents, if we have siblings, our parents’ professions, what I’m studying in college, and why we came on this trip.
The first couple days I can describe in detail, up until we reach the bar.
“So you were drinking in this room, seventeen ninety-eight?”
“Yes.”
“With both Will Loomis and Nicholas Mercer. Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
I hesitate and he pounces. “Weed, pills, harder stuff?” He names them off. “E? Coke?”
“Not on purpose,” I mumble. “Except for a joint.”
“Did Will and Nicholas have access to your drinks?”
“Yes. They brought vodka in a backpack and Will poured it for us.”
“So it could’ve been anything?”
“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t feel sick then.”
“At what point did you start feeling intoxicated or out of it?”
“When we arrived at the bar, my sister puked in the bathroom. Then she seemed fine. It wasn’t until I had another drink that I started to feel like I hadn’t slept in days. It was weird, like I was slipping away.”
“And then what happened?”
“I can’t remember leaving the bar until a stranger woke me up on the beach this morning.”
“Who was the stranger?”
“A man running on the beach. He helped me to the hotel.”
“Any chance you caught his name?”
“Peter. He said his last name, but I don’t remember. Rhodes? Ridley?”
“Have you been drunk before?”
Into the Night Page 11