Page 103 of Missing White Woman

But my call went straight to voicemail.

Like I was blocked.

And that’s when the panic set in.

I immediately went to Billie’s TikTok, but she hadn’t posted. It hadn’t stopped folks from going wild in the comments section of her last video. Theories abounded—from an evil robber knowing the place was abandoned to an overzealous “fan” who’d been too obsessed with the case online. No one seemed to see the irony in that one. The good news was, it seemed like the only person they didn’t suspect was me.

I expected relief to wash over me, but it barely reached my toes. The cops weren’t the internet. And for the first time in a while, I was more scared of them. No one had chased me last night or even yelled anything when I heard the front door open. I’d assumed it was because I’d been too quick. But maybe they hadn’t because they didn’t have to.

They knew who I was.

They just didn’t know where to find me.

Yet.

There was only one person in Jersey City who knew where I was staying.

I checked the time. Less than an hour left until the press briefing. Not for the first time, I wondered if it would be best to get gone. Leave now under the twin-sized cover of goodwill I still had. I wouldn’t make it far, but maybe I could make it far enough. Get to Newark. Get on a train. Keep my mask on and my head down until Amtrak deposited me in Baltimore.

But when I got back on the Amtrak app, I was quickly disappointed. The next train was leaving in ten minutes, then I’d have to wait four whole hours for the one after it. There was no way I’d risk sitting out in the open at the train station for that long—mask or not. It was better to stay at the hotel. I didn’t pack just yet, just busied myself, pretending like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like this was the vacation it hadn’t been since I’d come downstairs that Monday morning.

I didn’t watch the press conference. Instead, I did something much worse—watch the clock and imagine what was going on. At 11:01, the line of officers would stroll in like a frat when their step song comes on. The police chief would take the lead, Calloway relegated to the back despite doing all the work. At 11:04, Chief King would say my name along with “person of interest.” The crowd would gasp in unison like someone had said, “Action,” while a lone person screamed out, “I knew it!” At 11:06, I’d already be trending number one worldwide, and at 11:07 Billie would go Live. Reporters would start asking questions around the same time. Police Chief King sharing that I was missing and asking people to keep an eye out—but not to approach me because I was considered dangerous. But it would be too late. Twitter and TikTok would have combined to be on that case.

The good thing was that my mind wrapped it all up by 11:15, and according to the unwanted text Adore sent with a link, I was right. I still didn’t respond, but I sure as hell clicked on it. Someone had already posted the good stuff on Twitter.

Chief King was front and center, but he’d let Calloway stick close enough behind to be in the camera frame. She stared impassively as he spoke.

“… don’t believe anything was taken, but it could be because the perpetrator was interrupted. A neighbor immediately called the police after seeing someone suspicious walk into the alley. Our first patrol car arrived at the scene approximately eight minutes later, but the perpetrator had already fled. We were able to interview all four witnesses and believe that we’re looking for a brown-skinned woman between 100 and 150 pounds and somewhere between five foot two and five foot six inches, wearing a dark T-shirt, leggings, and sneakers with bright pink on them.”

I wasn’t sure who I wanted to curse out more: myself or Eric at the ASICS store, who had convinced me highlighter-colored soles were “giving.” I glared at them now from across the room, then tried to remember all the times I’d had them on when Calloway had come to see me.

THIRTY-ONE

The unknown number’s first attempt was a little after 1 p.m. I let it ring.

The second was five minutes later. This time they left a voicemail. It went unchecked.

I already knew what Calloway was going to say. What she wanted. But there was no way I was talking to her without a lawyer, and I no longer had one of those.

The text came right before 1:30, long enough for Calloway to realize I wasn’t going to call her back. The message was simple.

Hey.

I’d had enough booty calls in college not to fall for that one, so I ignored it. Too busy panicking, pacing so hard I felt bad for the person staying in the room below me. It only took Calloway another ten minutes to realize I wouldn’t respond.

That’s what I was doing when the second text came through.

It’s Billie.

Oh.

I retroactively checked the voicemail. Sure enough, I recognized her voice, even from the tinny confines of my phone app. “Hi, Bree. It’s Billie. I’m still in town, so just wanted to check in on you. You left so abruptly the other night. I saw your Live too.” She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was teasing. “We gotta work on your camera angles and lighting. But overall it was great. Anyway. Call me back.”

She picked up on the first ring. I was so surprised, I didn’t say anything at first.

“Bree… You didn’t butt-dial me, did you?”

She was friendly, and I was appreciative. It was what I needed—to hear someone happy to talk to me. The last person had probably been Ty.

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