Page 52 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 25

Liliane

Atlantic City

It's been three days.

Three days since I last saw her face. Three days since I last heard her laugh. Three days since we said goodbye in drunken euphoria.

Three days since my best friend went missing without a trace.

I'm sitting in one of the big, upholstered chairs on the balcony, my legs curled up underneath myself, a cup of steaming tea in my hands and an untouched lunch on the table next to me. Jayson insists on continuing to send food up to the room, even though he knows I barely touch any of it. I've lost my appetite, just like I've lost the ability to sleep.

How can I eat at a time like this? How can I sleep?

How can I pursue anything normal when I don't know what happened to her? When my best friend has disappeared, seemingly dragged out of her hotel room in the middle of the night, with absolutely no indication of what might have happened to her?

The only clue was one uncovered from the recordings downloaded off of the CCTV cameras lining her hallway. The footage showed two men, their faces covered with ski masks walking up to her room only a few minutes after Jayson and I left her there. One of them was pulling something that looked like a large storage case, the other pounded loudly against her door, not giving up until she finally opened. Malia was drunk that night, the drunkest I've ever seen her, but she was still coherent enough that I felt comfortable leaving her to sleep it off.

I had considered either staying with her or taking her up to our room. I decided against it after her incessant insistence that she was fine and I shouldn't worry. The decision wasn't an easy one to make, but it's safe to say that I went for the easy option. I decided selfishly. It was my wedding night.

I left her on her own, a decision I've regretted ever since.

What if I had stayed with her? What if Jayson and I had taken her with us, letting her sober up in the safety of our gigantic suite? What if... what if...

She'd still be here.

"But how could you know what was going to happen?" Jayson keeps reminding me. "Why would anyone take her? What could anyone possibly want from her?"

I glared angrily at him for that last remark, because it made my best friend sound so insignificant. But I know that he has a point.

From the footage, it seems as if those men were targeting Malia. They knew which room they wanted, and they didn't waste a second when she opened the door. They forced themselves inside her room, slamming the door behind them, and when they stepped back into the hallway a few minutes later, they were pulling a visibly heavier case behind them. Malia is a petite person, but I still couldn't believe that they had stuffed her inside it when I first saw the images.

"Did they kill her?"

My question was underlined with such horror that I barely managed to speak the words, and I want to believe what both Jayson and the police told me. It was unlikely that without a motive someone would walk into a stranger's room, kill her, and then haul off the dead body. For what? It doesn't make any sense.

But even if they didn't kill her right away, it doesn't mean that she’s still alive.

Malia could be dead—and it would be all my fault.

My eyes wander absently across the horizon, teased by the reflections of the sun that dance across the ocean before me. This view gave me so much joy just a few days ago, standing here with my newlywed husband, slightly hung over and tired, but so elated with happiness. A warm breeze was kissing the salty skin on my cheeks, carrying the taste of the ocean all the way up here while I admired the ring on my finger, a smile on my face.

She's just hung over, I thought when Malia didn't pick up the phone when I called her the following morning.

She's still sleeping it off, I thought when she wouldn't pick up my call around noon.

This is weird, I thought when I still couldn't reach her mid-afternoon.

Something is wrong, I thought when I still hadn't heard from her a few hours later.

That's when we went to the front desk and convinced them to let us into her room.That's when we found her room empty and in disarray, no sign of her anywhere. Jayson asked for the camera footage right away, but even with his identification, we had to wait for the local police to show up before the hotel released the recordings. Our first thought was that Malia had just wandered off, intoxicated and confused, but my heart froze when we saw two men invading her room instead.

Who are they? Where did they take her? And why?

So far, we have no leads. The police didn't even know where to start, and it's of little consolation to know that she's not another victim of the Bridgewater murderer, because that man is behind bars now—thanks to Jayson.

But what if it was a mistake and he wasn't the culprit after all? What if those guys who barged into Malia’s room were the actual culprits? Or what if he didn't work alone? What if these two goons are his sidekicks and have come to kidnap my best friend as a form of revenge against Jayson?

---