End of the Innocence (28 page)

Olivia said nothing, bumping the column with her shoe. “So what are you saying, Becca? You think she’s dead? You think someone else sent you that text?”

“I don’t know what to think. I just know she wouldn’t disappear like this. Her missing the makeup appointment was one thing. But this long? And the smashed phone? She wanted to marry Brad; I know she did. Julia’s not flaky and she wouldn’t scare her parents like this, you know that.”

“But who would have taken her? Luke?”

“Are you kidding me? The worst thing he’d do is hug her to death. Brad asked me about him earlier. I can’t see him doing this. Showing up at the wedding, yes. But he doesn’t even know where she lives. She’d just yell at him, and he’d leave her alone.”

“Yeah,” Olivia said quietly. “But why would anyone else hurt her?”

“I don’t know? She’s young, she’s hot, she’s about to be loaded? Maybe it’s someone with an issue with Brad. Someone he lost a case to.”

“It’s easier for me to think she just got cold feet, Becca. I don’t want to think about anything else.” Olivia pushed away from the column, stepping into the house and closing the door behind her.

♦♦♦

T
here were several times in a man’s life when his world changed. Often this change happened without incident or recognition—a chance meeting of a woman who ended up becoming his wife, a new job that led to a change in destiny. With Brad, his life-changing moments were very clear.

The morning that his mother left, leaving behind nothing but a short note and the scent of her perfume.

The moment he walked out of his father’s colossal mansion, separating himself from his family—The Family.

The moment that, at the possibility of losing Julia, he realized that he loved her, and found true happiness for the first time in his life.

And now. Now, the moment where she was lost, and his world might forever end. He would not survive without her, that fact was certain in his mind. If she were to leave him, yes, he would survive knowing she was happy. But if she were killed, snatched while fighting and screaming for his help ... well, he would never forgive himself.

He gripped his phone tightly in his hand, willing it to ring, willing her to be safe, willing the brave, strong woman who had his fragile heart tightly in her capable hands to return to him.

♦♦♦

I
n a Holiday Inn, two miles from Brad, the Campbells resorted to the only thing they knew. Prayer. They prayed, they argued, they prayed some more.

Then, with no clear idea what to do, they got in the car and headed north. Made a few wrong turns, checked their phones incessantly, then finally arrived. Pulled their car into Brad’s driveway and parked. Martha opened the door before they could knock.

“Come on in. I’ve been cooking, don’t know what else to do. Brad also asked me to prepare the guest room. He’s not worth speaking to at the moment, but I’ll do everything I can to make you comfortable.” She held open the door, gesturing for them to come in, and bit back tears when Julia’s mom threw herself into her arms.

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T
he two men watched the surveillance tape, fast-forwarding grainy footage, jerky movements zipping by in black-and-white detail. Hunched together in the small electronics closet, the hum of machinery on all sides, the air grew hot quickly. The two men didn’t move, didn’t wipe the sweat as it ran down their faces. They stared, intent on their task, their eyes glued to the small screen before them.

“Stop. Play from there.”

The footage showed a hallway, a man closing a door and walking away from the camera, his steps relaxed and unhurried.

“That’s me. That’s when I left to ditch the phone. I’m pulling out my cell right there.”

“Okay. Keep watching.”

They sat in complete silence, the clock in the bottom of the video counting slowly through the minutes, neither man moving an inch. Thirteen minutes passed, then they stiffened, watching the doorknob twitch, then still. Then the door swung open, and a girl burst into view. They watched in silence as she ran down the hall, out of view of the cam.

“Switch screens.”

Fingers clicked, screens flickered, and they watched in silence as the upper showroom revealed the close encounter, the girl hiding while the man strolled by. Then, her escape through the front doors.

“Fuck. Better call the boss. He ain’t gonna be pleased about this.”

“No shit, man. No shit.”

♦♦♦

D
om Magiano sat alone in his bedroom, in a chair by the window. He stared, unmoving, at the trees, their palms swaying in the breeze. When the call came, his hand was already on the receiver, and he lifted it to his ear without speaking.

The voice’s subdued tone came through the line with specks of frustration dotting the words. “We don’t know where she is.”

His face tightened. He cleared his throat. “How is that possible? You lost her?”

“We’re working on it.”

“You’re proving why you have never gained status in this town. Track her down before she is found. My son has half the town out looking.” He hung up the phone without waiting for a response, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes, waiting for the peace of sleep, peace that would not come for quite some time.  The open window brought a blast of warmth, gentle fingers of heat that washed over his tired skin, doing nothing to loosen the stress lodged in the deep lines of his face.

♦♦♦

N
ight fell and the search for Julia Campbell continued, police reluctantly joining the hunt. Brad paced, an emotional storm on the edge of destruction. Martha cooked dishes no one would eat, and Stevie and Ben watched silently. News channels picked up the story on the police scanner, and the phone rang incessantly, until the point that Brad ripped it out of the wall. Then they appeared, white decaled vans, cheery faces plastered over their sides, inching down the street until they lined both sides of it. Curtains moved, neighbors watched, and everyone held their breath.

At ten o’clock, the girls left, Olivia driving her and Becca in circles through town, scanning the streets for Julia, silence and tension filling her Jeep. The Campbells returned to the hotel, watching the evening news and sat together, hands gripped, heads bowed, and hoped for a miracle.

Fourteen miles away, another group, men of a hardened nature, set up a three-mile perimeter around the showroom, bringing in dogs and starting an organized block by block search, intent on my recapture, the blood of their cohort setting fire to their hunt. Just inside that perimeter, I woke to mosquitoes, the sting of their bites prickling the skin on my arms and neck. I sat up, slapping my forearm and glanced around, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I peeked around the edge of the dumpster. An empty parking lot, street lights illuminating spots of the bare asphalt. I stood, and my legs and back instantly screamed in protest.

In the distance, I heard a dog bark, and the tire crunch of a nearby car. The sound kicked my adrenaline back into gear.
How long I had been asleep?
I eased around the edge of the dumpster, glancing around quickly, my feet starting a silent bitch-fest, their raw bottoms readjusting to the rough gravel/pavement combination. I sent a silent prayer upward, thankful for the dark shadows that the dusk granted, then took off running, heading farther in the direction of quiet.

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R
unning had always helped me to clear my mind. Thoughts seemed to fall into place best when my body was occupied. I settled into a rhythm, trying to conserve energy, breathing shallowly and attempting to ignore the pain signals my body was shooting to my brain. My head, thankfully, had lost its piercing pain, settling into a dull throb that was somewhat bearable. I ran—redirecting any intelligent thought to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

I could see no reason to kidnap me. Was I being held for ransom? The wedding held off until Brad paid some exorbitant amount? I had so little information to go on. When I had first waked up, tied to a chair and blindfolded, I had heard men talking. Multiple men. They had been waiting for something. For me to wake up? I had probably knocked myself out in my attempt to escape from the chair, the wound on the back of my skull evidence to support that. Then I had reawakened, with that man on top of me ... was that why I was taken? To be raped by a stranger? That seemed even less likely.

I took a deep breath, lengthening my strides in an attempt to change the muscles worked. Twice I had to hide, headlights reflecting off nearby items, warning me in advance of approaching cars. I used that time to breathe, crouched into a tiny ball, comfortable in the darkness, my confidence increasing the farther I ran. The streets were changing, becoming more commercial in nature. I passed a few homeless men, their eyes watching me closely, one reaching out for me as I passed, his fingers grasping empty air, my steps moving me away from him. I cut over one street, avoiding the main road and taking a side street, the hum of traffic giving me a burst of confidence. My eyes examined the back of closed business, doctor’s offices, accounting firms, an auto parts store. I was moving closer to suburbia, the sidewalk less cracked, gravel transitioning to landscaped area. Everything closed. Then, ahead, I saw the glow of lights. A pharmacy, its bright red sign visible from the back road. I came to a stop, trying to make a decision.

It was the first place worth stopping at, the first commercial business I had come to, where the public moved freely in and out, where I could walk in and ask to use a phone. But wouldn’t that also make it the first place they would look for me? Maybe I should continue, put another mile between them and me. I exhaled deeply, my throat dry, starving again for liquid. The pharmacy would have something for my feet. Maybe even shoes, not that I had any money to pay for it. But they might cover me until Brad arrived.

I walked, studying the store as I approached from the back. My body yearned to burst inside, dramatically collapse on the floor, and have all matters of liquids, ointments, and comfort thrust upon me with helpful, eager hands. But something felt off, so I picked up the pace and continued running. Ahead I saw decorative lighting and prayed for a residential street.

Given the distance I had run, the odds were finally in my favor. A ten-minute jog past the pharmacy delivered me into suburbia. It was practically Wisteria Lane, minivans and manicured lawns on either side as I stood in the middle of a gravel-free road. I nearly wept, running forward and sinking to my knees on soft grass, the purr of a sprinkler treating me with a spray of cool water. I stumbled to my feet, running with the sprinkler’s movement, the glorious arch of liquid cooling my overheated body, water running down my face, my tongue outstretched. I slowed to a walk, the cushion of grass heaven to my abused feet, and then sank to the grass, lying on my back and waiting for the curtain of water to make its sweep over me once again.

Peace. Safety. A splash of cool water, the taste of it somewhat metallic. The tick of a sprinkler head as it moved on. A moment of glorious relaxation, the plush grass beneath me, the tickle of blades against my arms. The lull of sleep interrupted by a new blast of water, as the arc made its way back around.

The sprinkler was on its third sweep when the yard was flooded with light, painful fluorescent beams that caused my eyes to squeeze tight in an automatic reflex. I sat up, the sprinkler choosing that moment to hit me full force in the face, a pelt of water that had me momentarily blinded and coughing, the water catching me unprepared in my throat. I staggered to my feet, my hand wiping my face, my eyes blinking widely as my contacts attempted to find their place on my eyeballs. I held up my hands and froze when a commanding voice spoke from the directions of the lights.

“You’ve come to the wrong neighborhood if you want to get drunk and cause trouble. You’ve got sixty seconds to get off my lawn and out of this area, or I’m calling the cops.” It was a woman’s voice, strong and throaty, and I stepped forward, my contacts finally cooperating, my vision coming into focus. Steely blue eyes framed by a mess of red curls with a look that let me know my sixty seconds had begun.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please. I need to use a phone.” I sank to my knees before her, clasping my hands together and staring into her eyes, the dramatic pose entirely fitting, given the circumstances.

She surveyed me, her eyes traveling over my wet t-shirt, pajamas, and bare feet. She glanced out at the street, then back to me, studying my eyes intently. “You drunk?”

I shook my head. “No.”

She pointed to a swing on the front porch. “You can use my phone, but stay on the porch.” She started to head inside, and I stood, a smile crossing my face.

“Ma’am?” I called out, trying to catch her before the door swung behind her. She turned, eyeing me with a question in her glance.

“Do you mind turning the porch light off? I won’t do anything wrong, I swear.” I glanced over my shoulder, hating the bright lights that illuminated me on the dark street, a beacon to anyone on the hunt.

She gave me another long look, reached a hand over and flipped a switch, darkness settling back over the yard. I breathed a sigh of relief, waiting until the door shut before I moved to the swing.

If there was a heaven, it was something like that moment. I felt, for the first time since leaving my home, safe. Crickets chirped softly, the sprinkler purred before me, and a soft breeze danced gently on my wet skin. I glanced down, noting some red stains on the wet of my shirt and reached over, gingerly fingering the bandage on my shoulder, then carefully moved my hands to the back of my head, my fingers coming away red, the skin sore. I sighed, leaning back in the darkness and pushed lightly with my toe, starting the swing’s movement.

The front door opened and the woman appeared, a bottle of water and a phone in hand.  “Here,” she said tartly, handing out both. “I watched you from the window. You don’t have to drink from the sprinkler. I’m pretty sure that water isn’t fit for consumption.”