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“Can you say whether he was taller than you? Was he thin, average build?”
I shrug. “Most people are taller than me.” I’m five-foot-two. “He was tall enough to say an average height and build but I can’t give many more details.”
“I understand. Well, unfortunately, we haven’t gotten any information back regarding that phone number yet as it seems to be coming from a burner phone. We have officers searching the area you were attacked in, but someone who took the time to disguise themselves likely won’t still be walking around looking that way. What I need from you is to keep the doors locked at home and try to avoid going anywhere alone until we can gather more information. In the meantime, I’ll take you and your friend home for the night to ensure you get there safely.”
For all I know, this cop could be the one who’s after me. I shouldn’t get in his cruiser. I probably shouldn’t even give him any more information than he already has.
TWENTY-TWO
SUNDAY, JUNE 11TH 6:00 AM
Detective Straton took us home and swept through the apartment to make sure he was leaving us in a safe place. He also said someone would remain on guard outside for the night.
If only I could sleep. Willa didn’t get much sleep either. We’re both curled up on the couch under a mess of blankets and pillows, staring at the longest thread of recycled news clips that has already played throughout the day.
Willa glances over at me for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. “You need more ice. That pack can’t still be cold.” She groans while pulling herself up from the couch, snatching the melted ice pack and slugs through the living room on the way to the kitchen. I’ve yet to look in a mirror and I’m wondering how long I can go without doing so.
“Thankfully I don’t have to go onto campus today. I can’t imagine going in there looking like—” whatever it is I look like. I can’t even imagine the stories people could conjure from speculation. “I guess I won’t look much different tomorrow when I have to take my last final.”
Willa doesn’t respond to my statement right away. Instead, she returns from the kitchen and carefully presses a freshice pack against my sore neck. “I’m sure your professor will understand if you have to reschedule your final.”
“I doubt that. They want to finish up for the summer just as much as the students.”
Willa’s focus skates toward the coffee table, and she takes my phone in her hands. She stares at the display for a few seconds then holds my phone up in front of my face so the facial recognition feature unlocks my phone. I should be thankful the phone still recognizes me. “What popped up?”
“Girl, Liam has been texting you like crazy. He’s been super worried about you since you didn’t respond when he checked to see if you got home safely yesterday after your ice-cream date.”
“My response isn’t going to make him worry less,” I mutter.
Willa closes her eyes and takes in a sharp breath through her nose. “The guy had a bloody lip the last time you saw him. I responded on your behalf last night while you were still out of it and told him you were safe now, but you had been jumped and we were at the hospital. I felt he should know in case this person who attacked you was the same one who hurt him.”
I slouch back into the couch cushion, defeated. “What else did you tell him?” I know I sound aggravated, but I walked away from him yesterday to spare him the trouble that’s following me around like a leech.
“He wanted to come to the hospital, and I told him not to, and I’d let him know how you were doing in the morning. He wants to stop by. He offered to bring over some breakfast if you’re up to it.”
“No, I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Okay, so normally I would understand where you’re coming from but with him being injured yesterday too, I don’t think we should close him out of the loop. He might have more clues about who could have hit him, and it might help the detective and his team gather more information on your attacker.”
“The detectives aren’t concerned with me. There’s a child missing. I’m sure I’m the last concern on their list.”
As if I needed a highlight reel to underline my statement, the silent video of Lara and Corbin holding each other outside of their home in the dark, still dressed in their evening attire on Friday night has been shown once every half hour on repeat.
“Police are still searching for fifteen-month-old Fallon Smith who disappeared from her home on Friday night,” a news reporter’s voice overlays the video. It was filmed in front of the police station during a press conference yesterday. Lara and Corbin are both in dark sweatshirts, with red eyes.
“What are your thoughts at the moment?” a reporter from behind the camera asks them.
Lara sniffles and takes in a shuddering breath. “If anyone knows anything about our sweet baby,” she says with a gasp. “We know the first thirty-six hours are—” A sob erupts from her throat, stealing the remaining words she was going to speak. Her hand trembles as she covers her mouth, holding her stare squarely on the camera lens as if it was a person giving her unthinkable news. Corbin turns her away from the camera and buries his wife into his side.
“Please, no more questions,” he says, holding his hand up.
The video cuts back to the news station and the two reporting anchors sitting at their curved table. “Sheiscorrect, Greg. The first thirty-six hoursarethe most crucial,” the female anchor says.
“Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Smith family during this difficult time. If you know anything about this missing child, please call the Newport police immediately,” Greg, the co-anchor echoes.
Willa curls her hands into fists by her side, her shoulders up by her ears. “My God.”
“That poor baby,” I say. “I can’t imagine what condition she must be in right now, or if she is even with someone.” I shudder at the thought, imagining a helpless child crying their heart out with no one around to take care of her.
