Page 76 of Dead Love
My arms flexed impulsively. “Vincent is in jail. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“I don’t want you there,” she said, punctuating her words, her voice resolute.
“I’ll go with Mike,” Catie offered. “I used to house-sit for Vincent occasionally. I’ll find her stuff. Do you know where he kept the key for your room?” She glared at me, daring me to answer. To show how close I had gotten to him. I shook my head.
“Why would she know that?” my mother asked. “He held her hostage.”
“I’ll find it then,” Catie said, shrugging. “But you can answer your mother.”
There was so much more that Catie was holding back. That she hated me for not speaking up about Vincent. Shea turned to me, doe-eyed.
But what could I say? They had found extra graves. He had Echo in his studio and in his office. I couldn’t vouch for him every hour of the day, could I?
Punica had only one hotel on the edge of town, off of Willow Highway. My father’s radio filled the car, my mother’s sniffling interrupted it. She squeezed my hand, snot caked in layers on her face. But a dullness overtook me as if I was filled from head to toe with sand.
After walking us to the hotel room, my father left for work and I readied a bath for my mother. She asked me to leave the door open so that we could talk, but she didn’t speak the entire time. She just wanted to keep an eye on me.
A few minutes later, a polite hand knocked on the door. Shea stumbled out of the bathtub, dripping all over the carpet.
“Let me get that,” she said.
“Come on, Mom,” I said, forcing a laugh. “You’re wet. Let me.”
She smacked an arm against my chest, then threw on a robe and opened the door. Two plastic bags laid on the floor.
I grabbed them from Shea’s hands before she could look inside. If I couldn’t answer a door by myself, then at the very least, I could go through bags of clothing in peace. Leggings. Shirts. Underwear. An unscented bar of soap. My toothbrush, the bristles bent and worn. A hard piece of thick paper stuck between the clothing. I turned my back to Shea, making sure she couldn’t see any of it, but she was too exhausted to care. I carefully peeled back the layers: my charcoaled eyes behind the divided window.
“Where did you get that?” Shea asked. I startled, shoving the paper under the clothes.
“What?”
“That ring.” She pointed to my hand.
Nyla’s ring. The black gem shined back at me, catching the light. It reminded me of Vincent’s eyes. I hadn’t taken it off since Vincent had given it to me.
“It was Nyla’s,” I said.
“Oh.” She turned off the television and laid down. “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much lately.”
I had been through a lot of things, but I had clearly rested more than my mother. She was the one who needed sleep.
“Please,” she said, her voice weak. She was scared to sleep, then. She didn’t want me to leave while she was unconscious.
“Just a second,” I said. “I’ve got to brush my teeth.”
I went to the bathroom, clutching the bags under my arms, and when I was behind the door, I pulled out that thick paper. I stared at the painting. The haunted expression on my face, peering straight into Vincent’s soul. It reminded me of how he had kissed my forehead like he was bestowing a gift upon me.I promise,he had said.None of this will matter.
And he was right. Everything I had cared so much about then was insignificant now.
CHAPTER25
Vincent
A full dayhad passed in the holding cell. A musty scent permeated the air and the lights flickered overhead. A bench rested along the back of each cage; three cells side by side, with thick metal bars and fencing between them. Sheriff Mike dragged the police baton against the bars, each bang clattering between the cement walls.
“You piece of trash,” he said under his breath. “You know how much time this has cost me? And publicity?” He rubbed his forehead. “Since when does the daughter of the sheriff get kidnapped? It could have cost me the election.”
“And your daughter,” I said.
