Page 36 of Resolutions

“Well done,” the politician praised me. “The new lady is more... spirited. And certainly, more entertaining to watch, much more.”

I allow a small smile, forcing silk into my voice while inside I want to punch him in his wheezy face. If these fucking pricks weren't paying so well, I'd do humanity a favor and off every one of them. But as it is, I'll entertain them as long as they keep paying.

“Thank you.” I clenched my toes, not showing them any more than what I allowed. “She did offer a better show, didn't she?” Deep breath. Control.

“Yes,” the oldest Sheik brother laughed. “I particularly liked when she punched him like she was some prize fighter.” That brought about several laughs from the group.

“And when he threw her after she kicked him.” My televangelist chuckled. “Priceless!”

Well, it wasn't priceless. It was actually a good evening for me. A three-million-dollar good evening.

“Do you have more of these women?” The younger Sheik brother asked.

“I'll continue expanding our selection.” I said, allowing them a few more comments. The moment the call ends, I slam my fist into the desk. That school teacher should have been Melanie! Two weeks. Two fucking weeks she's managed to evade me. My men have combed every street, shown her picture in every shop. Nothing. Either someone grabbed her, in which case she's damaged goods and useless to me, or she's gotten help. A trucker, maybe, someone who got her out of my immediate reach. But I'll find my scared little bunny; she has to be hiding somewhere. No one just vanishes. I'm scouring all her bank accounts and her work portal. I was already a student in her class under an alias but so far, she hasn't surfaced. Until she does, I'll just keep getting the asses more entertainment.

My phone lights up with Cameron's face. Again. I send it to voicemail, lip curling at how pathetic he is. “Have you found anything?” His whiny voice plays over in my head. Do I even need him anymore? His death might smoke her out of hiding while she's still soft enough to care. But that would end the game too quickly. No, watching him slowly lose faith in her is much more satisfying. I think I'll continue down the path I started a week ago. Maybe it's starting to take root.

I mimicked my previous conversation with him. “You know Cameron, I'd never steer you wrong. I'll always give it to you straight. Well, it's been a while, we seriously should consider that the 'I don't love you anymore' note was her real feelings.” I chuckled. “He's pathetic and weak.”

Cameron

Maybe Michael's right. That thought circles endlessly in my head as I stare at the pills Colton prescribed - the ones I said I didn't want, but he sent home with Mom anyway. I still can't bring myself to take them. Maybe Melanie did just... leave. Just walked away when the reality of marriage hit her. His words echo: “Since she left a note, and you haven't heard a word. I'm just saying.”

I've replayed every moment of our relationship until I'm sick with it. The way she'd curl into me while we watched movies. How she'd steal my coffee even though she had her own. The sound of her laugh echoing through our house. Were there signs I missed? Some hint that she was unhappy? That she was playing me?

The frame on my desk shows us at Christmas, her face turned up to mine, eyes shining with what I thought was love. Now, I wonder if she was already planning her escape. If every kiss, every “I love you,” every shared dream was just an elaborate lie.

But why? Why wouldn't she end it before the day of the wedding? I just don't understand. I thought she loved me. I love her. My family says she loves me. If she loves me, why doesn't she get in touch?

And now, Mom told me at breakfast a younger teacher went missing in the next town over. She left after school, other teachers saw her drive off. But she hasn't been seen since. Is she connected with Mel's disappearance?

Michael's been running searches non-stop, using technology I couldn't even understand. If he can't find her, if he can't even find a trace of her. The implications make me want to vomit. Does it mean she doesn't want to be found? Or is she gone, for good?

I picked up the wedding invitation, fingers tracing words that mock me: “... joyfully invite you to celebrate their love...” Was ita joke? Was it real? While I was dreaming of our future, was she laughing at how she played me for a fool?

The bottle of bourbon on my desk is the one we were saving for our first anniversary. The liquid dances the light. Maybe I am the fool. Maybe Michael's been right all along about women. At least he never pretends it's about love.

Chapter 17

Cameron

Christmas. Woop-fucking-ie.

Bah humbug doesn't begin to explain my feelings toward this holiday. Normally, I love the holidays. Normally. But this year, what is there to celebrate? Being left at the altar? Being constantly reminded every time I look in the mirror, walk into work, or step into the grocery store that my long-time love vanished without explanation? Having my emotions ricochet daily between worry and rage? Bingo! We have a winner!

This sucks, and the only thing that makes it suck even more is thinking what Melanie is going through. I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I just sigh a lot. Sigh.

I know I'm surly and bitter, but I don't care anymore. We should be celebrating our first Christmas as a married couple, freshly returned from our honeymoon. Showing off our photos, our tans, our matching rings. Maybe even discussing changing our guest room into a nursery. You know, the stuff couples do.But no, I'm drowning in the realization that I loved someone so completely that I was blind to who they really were.

Fuck, I hate this. A ping-pong match has less back and forth than I have. One minute I think about her note and say it's complete rubbish, Melanie loves me, something happened to her. The next my mind is saying she hated me all along and took off because she couldn't stand the sight of me anymore. God, I'm a mess.

Mom insists on hosting a full family Christmas “for the sake of the grandkids.” I understand, but why the hell do I have to participate in this farce? I love my nieces and nephews, but I'm not in a Deck the Halls sort of mood. My parents disagree - apparently spending Christmas alone wallowing in misery is what they consider the worst idea in history. Oh yeah, because watching everyone merrily laughing, gleefully hugging each other, is going to magically improve my attitude. If it did, it would be a fucking Christmas miracle. So here I am, slumped in an armchair at their house, getting side-eye looks as I watch shredded wrapping paper pile up like the remnants of my shattered dreams. Why haven't the dogs found her body? The Sheriff had a team of them walking through the woods, but they came up empty-handed. No Melanie, no teacher, no librarian from two counties over.

The diamond snowflake bracelet I bought for our first married Christmas is buried in my dresser drawer under old socks and stained underwear with holes. And that's where it's going to stay, with the other bracelets, rings, and necklaces. There's something darkly satisfying about that. A fitting resting place for what I thought was true love.

I don't understand why the Sheriff can't figure out where Mister Daggers is. Like how does someone with tattooed knives from the top of his face to his chin just up and disappear? He has her. I know he does. At least I think he does.

The Christmas carols Mom has playing in the background make me feel like I'm listening to nails on a chalkboard. Mel loved carols. She loved everything associated with this time of year. We'd drive around looking at the lights while sipping hot cocoa. She loved decorating, the lights, and ornaments. Even that stupid tinsel garland. She loved all of it, so did I. And now I hate it.

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