by J. A. Huss
I look to Conner for help, but he’s busy on another computer. He catches my gaze and smiles.
“V, we’ve got a theory about this guy. He was able to get into the theatre, or at the very least, he got in before the event so he could send that message. So maybe he works there?”
“Maybe.” But that doesn’t give me much hope. That means she could be very far from here. She might be back in California. She might be anywhere. “What if it’s not even him?”
“He’s the logical person, Vaughn. He sent Tray a video of Grace.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know that was even real.”
“Why wouldn’t it be real?” Felicity isn’t being argumentative, she’s just asking questions but it exasperates me.
“Well, I know better than most how much you can fake with film, right? I mean, one guy could easily film a girl, pay an actress who looked like Grace as a teen. Did we get a good look at her?”
Conner types away on the computer he’s using and then tilts it towards me. “It looks like her.” He’s got a split screen up of Grace as a teenager after she was let go and the girl on the floor.
I reluctantly admit, that girl in the movie is my Grace.
“Vaughn,” Felicity says as she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’re gonna find her. Just write her a nice message in case she has a chance to log in. If he deleted her account, then maybe she’ll have an opportunity to get to that computer.”
I nod at her and take my attention back to the secret accounts we made. I pull up the pictures we traded. Naked selfies. This makes me smile at the memory. It was only a couple weeks ago, but I feel like she’s been a part of my life for ages. I feel like I’ve known her forever. Like our souls are connected by some ethereal string that was stretched taut from our absence. But the moment our eyes met back in Saint Thomas, we reconnected. We were pulled together by the forces of a long-lost love.
I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this girl. I feel like she is my soulmate.
My fingers find the keyboard and I try to put that into a tweet. Try to give her hope with a few words and some well-placed hashtags.
Master @mrinvsman
There’s no possible way I won’t find you. Our hearts are tethered by love & fate. I’m tugging on that string - feel me? #OnMyWay #Soulmates
I press send and hold my breath, hoping against hope for a reply.
But the minutes tick off and I get nothing. Just nothing.
My phone rings and jolts me out of my funk. “Vaughn Asher.”
“Mr. Asher, this is Detective Torrino. We’re suspending the search. Grace Kinsella just called Channel 9 and stated she’s accepted a job in Singapore that was offered to her in Vegas last week in order to get away from you.”
Singapore. “Well, how the hell do you know that was her?”
“She confirmed her social security number, her childhood address, and her bank account number. He best friend Bebe Chambers confirms it was her voice.”
“So? My daughter can get that information. That’s not a confirmation of identity. And maybe she’s being forced to say those things? How about a picture? How about a FaceTime? How about you ask her to log into her other Twitter account and read the message that’s posted there?”
“The case is closed, Mr. Asher. We’re satisfied she left of her own accord.”
“Maybe she’s being threatened?”
“I asked her—”
“You can’t ask her, Torrino. If she’s being told to say something, then she’s going to deny it. And that wasn’t the job she was offered—”
“We’ve shut down the case, Asher. You can appeal to my boss if you like.”
I’m just about to protest again when the line goes dead.
“What just happened?” Conner asks.
“They shut down the fucking case. They say she called them and said she’s taking a job in Singapore to get away from me.”
Felicity’s hand reaches over to cover mine. “Do you think it’s true?”
“No. Grace was offered a job last week, but it was in Hong Kong. She’s sending us a message. She’s telling us she needs help. Felicity, please. Just come up with something. I feel like the clock is ticking and something very bad is going to happen if we don’t get to her soon.”
Chapter Ten
I PRESS end on the call. It’s not even cloaked or rerouted or secret, that’s how convinced he is that this will work. We turned on the TV, saw my face and the man-hunt. And I had an idea that might save the baby.
I’ll stay with you as your friend, you don’t need to be on the run. I’ll stay with you willingly and even tell the police to call off the search. Just let my baby live.
He said no, of course. That’s how you negotiate. Offer. Counteroffer.
His counteroffer was an annulment from Vaughn and marriage to him.
I accepted. End of negotiations.
I only hope that the police or media give my statement to Vaughn word for word. I’m starting to remember that night in Vegas. Little by little it’s coming back to me. I remember being drunk and leaving the private gambling room after Vaughn came to get me. I remember being in the bar and being offered a dream job in Hong Kong by the man who was treating me like his good-luck charm.
And that is the only thing I have going for me.
“You’ll call them again tomorrow if they keep running stories.” He says it as a statement, not a request. I will call them every day, if necessary. Just don’t hurt my baby. “Tonight we’ll sleep together.” Even through the mask I can see his smile and for some reason, that smile scares me more than anything else. More than the closet. More than the implied rape.
That smile implies he’s a winner.
My stomach lurches and it’s all I can do to force a smile back. “I’m looking forward to it.”
It’s four PM. Bedtime is maybe six hours away.
I have six hours to kill this asshole or he’s gonna rape me and I’m not about to let that happen.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask him politely.
“I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
I am, but this feel like a trap. It feels like if I say yes, he might flip out because I’m pregnant and I need food. I don’t want him to think about it. I need him to stop thinking about it.
“Take another test.”
“What?”
“Take. Another. Test. I want to make sure the results are accurate.”
I swallow hard and nod. So much for making him forget about it. I get up off the couch and my knee bumps into the computer he’s using. It’s open to my Facebook page, but it’s not logged in. Yet. I’m sure he’ll have me make some sort of public declaration on there too. If I could just get a message on the social sites, tell them I’m still being held against my will… but I don’t even know where I am.
I slide past and walk down the hallway to the bathroom, one last glance before I round the corner, and then I stare at the second package that came in the test kit.
“Don’t cheat,” he says directly behind me.
I force myself not to react even though that just scared the shit out of me. “I’d never lie about a baby.” I walk the few paces to the counter and rip open the second test. He’s still standing in the doorway and it’s freaking me out. “Can I have some privacy?”
“No.”
I stiffen.
“You are my wife. You might be pregnant with my child. We’re excited to find out the news.”
I turn and smile. “Of course. We’re so happy and excited.” I smile. Big. Huge. All my teeth are showing, my eyes lift up, my cheeks stretch. “My stomach is all fluttery. I’m so nervous.”
“Why?” It comes out as a genuine question. He likes when I admit I’m weak or stupid. This I do remember.
“Do you think I’d be a good mother? I’m worried about it. I didn’t have the best childhood—”
I know the second it comes out it’s the wrong move, but even if I didn’t,
the slap across my face clues me in.
“Your childhood was perfect,” he growls. “I saved you from a family of abuse.”
I nod as the blood trickles down my face and drips onto the floor. Just another surface I’ll have to clean. My hands are shaking so bad I can’t rip the test package open, and I have to use my teeth. I pull out the stick and look up at the man in the mask, hoping he will step out of the bathroom and let me have some privacy.
“Hurry up.” No such luck.
I pull down my shorts and squat as I hold the test under my stream for a second time. I hand it directly to him and he turns and walks away.
The sobs inside me are threatening to break free as I pull my shorts back up and wash my hands.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry… I say it over and over in my head. Just do what he says and he’ll be nice. Just do what he says and he’ll take care of you…
That’s how it started. I went from being a carefree teenager living on a farm and fantasizing about all things thirteen-year-old girls fantasize about, to an abducted child whose only thoughts were about pleasing the man who kidnapped her.
I studied this endlessly in my late teens and even part of my first year of college. I used to go the library and look up everything I could on the psychology of kidnappers. I was obsessed with other cases like mine. I was looking for patterns and similarities. I tried to keep track of the kids after they came home, but most of them were hiding. Like me. New names. New lives.
And then one day during my first semester of college, I ran out of things to research. Just… ran out. It was all old and there was no answer that satisfied me. That was the hardest thing to accept. There was just no good answer.
No one knew how to get over what I’d been through. Even those pretending that they did would eventually admit this is not an area that is well-studied. Too few cases. Too few willing participants.
I was tired of being Grace who used to be Daisy so I decided to create a new me. The Filthy Blue Bird. Tweeting was how I moved my obsessions into something… well, maybe not positive, but at the very least, normal. Everybody wants a fantasy and in today’s world, it’s easy to get that.
Vaughn was not difficult to research. He was everywhere I looked online. Pictures and pictures of him spanning decades. Quotes, and interviews, and pages and pages of biographical things.
And little by little, day by day, my past just slipped away. Just… evaporated.
“Come out here, Daisy.”
Until now. Until it coalesced and reshaped itself in the form of round two.
But I always knew he was out there. I’ve been waiting for him. I’ve been waiting for him for ten years. He stole two hundred and twenty days. And there’s no fucking way I’m going to let this sick freak claim any more.
This day is the only one he gets. It’s me or him. One way or another, it will end tonight.
I dry my hands and walk back out to the living room, scanning the windows—electrified, he said—the front door—slightly ajar, but it leads to the mudroom, which I know is surely locked from the inside—the computer.
One tweet. One hashtag. One chance to shine.
It’s my only hope.
Chapter Eleven
“WHITE male,” Felicity says. “I’m pretty sure it’s a white male. I think he lives up in that rural area where Grace is from. Maybe even a neighbor. Maybe even a farmer.” She looks up at me, conflicted and confused. “V, I’m no good at this. These are just guesses. I have no idea what I’m talking about.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “You’re the best at this, Felicity. You’re an incredibly intelligent woman. You’ve been studying this for four years. You’ve been obsessed with cold-case files since I adopted you. This is your dream job and I know you can do it. Just go with your gut, because this is your purpose, Felicity. Figuring out the minds of others is your gift. You know it. I know it. And I know you’re afraid to give me the wrong answer, but I’ll take anything you have right now because you’re the only one who cares.”
She nods and looks back at her computer. “I mapped the town where Grace is from and took it out four hundred miles in every direction. That brings up a lot of possibilities, but I immediately discounted the south and anything west of the Rockies. He had to have had access to Grace and she was from a very small town. It’s pretty isolated. From what I can see of the media reports when she was abducted, she rarely went out of town. The only place she went that year was to a 4-H archery camp up in the Nebraska National Forest.”
“Let’s start there.”
“I did, there’s not much up there. Only two towns.”
“That’s good, right? That means we don’t have many places to look.”
“But V,” Conner says from behind his laptop. “The problem is, we’ve got two leads. One is in Hollywood and one is in Nebraska. We have to split up if we want to check out both.”
“I just don’t see the Hollywood connections though. It makes no sense.”
“Well, listen,” Felicity says. “In that interview Grace did the other day, she told the reporter that she never saw the guy’s face. He was wearing a mask. She said it looked real, but it was of someone she knew, and not a famous person. So what if this guy who kidnapped her is involved in special effects in Hollywood? What if that’s his specialty?”
I have a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What if the guy worked on the Invisible Man set, Vaughn?”
Conner gets up from where he’s sitting and walks over to us. “Holy fucking shit, Felicity!” He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “That’s the fucking connection. This asshole worked in production. He was a special effects guy.”
“And the senior team was invited to the premiere.” Motherfucker might’ve been sitting near me that night. I might’ve fucking talked to him.
“Dad?” Conner says into his phone. “We’ve got a lead and I need your help…”
Conner steps out of the room and takes the call into the hallway. “Keep going, Felicity. You’re hot, so just keep going. What else do you think?”
“Well, I think this guy saw her at that archery camp, so…” She pulls up a local 4-H website in northeastern Colorado. “We know she was in 4-H, and this is the local chapter near her town, so this was the club she was in. We should start with the leaders, I guess. See who was on that trip with her.”
“So we need to travel there?”
“Yeah.” Felicity shrugs. “It’s footwork from here. I don’t see how we can do much more online. We need to see these people. Look them in the eye and compel them to talk to us.”
Conner comes back into the room. “OK, Dad’s giving me access to the personnel files. I’m gonna see if we can find a connection to Colorado or Nebraska.”
“This is Felicity.” I look over at her and she’s talking into her phone. “We’re going to need a flight plan to Holyoke, Colorado. We’re on our way now, please have the jet ready.” She ends her call and looks up at me. “We’re going to get Grace back.”
Chapter Twelve
I SIT down next to him and fold my hands in my lap. “Should I call you by your name?” I ask. “Now that we’re married?”
“We’re not married yet,” he growls. “It needs to be legal.”
“Of course. But don’t you want me to call you by your real name?”
He turns his head and points that stupid mask at me. “You should already know my name.”
“You’re right. But you’ve kept it a secret. So I don’t know your name. I don’t even know what you look like.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says quickly. “You don’t get to reject me.”
Right again. But I keep my mouth shut and just stare at the test in his hand. We both watch the blue plus sign appear and when it does, he throws the stick on the coffee table and gets to his feet.
“I don’t want to pretend this baby is mine,” he says with his bac
k to me.
Shit.
“I might not be your average guy, but I am not crazy.”
Oh, yeah, dude. Your trip to Crazytown started ten years ago.
“This is Vaughn Asher’s baby and it needs to go.” He whirls around and snatches my wrist so fast I gasp. “Come on.”
“What—”
I’m forcefully pulled to my feet and my first reaction is to fight him. I dig my heels in and pull back, but his grip is secure and he yanks me forward until I fall face-first on the coffee table. One large hand presses on my back, keeping me pinned, while the other grabs my hair and slams my face on the hard wood. I taste blood when my lip splits. “I think you’ve forgotten the rules. But don’t worry, little flower, I’m here to remind you.” He leans down into my neck and I recoil from the heat of his breath. “You’re a big girl now, aren’t you, Daisy?”
A fingertip strokes along my cheek and I panic. He’s never touched me like that before. Not in a way that implies he’d rape me. But I can already tell this kidnapping is nothing like the last one. Last time he was very young. Early twenties at the most. Ten years later and that boy who wanted me to like him, wanted to win my cooperation with some sick form of domestic seduction that included keeping house and taking care of him the way a wife might, is gone.
In his place is a man who wants very different things. In his place is a man who wants… a woman.
“I’m still so young,” I try.
But his hand presses on my head even harder, making me whimper. “I’ve been patient, Daisy. I let you graduate from college. I watched you have your fun. Date a few men. Have sex. And now look, you’re nothing but a whore.”
Oh, God.
“You’re pregnant with another man’s child. If we want to be happy, that parasite inside you needs to be dealt with.”
And then his hand slips between my legs and shocks me out of my compliance. I elbow him, striking something hard, like his cheek or his neck, and he grunts in surprise. I have a split second of satisfaction before the throbbing in my head takes over.