As I’m leaving, Will catches up to me again. Mark walks on ahead, his sunglasses back on his face. I turn to him. “Hey.”
“You wanna grab a drink tonight?” Seeing the look on my face, he rubs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m sorry, Bristol. A coffee.”
A small step back. “I didn't mean to imply anything.”
Waving my hand in front of my face, my cheeks burning. Feeling like a socially-awkward freak, I nod.
“Meet you at Zedd’s near The Waterfront. They’re open until ten. You wanna meet there at eight?”
“Sure.” The sooner, the better, I think.
45
Bristol
Mark drops me back off at Max’s. I don’t bother to mention to Mark I’m going to see Will later. The baby and Max are gone when I return home. He left a note to call him at the clinic. He sometimes takes the baby with him to hang out while doing paperwork, Houston even has a dog bed there.
I call Max and tell him about my day. “How’s the baby?” I ask.
“Him and Houston are bonding, both are checking in clients and learning how to take over the biz.” I laugh, thinking of a baby and dog at the front desk, greeting the ‘patients’ a.k.a. animals who also can’t speak. A conversation in baby talk or loud barking and whining.
“It’s nice to hear you laugh,” Max grins through the phone. “What’s on your agenda the rest of the day?
“I’m going to go grab coffee with an old friend tonight,” I say.
“You have friends on the island?”
“Yeah, from when I was on vacation.”
“Which place? I can give some recommendations if you need one.”
“Place called Zedd’s. By The Waterfront.”
“Zedd’s?” He pauses for a second. “I think that coffee shop closed last year. Are you sure?”
“Yep, oh well, if it did, we can always go somewhere else.” I shrug.
I hear noises in the background. Lowering his voice, he murmurs, “Hey, I gotta go.”
“Okay, see you later.” I say.
I start to put down the phone when he offers, “Do you need a ride?”
“No, but thanks. I’m grabbing the trolley that goes around Waikiki Beach. I checked the schedule and should be good.”
Taking a quick shower, I eat a light meal, the weight slowly starting to come back on. I’ll be going back to the nutritionist in the next couple of weeks to check my progress.
The trolley’s actually a double-decker bus. I enjoy sitting on top, the open air calms me, contrary to the room and the four walls that kept me hostage. Heading to the beach early, I stop in a few shops, no particular agenda in mind, just enjoying the sun and people-watching, a new favorite pastime.
A couple minutes before eight, I head to Zedd’s, my sandals clicking on the sidewalk as I head to the side entrance. The parking lot’s empty tonight. My eyes scan my surroundings, always on the lookout.
“Hey,” Will steps out of the shadows. “I don't want to scare you.”
I give him my hand, and he shakes it solemnly.
“I just realized this place closed.” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I can't keep up with the constant change in real estate.” Holding his keys, he points down the street. “You wanna hop in with me? We’ll just go to the Starbucks up the road.”
Hesitating, I see him giving me a sideways glance.
I don't want to seem skittish, or like I believe he had any part in my disappearance. After all, he wasn’t the one in the room with me. I feel stupid for even questioning his innocence.
“Are you still surfing?” I ask as he opens the passenger door of his hot rod for me. I slide in, inhaling the smell of air freshener, stale French fries, and marijuana. His car’s filled with empty burger wrappers and napkins, a lighter in the console.
He laughs. “Yeah, not as much for fun, still some lessons, but life gets in the way, especially when you pay bills and gotta act grown up.”
We drive down the street, the windows down, the breeze from the Pacific blowing through my hair as I watch the people and streetlamps pass. Will pulls into the Starbucks, my body letting out an internal sigh. I instantly relax – people are inside, some tied to their laptops, others deep in conversation.
Ever the gentleman, he helps me out of the car, walking behind me to the entrance. Halfway there, he pauses and drops down to the ground. Examining his shoelaces, he hollers out to me, “Hey, hold on a sec. Let me get these tied.”
I stop and turn around, heading back to him.
“Okay, got it.” He stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. “All set.”
I’m starting to re-trace my steps when I feel a sharp yank from behind, my hair pulled back roughly, his hand around my neck, a Taser pressed underneath my chin.
Stunned, I glance over my shoulder at him.
His eyes narrow. “Turn around, get back in the vehicle,” he murmurs near my ear, his breath warm and alcohol-scented.
Without making a sound, I turn, passively walking back to the car.
He holds the door again, this time forcefully pushing me in, my head thunking the roof.
“We thought you were dead.” He beats his fist on the dash. “He said you were dead.”
The engine roars to life and he backs out of the spot, hanging a left at the traffic signal. I slide my fingers around the handle, prepared to open it at the red light.
Gripping it for life, I push frantically as we start to idle. It doesn’t budge.
Aggressive, I nudge it again, slamming my fist against it, hysteria bubbling over.
Will turns the radio up, blaring AC/DC. “It doesn’t open from the inside. Sorry.”
I scream, his hand reaching out to choke me. “Shut the fuck up.” He squeezes. “You’re way too high-maintenance.”
“I don't understand...” I cry out. “You’re involved?”
He sings along to the music, ignoring my question, hands tapping the steering wheel.
“How? Why?” I ask, my shoulder slamming against the window.
“Money.” He shrugs. “And I get to bang pretty young things all the time. That never gets old.”
“Who is it?” I’m baffled. “You left me at the hotel…”
“Yes, I did,” he grins, “and he followed. I gave him your room key so I could exit and he could enter. Always works like a charm.”
“The Mole?”
“Who?” He’s confused. “You mean David?”
David. David. Who’s David? I don’t know a David.
Wait, the bartender from The Ocean Club?
My heart beats rapidly, imagining the way he smoothly slid the drink across to me, asking how I liked it, never considering our bartender to be the crux of a kidnapping scheme.
Palms sweating, I wipe them on my thighs, feeling stupid. He was never perched in the corner and I never thought to put two and two together. He concocted our drinks, but I never thought of him as a suspect.
“Money, what does money have to do with this?” I ask. “Did my parents pay you a ransom?” I remember Bridget mentioning her rich parents, but mine certainly aren’t.
The Mole’s obsessed with girls that look like his dead twin – is Will aware of this?
“Sometimes we split the reward money, or ransom from the parents. It’s a profitable little racket.” He eyes the rear view. “Plus David rewards me with bonuses for helping.”
“What about Nicholas?”
“What about him? He's married and lives in Utah.”
“Does he know?”
“He knows enough to stay away.” He speeds up, getting on an entrance ramp. “You excited to go back home?”
“Home?” I’m doubtful. “You’re taking me home?”
“Yeah,” he winks, “back to David.”
I pound on the door, hurling myself at the metal, screaming in vain. Traffic crowds around us, fairly light, but I still try to make eye contact with other drivers as they whiz by us.
“Scream, baby, no one
can hear you.”
“So he was right when he said you drugged girls?” I lean my head between my knees.
“Totally, but he helps. Those IDs we sold you…that’s my cue to him on who to go after.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I give potential girls the missing girls’ IDs. That way he knows who to continue to drug.”
“You drugged us first?”
“Nah, David has final say. He has his own type of girl so we just get you good and ready for him. You and your sis were already drunken sluts by the time he saw you. You both wanted to jump our bones.” He pats my hand. “You really should watch who makes your drinks. I tell the newbies that all the time.”
My phone is in my purse, vibrating. I pray he doesn’t notice, hoping I can dial 9-1-1 before it's too late.
“There’s a lot of girls.” I look at the side of his face. “You would've had to start at a young age.”
“David’s been doing this solo.” He turns the radio down. “He’s a sick fuck, losing his mom and sister, but he cut me in to the profits, so I turn a blind eye as long as I get paid. I don't ask what he does. Don't ask, don’t tell.”
He slides his hand up my leg. “You’re looking a bit haggard though. Maybe he can slow down this time.”
I plead, “Don't make me go back.”
“Not my choice.”
“Yes, it is. Please,” I beg. “Let’s talk about this. What if I can get you some money? If it’s just about the money, we can figure it out. I know we can.”
“Bristol,” he squeezes my chin until it hurts. “It's too late. If I don’t take you back to him, you’ll get us caught.”
Wondering if I can sneak my hand into my purse, I decide to make conversation with Will, get him to focus on talking to me about what’s been going on for the last decade. He needs to be distracted in order for me to have a chance.
If not, this will be my last taste of freedom. Permanently.
46
Blair
I call Mark, his voicemail picks up, instructing me to leave my name and number.
Leaving a message, I tell him I’m in town. I don’t expect him to call back, a bitter pill to swallow that he thinks I’m still a screw-up.
Setting my phone on the counter of the hotel bar, I sip a Pepsi, content not to drink alcohol, eyeing the chic decor and modern lighting.
My cell vibrates in front of me, shaking in place.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me.” Mark says.
“Hi, how are you?” I lower my voice. “I’m sorry...” I apologize. “I know I’ve been a pain in the ass.”
“We’re okay, Blair.” He’s resigned. “I just worry about you.”
“I know.”
Silence.
“I have some news. Gotta make sure you’re sitting down first.” He’s animated as he says this. “Are you ready?”
Mentally I prepare myself for bad news. “Yeah…it’s not good, is it?”
“You’re never going to believe it.”
“Mark, just tell me.”
A long pause. “I spoke to your sister.”
“What do you mean, you spoke to Bristol?” My mouth drops to the floor. The bar stool’s sliding underneath me. I lose my balance, catching the edge right before I topple over.
“Mark, you can’t play with my emotions like this.” I grip the counter as if it can provide life support.
“It’s even better. I saw her.” His voice breaks, emotions overcoming him. “She’s alive.”
Relieved, I sob and yell at the same time, “Oh my God, are you serious?” I want to sing from the rooftops, break out in dance moves. The other patrons stare at me with curious glances. The bartender checks to see if there’s a problem with my drink.
“Where is she?” I’m a tad wounded, wondering why she wouldn’t have contacted me first. She probably resents me for leaving her that night. I can’t blame her for feeling that way.
He reads my mind. “It’s not anything negative. She’s trying to catch her kidnapper before he hurts anyone else.”
“He’s not dead?” My body goes cold. “Who is it? Is there more than one?”
“Whoa, slow down, only one she knows of.” He sighs, “But he’s alive and has another girl, Bridget Masterson.”
“You’re letting her try and find him?” My face goes ashen. “You can’t be serious, Mark.”
“Mark?” I repeat. “Tell me she’s not doing this alone.”
“She’s the only one who knows who it is.”
“How dare you?” I cry. “She’s my sister, and I already lost her once.”
“I’m keeping tabs on her, she just doesn’t know it.”
“Oh, really, and where is she now?”
“I’d think at home with her friend.”
The last remaining color drains from my cheeks. “What friend? What the hell is wrong with you?” I’m about to hang up on him, my anger piquing.
“Blair...she’s trying to focus on getting well.” He’s firm. “She’s going to need your support, not your judgment.”
“It’s not him?” I pause for a minute, clenching and unclenching my fists. “Fine,” I concede.
“Good.” He whistles. “You’ll be reunited with her soon enough.”
“Right now’s not soon enough.” I mutter under my breath.
He promises to call tomorrow, but something I can’t put my finger on makes me anxious. Maybe it’s the fact she’s alive and I want to hold her but I can’t.
If I need to reach her, I don’t have her number.
Or maybe it’s the realization I haven’t seen her in ten years and she’s still missing when she should be sitting in front of me right now.
I can’t sit still.
Swallowing the last of my pop, I leave cash on the bar and head out.
If my sister’s on the hunt for her kidnapper, I want to be the one to help. Dammit, she doesn’t need to go it alone. We’re a team, even if we haven’t been in the same room.
I text Mark, relieved when he gives me the address for her present location. Knowing I won’t be able to sleep, I decide to scout out the location. A pretty two-story with large windows and a wrap-around porch beckons from a quiet, dead-end street.
Whose place is this? I wonder.
Maybe it’s a women’s halfway house or something.
Curious, I park down the street, leaving my white rental car in front of a neighbor’s house. There’s a man in the window, cooing to a baby that’s not having it, the wails enough to make the curly-haired dog crawl underneath the coffee table with a sigh.
Peeking in the window, I stare, his eyes are a dead ringer for Bristol’s.
Wait...
No.
How long has she been free?
Is this her boyfriend or husband?
I’m frantically trying to shoot off a text to Mark while crouching down beneath pink and orange hibiscus flowers that line the walkway. An overflowing bush scratches against my legs when the red front door swings open with a flourish.
A porch light flips on, illuminating the front steps and wrap-around porch.
Dropping to my knees, I hold my breath.
“Can I help you?” A man stands in the shadows, the baby on his hip, a phone in hand.
I freeze, unsure how to respond.
“Fine, then I’m calling the police.” He waves the cordless in my face.
“Have it your way.” Dialing, he presses two buttons before I shriek, “Wait,” bouncing up. Waving my hands in the arm, I motion for him to hang up the phone.
He disconnects, waiting for me to speak.
“Is that your baby?”
“Excuse me?” He frowns. “Are you a reporter? Did Channel Eight send you?”
“The eyes...the nose…they look like my sister’s...”
“Your sister?’
“Yeah.” I brush my hands on my jeans. “My sister.”
“Who is?” His snarl turns to a tight-lipped stare.
> “Bristol.”
“Bristol what?” He’s testing me.
“Bristol Anne Bellamy.”
He takes a couple steps closer to the edge of the porch. “Blair?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Very much.” I nod, smoothing my hands over my unkempt hair. He backs up a couple steps, waiting for me to walk around him. His eyes scan my face as he points to the front door.
Pausing inside the foyer, I breathe aromas of cinnamon and laundry detergent. The smells give me a feeling of comfort, that Bristol must be all right if she’s coming home to this.
The man steps in behind me, shutting the door. “Go ahead and have a seat in the dining room.” Realizing he hasn’t given me his name, he adds, “Oh, I’m Max Fletcher by the way.”
“What’s this little guy’s name?” I reach out for the baby’s tiny fingers. He can’t be very old, under a year.
“The baby.”
“You named a baby ‘the baby’?”
“Ask your sis.” He stares at me, sadness in his eyes. “I’m not getting in the middle of her decision.”
Feeling like I’ve been slapped, I whisper, “It is her baby then?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. The baby reaches for me, and I look to Max for permission. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” The baby lets out one babbling protest, then settles into my arms. I bounce him on my lap, amazed at his tiny feet and hands.
“I’m going to shoot her a text. See if she responds that way.” He types a quick message on the screen, hitting ‘send’.
“Who is she out with?” I ask. “Who does she know here?”
“Maybe Mark, the investigator? The one I read about in the papers…?” He pauses for a moment, a look of dread settling on his face. He runs a hand through his hair. “I told her this place called Zedd’s wasn’t open…”
“It’s not Mark she’s with. I just talked to him.”
Looking at me with strained eyes, he grimaces. “I wish she wouldn’t have gone. I just…she’s not answering. I should’ve asked her who. I just didn’t want to pry.”
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