Page 202 of Heart So Hollow

No, no, no, no…this isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it. My eyes fly open when I hear the front door close and I realize that Bowen’s home. Not a minute later, I hear his voice echo through the house like thunder.

“Brett!” he shouts from the living room, giving me a start.

I freeze in the bathroom doorway, his frantic call followed by heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. He bursts through the door, coming to a halt in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes darting around until he sees me in the bathroom.

“What?” I ask, eyes wide.

He glances back at the hallway and then at me, his eyes wild, “You didn’t see what’s out there?” he asks, motioning to the hallway, now half-lit by the lamps in the living room.

“I just got home,” I shake my head and set the empty packet down on the edge of the sink, “I just didn’t turn on the lights yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bowen rakes his fingers through his hair with exasperation, then motions for me to follow him.

He leads me to the entryway and when I follow his gaze up the wall, I’m met with an eerie sight. There are two words scrawled across the light grey paint in bright red spray paint.

WHERE’S EMILY?

My eyes dart back and forth between Bowen and the message on the wall. He peers up at the writing with a sense of both agitation and curiosity.

“What is this?” I whisper, my throat suddenly parched.

Bowen glances at me and then back up at the paint, “The door to the deck was unlocked.”

I swallow hard, looking back up at the paint on the wall.

Popping a sliding glass door isn’t difficult, sweetheart.

“All my underwear are gone,” I say flatly, resigned to the fact that there’s no way I can hide something like that.

Bowen jerks his head around, “The fuck did you just say?”

“My underwear drawer—” I clear my throat, “it’s empty.”

Then, suddenly, my eyes are drawn to the wall next to the entryway. There are four knives—steak knives from the kitchen drawer—stabbed into the drywall in a row. Beneath each one is a crudely cut out piece of paper. When I look closer, I realize they’ve all been carved out of the large frame in the middle of the photo montage next to the bookcase. The glass is smashed and only silhouettes of four people remain, their images now pinned to the wall beneath each knife.

Hildy.

Jay.

Hannah.

Bowen.

The only person remaining in the framed photo is Evie, with her vibrant red hair and bright, contagious smile.

The whole sight makes my blood run cold and I have no idea what to make of any of it. I look to Bowen for any explanation, but he’s still taking in the bizarre scene.

Finally, he looks over his shoulder at me, “Your underwear are gone?”

I nod, unable take my eyes off the knives sticking out of the wall. Without another word, Bowen returns to his backpack sitting next to the front door, tears open the zipper, and starts digging around inside. I watch with a growing sense of panic as he lifts his holster, with his gun, out of the main pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to find him,” Bowen declares, tucking the holster into the back of his jeans.

“Who?” I squeak, my voice cracking.

---