24. MISSING PERSON
Donovan must have been nervous about the case building against him because, when I dragged up the steps onto the houseboat that evening, he greeted me with a hug. Or maybe he was excited about the drive-thru dinner I’d brought. Burgers and crinkle-cut fries had soaked the brown paper bag with grease, and the cardboard drink tray boasted strawberry shakes for three. I didn’t know how Maggie felt about ice cream, but I figured it was best to arrive prepared.
“You’re not in jail,” Donovan said, only barely kidding. He pulled away and I thrust the drink tray toward him.
“No jail. I convinced Grimm to call off the investigation.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Would you believe it was my exceptional interpersonal skills?”
He shook his head. “You don’t have those.”
I wagged a finger at him. “You’re right.” Grabbing the door’s lever handle, I opened it outward. Interior lights flashed into the dusky night, casting my shadow across the deck.
Inside, Maggie crouched before the console TV, pressing buttons on the VCR. She cocked her head toward my entry, then flashed a toothy smile. I’d seen this outfit before—a black and white striped crop top with black overshorts. It made her look appropriately like a mime.
She toppled a stack of VHS cassettes in her rush to stand and close the gap to me. Donovan crowded in as the zombie girl enveloped me in my second hug of the night.
“Hey, honey.” I patted her back where her pastel hair had been pulled into a braid. “Long time, no see. You thirsty?” I snagged one of the cups from the tray Donovan held and offered it to Maggie.
After squinting like she feared I might poison her, she took the cup and dropped to sit on the edge of Donovan’s bed. Peeling the lid back, she peered at the creamy, pink drink.
“Strawberry,” I explained as she dunked a finger into the shake, then pulled it out and gave a tentative lick.
“What happens if she eats something she shouldn’t?” Donovan whispered from over my shoulder.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Donnie. Maybe she explodes.”
“Not funny.”
Maggie flinched away from the ice cream dripping down her finger, then gave it a disgusted flick. A pale pink drop flew loose to splatter onto the wall. Capping the cup, she handed it back to me, then lunged for the bag I held.
Far be it from me to stand between a zombie and anything she wanted, so I readily handed the food over. Donovan, in contrast, let out a cry of dismay as Maggie dug through the drive-thru meals and helped herself to a burger, wrapper and all.Donovan and I stared as the zombie girl chowed down. I nipped the straw from her rejected shake and took a long swig.
“You mean she could eat burgers this whole time?” Donovan sounded exasperated.
“I guess it is meat,” I said.
One burger down and apparently satisfied, Maggie dropped the bag on the floor. I bent to retrieve it, then passed it to Donovan. My dinner tonight had been reduced to a strawberry shake and some fries, which would have to do because I was starving.
I walked past the cluttered kitchen counter to sit on the couch where Donovan joined me. He unwrapped his burger and started in with greedy bites, then set the open bag between us so we could take turns rummaging for fries.
The cleanliness of the houseboat had taken a downturn in my absence. It looked like a storm had blown through. Clothes piled in the narrow aisle of the floor, joined by food wrappers and receipts from the delivery meals I’d suggested Donovan order. The chaotic collection of VHS tapes had been tossed, cases separated from cassettes in a haphazard heap. The whole scene reeked of boredom, and I wondered how feasible it would be for Donovan to get a job to fill his time. After Maggie moved along, that was.
My brother must have been thinking similarly about the zombie girl’s extended stay because he asked, “What do we do if Ripley doesn’t come back? Like, what if he’s dead?”
Cheeking the fry I’d been munching, I hissed at him. “Keep it down in front of her.” I tipped my head toward Maggie, who sat cross-legged on the bed, humming while bouncing her knees up and down like a butterfly’s flapping wings.
Donovan waved his burger-holding hand in surrender. “Sorry.”
After sucking down a chaser of strawberry shake, I sighed. “I guess that means you haven’t heard anything else from Jax’s goons.”
“Nada.” Shifting onto one hip, he pulled his cell from his pocket. “Maybe you scared them off.”
I snuffled a breath. “Doubtful.”
The details of my encounter at Lazy Daze never made it to Donovan’s ears. The story of how I’d barged in there only to get cold-cocked by Superwoman, then nearly drowned in my own fluids didn’t bear repeating. My brother had learned from enough years living with me that work—be it for Grimm or the Capitol—was my least favorite topic of discussion, and he tended to take me at my word when I assured him everything was peachy.
In this case, keeping him in the dark about the trio of rogue Hex members gunning for his newly acquired tattoo was a judgment call. I could protect him far better than he could defend himself and, as long as I was keeping the threat at bay, why worry him with it?
“But if he is…” Donovan glanced cautiously at Maggie, ensuring she had tuned out of our discussion. “If he’s dead, what do we do with her?”
“He’s not dead.” I was surprised by how readily I said it. Hadn’t I invaded Grimm’s office this afternoon with the same concern?
Donovan wadded his empty burger wrapper and asked past a full mouth, “How do you know?”
Setting the shake cup on the floor beside my feet, I held out my hand. “Gimme your phone.”
His nose scrunched, but he gave it over. I clicked into the messages and opened the thread presumably started by Jette and York. The last update was twelve days ago. I grimaced. If Ripley was alive in the care of those unhinged bastards, I doubted they were treating him well.
The last message had set up our clash at Lazy Daze. Their terms. Time to see if they would accept mine.
Ready to negotiate. I typed. Need proof of life.
“Negotiate what?” Donovan peered around me at the screen. “What do they want?”
I set the phone on my thigh and scooped a handful of fries from the bottom of the drive-thru bag, feeding them into my mouth one at a time.
The response as a buzz against my leg followed by a hyperlink added to the message chain. I tapped it, and an internet browser window opened to a grayscale video feed .
It came from some kind of security camera, showing a cramped closet of a room. There were no windows in sight, making the only thing of interest a scraggly figure knelt on the floor with his hands bound and his head tipped impossibly far back. I thought his neck was broken until I saw that it was fixed in place by a piece of metal stretching from his chest to his chin. Despite the colorless display, I could tell he was bleeding. His throat was stained with a long dark smear, possibly punctured by the unyielding device.
“What the hell is that?” Donovan asked.
The half a shake I’d guzzled lurched into my throat, laced with bile that burned coming up and going back down as I swallowed. Despite Donovan’s audible concern, my glance at Maggie found her blissfully ignorant.
I clicked out of the video feed and set the phone screen-side down on my leg. Twelve days, they’d had him like that. I rubbed my hands across my face.
“Fitch, was that Rip?” Donovan pressed against my back as he leaned in closer.
Scooping the cell into one hand, I pushed off the couch and stood. My stomach was roiling, and rage threatened to suck me in like a riptide.
“Let me fucking think, okay?” I snapped. My first step knocked over the Styrofoam shake cup, dumping its contents onto the linoleum floor. I swore and stomped it under my heel. Strawberry shake shot out in a burst.
Maggie perked up and trilled a sound in the back of her throat.
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine,” I told her, then motioned to my brother. “Donnie, turn on a movie or something.”
Abandoning the ice cream mess and the two other people in the room, I stormed toward the door. I burst out onto the deck with Donovan’s phone gripped tightly in my hand. Opening the text thread again, I fired off another message.
Good enough. Want to meet?
Bubbles bounced across the bottom of the text field while I nibbled on my lip ring.
A minute later, the reply buzzed through.
both of you this time
Fine hairs prickled down my spine as I nodded my way through a one-word response.
Where?
The door opened, and Donovan stomped across the wood deck. “They’re torturing him,” He came around from behind me to insert himself in my field of view. “Why? Who’s doing this?”
Cool air whipped off the ocean, bringing salt and mist to dampen my measured breaths. “Donnie, I have this under control—”
“We have to tell Grimm!” he shouted.
I scowled at him, my body strung tight with stress and fear and a dozen other feelings I couldn’t explain. Of course, he believed our gang leader would help—the man Donovan claimed was his father. Some therapy-worthy issues right there.
But the moment I was ready to shout back at him, awareness stole the words out of my mouth. I’d done the same damn thing after the meeting at Lock n’ Roll and a half-dozen times before. Every time I panicked, I went straight to Grimm, practically on my knees, begging. And every time I left, I felt more abandoned.
“Grimm doesn’t care,” I said, sounding hollow. “He’s ready to write us all off.”
I wondered if it struck Donovan with the same weight it hit me. If I’d accepted it, and I thought I had, why did it frighten me so much?
My brother crossed his arms, then fired back a sharp retort. “Well, whose fault is that?”
Stunned, I squawked a reply. “Excuse me?”
“You tried to kill him, Fitch!” Donovan exclaimed. “Did you even apologize?”
“Apologize?” I swayed back. “Fuck, no. He lied to me. Killed five people he told me we would protect—”
“And then you threatened his life,” Donovan said. “And embarrassed him in front of everyone. Now he can’t trust you anymore.”
If my brother thought that was bad, he should have seen the shit I pulled today.
But did Donovan think it was bad? Because it sounded more like something he’d heard and less something he believed. A sort of repetition I’d heard before at Lock n’ Roll when he confessed that he was working with Grimm and against me.
“Have you been talking to him?” I asked. “Again?”
I had his phone already. Did I dare look to see what communication had been going on behind my back? I’d wanted to cut him off from the gang; did I need to take his cell and car keys, too?
Donovan threw up his hands. “What else am I supposed to do sitting around here all day?” he asked, making the scarcest effort to keep his voice down so the neighbors wouldn’t hear. “One of us needs to try to keep peace until you change your mind about this dumb boat.”
“Dumb boat?” Aggravation escaped me in a huff. “You just aren’t gonna let that go, are you?”
Rather than answer, he carried on. “At least Grimm listens to me. You don’t even bother to come home half the time.”
Remembering the way he’d sounded on the phone earlier, asking when I would be back, drummed up a fresh round of guilt. He’d been complaining about my absence since I started working for the Capitol. Even told me once he thought I was punishing him for joining the gang. I didn’t mean to.
“I’ve been busy,” I muttered.
I needed a smoke.
My brother’s anger didn’t pause for my nicotine craving. He launched into a string of questions while I fumbled the cigarette pack out of my pocket.
“Busy with what?” he asked. “Birthday parties? Sleepovers with Nash? Your stupid job?”
I pointed at him with my cigarette-bearing hand, juggling his phone and my lighter in the other.
“How about trying not to let the fucking world fall apart?” I snapped. “And keeping your ass alive because the dicks who have Ripley want you, too.” Waving the cell provided unnecessary emphasis. “They want you dead, Donnie, and as far as I see it, I’m the only thing standing in the way of that. Grimm sure as hell isn’t. ”
Trying to manage the lighter and the phone tested my limited patience. I checked the cell for new messages and found none before tucking it into my pocket and firing up the cig. It would take more than a few drags to smooth my frayed nerves, but it was a start.
Donovan’s dark brows knit together, and his lips pursed. “You don’t know that.”
“Don’t know it?” Smoke billowed out with my laughter. “I’m living it. I’m drowning in shit you can’t possibly understand—”
“Because you never talk to me!” He balled his fists on his hips, affecting a stiff posture and taking on a mocking voice meant to sound like mine. “Everything’s fine, Donnie. I’ve got it, Donnie. Don’t worry, Donnie,” he whined. “It sounds like I should be fucking worried! If you need help, tell me. We’re brothers. We should work together. Be a team.”
Before he finished speaking, I was already shaking my head. I wished I could shake him instead. Clearly, coddling him had gotten me nowhere good. It was time for a change of tactic.
“And how do you think that would go, huh?” I asked. “You don’t have any magic. You’re powerless. Defenseless.” I stabbed a finger into my chest so hard it hurt. “It’s my job to protect you.”
His features pinched, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret the harsh words. “Well, you’re fired,” he replied. “So, you can stop being my goddamned savior and just be my brother for a change.”
The phone vibrated against my thigh.
I raised my hand in a signal for a timeout. Donovan rolled his eyes and turned away, walking to the metal rail that bordered the deck and leaning over it with his back to me.
Slipping the cell out of my pocket, I squinted at the screen. An address populated the incoming text field along with a time.
tomorrow 10pm both come or he dies
I wasn’t sure who they thought they were fooling. Ripley was slated for death whether we showed up for the meet and greet or not. As far as what I had to negotiate, I was glad they hadn’t asked because the only thing they wanted from me was my life, and I wasn’t ready to give that up yet.
Despite his attempt to appear disinterested, I caught Donovan watching me over his shoulder. I flashed the cell at him.
“I’m keeping your damn phone.”
He huffed loudly, then stalked off toward the houseboat’s cabin. He went inside and slammed the door.
The cell screen’s blue-white light was glaringly bright as I looked at the message thread once more. I had agreed to another meeting with the bunch of jokers who thrashed then nearly drowned me, and who would doubtless attempt the same again. Saving Ripley from a similar end and sparing Donovan the Capitol’s scrutiny—it was too much to hope Grimm’s ceasefire would be enough to put the bloodhounds off the trail—was a monumental task for me alone.
My brother was right about one thing: I needed help. But not his.