Page 101 of In Between Darkness
“When did Maddox go missing?” Worry lines appear on my forehead as desperation takes hold in my voice.
“What? Why do you want to know that?” he asks, noticing the uneasy tone of my voice, and rushes to my side.
“Maddox Webb. When did he go missing?” I rearrange my words and ask him again, pointing to the poor boy’s face on the washed-out piece of paper.
“A few days ago… He was the most recent one.”
My eyes grow wide as his timely disappearance confirms my theory. I stand speechless, unable to find the words to explain myself.
“Why do you want to know, Asha?” he asks again, his eyes burning holes through my head.
“Did he always wear that ring?” I mutter, knowing the answer before he even has to answer. Maddox is holding a silver chalice in his photo; it was probably taken at a Moon party. On one of his fingers that holds the stem of the cup, a silver and blue hexagonal ring stares back at me. The same ring I saw when I was out on Craize the other day. And on his fingers, a silver polish is painted on each nail.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know him that well.” Ryder shrugs his shoulders and drops down to my level, his hands holding my forearms. “Why?”
“I’ve seen that ring before,” I mutter out, still in shock. “When I was out on Craize the other day. There was this guy with Miss Worthington. He was moving a box. Like a really big box. So big, it had to be wheeled on a trolley. Anyway, the man dropped it, and the lid fell off… I couldn’t see much, but I noticed a ring. That ring…and that hand… the nail polish…” I point to the photographs again, and now it is Ryder’s eyes that are wide.
“You don’t think he was in that box, do you?”
Something in me wants him to tell me that it wasn’t him, that my mind was playing tricks on me, and I didn’t see what I saw, but I know that isn’t the case, and nothing can convince me otherwise.
Maddox was in that box.
“Where did you see him?” He cups my face and looks deep into my eyes as if what I have to say is as important as a dying breath.
“Near the peak of a mountain, just off Moon Castle.”
Before I can finish my sentence, Ryder is moving, grabbing certain necessities off the side and placing them into a black satchel, which he pulls down over his head and wraps around his waist.
“What are you doing?” I ask, slightly annoyed at his lack of communication.
“What do you think?” he snaps and walks over to his wardrobe, pulling out a black leather jacket with red details. “I’m going to find that mountain.” His harsh tone doesn’t waver, even when I tread the distance between us and stare into his eyes.
“You don’t even know where you’re going?”
He ignores my logic, so I grab my leggings off the wooden chair and aim to put them on as quickly as humanly possible, which causes me to stumble and Ryder’s head to snap my way.
“You’re not coming with me.” His jaw flexes as he glares at me.
“You can’t go alone, it’s too dangerous,” I plead with him as he slips the leather jacket over his large, muscly arms, the fabric stretching around his form. “You can’t stop me.”
He frowns at me and stops abruptly in his tracks.
“Asha, don’t test my patience. Not with this.” If his stare didn’t kill me, his tone might.
“I’m coming,” I state, feeling oddly superior in this moment. He brushes off my glare and carries on doing what he is doing. He grabs his heavy black boots that were neatly lined up by his door and slips them on before marching over to me, his boots thumping against his wooden floor, which creaks under his weight.
“Don’t make me tell you again.”
He points between my brow, and an involuntary lump settles in my throat. It seems his mind is already made up. He kisses his teeth and attempts to walk towards his bedroom door, but I run in front of it and stand in his way. Not one of my brightest moves, but the only thing I can think to do in this moment.
“Move, Asha.” The obsidian in his eyes wounds me again, and my heart jumps at his death stare.
Stand your ground, Asha! Placing my hand on his chest, I let out a shaky breath to calm my nerves.
“No.” I keep my chin up and my eyes locked onto his to show him that I am not going to back down. His heart pounds at my fingertips as the creases on his forehead deepen.
“I’m not asking!” He blows, but I stand firmly with my back pressed against the cold and rigid oak.
