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Despair.
A slaughter.
Chapter Forty-Five
Nathan
I pull into the hospital parking lot, knowing exactly where to go because of the cacophony of blue and red lights lighting up the southern side of the building. My pulse thunders in my ears while anxiety claws at my chest. I need to see where it happened, where they took her. A deep pit in my gut is reminding me that she might not be alive already. For all I know, they could have off’d her right here in the parking lot. It would be suicidal since the hospital has cameras, but these guys don’t strike me as the brightest individuals. I just hope they snatched her and took her to another location, it’ll give me time to find her. I just need a little time.
I pull as close as I can to the cruisers already on scene, multiple officers are pointing their flashlights in and around her car. Glass is shattered all over the pavement, and the driver-side window has been busted out.
I don’t see a body. I breathe a little easier, knowing she’s not in a body bag already, but it’s not enough. I need to know where she is, I need to know she’s okay. I get out of my truck, as casually as I can, I walk up to the officer that’s taping off the crime scene.
“Man, what happened?” I ask, trying to seem like a nosey onlooker, hoping this guy will give me a crumb of information to go on. The officer looks at me, he’s a young guy, probably a rookie. I can see in his eyes he’s taken aback by me like he wasn’t expecting anyone to try to speak to him. I don’t want to intimidate him, but I need something to go on, it’s killing me to know she’s in trouble. I maintain eye contact with him, standing my ground so he doesn’t blow me off.
“We’re not sure. It was reported as a kidnapping, but we haven’t been able to review the security tapes yet. It’s an active crime scene though, I need you to keep moving along,” he finishes, adjusting his spine to show his full height. I get it, he’s trying to be an authority figure, I can respect it. I just don’t give a shit right now.
“Any blood?” I ask, not taking his cue for me to leave.
“Excuse me?”
“Is there any blood in the car? Any signs that the victim was injured?” I ask through gritted teeth, losing my patience. It’s not this guy’s fault, I’m just losing my mind not knowing what happened to her for sure. He eyes me wearily, suspicious now of my line of questions.
“I can’t discuss that. What’s your name, pal?” He reaches for his radio, clearly ready to alert everyone else of my odd behavior.
“Doesn’t matter. Have a good night.” I turn to go back to my truck, leaving the officer behind me. He calls out, wanting me to wait, but I don’t. As soon as I reach my truck, I get in and take off, back towards Whitewater.
My mind’s reeling. What have they done with her? Are they torturing her? Have they already killed her? What’s their plan? The questions are making me crazy. My teeth might crack from how hard I’m clenching my jaw. I spent the entire drive back beating myself up. How could I let this happen? If I get her back -no, when I get her back, she’s never going to forgive me. I was supposed to protect her, I promised I would.
I beat my hand against the steering wheel over and over, feeling so out of control. I wipe my palm across my face, the tension making my head ache. I can guess they probably took her to whatever place in the woods they were aiming for the last time they had her… I just need a location. Hopefully, Jesse can find something, because if not, it’ll be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. A haystack that I’ll burn to the ground trying to find her.
I turn left off the interstate, going to the only place I can think of that makes sense. It only takes a few minutes to pull up in front of Sheriff Donahue’s house. A small double-wide trailer, with white siding that’s more yellow now with age. I’ve been here multiple times in the past two weeks, and I’ve memorized every detail of the outside. The mailbox is slightly askew and weeds are growing up the siding that are almost as tall as the trailer. It’s not well kept, I can only imagine what the inside looks like.
There aren’t any cars out front, aside from an old Ford Ranger sitting under a tarp, but it’s missing an engine, a project not touched in years by the looks of it.
I pull my gun from my holster and get out of my truck, jogging to the back of the house. I peek through the back windows as I go. It’s dark inside, the lights from the appliances are the only thing glowing. Without thinking twice about it, I kick the back door in. Even with it locked, it easily pops open, the latch old and cheap. Seems like minimal security for a member of law enforcement, but this guy strikes me as someone who thinks he is untouchable.
Clearing the trailer doesn’t take more than a minute, it’s mostly open, only a few doors to check behind. Satisfied that I’m alone, I start searching through papers that are strewn across the kitchen table. Mostly bills, “past due” written on a lot of them. Of course, he doesn’t pay his bills, what a low life. Surely, he gets paid well as the Sheriff. Where does his money go? I know he’s a drunk, but even alcohol isn’t that expensive, not in these parts.
I sift through the papers some more, giving up after a couple of minutes. Fuck. There has to be something here. I see a landline telephone on the kitchen counter, a blinking light indicating there is a voicemail. I click it, listening to it on speaker, hoping I’ll get lucky and it’s dumb or dumber giving away their whereabouts. Unfortunately, it’s a 30-second message from the Sheriff’s mom, scolding him for not calling her. Damn.
I stand there in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the ceiling. What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t go get her if I have no clue where she is. My chest is still aching, the thought of losing Callie is like a knife to my fucking heart.
Thinking of her lifeless, killed by these fuckers… I feel like I could puke. I’ve seen terrible things in my life, I held Chester’s dead body in my arms after he was shot, and I felt his blood soak into my clothes. That was the only thing close to how I feel right now. When it’s someone you care about, it hurts so much worse. War zones, torture camps, all things I could turn my emotions off, and get the job done.
There is no turning my emotions off now. I love her too damn much. The cotton of my shirt is lined with sweat, my body struggling to hold it together. This can’t be it, this can’t be all the time that I get with her, it’s not fucking fair. I take a few deep breaths, needing to reign in my agonizing thoughts. I look at the landline again, thinking how odd it is to even have one in this day and age.
Something the lady from the tow company had said clicks in my brain, the caller left their number on the caller ID. What if he’s been communicating with Tony and Bub on the landline? Not wanting to trace it back to his office… I snatch the phone up, clicking the buttons I need to show me the call log. One number at a time appears on the small screen, I have to arrow over for each new number it lists.
They’re mostly random, with a few names attached to local area codes, none that I recognize. After going back a few days, I notice one number appearing over and over, but it’s not local, maybe a prepaid cell phone. However, one of the dates a call was received was the morning Callie was first attacked. Could it be?…
I write the number down and stuff it in my pocket. It’s all I got and I have to hope it will lead me somewhere. I exit the trailer through the back again, not caring to fix the door. I get in my truck and pull away from the house, hoping no one paid too much attention to how long I was parked there. It’s late, hopefully, all of the neighbors are in bed.
I call Jesse as I head back towards my cabin, praying he can trace the number back to a location, and I need to be prepared when he does.
Chapter Forty-Six
Callie
