Page 95 of Salvation
The sound of my tires on the pavement is soothing as I drive. Passing by the old train depot, I notice that the graffiti has been cleaned up, barely leaving any remnants behind. The artwork really had been beautiful, but beautiful or not, I’ve always stood on the side of the law. Leaving it behind, I continue down the road, planning to park in front of the coffee shop for the rest of the night so when it opens in the morning, I can be the first customer through their doors.
I slow down, wanting to get a look at the progress on Ivy’s mural. When the side of the community building comes intoview, my heart drops. Slamming on my brakes, I stare at a black heart ripped in two, painted in graffiti across all the progress Ivy has made.
My limbs shake as I put my car in park and step out, devastated for Ivy and all the work she has put in. Slowly, I step toward the destroyed mural, running my hands over the paint. It’s still tacky, but dry enough that whoever did it was here several hours ago. My mind goes to the suspicion I had for the last graffiti Hayes and I found. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I pull up Willow’s name and send her a text, praying I’m wrong because if I’m right, she won’t be the only one who is hurt by this. Every time Ivy and I are together, she mentions working on the painting with Willow. This will devastate her.
Campbell:Hey—were you painting tonight?
Despite the time, I send the text and wait for her response. When it doesn’t come, I swipe to see her location, finding her safe at home, but apprehension still sits in my gut. I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.
“All units be advised. There have been reports of a suspicious car parked on Elm Street.”
My thumb drums against the side of my leg as I decide whether to take the call or let someone else pick it up, but when there’s still no response from Willow, I make the choice to take it, hoping maybe the call will lead me to answers that don’t involve my daughter.
Pressing the button on the radio that’s clipped to my vest, I respond to dispatch. “I’ll take the call, Rita. I’m on Main Street, so it isn’t far.”
Without waiting for a response, I jog to my car, flipping on my lights but leaving the siren off. Like all the drives in Benton Falls, it takes less than five minutes to get to Elm Street, and when I do, I immediately spy the car that was called in.
It’s a red sports car, parked far enough off the shoulder that it isn’t in the road, but none of that’s what makes it suspicious. It’s the fogged-up windows that are throwing the red flags.
Rubbing above my eyelid, I open my door and step out, annoyance thrumming beneath my skin because I already know what I’m about to walk into before I even knock on the front window. Someone curses from inside, but the windows are too dark for me to see in. A few seconds pass before the window is rolled down, and I’m hit with the smell of weed so thick that it’s suffocating even outside of the car.
I have to wait for the smoke to clear before I can tell who’s inside, but when it does, my stomach drops for the second time tonight.
“Yo, man,” Cameron, Willow’s boyfriend, says, his eyes glossy from his high. “We were just making out. We aren’t doing anything wrong.”
A shadowy figure moves on the passenger side, and pure rage blinds my vision. I grab the handle of the door, slinging it open.
That’s my daughter in there.
“Step out of the car, sir,” I grind out from between my teeth.
My hands are shaking, and I have to shove them beneath my vest to prevent myself from reaching in and pulling the punk out myself because nothing good happens between two teenagers at two in the morning.
“Fine, dude. Just chill,” Cameron says, stepping out with a dopey look on his face. The passenger side door opens, too, and I look up, expecting to see Willow—but it’s not honey colored eyes I’m met with. Instead, they are blue.
Relief washes over me first, and then the anger returns.
“Where is my daughter?” I demand. I’m pushing the boundaries of professionalism, but my apprehension about Willow from earlier keeps growing. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones.
“Your daughter?” Cameron squints like he’s trying to place who I am, and then his eyes widen in understanding. He snaps his finger and points at me. “Oh, you’re the dad Willow didn’t know about. Aren’t you?”
“Who’s Willow?” the girl asks from the other side of the car.
Cameron waves his hand as if her question is irrelevant. “She’s just a girl.”
“Just a girl?” My voice shakes. I’m barely holding on to my constraint.
With a huff, the kid amends his statement. “Fine. She’s my ex-girlfriend. Better?”
He addresses his question to me, but it’s not. Nothing is better, not until I find Willow. “Since when?”
He winces, and my eye twitches. “Since tonight.”
I grind my teeth together so hard I’m surprised they don’t chip, but losing my head will do nothing to help Willow. “I’m going to ask you this one more time. Where is my daughter?”
Cameron rolls his eyes, clearly unaware of how dangerously close he is to being pummeled. “Dude, you really need to chill.”
Grabbing the front of his shirt, I get in his face so he can see the danger lurking in my eyes. “And you really need to answer the question.”
