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One thing that I have been able to determine is that the mob knows she was there that night. My sources relayed that the Cerelli’s would very much like to talk to her about what she may, or may not, have seen that night.
My only consolation is that they want to find her. That means they haven't.
Not yet anyway.
If I find her first, she hopefully won’t ever have to talk to them. Not if I can help it.
I roll out of bed and take a quick shower before heading into my office. It's across town from my house, and there is always work to be done, even if it is only 0400. A couple of marine buddies joined Blake and I in our fledgling business venture, and we have spent the past year and a half busting our asses making a name for ourselves. Most of our jobs are private security for rich assholes. That, and we catch other rich assholes cheating on their spouses.
It’s not what I had planned for my life, but it pays the bills and we are actually doing pretty well. So well, in fact, that we have opened small offices in Seattle and in Portland, Oregon. I don't travel much anymore, preferring to stay close to what I have come to think of as home.
All I do these days, when I’m in the field, is surveillance. It was my specialty in the Marines, and it helps me spread my web of contacts. Every job I do, every contact I make, is a potential line to tracking down Faye. Everything else is secondary.
Someone, somewhere, knows where she is. They have to. Not finding her is an unacceptable outcome. I have to bring my little Sweetpea home like I promised her.
Chapter Two
Faye
I am so weary of always being alone. No family to go home to. No real friends to hang out with or share anything with. I feel like a ghost.
I don't even look like myself anymore. I have pictures, so I remember what I used to look like. I used to be pretty, with vibrant red hair, rosy cheeks, and bright green eyes. Now sadness and fatigue cling to me like the smell of smoke when you’ve sat too close to a campfire. Not that I’ve done that in recent memory. The changes I see in myself sit like acid in my belly, and I avoid looking at my reflection as much as possible.
I hate what I see. I'm too pale and too thin, whatever curves I once had been developing have been lost to hunger. The only time I smile is when I'm working. It didn’t take me long to learn that tips are better if you’re smiling and flirty with the customers.
I've been waitressing at the same rundown truck stop since I landed in Spokane a few years ago. Sometimes I think I should leave and go anywhere else. Somewhere sunkissed and warm all year would be ideal, but I don't want to get too far from the cabin.
It’s been years since I ran, and still I cling to the crazy hope that Travis hasn’t forgotten about me. In reality, I’m sure that he has.
A couple times a month, when I have a day off and gas money at the same time, I go out there to look around and spend time in the one place I still feel a connection to him. Even a tenuous connection is something. I’ve been doing this since the boredom and the need to buy food drove me to leave the secluded shelter behind. I always hope to see some indication that someone has been there.
That has only ever happened once.
Two years ago, I KNOW that Travis had been there. For once, I had the gas money and the day off two weekends in a row. When I arrived, I could tell that someone had parked a vehicle in the road where it became too overgrown to drive through. The very first thing I noticed when I shoved my way inside was that my little pink unicorn was missing. I left it there as a sign, and no one but Travis would have taken it.
As far as I can tell he hasn't ever been back.
I have no reason to believe he will.
He did his duty. He came and checked, saw I wasn’t there, and I’m sure he moved on with his life. I can’t blame him if he did. I still want to find him, though I have no idea how to go about it. I went to the library once to see if he had any social media accounts, an address, anything that would be helpful. But there was nothing.
I don't even have a cell phone anymore. Officially, I still have my old one. I wasn't willing to give up my photos from when I had some friends, something of a life, even if it was all tainted by my mom and Brad. The slapping, the drinking—even that was preferable to being so alone all the time.
Scalding tears slip down my face and I burrow under my thin covers, hugging my pillow, trying to soothe myself. I cry myself out and get out of my bed to pad barefoot across the cool floor to my bathroom. It’s time to pull myself together, dry my tears, and get ready for another day of work.
A girl has to eat.
I'm pulling a double shift today so one of the other waitresses can go to some school thing for her kid. It’s going to be a long day, but I don’t mind. It’s still better than working eight hours and then coming here to be alone with just my thoughts for company.
I never knew anyone could be so lonely that any company was preferable to being alone. Even my books don’t help ease the ache in my heart anymore.
By the time I’m dressed and ready for work I am mostly over my pity party. I say mostly because… well, it’s lonesome not having anyone to really talk to. I would rather be alone than risk anyone else's well being. I just wish I knew if the danger following me is real, or just my imagination.
As much as I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head, my gut tells me that it is real, and that is what continues to keep me from reaching out to people. I learned to trust that feeling the night I grabbed my things and ran. I know without a doubt that if I had hesitated even a minute longer I would have ended up like my mom, a crumpled heap on the floor.
What is wrong with me today? I just can’t keep my thoughts away from all the bad things. My mind keeps picking at them like loose strings on a sweater.
I wish...so many things.
