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I’m not much of a romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have spectacular taste in friends, and if Dad can find happiness with one of them, then more power to him. He honestly couldn’t do better than Violet.
I finally find a spot several houses down and grab my destroyed shoes from where they’ve been sitting in the passenger seat.
I carefully navigate the sidewalk barefoot, keeping my eyes down so I can avoid any rocks, twigs, or in one case a line of ants on the way to do whatever ants do.
It’s because I’m so focused on where I’m stepping that I don’t notice the door to the house is wide open until I’ve almost reached it. I call out “hello” and stick my head inside, then let out a gasp. The living room looks like it was hit by the Tasmanian Devil. The chairs and end tables have been knocked over, their contents strewn across the room. But what really draws my eye is the coffee table that’s shattered into pieces and is covered in blood.
Now that I’ve spotted it, I also see blood in other places, a small patch against the far wall, a few drops in the entryway, and most terrifying, a long trail to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I can hear a man’s voice coming from deep in the house, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
If this was a few months ago, I would’ve rushed in and probably gotten myself killed. But Carson’s been telling me I’ve been taking too many liberties with my safety, and I know he’s right. There’s a fine line between being brave and being stupid. What I’m looking at right now is something that I have no way of handling.
Suddenly, I remember Violet’s car parked at the curb. Unless she went somewhere with someone else, she’s in there. My heart catches in my throat and I freeze, not knowing what to do.
Crash.
The sound of glass breaking from deep in the house seems to snap me out of my indecision. I immediately drop the heels in my hand, along with my purse, and take off at a sprint across the lawn. I don’t stop running until I make it to the door of the house next door.
It sounds like Oliver’s got that obnoxious kids’ station turned up to eleven, so I pound frantically on the door. “Carson! Carson, please open up! Carson!”
It feels like it’s years before the door opens, but logically it was probably more like fifteen seconds. The door swings in and I’m filled with relief at the sight of his concerned face.
“Bianca, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He starts moving his hands over my arms, presumably looking for injuries, but I shake him off.
I don’t have time to catch my breath but manage to gasp out, “The door was open. Everything’s broken. There’s blood. So much blood. Please.”
His face morphs from concern back to his serious cop face, and it starts to calm me. He pulls me inside.
“Please, you have to hurry,” I beg. “I think Violet’s in there.”
“Fuck.” He turns to the small safe he keeps by the door and punches in a code before pulling out his badge and a heavy looking black gun. I can’t take my eyes off it. What if something goes wrong, and he accidentally hits Violet? What if the guy in there has a gun and Carson gets shot? I feel like I’m going to throw up.
He bends over slightly so that we’re eye to eye, forcing me to look away from the gun in his hand. “Bianca, listen to me. I need you to stay here with Oliver. Lock all the doors and windows and take Oliver to the den in the middle of the house. Lock the front door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me, understand?”
I just nod my head and look out his window back toward my house. This is taking too long.
“Bianca, do not leave this house. I’ll go get Violet.”
“Please. You have to make sure she’s okay. She has to be okay.” I clutch his sleeve, but he just nods his head at me, then walks out the front door, moving towards my house as quickly as possible with his head swiveling back and forth, gun held low. I do as he’s instructed and make sure all the doors and windows are secure. I’m tempted to sit and stare out the window to find out what’s happening, but I know that if there’s shooting, a window is a dangerous place to be. If something is wrong with Violet, Carson is the best chance I have of saving her, and he doesn’t need to be worried about me doing something stupid. Plus, I need to find Oliver and make sure he’s safe, away from the windows, and if possible, oblivious to the chaos that’s happening next door.
I head toward his playroom and say a little prayer that maybe Violet isn’t in the house after all.
TWENTY-SIX
Dante
“Where is she?” I demand as Bianca paces back and forth in front of the intake station in the emergency room.
“She’s somewhere back there.” She waves her hand in the air to indicate all the rooms with doctors and nurses rushing around. “They won’t tell me anything because I’m not family. Carson’s back there somewhere too, but he hasn’t bothered to come tell me what’s going on,” she says, obviously distressed.
“Who’s Carson?”
“The police officer that lives next door.” She stops her pacing and grabs my arm. “He saved her, Dad. At least I hope he saved her. No one will tell me if she’s all right. But I caught a glimpse of her when they were loading her into the ambulance and she... it didn’t look great.” There are tears streaming down her face, and I realize I can’t place the last time I saw Bianca cry. I thought I was worried before. Now I feel completely frantic.
From the second I got the phone call from Bianca telling me that Violet had been attacked and was headed to the hospital, it’s felt like the floor was pulled out from under me. I just found her. I can’t lose her. We haven’t had enough time together. Forever wouldn’t be long enough.
I move toward the nurse sitting behind the tall partition. “I need to see Violet Daniels, now!”
This doesn’t seem to impress the nurse at all. “Like I told your friend there, I can’t release any information or let you back there unless you’re a family member.”
