Page 77 of Beauty and Kaos

Chapter 23

Ivy

Ringing shatters the silence of the motel room, and I startle awake, twisting in the sheets and tumbling onto the floor. I stare at the purple-patterned carpet beneath me, struggling to remember where I am. The piercing ring continues, and I shrug out of the burrito blankets and crawl across the mattress to the phone, lifting the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?” I ask groggily, rubbing a hand over my face.

“May I speak with Skye Matthews, please?”

The use of my real name grabs my attention, and I’m instantly awake and sober.

“Detective Phillips?”

“Yes,” he answers gruffly. “We need to talk about the investigation. Is this a good time?”

I rub the sleep from my eyes and squint into the morning light filtering through the sheer drapes covering the window. “I spend every minute of every day waiting to hear from you.There is no wrong time,” I reply, sitting up and grabbing a notepad out of the nightstand in case I need to take notes.

“It’s not good news.”

I drop my pen onto the pad, my hand tightening on the receiver. “Just give it to me, Detective.”

“We’re suspending the recovery, Skye. Indefinitely. We had to pull the dive teams because of the storm, and we don’t have the available manpower to continue the search. We’ve done all we can do. I’m sorry,” he says bluntly, the most unapologetic apology I’ve ever heard.

I swallow hard, his words echoing down the hollow halls of my mind on reverb.

“What?”

“You can come pick your phone up whenever it’s convenient, or we can mail it. It’s your choice,” he continues like he’s processing a checklist. “I suggest you return home, and make arrangements for your sister. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

Tears well in my eyes, running down my cheeks. “What sister?” I ask. “I have no sister to make arrangements for. She’s still out there somewhere!”

“Many things are lost in the ocean, Ms. Matthews. I wish we had the resources to keep looking, but we don’t.”

“No,” I say, violently shaking my head. “You can’t stop looking. If you stop, then she’s really gone. And she can’t be gone. She’s all I have.” My voice wavers as I struggle to breathe. “Please,” I beg.

“I’m sorry,” he reiterates.

“But I have evidence. I’ve collected pieces of the puzzle. Ican help with the investigation. I was waiting until I had something substantial-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, cutting me off. “The investigation is closed. I know how hard this is for you, but you have to let it go.”

“I can’t,” I cry. “I won’t let her go. I’m not giving up.”

“We’ve looked everywhere there is to look. We’ve had certified experts exploring every lead, diving square miles of ocean, searching up and down the shoreline every day and night for over a week. She’s not here, and we can’t find her.”

“You can’t give up,” I plead. “Please, you can’t.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says sternly. “I wish there was more I could do. Goodbye, Ms. Matthews.”

His voice shifts into the solid hum of the dial tone, and I cradle the receiver against my head, straining my ear for more. Another opinion. Another voice. For hers, Paige… to pick up the other end of the line, laughing, and tell me the surf report. That she loves me, and I’ll see her soon.

The solid hum continues, and I let the phone slip from my fingers, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. I break down, sobs racking my body as I scream.

I leap from the bed, wrap my hands around the motel phone, and yank it from the wall. With every ounce of anger I possess, I hurl the phone at the murder mirror, and it strikes dead center, shattering the mirror in an explosion of glass. I overturn the table, toss a chair across the room, my hands fisting in my hair, desperate to find something to dull the pain.

The wind whistles through the corridors of the motel, and I fling open the door to a gust so hard it shoves me back inside. I pushthrough, striding down the stairs and breaking into a run as I reach the pool deck. I don’t stop until I reach the sand, standing at the water’s edge, staring at the massive swells rolling in from the storm.

Movement down the beach draws my attention, and I glance over to see a group of people with surfboards. I blink the tears from my eyes, and realize it’s the Sandbar crew. Nick and Mia, Ryan and Katrina, Raven and Chris. Ryan steps aside, and I see Zaden behind him, watching the waves, a board tucked beneath his arm. Beside him in the sand are several more boards, experimental designs from his shop.

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