Page 5 of Drowned In Silence

“Probably about thirty minutes or so. But if you really want to leave first, I will take my own car and meet you there. Stay out of sight, out of mind. Good luck, call me if you need me. Oh, and bro?”

“What?” I snap.

“Keep your wits about you, not only could she be in danger, but that town might also be a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, I’m headed out now.” I click the red button, hanging up on him before he can spout some random shit about our annoying ass parents or how he’s upset that I’m doing this anyway.

I love them to death, and they have treated me like their own son since adopting me, but when they want to sit there and talk politics and religion all day, it wears you the fuck out.

I pull my keys back out of my pocket, I honestly don’t know why I tucked them in there anyway since I knew I’d be going out. Old habits.

A 2023 BMW M3 sits in my driveway, matte black onmatte black. The interior is a beautiful black leather, with an Alcantara dash and matching steering wheel.

I never imagined myself getting a newer car, let alone a BMW, but regardless, I fucking love this goddamned thing. It goes from zero to sixty in 4.1 seconds. This bitch is fast as fuck, and I use that to my advantage almost daily.

I slide into the driver’s seat and push the start button, it quietly revs to life, giving me more satisfaction and a bigger ego boost than I probably need. Buckling up and coming down the driveway, I receive another call.

“Hello?”

“Elliot, My Dear, are you coming over for dinner tonight? We made a casserole, and I’m afraid no one except Ernie will eat it. I’m just so worried it will go to waste,” Mom asks.

I really thought I could get away for the evening without hearing from at least one of our parents, but luck must not be on my side.

“Unfortunately not, Mom. I’m headed out of town for work. It’s nothing to do with your cooking, you know how much I love it. I just need to step away for a little while and take care of business. Spencer is bound and determined to come with me too,” I tell her. I roll my eyes, she’s always trying to get me to come back home. She may be a pestering lady, but she knows how to kill it in the kitchen.

“Of course, hun. You just text me when y’all make it home, okay? Be careful! Love you!” She sing–songs before hanging up.

I really should go over and spend the evening with them soon. Pens and I practically lived there until we started our own business. We had our own places, but we still ended up at home. There is just something about the comfort of a decent family. They adopted me after my biological mother died. Me and Spencer were friends and went to schooltogether, but I was over there almost everyday. Mr. and Mrs. Martin always fed me, bathed me, and did other things normal parent’s do for their kids, so when my crackhead mom died, they just took me in permanently.

When they showed up to get me, they did exactly what I would have done. They both took me in and loved me. I was broken. Broken because my mom died and broken for fucking attention. I didn’t leave until I bought my first house, and still, no one else from my past has ever come to look for me, at least to my knowledge. Not even the piece of shit Father my mom ran away from when she learned she was pregnant with me.

H.E.L

Elliot

I slow my caras I pull up to the redlight on the outskirts of the shitty town. There are vagabonds everywhere, looking for food or their next high. The ride only took a couple hours, and I know Spencer is somewhere on the road behind me. He called me and told me about the rental he got for us, and I threw the address into my GPS. We will stay there for as long as we need– call it a business expense.

It’s sad this poor girl is stuck doing the last thing anyone should ever do. Prostitution is illegal, but the police around here could give a fuck less. That’s why me and Pen decided to open a private business.

We take pride in the job. Saving countless from being destroyed by criminals and low lifes. I couldn’t stand the look on the last girl's face when we told her she couldn't use the new house as a halfway house. This is for clean individuals only. Me and Spencer bring them in, set them up with a small bank account, help them find a decent job online or in thecommunity, and buy them a house. Most of our projects are funded by people from all over the world who donate millions to our company, hoping that one day we will find one of their loved ones, or at least find their body. H.E.L– Help, Evacuate, Live– has saved more than it’s lost, not that I have anything to do with it.

What most people don’t know is that I also ‘dispose’ of people who just can’t be helped. I can’t count on one hand how many times I’ve killed someone, only for a relative to pay me later in hopes I would save them.

Well, it's too late for that. I’ll never share those secrets though. Not with anyone but Spencer. He has seen me in all stages of life, from my best to my worst. Drunk, high, half dead, and now– rich on other people's money. I like to think we are better than the average Joe, at least we spend it helping those who can actually benefit from it.

I pull my car into the back of the parking lot. Doing a little recon before you have to go straight in is the best thing you could do in this situation. Me and Pen have learned the hard way.

We’ve pulled up to motels and tried to help women when their Johns were in the room, when they were strung out and overdosed on the floor, and even one who was giving birth. You never know what you’re going to find.

I pull my hoodie on and sink into the driver’s seat once I turn off my car. Pulling out the snacks from the center console, I get comfortable. Spencer is probably thirty minutes to an hour behind me, so I have plenty of time. Reaching into my back pocket, I remove my wallet and open it.

There it is. The picture I’ve been holding onto since before I can fully remember. My childish arm is wrapped around the girl's shoulder and she looks at me like I am her entire world. I stare back at the camera with a frown. I don’tremember anything about that day other than how pissed I was that someone was taking a picture. That’s all I remember from that day, shit… from that entire time. I just wish I could remember her.

The only thing on the photo is the name that is written on the back. “Dynah Age 4. Elliot Age 5.” I stuff the picture back into my wallet, and slide it back into my pocket.

Room D12 looks the same as any other, but the cheap curtains are pulled shut and no one is tweaker peeking from within. The window is shattered and held together by duct tape, but it’s still technically intact.

Within thirty minutes, the door pops open and a man steps out. He’s not even halfway decent looking. His beer belly sticks over his pants, his green shirt stained, and his sneakers look like they are from 1993. Real classy fella if you ask me.

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