***
I tried to ignore my phone for the rest of the day. The first few times it whistled at me, the melodic tones letting me know I had a text, I peeked. They were all from Blake. First teasing me for being sick because I’d stayed up all night with Jeremy, then being touched that I’d exhausted myself worrying about his safety while away, then finally wanting to know if everything was okay and asking if he could do anything for me. After that, I turned my phone to silent mode. I couldn’t bear him pretending to care for me. Or could it be I couldn’t stand that part of me still wanted to believe that he did, that somehow this was all a misunderstanding?
Around dinnertime, my dad popped by my room. I’d religiously stayed in bed, sickness a perfect mask for the depression settling over me. The truth hadn’t liberated me from the fear like the therapist had promised; it had sucked the desire to smile, to eat, to laugh, to do anything that required any effort out of me. After I’d gotten the tears under control and my frumpy appearance could easily pass for illness, I’d opened my door up.
So when my dad entered, he came straight to my bed and sat at the end.
“So how you feeling, kiddo? Mom said you’re sick today.”
I sat up and leaned against my headboard. “Yeah.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Stomach bugging you again?”
No, just my broken heart, I wanted to say. “Yeah and I’m achy all over.”
“So I’m guessing you don’t want dinner then? Maybe some soup?” he asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“Mm,” he hummed. I knew my dad loved me, but I had the sinking suspicion his concern was over more than my onset of sickness. “So Blake called,” he said finally.
I’d been right. “Oh yeah?”
“He’s really worried about you. Maybe you could call him,” his eyes shot over to my cell phone sitting on my nightstand. The red light flashed back at us, letting everyone know I had messages waiting for me.
Darn, I shouldn’t have left it sitting there. By the way my dad’s eyebrows rose, I knew he was wondering now why I was ignoring my cell. Even with being sick, sending text messages took little effort.
“Okay I will,” I said simply, hoping he wouldn’t ask more.
He hesitated and then asked, “Everything going okay for you? You know, since you’re back in school and all?”
“Yeah, it’s great.” My lie was obvious.
“You know you can still tell me anything, right?” my dad asked.
“I know. Don’t worry, Dad. Everything’s fine… really.”
“Samantha…” Now his tone sent a shiver of worry through me. Maybe he hadn’t come up just to discuss why I was ignoring Blake. “I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to scare you or anything. Your mom thinks we shouldn’t worry you with it—”
“What is it, Dad?”
“There’s been another kidnapping. It happened last night. It’s been all over the news today.”
I couldn’t control the gasp that flew from my lips. I shook my head, trying to regain composure.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“A girl from your school. I don’t know if you know her. Cally Jenson?”
I stared back at my dad. I didn’t know her that well, but a girl with sandy-blonde hair and hazel eyes filled my mind.
“Yeah, I had some classes with her. What happened?” I tried to keep my voice calm and steady. I needed to know every detail, and if my dad saw me go hysterical, he wouldn’t say another word.
“They don’t know a lot right now. Her parents said she’d left to go to a friend’s house last night, but the friend said she never got there, and she never came home. They found her car just off the highway, in the ditch, driver’s door open, her purse, money, cell phone, everything still in there, but she’s gone.” His eyes peered back at me, the pain in them evident, “Listen, I don’t want this news to hurt you in anyway, but I feel you need to know… Samantha, your kidnapper might be back.”