Page 28 of Resolutions

“Oh - I have a cat. Just one. I had to bring him when I...” I trail off, hoping this won't be a deal-breaker.

“Cats are fine. Hundred-dollar non-refundable deposit for carpet cleaning when you leave.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank goodness. He's a good cat, mostly sleeps.”

“Sounds like a cat to me,” she chuckles. “Rent's due tomorrow. Bring it down to apartment one after you move in. Here are your keys. Park wherever.”

“That's it?” I'm stunned by the simplicity.

“What else do you want?”

“Don't you need references? Background check?”

She gives me a shrewd look. “Already done my check. How someone treats me tells me everything I need to know. I can spot a scammer a mile off.” Her eyes narrow. “Who are you running from, Melanie? What's his first name?”

“Michael,” I admit, studying the floor. “He's a real piece of work.”

“Had one of them myself.” She pulls back her hair to reveal a scar above her eyebrow. “But don't you look at that floor, girl. Don't give him that power. Head up - you're who you are. Everyone here needed a helping hand once. We're not victims. We're fighters.”

She heads for the door. “Get yourself moved in, then come down to apartment one.”

Just like that, I have a home Michael knows nothing about. More importantly, I have an ally who understands. Mrs. Post is right. It's time to stop running. I need to start fighting.

Chapter 13

Cameron

I now know what drowning feels like. Since Melanie vanished, I still haven't left my parents' house, hell, I haven't left my old bed. All I've managed is calling and texting with no response and staring at the ceiling from beneath my covers. The weight of her absence is a physical thing, pressing down on my chest until breathing feels like an impossible task.

Why doesn't she answer? I hate the reason she isn't or can't answer. I fucking hate it. Who? Why? Where? I have nothing to go on. God, everything hurts. My chest when I breathe, my eyes from crying, my throat from screaming into pillows. My heart's shattered into pieces so small I'll never find them all.

I feel so damn helpless. I'm of zero help to her and it's killing me. I can't take it. The Sheriff's “we're working on it” updates only make everything worse. The same day she disappeared, they tracked her credit card to a small motel sixty miles away, then Walmart, then an ATM where she withdrew large amountsof cash from all her accounts, including our shared one. I couldn't care less about the money - I'd give her every penny if it kept her safe. Had he wanted money? Unfortunately, I saw the security footage. It shows her constantly looking around, even over her shoulder, clearly terrified. And now I live with the look of fear in those gorgeous eyes. She had to have been watched at the ATM, otherwise why didn't she call me? Send a text?

When Tobias told us the motel owner would only say she stayed one night, I felt like punching him. Why can't he come up with something - a lead, a clue? Fuck, at this stage I'd take a damn rumor that someone might have seen her. The waiting is anguish. I've prayed to every deity I can think of to bring her back, begging them to trade me for her. And yet here I am, still in this bed, tortured by the silence of no communication.

Life without Melanie isn't really life at all. We've been wrapped in each other's daily rhythms for so long that on our own, simple things become impossible puzzles. How do I get out of bed in the morning when she's not there reminding me I'm going to be late? How do I watch TV without her cold feet tucked under my legs? How do I come home to an empty house? No more singing. No more laughter. No more anything. How do I exist in a world where she isn't? I keep reaching for my phone and texting her, only to have no answer. I swear each time is just like losing her all over again.

I hear her voice on a loop in my head. When she answered the phone in the car, she seemed confused, scared. I've tried so many times to make sense of it, but I just can't. Other than he, Melanie referenced a he. We know who he is. We watched that sadistic bastard deliver the box, then wait in the lobby before he went and disabled the side hall camera. We saw him. He must have done it, then slipped up the hidden passageway and taken her. I saw the prints in the dust just outside the closet door.Tobias said it looked like a struggle. I fear with the state of the dressing room, he wasn't wrong.

Every time I close my eyes, I see that knife-scarred face leering at her, those massive hands around her, touching her... I force my mind away from those images, but they seep back like poison. What kind of man am I, lying safe in bed while she's out there, battling for her life? I'm rubbish, complete rubbish. My mom, dad and the rest of the family keep telling me to have hope, to trust Sheriff Trenton. The only one who gets how I feel is Michael. He's willing to discuss the what-ifs, what could be happening to my Melanie. Michael's even put up a hundred-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to her return. At least he's doing something.

I pull the covers tighter over my head as tears leak onto my pillow. Mom keeps opening the damn curtains each morning, insisting sunlight will help. She doesn't understand that I don't deserve light or warmth or comfort while Melanie could be cold, hurt, or worse. My soul left with her, I'm just an empty shell haunting my childhood bedroom, doomed to relive every moment I failed to protect her. Keep the curtains closed.

Word of her disappearance has spread. The joy of living in a small town. People keep reaching out, but the only voice I want to hear belongs to my Melanie. I've listened to her last voicemail so many times, I've memorized every breath, every pause. “Love you, see you soon!” she'd said. If I'd known it was the last time.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs make me burrow deeper under my blanket fortress. My bedroom door crashes open with enough force to rattle the walls.

“Damn dude, Mom's going to kick your ass if you made a mark on the wall.” Carson's voice holds a forced lightness.

Great, just what I don't want. Visitors.

“You said make an entrance,” Colton defends. “Besides, if there's a mark, I'll blame it on you.” His voice shifts to a mocking falsetto. “And all will be forgiven for the golden child.”

I roll my eyes under my blanket shield. Some things never change this is how they've been this way since we were kids, either best friends or at each other's throats. The familiarity should be comforting, but it just highlights everything else that's changed. Although Carson, being the golden child, will never change.

“Hey, lazy ass, get out of bed.” Colton yanks my leg.

“Way to be sympathetic, bro.” Carson sighs.

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