Page 32 of His Innocent Muse

No. This is a new version. Darker, wiser, and determined to get who I want no matter what, or how long, it takes.

9

GHOST

The first stop is Chuck’s house, though I use that term loosely. My tires crunch and pop on the driveway, ominous music to an equally ominous trip.

It’s smaller than I remember, and in far worse shape, with the front door hanging slightly open.

Hm. Maybe they left in a terrible rush, or someone’s here now. The only important thing is whether or not she’s inside. And safe.

I climb out and ready my weapon before slamming the door behind me. The echo fades, leaving only silence as I listen. No one responds to the sound and no shadows pass by the windows.

Still, I slink closer, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

Settling my back against the door frame, I cut my gaze inside the crack before pushing it open with my foot.

Utterly quiet.

“Lucy,” I call, and the sound echoes slightly from the farthest point, but there’s no reply.

I swallow the sinking feeling as I step around the frame and into this…hovel.

“My God,” I mutter, stepping over various bits of trash. I can barely imagine her in this space, how out of place she would be.

There’s nothing that shouldn’t be set on fire.

“Lucy, are you here?” I weave through the living room, passing what’s clearly Chuck’s former room on the right, and a small second room on the left.

I stall, my arms falling to their sides. Lucy’s room. It’s barely larger than a closet, the twin bed taking up most of it, with a stack of old school books being used as a nightstand.

The walls are a garish pink, uncomfortable to look at, and overly decorated as if she were a toddler. But none of it’s cohesive. It’s more like someone went through a discount bin and grabbed anything that looked girly. My gaze lands on a closed camera bag in the corner, and my stomach twists in knots, unspendable rage filling my veins. Pictures. She said he dressed her for pictures.

I quickly yank out my phone.

Me: Dig up Chuck’s body and piss on his bones.

Wet Noodle: Kinky. Take it you’re at the ‘Abode de Chode.’ Chiclet’s not there?

I crack my neck, giving the small room another glance, hoping by some miracle she might appear.

Me: No.

Wet Noodle: Bridge is a bust, too.

Me: Bus stop’s next.

Wet Noodle: On it.

Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I step to the bed and crouch, looking under just in case.

But no Lucy. Just a small box with the lid halfway off and a few dollar bills sticking out. I frown as my heart strangles. Probably all she has in the world.

No. I shove to my feet and storm toward my car. All shehad.When I find her and bring her back home, she’ll never want for anything again.

10

LUCY

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