Chapter 52
Justin
I don’t worry about waking the neighbors and drive down the gravel path as fast as possible, stopping just outside Summer’s camper. The four of us jump out, Pete getting to the door first. It’s locked but he fumbles for the key her mother gave him and slides it into the lock.
“Hurry the fuck up, man,” Whit barks, uncharacteristically rattled.
The lock releases and he pushes open the door, stepping inside without hesitation. I follow him in—leaving the others outside. It’s too tight for all us in here at once.
“She’s not here?” he says, looking into the tiny bathroom and two bedrooms.
“There’s her bag.” I point to the seat by the table. She’d carried it that night. A copy of her mother’s book was on the kitchen table.
“Find anything?” Nick asks, leaning his head inside.
“No.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Pete mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face.
My phone buzzes. Summer’s name and beautiful face lights up the screen. Relief washes over my body. “It’s her. Hello?”
Pete picks up the book and opens the cover. From my spot by the tiny kitchen I see handwriting scrawled on the inside. I’d seen a hundred of these tonight—Julia’s notes of thanks to her fans.
“Hello?” I say again, the relief turning into confusion. “Summer?”
I hear nothing. Just a rattle and whisper. Like when you get a butt dial.
“What is it?” Nick asks, forehead creased with concern.
“Summer, it’s Justin.”
I only hear faint voices—nothing concrete. Then nothing, although the call is still live. “She’s not there, but there’s something…a sound I can’t quite make out.” I press speaker and hold it up. Nick squeezes into the tiny space. Whit’s body fills the doorway. Peter frowns at the book.
“Is that…water?” Nick asks.
“Not the ocean. It’s not loud enough.”
I shake my head. My heart leaps. “No. The waterway.”
Pete holds up the book and points to the inscription, in Julia’s handwriting it says, “To Avery, my number one fan.”
The four of us look at one another, realization dawning clear as the sun over the Atlantic.
“He took her,” Whit says. “That little bastard took her.”
Pete looks around the room. “And left those notes and flowers. I’ve seen him around here. I thought it was weird but I know he has family here…I mean, who doesn’t?”
I nod, knowing this sounds familiar. Or seems to be. I glance at the phone again; the call is still running. The lapping waves sound the same. “We need to get to the waterway,” I announce. “Someone call the police.”
Nick nods and holds the phone to his ear and the four of us leave the tiny camper, racing to the waterway, hoping against hope she’s still down there. In my heart I know it’s a long shot. I haven’t heard her voice in minutes, just the never-ending sound of waves beating on the sand.