I glance down at my watch. Holy crap, I have.
Yeesh. No wonder why my legs have been killing me.
“No problem.”
I take the plates and deliver them to the intended table, smiling politely at the customers, and then go to take my break. I grab my phone, and a croissant out of the warmer, and head out back to the small rickety chair that all Paul’s staff use to smoke, eat, and do other things on. I don’t even want to know what those other things are, but I hear this chair has stories.
I take a bite of the buttery croissant and stare down at my phone. Seven missed calls. Four from Hannah, three from my mother. My mother only ever calls when she wants to “borrow” more money. Even though she can just take it when she wants it, she thinks she’s doing a good thing by getting my permission. She called for money just two days ago, so it’s unusual to see another call from her this soon after. But the ones from Hannah are concerning.
I quickly check for texts but there are only some alerting me to voicemail.
Skipping them, I call Hannah right away.
“Marlie, I’m so sorry,” she says breathlessly into the phone. “I know you’re at work and I wouldn’t have called unless it was important.”
She seems panicked. My heart starts to pound.
“Hannah, is everything okay?”
“Look, you know I wouldn’t worry you over nothing, but Kaitlyn is missing.”
My blood runs cold. “What do you mean she’s missing?”
“I mean she’s just gone. I told you I’ve been keeping an eye on her. You knew she’s been going out with that Chris guy, and I recently learned she started doing drugs. I was going to tell you, but she begged me not to, said it was only a one-time thing. I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday so I went over today and . . .”
“And what?” I ask, my throat so tight it burns.
“And her place was trashed. Things were thrown around everywhere, but she’s not there.
It’s been eighteen hours now, and I can’t find her.”
No.
Oh God.
A familiar pang of fear grips my chest. An automatic paranoia. My brain goes to the worst possible situation and it clings on.
“Have you called the police?”
“I have, and I called your mom, but Marlie, you need to come home.”
My mind spins. Home. Home. No, I can’t go home. I don’t want to go home. Goddammit. I don’t want to return to that place, but for Kaitlyn . . . dammit . . . I have to.
“I just know something is wrong,” Hannah continues. “She’s been with this horrible man and his awful friends. Something bad is happening; you need to be here, your mother is a mess.”
“Okay,” I say in a tiny, shaky voice. “Okay Hannah, just give me today to get the time off.”
“I’ll be here waiting, call me when you get in. It’ll be okay, Marlie.”
“Will it?” I whisper.
“I’m sure it will, just come quickly.”
“Okay. Bye,” I whisper to no one, because she’s already gone.
Even though I know she’s not lying to me, I still dial my sister’s number. It rings and rings. My chest gets even tighter, and I try again. Again nothing. Kaity always answers or texts to let me know she can’t talk. It’s our thing. Panic turns to real fear as I try to come up with a reasonable explanation in my mind. Maybe she just needs some time away. Maybe she lost her phone. Maybe she’s with friends. Maybe she’s just busy. I go over all these scenarios, but I can feel it deep in my gut.
She’s not okay.
I turn my dry eyes, eyes that haven’t cried for three years, to the line of thick trees and beg my heart to stop pounding.
But mostly, I beg for Kaitlyn to return safely before I have to go back there. If I go back there, all the monsters I’ve put to bed will rise up once more. All the memories, all the nightmares, all the familiar fear and desperation, they’ll all come back. I’ll be forced to remember the horrible months that followed my escape. I’ll have to relive the nightmare I’ve tried so hard to forget.
I don’t want to go back there.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE WATCHER
Copyright © 2017 by Bella Jewel.
All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-250-10838-8
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Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / June 2017
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
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