Page 112 of Shattered Veil

Zoey flinched. “Easy, Cas—breathe—”

“All I’m doing is jumping to conclusions, Zoey! How the hell can I not?!”

“I’m just saying that he could still be at work,” she clarified.

“And even though his goddamn briefcase is in his car, I’m driving there on the off-fucking-chance that he is,” I snapped, “but I’m a tad bit concerned about whatever the hell we’re supposed to do if he’s not. Go to the police? Report him missing? Give them almost none of the information we have because otherwise, we may be incriminating ourselves with fucking murder since this shit all seems tied together? And then, guess what?” I looked at her with what was most likely a crazed glare, and she appeared to be holding her breath as I remarked, “It’s not like they’re gonna send out a goddamn search team right away without probable cause of him being in danger!”

Her arms outstretched toward me as if she had the intention to soothe me, but her expression twisted as she appeared torn on what to do, and her limbs hung in the air.

“I know, I know,” she spoke, “I—I’m sorry, Cas, I’m freaking out, too, but let’s just…stay calm and take this one step at a time.”

The suggestion was valid. Reasonable. Level-headed.

Unfortunately for Zoey, though, I was not. My lungs were burning. Tears were flooding my vision. My heart was thrumming wildly as if it were trying to escape my chest and pounding in my ears, and my response ripped through my lips in an angry, shrill:

“He could be GONE, Zoey! Missing! I don’t know what to do—I don’t know how to fucking BREATHE right now!”

Zoey’s lips pressed together tightly as she silenced herself. I saw her watching me in my peripheral vision as I rapidly wiped away the evidence of my crying from my cheeks, and she finally offered:

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No.” I sniffled, as my nose had gone runny. “Thanks.”

“You know where you’re going?” she asked.

Though I had never visited James’ workplace, I nodded. In a pleasant conversation so recently had on his couch, we had casually discussed his job. I thought back to it now, wishing I could smile as I remembered his hearty chuckle when I joked that the name of the establishment was a mouthful, and I had accused him of making up the title on his own in jest. He hadn’t, and he had proven as such by showing the name on a map app in his cell. Identified with an icon of a small briefcase, the text was displayed in its entirety between two parentheses after the label of Work, and he had pointed at it with a playful, enthusiastic, ‘See?’

I swallowed through the lump in my throat. “Analytic Integrative Solutions, International LLC. Not far from Gas Lamp…it’s off Third Street and Pine, but I’ve never been. You mind looking it up, just in case?”

She obliged, and there was no further inquisition. No additional attempts to assuage me. It was silent as we drove save for the occasional clearing of my throat, directional instruction from Zoey, or clicking of my turn signal, and after what I knew was ten minutes but felt like far longer, I was pulling into the parking lot outside of his work.

James and I had once spoken about the feeling of existing within a living hell…and I had thought that I was already there. When I had rapidly left 2B with Zoey, my odd, keen sense of anxiety was reminiscent of a premonition—a forewarning that I was desperately trying to shake. But it wasn’t then that I considered my presence within a realistic hellscape. It was when I had seen his car, abandoned with no sense of where he had gone, that I had considered, or, rather, realized, that I was stuck in the flames.

The visit to his workplace had lasted all of five minutes.

The building was small, grey, and no doubt created for an office space. Windows lined the walls of the single story, darkened with a tint so passersby couldn’t see within, and the entrance was clearly visible. The glass door had white lettering on it, but it was illegible from where we were parked.

Zoey and I had marched through the front door, and I found myself taking in the space with an eye of scrutiny.

A white desk was situated directly in front of the door, a large computer monitor resting atop it. To the left was nothing but two doors—one for a women’s bathroom and the other for the men’s—and on the right, a glass dividing wall that lacked any opacity whatsoever. What appeared to be an area to scan a key fob for entry was directly next to the door handle, and beyond that, I could see straight into what I assumed was a break room. There were two individuals chatting while pouring coffee, and I recognized neither of them.

“How can I help you two?” the woman from behind the desk had asked us.

I didn’t recall any of her features—only that she was dressed in a blouse that was colored a vibrant blue. I also couldn’t remember our exact response. I knew that I had asked if James Turner was in the office, and Zoey had interjected to state that we were planning to meet him for an early lunch. The woman had squinted at us curiously, and I assumed the reason for that was twofold:

Firstly, it was only just approaching 10:30, and the notion of lunch seemed far off.

And secondly, our collective appearance didn’t exactly depict that we were ready to publicly sit down for a meal.

Despite that, she had still replied in a chipper tone, “Oh, sorry—James is out today.”

Her casual mention of there being a nasty flu going around and questioning of whether or not she should leave a message for him from us hung in the air until Zoey inevitably responded for me. Her tone was light and offhanded, not a word of her reply was heard by me, and she ushered me back out the door with a hand on my lower back.

As if I had just left an active warzone, I was riddled with tinnitus. I stared forward from the passenger seat while Zoey took the wheel. My cheeks were salt-streaked and wet, and I made no attempt to remedy that. For there was nowhere to run and no clue of direction, the sensation of being trapped swarmed me—buzzing in my ears until my phone began to vibrate loudly within the cup holder between us.

I grabbed it, my limbs moving in slow motion, and squinted curiously at the contact before swiping across the screen and setting it to speaker.

My voice was quiet as I answered, “Colton?”

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