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Chapter Seventeen
Niko
“Fine!”I bark over the phone. “Just fucking call me when you have something.”
I slam the phone down on my desk so hard that it probably breaks the screen. I could give two shits about that right now, though. It’s been two fucking weeks since the tip came in on the make and model of the car. Two fucking weeks and a match still hasn’t been found. Fucking small towns and their slow ass technology. The only thing keeping me sane is knowing they still have a quarter of the registered white Honda Civics during that time period to go through. They’re looking at a hundred-mile radius of Westbridge just to be on the safe side. That makes for a shit ton of records to go through because that particular car is one of the most common. Not one fucking person who’s owned that make and model during the time is even remotely related to the case.
My chair slings back and slams to the floor when I stand. I grab my half-empty coffee cup and chunk it across the room. It shatters against the wall, the shards of porcelain and dregs of coffee flying everywhere.
“Fuck!” I bellow to the ceiling.
I hate fucking waiting. I’ve waited fifteen goddamn years. The witness who claimed he saw Aislin being dragged into a white Honda Civic was the biggest break we’ve had so far. At least we have something more to go on now. When I first heard the tip, it pissed me the fuck off because the guy waited so long to come forward. The police could have stopped the bastard when Aislin was first taken had they had that information then. After taking time to cool off, my brain began to function rationally. The guy was a kid at the time and was scared. As much as my heart still raged at him for not coming forward sooner, my head got in the game and recognized why the kid was scared. Any kid that age would be terrified.
I turn and kick the shit out of my chair. It slides across the floor and hits the wall so hard it leaves a dent in the drywall. I snatch my phone from the desk, not even checking to see if it’s still functional, and storm from the room. I feel restless and caged. This break may be big, but right at this moment, it’s useless.
Even with that thought, adrenaline pumps through my veins. I feel it. It’s right fucking there. I don’t know what it is, but it’s big and significant. I know deep in my gut something’s coming. My body tenses as if preparing for something massive heading its way. My hands tremble, and the top of my scalp prickles. I can’t shake the fucking feeling. But I want it, need to feel it, because it means I’m about to find what I’ve been looking for for the past fifteen years.
My hands slam on the bar, and I lean over, my head dropping down to hang from my shoulders. Liquid meets my hand, and I look up to see a cup has fallen over. I shove the cup away, and it slings across the kitchen. I hang my head again and try to calm my erratic heart. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath. It doesn’t fucking work. My nerves are too shot, and all I see when I close my eyes is Aislin’s beautiful face riddled with cuts, scars, and bruises. Her lifeless body on that forest floor and the slab in the morgue, so malnourished that her bones were sticking out and her skin damn near see-through. And the obvious evidence of years of sick abuse by a bastard I’m dying to get my hands on. Every muscle in my body tightens, the need to hunt him down and decimate him making my head pound.
Hearing a soft whine, I open my eyes to find Betsy sitting on her haunches looking up at me. Normally, having her comforting presence near calms me, but not today. I’m not sure anything can.
Unbidden, an image of Doe pops in my head, and I straighten. An irrational need to see her grips me. For some reason, when I visit her, the pain and anger I constantly feel lessens. I don’t know what it is about the girl. Maybe it’s because she’s been through her own horror and pain, and I can relate to what she went through. Not that her ordeal and the pain that I live with are the same. From the marks on her body and the condition she was in when she was first picked up, she went through hell and back, multiple times.
Or maybe she’s one of the strongest people I know, and I want to harvest some of that strength. If most people went through even half the shit she has, they’d be in an insane asylum right now. We may not know the details, but it’s not hard to figure out her time in hell was excruciating and horrifying.
It could be her quiet and watchful nature. She’s still very skittish, something you would expect given her situation, but at times, I find her watching what’s going on around her very intently, like she’s taking everything in and learning it all. At times, she seems very innocent and uneducated on normal things in life, but at other times, she seems to be well beyond her years.
No matter the reason, the need to see her right this very minute has me hunting for my keys. I ruffle Betsy’s fur, saying a few soft words to let her know everything’s okay, and then I bolt out the door.
Stopping by a fast food joint on my way to the hospital, I grab some burgers, fries, and milkshakes. I always try to bring her food when I come by because I know how terrible the hospital food is. It only takes me fifteen minutes from there to get to the hospital. When I walk past the front desk, the receptionist shoots me a wave.
“Afternoon, Detective,” she says, smiling.
“Hey, Emily.”
I’ve become a common face around here lately with how many times I’ve stopped by to visit Doe.
I get off on the sixth floor, and the closer I get to her, the calmer my heart becomes. I’m glad I decided to visit today before I lose my ever-lovin’ mind at home.
I’m steps away from her door when someone calls my name.
I turn and watch Dr. Evans, one of the physicians overseeing Doe’s care, walk toward me.
“How is she today?” I ask before he gets a chance to open his mouth.
“She’s a strong girl and is doing good.” He takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “Anything yet on who she is or where she comes from?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, frustration wanting to take hold at his question. “Only thing we have to work with is where she was picked up before she was brought here. I’ve been trying to jog her memory when I visit, but there’s been nothing so far.”
He looks toward her door then back at me. “Thing is, she’s almost ready to be released, but we don’t have anyone to release her to. It’s not smart to let her go out on her own. She’ll need watching over for at least a while afterward to make sure no mental or physical problems arise.”
A pang hits my stomach, thinking about Doe walking the streets alone and afraid and having nowhere to go or no one to look after her.
“You sure she’s ready for that?”
I’m no doctor, but from what I’ve seen physically, she seems to be healing normally, but at times, I wonder if she’ll ever heal mentally. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t surprise me if that answer was no.
“I highly advise for her to continue her therapy sessions, but physically, her wounds are healing nicely.”
