Page 55 of Zen's Crash

Lexi

I’m hiding out in our room, pacing. I got really spooked when I saw that picture of the man with dark hair and the woman who was tied up. Something about that man reminded me of my dad. It was the way his ear looked, practically plastered back against his head. My dad is the only other person I’ve seen with an ear like that. He said it was a birth defect. And the hair was the exact color of my old man’s. Granted, the hair was a little longer, but his build was also the same. Ugh, I hate everything about this situation.

My stomach has been upset since this morning, and this is making it worse. I grab a couple of antacids and throw them in my mouth. Clearly, I don’t do well with stress.

Confusion and guilt are warring for top place in my emotions right now. I’m confused because I don’t remember my dad growing his hair out at any point, but that man bore such an uncanny resemblance to my father. I’m feeling high amounts of guilt for even thinking it could be my dad in the pictures—that he would be involved with something like this.

It’s all Zen’s fault for putting that thought in my head. Hearing him accuse my father of being a serial killer is a bell I can’t un-ring. No matter how hard I try to put it out of my mind, it’s still rattling around in there, causing me to doubt my own father. That makes me the worst kind of daughter in the world—one who allows her boyfriend to cast aspersion on her father’s character, but is still happy to continue seeing him.

The more I pace, the more agitated I get. I need to talk to someone, but Cindy and Kayla aren’t going to understand.

Even talking to my online friends is no good. I’d have to start explaining the situation from the ground up. And it’s not lost on me that my situation is too complicated and far-fetched to be believable. I know if someone came at me with a story like this, I would think it was sus and sketchy as hell. I rake my hands over my face in exasperation. Even with having Zen and his club on my side, I feel all alone.

These guys are mostly straight arrows, prior military types. If they find out for sure that my father was involved, they’re probably going to see me as complicit. How could I go my whole life and not know? Seeing that photo of a man who looks an awful lot like my father has sent my life into a tailspin. Where once I was so sure he wasn’t involved, now I have nothing but doubts.

I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been low-grade panicking, but my phone buzzes, pulling me out of it. I pull it out and find a text from Zen. He’s apparently tracked down the location of that hunting lodge, and he and his club brothers are going there right now. I don’t know why I’m surprised that things are moving along so quickly. They are the ‘no time like the present’ club, after all.

I bring my hand up to answer his text—to wish him well, thank him, and caution him to be safe—only my phone lights up with a new text. It’s from MadHitter of all people. He’s messaging me through some obscure text platform that I don’t recognize. But since he gets off on discovering new apps, and he’s my friend, the suspicious part of my brain doesn’t kick in—especially when I read his message.

MadHitter: Hey, girl. I ended up on the West Coast for a business meeting. Want to meet up for coffee?

This dude is from Australia, so this is some random, out-of-left-field surprise I’m totally unprepared for right now. Since I’m in an active crisis, I can’t be running off to have coffee with anyone, even an online friend I’ve known for a while. So, I decline his invitation.

Me: Sorry, Hitter. My life is total pandemonium at the moment. Don’t have the mental bandwidth to be any kind of conversationalist right now.

MadHitter: Wow, that sounds all kinds of stressful. If you need someone to talk to, I’m a fantastic listener.

I know I was just thinking about how much I need someone to talk to, but the thought of actually saying the words ‘my father might be a killer’ is just too much to deal with. I can’t do it. It’s best to wait and talk to Zen. He’s the only one who can understand what I’m going through.

Me: No. I can’t people right now. You should visit a few attractions and enjoy your West Coast stay, though.

He doesn’t answer back, so I toggle over to Zen’s message and reply to his text.

Me: Glad you’re going to check it out. Stay safe and I hope you catch this asshole. Can’t wait to talk to you.

Once I hit send, I start spiraling again. I start feeling claustrophobic, like I need to go outside and run laps aroundthe building. That’s crazy talk, though, right? Deep down inside, I know it is.

So instead, I go downstairs just in time to hear the roar of motorcycles fading in the distance. Damn, I was hoping to have a minute to say goodbye in person. It’s too early for a mixed drink, and I’ve already had breakfast, so I decide to go out onto the back patio and relax. Once I get back there, I see some trash lying around that the prospects haven’t gotten to yet. Clearing up seems like a great way to release some nervous energy. So that’s what I do.

Once the cleanup is done, I wipe down the picnic tables. Then I notice some weeds that need pulling around the edge of the patio. It only takes a few minutes to pull them, and the whole place starts looking like a relaxation retreat. At first, I’m surprised that no one has come out of the clubhouse. Then I remember that most of the brothers just tore out of here to find the guy who killed my father and seems to be stalking me. The prospects are all doing double duty at the gate and in the clubhouse, taking care of the old ladies and club girls.

I start pulling weeds that are growing down the sidewalk that leads to a small football-type clearing in the far backyard. Before I know it, I’m pulling weeds like a madwoman along the metal fence along the back of the lot. It’s not a proper chain-link fence, but something that was probably originally intended to keep cattle out. It’s three lines of barbed wire with a post every six feet or so.

The next thing I hear is someone calling my name. I recognize the voice, so I don’t turn around. The voice is deep and warm. It’s the very same voice that called me a thousand times, but it can’t be my dad because he’s dead.

“Lexi, come to me right now.”

I slowly stand up and look out into the overgrown field on the other side of the fence. Thinking to myself, this must be what it’s like to finally lose your mind. You start hearing and seeing things that aren’t real. I take a step back as I tear up. Isn’t it enough that he’s in all my nightmares as I relive his horrific death over and over again? Now he has to show up in my waking life to haunt me as well.

All the while I’ve been parsing this out in my head, the ghost of my father has been moving closer to me. I look up at him with tears running down my face, blurring my vision. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re dead,” I whisper. My voice sounds hollow and wooden to my own ears.

Suddenly, there’s a sharp pain in my leg, and a jolt of electricity courses through my body, freezing me in place. It’s the most painful experience of my entire life.

My mind can’t reason properly through the blinding pain, but I become aware that he’s grabbed me and is literally hefting me over the low fence line with both hands. That’s when I realize I was hit by a stun gun.

I try and struggle free but it’s like my body wont obey any commands, and the man starts dragging me away. I finally catch my breath long enough to ask, “Who are you and why are you doing this?”

“Shut up and keep moving. You should have agreed to have coffee with my son. We could have nabbed you more easily away from those damn bikers.”

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