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There are too many memories there.
On one of the televisions in the sitting room, the footage of her being taken plays on loop. Another replays her interaction with father. It's torturous to keep looking at them, but I need to see them. They are all I have left of Alize right now. Maybe I'll see something I didn't see the first time.
Wesley retrieved her clutch from the parking lot.
It was filled with all the usual things—lipstick, cash, her phone. When I opened her phone, my number was still sitting there. My chest constricted; she had been a second away from calling me.
Fuck.
I kick the chair nearest to me, sending it flying into the panelled wall that separates the sitting area from the bedroom. I'm alone right now, as I sent both Stuart and Wesley off on another sweep of the hotel grounds to see if they can find anything.
Do I think they'll find anything?
There’s a chance—whoever took Alize left the security guards lying in a pool of blood. But they also knew where the cameras were, which concerns me.
I need them to findsomething.
Because I can't even look at Wesley's face without thinking of bashing it in, and I'm not a fan of Stuart right now, either. I wanted to protect Alize from the discomfort of what I wanted to say to Ottilie and Jeffrey.
Instead, I put her in more danger.
If I had been there, she wouldn't have been taken.
Fucking hell.
I punch the wall, the wood groaning as my fist collides with it. A shock of pain shoots through my arm, but it feels more like a chaser for the emotional turmoil than anything else.
After all my promises, I wasn't able to protect her.
I need to get her back.
But I don't even know where to start.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's the call I've been expecting, so I take it. The video call opens and Ezra and Vance are staring back at me. My own reflection comes up on the screen and it's a fucking jumpscare—I look exactly the way I feel.
Grief is prickly in my chest, the sharp edges tearing at my lungs and heart with each breath I take. My mouth is bitter, my hands clammy. Every other thought that pops into my head makes me feel like a failure.
I couldn't protect my family.
When I texted Ezra and Vance, I gave them a vague idea of what had happened. That Alize had been kidnapped. They must be thinking that is my fault, but they aren’t saying it out loud—and I’m grateful for it.
They're both quiet, stoic, waiting for me to speak first.
Ezra's in a dark room. I can't even make out where as the light from his phone screen is the only thing illuminating his face. Typical Ezra behaviour.
Vance, on the other hand, seems like he's on a yacht. There's a porthole beside him that I can see the waves sloshing against. The group chat has been mostly quiet since we left the airport a few days ago.
Usually, we don't reconvene until the second half of our vacations.
"It's worse than I made it seem," I say, finally forcing the words out of my mouth. Telling them about it is like reliving it, and is even more tortuous than just watching the CCTV on loop. "Whoever took her hurt her pretty bad, and..."
Their eyes are glued on me.
I cast a look behind me, toward the door just to make sure that Wesley or Stuart haven't reentered without my knowledge. When I'm satisfied that I'm alone, I start talking again.
"She's pregnant."
"Shit!" Ezra exclaims, kneading his eyebrows with a hand.
