Page 77 of His Pet

Jesus.

I bring up the messages and see nearly all of them are a text thread with my four friends. They’re telling me congratulations and that they hope I love Africa and can’t wait to visit me there. As I scroll, I get glimpses of the lie they’ve been told by ‘me’. I guess I got a job as a wildlife expert in Kenya and had to leave right away. I hate goodbyes and couldn’t bring myself to tell them the news in person. They’ve been very understanding.

I snort at some of the messages I scroll through of them talking nonsense to each other, and my eyes fill with tears.

I exit the thread before I can get too emotional and see messages from each of them and several from people concerning the shelter. One contact I don’t see is my father’s.

I tap the call icon and scroll through the voicemails. There’s one from him, left yesterday morning. I hit play and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hi, honey… The past few weeks have really gotten away from me. They must have for you too. Maybe we can have dinner this evening, and you can tell me how the protesting turned out. I have some news to share with you as well and someone I’d like for you to meet.

Call me, sweetie.”

Click.

I close my eyes and bring my phone down to my side. No tears fall. I don’t have any left for this man.

My chest hurts, and I stand still, gripping the phone tight. My place isn’t sectioned off with police tape. There’s no missing person photo of me hanging in the lobby. Esteban was more concerned with my appearance than my safety.

No one is looking for me. No one called the police or filed a missing person’s report. To my friends, I’m giving nonexistent expertise in Africa, and to my father, I don’t even exist.

A part of me knew there weren’t rescue helicopters hovering over Las Vegas, but it stings to have it confirmed. Maybe that’s why I needed to come back here.

I walk to the trash can and toss the phone in the empty pale. It thuds and I linger for a moment before taking a deep breath and leaving the apartment. I don’t bother with my things just like I didn’t bother with them at the cabin.

I’ll start fresh.

Lorenzo’s key dangles from my fingertips as I head back to the garage, and I breathe easier in the elevator. It’s easier to leave now, and I thank him for that. For leaving my phone. For packing my boxes.

Maybe this is the fresh start I’ve needed all along.

The elevator chimes, and I position the key between my fingers and make a fist. I’m not concerned as I head to the car, but I try to be safe anyway. All my trepidation had to do with going into the building, not out.

A green SUV blocks my view of Lorenzo’s car, and I press the key fob when I get closer. The Audi beeps on the other side of the SUV, and I stride toward it.

My steps slow, and the hairs on my arms raise before I see anything, but it’s too late. I step around the SUV to reveal a man leaning on the hood of Lorenzo’s car. Three others stand around it, and all eyes point to me.

I freeze, tightening my grip on the key fob and widening my eyes.

The man leaning hums. Thin, brown hair combs over his head in a way to try and hide his balding scalp, and his strong, hairy arms are crossed. He’s a big man, tall and stout, and looks to be in his mid-fifties.

“Strange,” he says. “I could’ve sworn this car belonged to Lorenzo Gruco.”

I straighten my spine and speak with as much confidence as I can muster. “I’m borrowing it.”

“That explains the horrendous driving,” he says, chuckling. Two of the men around him chuckle along and one sneers.

He followed me? Did he mean to follow Lorenzo?

My spine steels thinking about the kind of man ballsy enough to make an enemy out of Lorenzo.

“Although, I’m not sure of that explanation. The Lorenzo I know wouldn’t let a beggar borrow his spit, let alone a little girl borrow his car.”

I swallow and conspicuously tuck the key between my fingers again. Hairy-arms’ eyes dip to my hand, and he smiles viciously.

“We’re a couple,” I say, tightening my hold and getting ready to fight, even as I keep my voice even. “Lorenzo wants to keep it quiet, so if you’re planning on saying anything, you might want to let him know first. You know how he is.”

His eyes widen with interest, and his smile lifts. My gut churns and I instantly know that was the wrong thing to say. My instincts tell me to run.

---