Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Okay.”
“It saddens me that you’ve spent all these years alone.”
“Been listening to the podcast, have you?” I ask. “They sure are your fan boys.”
“Though perhaps isolating yourself was safest for the general public. You abstained for so long, I hoped perhaps you’d changed. But apparently not.”
This is all such bullshit. He’s giving me nothing useful. And the chances this conversation is going to wind up in the documentary are right up there. I put the call on speaker and start searching my name online.
“I know your grandmother was a just and peaceful woman,” says Ryan. “Who tried to raise you to be a decent person.”
“Do not talk about her.”
“It gives me hope that one day you’ll seek forgiveness and admit to the terrible things that you’ve done. But I wanted you to know, there is nothing but love and compassion in my heart for you, Sidney.”
“Thanks. That really means a lot coming from you.”
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my engagement?” he asks. “Being in a stable healthy relationship with a good woman has really helped to ground me. I’m so excited about our future together. The idea of starting a family.”
He prattles on as I scroll through a news feed. There’s a photo of a luxury hatchback parked in a woodland area surrounded by crime scene tape. One of the car doors is open and various official-looking people are standing around. Some of them wear police uniforms. The article says the owner of the vehicle is missing, though no names have been released yet. Nothing about a body being found. There’s obviously plenty of rumors going around, however, for reporters to be standing outside my house already. My history with Ryan has to be the sole link between me and the story about this vehicle. I mean, what else could it be?
This cannot be happening again. Women going missing and the community living in fear. The way I want to scream.
“But it’s important for you to know that it’s not too late for you to seek help,” he says. “Even now…”
Then it hits me. Shit. “That’s Grace’s car. It’s my cousin’s car.”
“Who?” asks Ryan oh so sweetly.
“You know who I mean.” There’s something stuck in my throat. It might be my heart. I don’t know. But puking isn’t out of the question. “What have you done to her?”
“You’re forgetting again. I am incarcerated. There’s no way I could have been involved.”
Noah turns away from the window. “Sid, the police are here.”
“Who is that?” asks Ryan, spitting out the words. “Who the fuck is that? You have someone there with you, you whore?”
I disconnect the call. His peace, love, and positivity sure didn’t last for long. Hanging up on the asshole is a small victory, but one I will gladly take. And sure enough, someone knocks on the door. This spiraling sensation is a horribly familiar feeling. I take a deep breath and say, “Might be best if you move the board on the fence and get out the back way.”
Noah pauses and stares at me for a minute. “Do you not want me here? Or do you think I don’t want to be here?”
“I think this is quickly turning into a disaster that you don’t need to be part of. Something’s happened to Grace and…I don’t want you getting caught up in this.”
“Okay. I appreciate you trying to protect me. But unless you’re asking me to leave, this has to be my choice.”
I don’t know what to say.
The knocking happens again. With more urgency this time.
Meanwhile, Noah takes a seat in one of Grandma’s black leather and chrome armchairs. He pats his lap and Auggie jumps up to make himself at home. My eyes are watering suspiciously. But I will not cry in front of the cops. Not happening.
The coffee in my stomach has turned as sour as can be. What I need to know is if Grace is alive or dead. She invited herself into this situation for shitty reasons. But she sure as hell didn’t deserve to get hurt or worse.
I blink repeatedly, stand up straight, and undo the hundred and one locks on my front door. No eye contact for the reporters standing out on the street. Keeping their distance due to a warning from the police officer, probably. My focus is all on the woman standing in front of me. She’s about my size with white skin, long dark hair in a braid, and wearing a charcoal-colored suit. There’s a very serious expression on her face. I wonder if it’s what gave her identity away to Noah. She isn’t someone I’ve met before. Which is not a bad thing.
“Sidney Walsh?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Detective Hahn.” She holds up her badge and I.D. “I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask you.”
Inviting a cop into my home is generally a no. But this isn’t Officer Smith here to mess with me. And I would rather answer a couple of questions now on my own territory than be invited down to the station for something more serious. The other thing is…I need information now. She can tell me what the hell is happening.