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If she were anyone else, I’d snap. As it is, I hold my tongue and fall onto the chair Psycho was just sitting at.
“When my son was taken, it was Psycho I trusted to bring him home and he did. There’s no one I trust more to fix this.”
Hanging my head in my hands, I pull at my hair and admit, “I love her, Evie.”
“I’m pretty sure she loves you too.”
It’s all well and good hearing it, but I need to hear it from Lexi herself.
“I should’ve gone with Psycho. I shouldn’t be sitting on my arse doing nothing.”
“Psycho works alone. Always has. Mostly like always will. He doesn’t think any other way.”
Time drags by painfully slowly and as I come out of the bathroom, I take a nose in the room Lexi’s been staying in. It’s like a tin of pink paint threw up over every inch of the room. Lexi’s belongings stand out and the stack of notebooks catches my eye. One on top is open and I run my finger over her written words. These must be her journals. I hold much respect for people’s privacy, but Lexi is mine. I pick up the journal and sit on the bed.
Tuesday, 24th September 2014
Why can’t I tell him I hate him? Why can’t I come out and ask him why he hurt us, day in and day out, for most of our childhoods? Both Louis's and mine’s scars are buried deep and felt so strongly they may as well be on our skin – some of Louis’s are. So why did I accept my father onto my visiting list and sit down with him every month and talk to him like we’re a normal father and daughter dynamic? My therapist says I’m still seeking that relationship, but I don’t quite agree. The only place I can be honest is on these pages, it’s just the ink and me, together as one. Ready to burn at a moment’s notice or to keep and look back on. Truth be told, I’m waiting for him to apologise. It’s a torture worse than we endured at his hands and belt, but I suffer through it every visit when the words never leave his mouth.
I finally told Louis he’s been coming to see me, and it took everything I had to stop him from walking out. It cripples me that it hurts him. We vowed a long time ago that it was just us against him and he feels like I’ve betrayed him. I wish I had Louis’s capacity to cut people, as well as my emotions, off, but I can’t. I hope I managed to get through to him that I’m waiting for something I know I probably won’t get, and I think he heard me. It was his pity when he swept his eyes over at me, telling me he’ll see me next month, that hurt the most. Even if our dad does apologise, I have no idea what I’ll do with it. Would I forgive? Could I? Louis will never forgive or forget, and I don’t blame him. When it comes down to it, I choose my brother over our father every day of the week. There’s no question about it. But the conflict between what I know I get from my brother and what I think I need from the man who made our lives Hell is tearing me in two and I don’t know how to break my head from my heart. Years of abuse and I could laugh as to why I’m the one still seeking something, I still don’t know what truly. Why was I even born? What is the reason I was brought into the world? There has to be one. An entire life can’t just be Hell on Earth…
I snap the journal shut. When I get her back, I’m never letting her go. Nor will I ever let anyone let her feel like she’s less than fucking perfect ever again. She’ll be treated like the fucking queen she is.
The front door opens and closes below me and I put her journal back in its place and head downstairs.
Psycho throws down a folder on the kitchen table and points for me to take a peek. Picking it up, I flick through the papers and it’s a bunch of photographs tacked to sheets of personal information.
“Who are these people?” I ask.
“Matt and Beth’s family members and close friends. After Lexi was arrested, I started tracking them down and watching every single person in their lives.”
Pulling out a chair at the table, I sit and ask, “So we go through them, track them down, and go from there?”
“That’s exactly what we do. I know my sister, she’ll do whatever she needs to, to stay alive. She’ll know we’ll be searching for her.”
Evie puts the kettle on, and I open the first folder, spreading it out before me as does Psycho.
The information I read belongs to the cheating arsehole’s dad. He’d be in his late sixties now and from the impressive details Psycho noted down, he suffered a heart attack shortly after Lex went nuclear on his son. Would he be strong enough to drag and carry her out of this very kitchen to a waiting car or van? He could’ve had help. So many possibilities course through my mind as I reach for another folder.
“How long did it take you to get all this together?” I ask as Evie brings over three mugs of coffee.
“A couple of months. I made sure none of them were planning on taking revenge.”
Evie reads through folder after folder, the same as me and Psycho, and it begins to feel like a losing battle.
“I say we start with the father,” I suggest.
Plus, I need to be out, if not finding her, physically searching at least.
“Here,” Psycho says, placing seven folders across the table.
“These would be where I would start.”
I quickly read the names and stare at the photos. All men and relations to both the pricks who hurt my woman.
Shooting up from the chair, I grab my keys, and say, “Let’s go. We have somewhere to start now.”
“Hold on, before we go anywhere, I need to know you’re not gonna lose your shit. Whoever has her clearly didn’t want us knowing. The club is still out of town. As we search, we’re going to do it as ghosts. You hear me?”
