Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“I did,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I blamed you because it was easier than blaming myself.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the surge of emotions threatening to break free.
“So what happened that night?” I ask again, determined to get some answers.
She draws in a ragged breath before speaking. “It was just like any other night. We had dinner and watched some TV. She asked about you. She was always asking about you, Dragon.”
“And what did you tell her? That you sent me away because you thought I was the one who crept into her room that night and cut her? Because that’s what you thought I did.”
“I… I never told her that,” she says. “I told her you were… You were away at a special school. A school for gifted children.”
“Gifted?” I can’t help but scoff at the lie. “And she believed you?”
“She was a child,” she says with a shrug. “She had no reason not to believe me.”
“And then what? What happened after dinner?”
“We went to bed. Just like any other night.” She takes another drag from her cigarette, seemingly lost in thought.
“And then?” I ask impatiently, my grip tightening on the back of the stained sofa.
“Then I woke up to an empty house,” she says.
“Just like that?” I ask, shaking my head. “You just woke up, and she was gone? No signs of forced entry? No sounds in the middle of the night? Nothing at all?”
She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks freely now.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Her voice sounds small, lost. “I went to her room, and she wasn’t there. It was like she had vanished into thin air.”
“Did you go to the police?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She gives a weak nod. “Yes, of course we did. But they found nothing either. No signs of abduction or foul play. Nothing.” She takes a shaky drag from her cigarette before stubbing it in an overflowing ashtray. “They told me she must have run away.”
“Run away? She was only five years old!”
“I know.” Her voice is a hollow echo. “But what else was there to believe? Griffin was simply gone.”
“And you never looked for her?” I demand, my anger threatening to spill over.
“Of course we did. But when months turned into a year and then years, we lost hope.”
“You just gave up,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “You just gave up on her. And on me.”
Her silence is deafening, her guilt palpable. It’s the full-on admission I didn’t want to hear but needed to. And it hits me like a freight train.
“Yes,” she says finally, her voice strangled and frail. “We gave up.”
Her words hang in the air like smog, choking the already thin atmosphere.
“But I haven’t,” I say after a long pause, “and I won’t.”
Chapter Twelve
Diana
“Goodness, you need a bath.” I wrinkle my nose as I pet Teddy’s soft head. “You know, I have a friend named Teddy. We should probably change your name.”
Sheesh. What are we going to do with a dog? Will our hotel even allow dogs? I quickly pull up the website on my phone to verify that yes, they do allow dogs. But we’ll have to pay an extra fee.
No problem. But is this hound even housebroken?
One look into his big brown eyes, though, and I know I’m going to take care of him.
“We’ll get you some food, and a collar and leash. And of course you’ll have to go to the vet and get your shots. I live downtown in a penthouse. It’s not the best place for you. Dragon will have to walk you several times a day.” Then I laugh out loud. “Or I can, since I no longer have a job.”
Teddy’s ears perk up when Dragon opens the car door and gets back into the driver’s seat.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“She’s a mess.”
I lay a hand on his arm. “We can help her, Dragon.”
“I don’t want to help her.” He stares at the steering wheel. “She wasn’t there when I needed her. So fuck her.”
“What about your dad?”
“Heart attack a couple of months ago. He’s dead.” His voice is monotonal and noncommittal.
Should I tell him I’m sorry for his loss? Except it’s not a loss, really.
“How’d she end up here?”
“Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”
“Didn’t she work when you were a kid?”
“No. I mean, she sold cosmetics.” He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his forehead. “This is all like over twenty years ago, Diana.”
“What did your dad do?”
“He was a plumber.”
“Plumbers make good money. You lived in a house, right?”
“Yeah. A small one, but it was a house with a yard.”
“Then how—”
“Like I said. Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”
I draw in a breath. “All right. The good news is that our hotel takes dogs, so Teddy here won’t be a problem. But he needs a bath really badly. And he needs some food. And water.”