AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Where’s Skylar?
I glance down at my watch. She should have been here ten minutes ago. Even with wiggle room, she wouldn’t be this late. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap the screen. No new messages.
Kirsten carries on about never meeting a hot guy at the pub. I listen enough to catch the occasional word, but otherwise don’t absorb what she says.
Lawrence: Almost here?
I hit send and hope the text doesn’t come across as pushy.
Yes, I have a stern demeanor. But Skylar brings out my softer side on occasion. With her, I balance the bold and rough with the tender and gentle.
Right now, with all this bullshit going on, Skylar not arriving on time, or close to, is worrisome.
My shoe slaps the tile, my eyes locked on the sent message.
Slap, slap, slap.
The phone screen dims and I tap it awake. Stare at it impatiently. No answer. No sign she has read the message. No little dancing bubble to indicate her typing or talking to text.
Lawrence: I’m worried, LP. Let me know you’re okay.
The time at the top left of the screen mocks me as the minutes continue to advance.
Still. No. Response.
Bile slithers up my throat and I bite back the urge to vomit.
Lawrence: Just tell me you’re okay. Please, Sky.
The magic gray bubble pops up. It dances and dances. Kirsten blathers on. At this point, I have no idea if she realizes I am not paying attention to her or she doesn’t care. Either way, I refuse to look away from the bubble.
“Motherfucker!” I yell when the text hits my phone.
Kirsten stops talking, but her eyes burn holes through my skin. “What’s wrong?” Her voice soft and shaky.
My eyes refuse to leave the screen. Refuse to look away from the image. Refuse to believe what I am looking at is real. But after everything that has happened, deep down, I know this nightmare is as real as it gets. And someone took Skylar.
At this point, I don’t know if it is Terrance or Kelli or some other sick fuck. My eyes rake over her body in the photo. Wrists and ankles bound and strapped to an old metal bed frame. Burlap over her head, the length of her fiery curls peeking out. Clothes still in place, but tattered. The only thing I am unable to make out from the still is if she is conscious.
Two words sit below the image in the text history.
Call me.
Feels like hours passed since I last acknowledged Kirsten. I peer up from my phone, the room blurry.
“Someone took Skylar.” She blinks a few times, my words not quite sinking in. I flip my phone around and flash her the photo. “Someone. Took. Skylar,” I say with more gusto.
A hand flies to her mouth. Tears flooding her eyes. “Oh my god.” The words barely audible on her lips.
“Kirsten.” She blinks and shifts her gaze, the tears painting parallel lines down her cheeks. “I need to call her phone. While I do that, I need you to go into a different room and call the police.” She doesn’t respond, only continues to stare blankly at the wall over my shoulder. “Kirsten, please.”
One, two, three blinks and she shakes her head. “Yeah. Yes, I’ll call. What do I say?”
“Tell them your roommate was on her way home. You and her boyfriend have been waiting at the house. He got a text with a photo and message to call. Describe the photo.” I show it to her once more. “I’ll try to drag it out as long as possible and get whatever details I can.”
“Okay.” Kirsten darts down the hall and steps into her bedroom.
I take a few steadying breaths, then tap the call icon under Skylar’s profile name. On the second ring, the call connects and an all too familiar voice fills the line.
