Page 88 of Tangled Up

I push through the end of the path, quickly crossing the street, headed to the strip mall. All I can see are her amber eyes widened in fear. I see the words in that letter,I will hurt you.

“No…” The word grinds again through my gritted teeth.

My friend catches me as I blast through the glass door, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Wait, Beck. Not here.”

I don’t even notice the frightened people sitting in the waiting room. I imagine I look like a wild animal about to explode. He pushes me out into the parking lot, and I’m pacing, threading my fingers in my hair.

“Take a breath. We’ve got a whole team out looking for her—local firefighters, EMS, Kevin, Libby, Jessica. I’m here as point man.”

Clamping down on the roar bubbling up from my belly, I let the rage pass through me, exhaling slowly as I fumble for control. “Where is the last place you saw her?”

He motions towards the Salty Brewnette truck parked at the edge of the lot facing the shore. “She walked around to the picnic tables and never came back.”

He’s still speaking as I take off in that direction. I’ll scour the shoreline. I won’t leave a stone unturned or a blade of grass unmoved. I won’t stop until I find her.

I never should have left her alone.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

CARLY

“It’s working,” the soft voice chants like it’s a mantra, and I crack open a dry eye to see Alize pacing the motel room. “I can’t believe it’s working.”

I’m lying on one of two double beds, and pain radiates through my shoulders. I try to move, to ease the ache, but I can’t budge. I’m tied to the headboard.How long have I been here?

“Alize?” My voice cracks, and I try to clear it. It’s no use. I feel like I’ve swallowed a desert.

Her head snaps to me, and her brown eyes are round, full of worry. She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she walks closer, lifting a hand to her mouth and chewing the end of her fingernail.

Blinking hard, I try to remember what happened. “The cat…” It’s like a memory of a far-off dream. “Did something happen to Oliver?”

Her brow wrinkles, and her chin jerks back. “What?”

“You said… on the beach. The orange cat… Oliver.”

“Of course not. I said that to get you away from the cop.” She acts it like it’s so obvious, and it makes me sad.

Isodon’t want Ronnie to be right this time—and not just because it could turn out very badly for me. Pressing my lips together, they’re like sandpaper, and I try to wet them with my dry tongue. Whatever drug she gave me has left me with the worst case of dry mouth.

“Can I have some water?”

She’s still chewing her nail, watching me closely, like she’s not sure what to make of me. Closing my eyes, I filter through her diagnosis. The diagnosis I made. Bipolar disorder with episodes of mania, paranoia. She doesn’t appear to be manic, but it’s impossible to know. I’d have to know the status of her meds.

“Please, Alize? I’m so thirsty.”

Her lips tighten, and she exhales loudly, storming over to where a plastic cup is wrapped in more plastic beside a beige plastic ice bucket. I’m pretty sure we’re in the Super 8 on the edge of Eden. Hell, we might even be in Pleasure Island.

“Don’t try anything or I’ll have to be mean.” Her voice is too young, too high and soft. It’s hard to imagine her hurting anyone.

I wouldn’t hurt a fly, that fucking line from the oldPsychomovie filters through my tired brain. That movie did so much harm to the mental health community.

My voice by contrast is weary. “I’m not going to try anything. How long have I been here?”

“A day.” She scoops ice out of a bucket and stomps to the bathroom like she’s frustrated. “We can’t stay here much longer. I heard they’re searching hotels.”

Closing my eyes, I inhale slowly, doing my best to focus on my professional training. “They’re searching for me?”

“What do you think?” Her tone is like a spoiled teen, and her brown eyes hold mine as she returns to the bed.

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