CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Brett
One Year Ago
All I hear is the jingle of Waylon’s collar when I walk through the front door into an empty house. It’s not dark yet, but the sun has already dipped behind the trees, casting the house into darkness. I head straight back to the bedroom to shower and change into pajamas, eager to wash off the thin film of sweat and…other things on my skin.
I drop my purse next to the bedroom door and switch on the lamp next to the bed before heading to the closet. After grabbing a pair of grey jersey shorts and a black tank from the bottom drawer, I stand up and jerk open the top one to grab a new pair of underwear.
And when I do, I freeze.
I’m suddenly transported back to October, when I was searching for missing earrings that mysteriously fell into a portal, as though there’s a glitch in the matrix. Except, this time, it’s not my jewelry that’s missing.
It’s my entire drawer of underwear.
Every single pair I own—thongs, bikinis, boy shorts, lace, cotton, satin—are gone and the drawer spotless. That is, except for one wadded up black piece of fabric in the middle.
I reach in and shake it out, holding it up in front of me. My mouth falls open as I stare in horror at the shredded black lace thong hanging from my fingers. Even after all this time, I recognize it immediately.
Specifically chosen for an ill-fated library date all those years ago…
Even though it’s nothing but a tattered rag, ripped apart at the back, I would know it anywhere. And, more importantly, I know who’s had it all this time and who brought it back to me.
In a split-second moment of panic, I wad it back up, stuff it in my shorts pocket, and close my drawer again. Standing motionless, I steady my breathing and try to focus. I was just with Colson. When did he come here? And how did he get in?
The same way he came in and left you a smoothie in the fridge, obviously.
Was I gone long enough for him to come here, clean out my drawer, and find me at the park? How would he even know I was at the park if he was here instead?
Slowly, I turn to leave the closet with the rest of my clothes and let out a defeated grunt. I glance down at my shorts and then at the hamper in the corner of the room. If I want to shower and change into underwear that’s not soaked in Colson’s cum, I’ll have to dig out another pair from the dirty clothes. It could be worse.
Really? Could it?
I immediately regret the thought as I start digging through the clothes, only to realize that there’s not one pair of my underwear left in the hamper. I dump it out on the floor, sifting through the t-shirts, jeans, socks, and blouses, but to no avail.
He took it all. He went through the dirty clothes to make sure he took every single pair. I inhale a shaky breath and let it out slowly before I start throwing the clothes back in the hamper. I’ll figure out what to do in the shower. Maybe this time I’ll have some bright ideas instead of sitting on the tile crying in despair.
He’s gone too far, now. Leaving bottles in my refrigerator and belts on my mirror is one thing, but stealing all my underwear is a different story. There’s no way he can deny it, now. I shake my head, throwing open the medicine cabinet to retrieve my packet of birth control pills from the middle shelf.
I pause for a moment and furrow my brow when I realize there’s not one.
I’m out, but why didn’t my calendar reminder go off?
Cursing under my breath, I leave the bathroom to retrieve my phone from my purse. Tapping the calendar icon, I prepare for further annoyance that the app isn’t working like it should and I’ll have to rush to get it filled tomorrow and take two in one day.
But the reminder is still set…for three days from now.
I blink, feeling my pulse skyrocket the longer I stare at my phone. I slowly turn and walk back into the bathroom and bend down to grab the empty pack I threw away last night. It’s still laying at the top of the trash.
“Oh, shit,” I murmur, staring at the spent pack in horror.
This can’t be right. How do I skip an entire week of birth control pills? And where did they go? My eyes dart back and forth between my phone and the pills, my mind gridlocked and unable to process what I’m seeing. For almost 10 years, there’s been a reminder every 25 days to call in a refill. It never changes. But that still doesn’t explain where an entire week of pills went. An entire week of active pills.
My stomach drops, and I look down at my shorts.
No, no, no, no…this isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.
But I don’t have time to dwell on it. My eyes fly open when I hear the front door close and I realize that Bowen’s home. Not a minute later, I hear his voice echo through the house like thunder.
“Brett!” he shouts from the living room, giving me a start.
I freeze in the bathroom doorway, his frantic call followed by heavy footsteps rushing down the hallway. He bursts through the door, coming to a halt in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes darting around until he sees me in the bathroom.
“What?” I ask, eyes wide.
He glances back at the hallway and then at me, his eyes wild, “You didn’t see what’s out there?” he asks, motioning to the hallway, now half-lit by the lamps in the living room.
“I just got home,” I shake my head and set the empty packet down on the edge of the sink, “I just didn’t turn on the lights yet.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bowen rakes his fingers through his hair with exasperation, then motions for me to follow him.
He leads me to the entryway and when I follow his gaze up the wall, I’m met with an eerie sight. There are two words scrawled across the light grey paint in bright red spray paint.
WHERE’S EMILY?
My eyes dart back and forth between Bowen and the message on the wall. He peers up at the writing with a sense of both agitation and curiosity.
“What is this?” I whisper, my throat suddenly parched.
