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CHAPTER THIRTY
MATTHEW
Damn it. What the fuck is taking her so long in the shower? I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my temper. It’s not Rose that I’m angry at, it’s the fucking situation. Dr. Klein said the new medication should help even out her mood, but so far, the only thing it’s done is suck the life out of my girl.
Her panic attacks and mood swings are nonexistent, which is good, or it would be if taking those away didn’t also steal away everything else. Oh sure, she laughs when she’s supposed to. She talks and acts like everything is fine, but it’s so far from fucking fine. She can be sitting right beside me but be a million miles away. No matter how many times I try to reach into that void and bring her back, I fail.
Once again, I’m fucking failing her.
Since day one, Rose suffered from horrible nightmares. She would wake three or four times a night, drenched in sweat. The first night she slept straight through with no nightmares, I was hopeful. The medicine was working. Despite the fact that for the first time in God knows how long Rose is getting plenty of sleep at night, I’ve found her curled up somewhere sleeping during the day three separate times.
I thought I was out of my depth before… I laugh at how stupid and naïve I was. Before, I at least knew how to react to her emotions. This, I am completely lost. My Rose needs me, and I’m right here, desperate to help her only I don’t know how. I’ve called several other psychiatrists looking for second, third, fourth, even fifth opinions. They all say the same thing. Give the medicine time to work.
I’ve given it time, and it’s not fucking working.
I knock on the bathroom door and shout that we need to leave in thirty minutes. If she responds, I don’t hear her. She’s been so quiet and soft-spoken lately I probably wouldn’t hear her if she does respond.
My phone rings, distracting me. “Yes,” I bark.
“Dude, we need to work on your phone etiquette.”
“Kist, I’m not in the mood for your shit today. What do you need?” I know I shouldn’t snap at him, it’s not his fault that I’m so on edge. I can’t let Rose see my anger at our situation, but Kisten can take it.
Thankfully, he gets right to the point.
“Gunner found what we were looking for. He found Red House… or what used to be Red House. It’s a burnt-out husk now. Public records show that there was faulty wiring that started an electrical fire.”
“What else did he find?”
“He talked to some neighbors… seems that two nights before the fire, there was one of those big box moving trucks parked at the house. The neighbor said it was odd because they didn’t seem to pack any of their belongings into the truck. It was confirmed in the incident report done by the fire marshal that the house appeared to be occupied, but no one was injured in the fire.”
I mull over his words for a moment. “If they didn’t move any of their stuff, what did they move?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, boss. If they left everything behind when they left, why the moving truck?”
“The girls,” I reply flatly. “They used the truck to move the girls.”
Everything about this situation fucking stinks. I hate that it’s been weeks, and Nelson Grant still fucking evades us. I am going to take joy in making him bleed when he’s found.
“Exactly what Gunner is thinking. He’s going to work some more of that Kung Fu of his and should be in touch in a few hours with another update. You heading to the club?”
“Yeah. Just waiting for Rose to get out of the shower, then we’ll be there.”
“Alright, later.” Kisten doesn’t wait for a response before disconnecting the call, and he complains about my fucking phone etiquette.
Rose still hasn’t come out of the bathroom. A quick check of the time says nearly fifteen minutes have passed since I knocked. The shower is still running, she has to have used every drop of hot water by now. What the hell is she doing in there?
I pound on the door and call out to her. “Rose, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to break this fucking door down.”
Seconds tick by with no response, and panic grips my heart. I take a step back and kick the door. It crashes open, splintering the frame and slamming into the wall with a bang. I expected the room to be full of steam, but there isn’t even a hint of humidity in the air.
I hurry to the shower and jerk the door open. Rose is just standing there, staring down at the floor of the shower. She’s covered head to toe in goosebumps and shivering so hard her teeth are chattering.
“Oh, God, Rosie.” I turn off the water and quickly wrap her in a towel. I dry her off, then quickly carry her to the bedroom. I put her on the bed and wrap her in blankets. I run down the hall screaming for Hannah.
A few seconds later, she appears on the other side of the living room, breathless. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rose… I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s unresponsive. Call Dr. Martinez and tell her to get her ass down here now.”
