Page 143 of Moth to a Flame

I slow the car before placing the hardest call I’ve ever had to make. While I scan every available inch of the dark area.

“Call Rosemary.”

I barely get a chance to breathe before she picks up.

“Where is she?” Rosemary whispers.

Another painful twist at my heart. Of course she knows. Their bond is strong. They feel each other.

“He’s got her.” Left, right, up ahead. I don’t stop looking, not even when I hear Rosemary’s shuddered cry. “Rosemary, this isn’t the time for this. Pull yourself together. Have your dad call the DA himself.” I tell her exactly where I am and which direction I’m headed, as well as the Lester’s plate number, while she sniffles over the phone. “I have people on it, but we’ll need all the help we can get. Can you do that for me? For Regan?”

“Yeah. Yes. I will.” I hear footsteps and panicked voices that rise while Rosemary’s talking to me. “Find her, Landon. Find my sister. This can’t be happening again. It doesn’t matter that he was mutilated. He’ll hurt her. You have to find her before he does.”

“Find? No. No!” a woman shrieks in the background. Their mother. “No!”

“Who’s on the phone?” A man rumbles. “Something happened to Regan, didn’t it? Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

Not exactly how I imagined my first encounter with her parents. Not at fucking all.

Sadly, I don’t care about them or first impressions, either.

Regan.

“I’ll find her.” The metallic taste on my tongue intensifies. Blood coats on my lips. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll bring her home.”

Forty-five minutes into this maddeningly slow drive, and nothing.

Other than a random twig and a few leaves here and there, the damn road is clear.

Beverly hasn’t called with an update. I haven’t heard from Rosemary and her parents. It’s not a bad sign. They’re on their phones or meeting the authorities in person.

They’re doing their job while I do mine.

The growing panic and need to kill Lester are what keeps me awake.

My muscles flex as if I’m about to jump out of the car and chase down Regan on foot.

My eyes see better than they ever have.

The windows are rolled down and I listen in to any sound that might be her.

The sounds of branches whipping against each other and the odd animal scurrying from one place to another are all I hear.

Which is…nothing. Goddamn nothing.

At this point, I’ll take her screams over this nerve-wrecking silence.

Hope is a foreign sentiment. I still feel it. Hold on to it.

Can’t lose hope, or her. Fucking won’t.

My foot slams the brakes before my brain has a chance to catch up.

I’m not the first one to do it here tonight.

Black tire tracks appear on the road ahead of me. They look angry. Fresh. For some reason, Lester stopped the van abruptly.

Regan. Regan was the reason. No doubt in my mind. She’s brilliant, and she’s so obsessed with her horror books that she knew what to do.

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