Page 8 of A Storm of Nightmares

All the air is sucked out of my lungs. Betty is gone? What the hell does that mean? I try to shake the image of Betty’s dead body from my mind, but this note only makes that scenario more of a possibility.

What little hope I had been holding onto for the past four years drains out of me as I read the note for the third time. And Jess, is she dead too? It’s only been two days since she was taken. Why would someone keep Betty for four years but only have Jess for two days? It doesn’t make sense. This means there’s still a chance Jess is alive somewhere. I just have to find her.

I quickly unlock my front door and slip inside, so I don’t collapse on the hallway floor for my neighbors to see. Slamming the door behind me, I rest my back against it while I catch my breath for a few seconds.

If someone is leaving me notes, maybe someone was following me. Maybe I’m not being paranoid. I need to be more aware of my surroundings from now on. I would bet good money that whoever left this note is the same person who took Betty and Jess. If I could turn the tables on them, follow them, I could find out who they are, and hopefully, they would lead me to Jess.

I realize I’m still standing with my back against my door in the dark. I make my way towards the kitchen, flip on the lights, and put my purse on the laminate countertop. It’s something I’ve done a million times; it’s second nature. But tonight, I’m on high alert.

An icy chill runs down my spine. Something feels off. Like my apartment has been tainted somehow.

I spin on my heels and take in the scene in front of me. My apartment is trashed. All the notes I had taken earlier with Malerie are strewn all over the floor, bright red X’s scribbled all over them. My bedsheets are a mess, my pillows ripped to shreds, and there are feathers everywhere.

The lights in my bathroom are on. Had I left them on? I don’t think so. I slowly walk towards the bathroom, grabbing the lamp off my bedside table just in case I need to fight someone off. It’s not my weapon of choice, but it’ll do in a pinch.

When I step into the bathroom, I decide everything looks normal. It seems to be completely untouched. But then something catches my eye just as I’m about to leave the room. I look at the mirror hanging above the sink.

THIS IS AS CLOSE TO BETTY AS YOU’LL EVER GET

The blood-red letters mock me. I can’t get my feet to move. I’m stuck in place, looking at my reflection under the ugly words. I hate how much I resemble Betty. I hate the pain it causes me every time I get of glimpse of myself.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I throw the lamp I’ve been holding straight through the mirror. And then I fall to my knees and scream at the top of my lungs, not giving one single fuck if I bother the neighbors. And then I cry. For hours I cry right there on the bathroom floor. Unable to pick myself up. All my strength has left me.

The painful truth is that I miss Betty so fucking much that I’d rather die than endure another day. I can’t look at myself in a mirror and see her face staring back at me. Not when I’m worried that I won’t actually ever see her again.

Our parents gave up on her returning. Our friends forgot about her existence. The cops failed in finding her. I owe it to my sister to keep looking. I’ll find her if it’s the last thing I do on this planet. Empty threats from an anonymous lunatic are not going to scare me into stopping now. If anything, I’m enraged. I demand justice.

I reluctantly pick myself up off the bathroom floor. My body is sore from the hard tile I have been lying on. I don’t even bother cleaning up the broken glass or the feathers. It doesn’t make a difference to me if the place is trashed anymore.

I grab the notes I took about Jess from the floor and throw some clothes and a toothbrush into a suitcase. I have no idea where I’ll go, but I can’t stay here when someone had so easily gotten inside. My home is no longer safe.

Chapter 4

I drive around for over an hour, mostly lost in thought. I have no idea if someone is following me because I haven’t been paying attention.So much for being more aware of my surroundings.Geez, I need to get it together.

I find myself pulling into a motel parking lot before too much longer. I can’t just drive around aimlessly all night. My eyes are growing heavy, and my stomach is growling. My aching body is screaming for a hot shower and a soft pillow. This place looks like a cheap option, which is what I need, considering my current financial state. Especially since I somehow agreed to take on my current case for free. A moment of weakness, maybe. I just couldn’t turn Malerie away.

After checking in and grabbing some snacks from the vending machines in the lobby, I head to my room. Opening the door, I’m smacked with a harsh reality. Cheap motels are dumps. I can’t hide my disgust. The walls were once white, I’m sure. Now they’re a faded off-white-yellowish color with smudges all over the place. The bed is covered in a deep maroon quilt with several loose threads sticking out. The room smells like old people and cigarettes.Home sweet home...

I quickly scarf down a packet of peanut butter crackers and unpack most of my things. Who knows how long I’ll have to stay here? I might as well utilize the closet space.

It takes about five minutes to unpack the four shirts, two pairs of jeans, and a handful of socks and underwear that I threw in my suitcase. Once I’m satisfied with the semi-full closet and two dresser drawers, I decide to head straight to my therapy of choice. Burning hot water.

I soak in the shower, lost in thought, until the water becomes downright freezing, and my body starts to shiver uncontrollably. I put on sweats and gather up the notes I had taken about Jess earlier today. Thankfully, I can still read through the red X graffiti. Malerie sent me the lists I asked for, so it’s time for me to start checking people off.

After two hours of looking through the lists and Googling the names, I decide to call it a night. Jess may not have had many enemies, but good lord was her friend list long. Unfortunately, I have gotten nothing for my efforts besides a headache from staring at my computer screen.

I glance at the clock and want to smack myself for being up until three in the morning. If I’m going to crack this case, I need a sharp mind. I need to be on the top of my game. Putting away all the notes I had been taking, I crawl into bed slowly. Sleep comes easily after just a few minutes. But I guess I have never had issues falling asleep. It’s just the dreams that come while I sleep that always trouble me.

I wake up in a dark room. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, I groan when I see it’s only four-thirty. Why the hell was my precious sleep disturbed? Then someone knocks on my door, and I sit straight up, suddenly remembering hearing knocking in my dream.

Obviously, it wasn’t a dream. Someone is knocking on my motel room door. Somebody has found me. I hold my breath and stay completely still, hoping that whoever it is will go away. As much as I want to be strong and brave, I’m not. Betty was always the strong one. I’m shy and awkward and apparently a coward.

Another knock sounds, this time a bit louder. I force myself to peel back the sheets and walk over to the door. I try to look through the peephole, but it’s way too dark to make out who’s on the other side. I take a deep breath. “Who is it?” I ask, feigning bravery. For the longest five seconds of my life, there is no reply.

“A friend. Open the door.” A male voice calls back to me.

“I think I’d know if I had a friend coming to visit. You need to leave before I call the police.” Like I’d ever actually call the cops for anything. Not after the way they handled Betty’s disappearance. But my so-called friend on the other side of the door doesn’t need to know that.

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