Page 121 of Knight

Where the fuck could Willow have gone?

Is she in trouble?

It’s not like Zane has anything to do with this. He’s long gone.

After what seems like forever, headlights light up the grimy window near the door and my heartbeat quickens. After a few moments, it’s gone. I’m pacing again, checking my phone every few minutes for any sign of Damien or Willow.

An hour goes by but it feels like forever. Every click, every shuffle and every thud makes me jump, my nerves on high alert. I need a distraction so I flick on the old TV. The news is unsettling and cartoons don’t fit the mood so I decide on an infomercial, Brazilian Butt Lifts, and flop on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling, my leg shakes while my brain plays out several scenarios, none of them good. I’m not even thinking about the stains or musty smell coming from the bed. All I’m thinking about is Willow and Damien. I have no reason to believe in a god, but right now I’m praying to anything that can hear me.

Please bring Willow back to me.

My phone chimes and I spring up.

Fuck, is Jesus that efficient?

Rushing to it, I knock over the rack thing that people put their luggage on for some reason. Nancy’s name lights up my phone and I almost throw it in frustration. Now’s not the time for her silly little demands. My eyes find Damien’s wallet, sitting on the table next to the TV. I reach for it, hoping he has something to calm me down. He always does.

Flipping through, he was right. He has a shit ton of cards. Black. Platinum. His student ID is the last thing I see before a baggie sticks out of the fold with layers and layers of bills. Bingo. When I reach for it, I gasp, the wallet dropping out of my hands.

What the fuck? Did I just …?

Crouching to pick up his wallet, I pull out the thing that startles me. A folded polaroid isn’t usually scary but the watch on the man’s hand is the same one on my wrist. My brows furrow, unfolding it to see Rosaline King with her gaze on my father. The picture is faded but the message is clear.

Damien’s mom knew my dad.

And now they’re both dead.

Did Damien know my dad? How long has he had this?

I’m shaking when my phone vibrates on the counter, the photo falling to the floor from my startled jump. I’m in a daze when I look at the phone, Willow’s name lighting up the screen. It shocks me out of my confusion.Tapping the red button, I’m closing my eyes and praying she’s just lost.

“Willow? Where are you?” I ask, my voice shaky and weak. “We’ve been looking for you ev—”

“Jo!” Damien’s voice crackles through the phone. It’s croaky and faint. Just like that morning. “Jo?”

“D-Damien?” Why does he sound so distant? So … hurt? “Are you okay?”

No answer and I can’t make out anything in the background, any audio coming in and out is like a bad radio signal.

“Where are you? Where’s Willow?” My questions fire off, hoping he can hear any of them, my skin prickling with both chills and heat. “Damien?”

“It’s—” His voice comes in again but he stops to cough and it’s like he can’t speak. My stomach is in knots and I’m about to throw up. Squeezing my eyes shut I take a deep breath, waiting for an answer.

I need to know they’re okay. They have to be okay.

“It’s Marion.” Damien finally gets his words out but it’s a hoarse whisper.

“Marion?” I’m trying to make sense of this before I hear sniffles. Like crying. A snort. Another sniffle. My heart stops when I recognize that pattern.

“Damien, where are you? Are you with Willow?”

“We’re fucked, Jo,” Damien’s words are hard to hear but what I do hear makes my heart almost explode. I’m clutching onto the table, my nails scratching against it, my chest feeling like I’m about to have a heart attack.

What does he mean ‘they’re fucked’?

I can’t lose them.

My throat tightens like it’s closing in, the room darkening around me. “Damien? What the fuck is going on? Answer me!” I’m gripping the phone, praying this isn’t as dangerous as the image my mind is painting. I’m losing my voice when I plead, “Please … ”

“Jo, I—” I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to finish. “I love you.”

The call ends.

What? No!

“Damien?” I’m screaming into the phone, dialling back, but it’s no use. “Damien!”

To Be Continued …

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