A car pulled up behind my own, but I was too far gone to give a shit who it was. Through sheer determination, I withheld the rest of my violent impulses. Every second spent on something other than moving forward put more distance between myself and Claire. I didn't look back to see if he was following.
I ripped the door open. Jumping inside, I quickly threw the seat back to accommodate my height. I hit the brake and pressed the automatic start. The engine purred to life as Victor jumped in. I pulled out, hitting the gas hard before Victor closed the door.
Police lights flipped on behind me, and I understood that Officer Barnes had pulled up when I knocked Vick to the ground. He chased after us, not knowing the issue but understanding the sense of urgency.
“How could you fucking let this happen?!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I sped through the first light. It was red, and an oncoming car had to swerve to avoid us. Barnes flipped on his sirens in addition to the lights, which made people move out of our way more readily.
Vick said nothing. His hands pressed against the dash as he leaned forward. I didn’t want to see the look on his face. The next block flew by in a flash of police lights. We pulled through the intersection where I'd seen them turn, making the same left. That was the last piece of valid information I had on her whereabouts. Of course, they were nowhere to be seen.
I headed straight, for lack of anything better to do. Despite being only a few blocks from the library, I wasn't overly familiar with this neighborhood. The buildings were newer than the historical ones and older than the cutting-edge high rises. I carefully scanned the streets for any sign of Claire or the van.
I called Barns, who still followed behind me, to explain the circumstances. He flipped off the lights and sirens now that there wasn't anywhere to rush at breakneck speeds.
I knew that Claire was hurt. She still wasn't in peak physical condition after being shot, and they slammed her into the van hard. I hoped she was simply in some pain, not truly hurt or worse. It took all my effort to put aside the worst of my fear and agony so I could help her.
Where is she?
Victor shocked me by spitting out a license plate number I hadn't managed to see.
Barnes and his new partner ran the plate, talking us through the process as they did. No one was surprised to learn the plates were stolen. The owner, Mildred Contempo, was eighty-five with no immediate family. Barnes assured me he would look into her, but none of us considered that a viable lead. After another few miles, Barnes pulled off to do whatever he could to help us find her. He promised to be in near-constant contact.
I offered an obscene amount of money to anyone willing to rat my father out and reveal Claire’s location. That was a tremendous risk on my part, but this was it. Either I would get her back, or I wasn't interested in living anymore. Barnes agreed to spread the word before we cut the line. While I was too miserable to feel it, I appreciated the help.
I had nowhere to go, so I kept driving. Desperation and rage built inside me, blurring my vision and filling my mind with a kind of heat that could burn a person alive.
Claire, Claire, Claire,her name ran through my head on repeat, desperately clinging to the hope this was all an awful dream. Maybe all of it was, starting from the time she was shot. Or perhaps I was dead and in hell. Both of those were better options than Claire being taken. From the moment I realized I loved her, I feared this very outcome more than my own death.
I repeatedly reminded myself that she wasn't dead yet. My father would want to spend time torturing us both first. It was a comfort that I may not lose her yet, but a knife in my heart that she was suffering, and there was nothing I could do to ease it for her.
Victor said nothing, and I wasn't sure what would enrage me more, his silence or an attempted apology. Maybe I wanted him to say something as an excuse to vent some of this rage. He had been right there, and he let them take her.
He let them take her! He wasn’t paying attention all day. All he cared about was Mila. If Claire dies, it’s his fault!
The vitriol poured from a place deep inside me, too broken and senseless to realize what that rage protected me from—the truth. I was right there too.
I let her go. I let her walk away. If she dies, it’s all my fault.
But I couldn't face those thoughts if I wanted to remain on my feet and keep moving forward.
Officer Barns called to tell us that the APB had garnered no leads. Most of the police force were not on my payroll. Even if they saw something, they were more likely to realize my father's involvement and hide whatever they knew. I just hoped the money was enough to getsomeoneto tell the truth.
My thoughts were such a tangled mess of pain and rage I drove for hours. I made call after call, organizing search parties and different threads of investigation, but I couldn't stop moving. Stopping this car felt like giving up and accepting failure. I needed to be in motion. In short, if she was suffering, I didn'tdeserveto rest.
Officer Barnes called again, informing us that an officer reported seeing the van speed by on one of the posh blocks in the shopping district. I took the information gladly but with a grain of salt. He could be lying for the money, or my father was already aware of my moves and trying to lay a trap.
Eventually, I pulled off on the side of the road. We were near the pier where Casey died. I wasn't sure what about this situation drew me here. Maybe it was the ferocity of my failings, but I parked the car and stepped out, leaving it running. I didn't look for Victor as I dragged my empty shell across the stony ground.
I walked along the cold brackish water of the bay, not giving a shit how wet or cold my shoes were before I climbed up onto the pier. I moved through the rows, following the familiar path. In the days after the explosion, we spent a lot of time here cleaning things up and learning what we could. Somewhere in my mind, I was aware of Victor following me, but I ignored him.
Hector called back to update me. Despite the tension, he assured me he had as many men as he could spare on the lookout. Perhaps now that I'd had someone even more meaningful taken from me, he was willing to understand my perspective.
I needed to think more than anything else, clear my head and decide what to do next. But the only thought that occurred to me was throwing myself into the fucking ocean. That would have been easier but certainly wouldn't help the woman I loved.
“Mason, what are we doing here?” Victor asked after I'd been staring at the ocean for god only knew how long, thinking about breathing in water and the blissful darkness I imagined death to be.
I turned on him, pulling out my gun and aiming it at him. It wasn't a mistake, and I didn't do it out of surprise. It just made sense at that moment that someone needed to die, and if it wasn't going to be me, it would behim—the other person who failed her.
He didn't flinch as I pressed it to his forehead. Instead, miserable lines of pain distorted his face, making him look at least ten years older. My ragged breath steamed the air in front of us.