Page 4 of Creeping Beautiful

She looks up at me, then straightens. Tight-lipped and sad.

“No. I’m not defending him. I’m just confused, Indie. I’m trying to understand what you’re saying.”

“What I’m saying is this. I’m sick of this shit, OK? I’m fucking sick of it. He has no right to tell me what to do anymore. None.”

“I… I don’t understand, Indie. Have you… talked to Adam?”

Her face screws up for a moment. Like she’s thinking about this. Then she lets out a long sigh. “No. But I don’t need to talk to him to know what he’s up to.”

“… OK.” I play it cool. “I get it.” Even though I don’t. If there’s one thing I’ve come to terms with over the past four years it’s that I don’t understand one goddamned thing about what we were doing with this girl all those years.

I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand why Donovan was brought in, I don’t understand why I was brought in, and I don’t understand how we all fit into the big picture.

And there’s always a big picture. There’s always an ulterior motive when it comes to the Company. Even if the Company is gone, the remnants are still there. The objectives still linger. We all played a part in that too. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past fourteen years it’s this: Letting go of your purpose is not as easy as it sounds.

But Indie is in no state to hear the truth right now.

Funny. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s never been in a state to hear the truth.

“I’ll help you. Whatever you need, Indie. I’m here. And I’ll help you.”

She nods her head, swallowing hard. “Good.”

She sighs that word out in a low, soft whisper. And I think to myself… she can be soft. When she’s like this, she can be fragile like a snowflake. And soft like the wings of a butterfly. And quiet like whispers in a church.

She’s not really made of sharp corners and hard edges.

She’s a girl. And she’s real underneath it all. She’s still in there after all the things we made her do and were done to her. She has to be in there. I have to believe that.

“Do you know where he is? Have you talked to him recently?”

“No. We don’t really talk anymore.” Indie looks disappointed for a moment. And I can’t stand to see her like that. “But I’m sure I can find him.”

Adam has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went into this whole Indie project a team. And if we were on speaking terms, we’d still be a team. Still be on her team, at least. But she’s been missing for four years and I need to know what’s rolling around in that messed-up mind of hers before I start thinking about getting in touch with Adam again. Because it’s not Adam she should be blaming.

“I tried calling. I must have an old number. He’s not picking up. Goes straight to voicemail. He went to Daphne, Alabama. Did you hear about that? Did he tell you about Nick Tate?”

I shake my head, a sinking, sick feeling rolling around in my stomach. “No. He hasn’t mentioned Nick Tate to me. Not in years. I don’t think he was there meeting Nick, Indie.”

“Well. Then he probably has a girl there. Did you know he had a girlfriend?”

“Adam?” I say this too loud and too surprised. “No, Indie. Adam doesn’t do girlfriends.”

I want to say more. I want to say things like… Adam does you. Adam does us. We do him. He doesn’t do girlfriends.

Indie just huffs at my answer. “When’s the last time you talked to Donovan? Where is everyone? Why aren’t we working?”

I run my fingers though my hair, take a deep breath. “You, Indie. You’re the reason we’re not working.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Where’s Donovan?”

“At home. I guess. I don’t know.”

“He moved.” She says this like she’s tired. “He moved out. I went to Donovan’s first and some old lady answered the door. Said he didn’t live there. Said she’d never heard of him.”

I spend two whole seconds wondering if that old lady is still alive.

“Where the fuck did he go?”