Page 22 of Another Girl Lost

Shit. “Terrific.”

Luke waited until I was behind the wheel, seat belt on, and the engine started. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, his attention had shifted to a black SUV.

Drive time provided the opportunity to nurture future regrets about Luke. If I didn’t blow the date after drinks and conversation, he’d ask me out again. He’d try to kiss me. Then I’d panic, say no as a reflex, and vanish. Ghosting was my thing.

I parked behind my warehouse under the security light above the back door. This time of night, it wasn’t hard to find parking. It could be an issue on weekend evenings, when people came into the area todrink at the breweries or bars and decided an open alley was fair game. But on a Thursday night, I had it all to myself.

Keys in hand, purse on my shoulder, I slid out of the truck and locked it immediately. I crossed quickly to the door and pressed in the door code. Scattered by the door was a pile of crumpled newspapers. As I collected them, I noted the headline referencing the recreation center. I unfurled a page and realized it was the article on me. I balled up the brittle paper, wondering if this was someone providing a copy or someone screwing with me.

Inside, I secured the main latch and then the secondary ones. I tossed the newspapers in the trash can, washed my hands, and kicked off my shoes. Residents on my block knew me well enough to kid me about my door locks, but the conversations generally ended there.

I fished my phone from my purse and realized Tiffany Patterson had texted me.

I paused and read the text.

I need to talk to you. It’s important.

Tiffany. What did she want now? My guess was she was coming off a high and looking for a new hit.

Bracelets rattled as I ran long fingers through my hair. This was the fourth text from Tiffany in as many weeks. Each time I’d responded, she’d not returned my messages. She flaked often, so I never gave it much thought.Where are you? Are you okay?

I stared at the display, willing Tiffany to respond.

But the phone’s screen remained blank. No words, no bubbles, no sign that Tiffany had seen my text. Dawson’s visit churned fresh worries, and my mind drifted to darker places.

I sat on my couch and leaned back. Not so weird that someone would leave a copy of the article, but these had been balled up. It was likely innocent. Trash happened in cities. No need to panic, right? All normal.

But I wasn’t normal. Hard lessons had taught me to make the difficult decisions so I could survive. Plenty would judge me for the decisions I’d made when I was with Tanner. They’d wonder why I got into the van, why I didn’t fight harder, or why I didn’t walk into Mike’s Diner screaming for help immediately. People liked to believe that the world was separated into black and white or good and evil. But it wasn’t so clearly divided. A spectrum of grays linked morality to sin. We all had the power to dip into the dark side if it meant living or dying.

I rose, changed into a large T-shirt and paint-splattered cutoff jean shorts, and tied my hair into a ponytail. In my studio room, I uncovered Della’s portrait. I checked my paintbrush, scrubbing the dry bristles over the back of my hand as I stared into the dark eyes glaring back at me.

Della knew me better than anyone. Della knew my darkest secrets, the compromises I’d made to stay alive. She knew the shame I’d never shared with my mother, the police, the Judge, or any therapist. Della had witnessed what I’d do if driven to the brink, and she was the only person on this earth who wouldn’t judge me, because she had also embraced the darkness to endure. We were two sides of the same coin.

Victim and captor.

Frenemies for life.

That night I dreamed of the dark, damp basement room and chains encircling my ankle.

Chapter Six

SCARLETT

Then

A day or two later in the basement

When I woke up, I blinked into the darkness. Confusion gave way to fear as I realized I was on a thin mattress in a small room. I was naked. My bracelet and necklace were gone. I sat up too quickly and my head spun. I toppled back, willing my stomach to quiet and the tightness behind my eyes to ease.

After several beats, my body steadied and calmed. My fingers ran over the coarse mattress fabric. No sheets. No blankets.

Slowly, I tried to sit a second time. I couldn’t see anything in the room and was forced to feel my way to the edges of the mattress and then to a cool brick wall. I trailed fingers over the wall’s rough, porous surface until they ran into the next corner. Maybe five feet. The next corner was ten feet away. A smooth metal door was on the third wall, and the fourth was blank.

A light clicked on under the door. Footsteps mingled with rattling keys. I scrambled to the mattress and pressed my back to the wall. A lock twisted, and the door opened. Light flooded, and I winced until my eyes adjusted.

Standing at the threshold was the girl from the concert. Della. She was wearing a yellow dress, and her feet were bare. She was holding a length of rope. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on, Della?”

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