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Silence filters through the line, but if it’s awkward, I don’t feel it. I don’t feel much of anything right now. Five minutes probably drift by in the blink of an eye. Minutes I’ll never get back and won’t remember for the rest of my life, but they are the minutes leading up to Sin telling me the news that simultaneously keeps me together and tears me apart.
“I’m sorry, she wasn’t here. I’m not getting a match.”
“Thank you for your time.” As I pull the phone away from my ear, his voice comes at me, and even though I want nothing more than to chuck the thing through a fucking window, I move it back against my head to hear what he has to say.
“Got my woman because of those sick fucks. Saw her straddlin’ the line of life and death, beat so badly I didn’t think she’d wake up. Got lucky that she did. Know it doesn’t mean much comin’ from a stranger, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“My contact said the ring was taken apart by a couple of vigilantes. Is that how you got involved?” I don’t know why I ask. Part of me appreciates his condolences, I guess, even though they do fuck all to bring Aislin back.
“The short version.”
I don’t know what that means, but I figure it’s not my business. “Thanks again for your help.”
“No problem.”
The line goes dead.
Without much thought, I walk to the door, leaving my tools behind. They’ll be waiting for me to pick up where I left off tomorrow. Or at three a.m. when I can’t sleep. Betsy trails obediently behind me, waiting as I lock up, and we make the short walk across the yard back to my other house.
Falling asleep comes surprisingly easy, but I was wrong about one thing. It is four a.m. when I am back at Aislin’s old house, agitated and pounding nails in an attempt to silence her screams conjured from the nightmares in my head.
