Jack
Nine days earlier.
“He fucking what?” Dan, Hana’s father, responded after I explained the situation. He sounded fucking furious.
“Kidnapped her, Dan. I’m on the way to the police station now with his ex-girlfriend who is willing to corroborate our story. Emily is meeting me there as well,” I explained further.
“I’m on my way too,” he replied, his southern accent almost humorously different from my British one.
I looked over at Jackie as she stared out the window, still visibly shaking.
“I’ll see you there.” I hung up and put my hand to Jackie’s shoulder. I needed to be kind to her, especially after all she had been through. Plus, I needed her help to put Michael in fucking jail.
“You alright?” I asked quietly as she gazed over at me, seemingly no light in her eyes.
She shook her head no. “I will never be alright.” She turned to look out the window again.
I almost rolled my eyes at her dramatic response, but I knew I must have sounded the same way when I thought I would never get Hana back. I knew what it was like to get your heart broken, to have no hope. However, I didn’t know what it was like to be tied up and have my skin carved into.
We pulled up to the police station, and I nearly ran in. I demanded to speak to the same officer I spoke to before—he knew the history of my wife being taken. I had gone into the station when we got back into the city from Greenwich, explaining that I had misunderstood the situation. I only hoped they would take me seriously again, but I was confident bringing in others to corroborate would make it even more urgent.
I explained in great detail what had happened when I answered the door for Jackie. I explained Hana’s learning of Michael’s past from Jackie. Jackie was taken into a private room to speak to another officer, giving her all the horrid details of her and Michael’s past.
“Has anyone found my fucking cousin?” I heard yelling from the front of the station and immediately knew it was Emily—the woman had no filter.
I stood, motioning her over, and she pushed past the cops with Dan right behind her. His cowboy hat, big gray-and-white beard, and cowboy boots stuck out like a sore thumb as he marched up to me, his mere presence demanding attention.
“Son, your eye looks terrible,” he said to me then turned to the officer. “Now who the fuck do I need to speak to in order to get my baby girl back?”
* * *
Three days had gone by, and nothing was happening. The police had some information, but they weren’t doing anything with it. They knew about Michael’s house in Greenwich, his apartment in Williamsburg, and apparently even his aunt and uncle’s residences as well. They found out that they had indeed taken a Yellow Cab, but it was to a public parking garage in Queens. They managed to get footage from the surveillance camera on the property. He had been driving a costly SUV, but the plates were deliberately covered. His phone was last pinged at that parking garage. And that was it.
His and Hana’s faces were plastered all over the city and surrounding states. The missing persons flyer seemed surreal as I passed by it in the subway station every day.
My heart was broken into pieces. I felt hopeless. I wanted to keep looking for Hana, but I had no idea what else to do. All I kept imagining were the horrible things that fucking monster was doing to Hana. I knew I wasn’t an angel—I knew I did terrible shit to her. It was out of passion; nothing was ever deliberate aside from planning to bring her to my loft. I was desperate for her to stay, and I did what I could to keep her. I never planned on killing anyone; I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I was surprised that she had stayed, that she didn’t fight harder, that she fell in love with me so quickly. And I knew I had issues, I knew I needed to be in fucking therapy and get through my years of trauma and addiction and anger. But Michael? He had done things to Jackie that were methodical and sinister.
And apparently he had done things to other women too.
Two other women went to the police after they saw that Michael was wanted. They told similar stories to Jackie’s and they even had the scars to prove it. It was proof that he was a psychopath.
On the seventh day without Hana, I started to believe that Michael had taken her into the woods and killed her and then himself. I could understand the notion; if he couldn’t have her, no one could. I felt the very same way.
I found myself sinking into a deep despair. Michael’s whole family had tried to reach him to no avail. They had to be gone. I didn’t want to live in a world where Hana didn’t exist. I could never go on without her. How could I ever possibly get over the loss of my one true love?
On day nine, I had my suicide planned. I had decided that if she wasn’t back to me within the next few days, I would take my gun and end it all. The pain of being without her was too much to bear. I had told Hana I would die for her. It was still true.
I had fallen asleep in my loft on the cold, hard floor after painting nearly a dozen portraits of Hana. I needed her beauty to live on in the world. Maybe Jessica could sell my paintings and be set with money for a lifetime. I wasn’t worried about leaving my sister—she was strong. She would be okay. She was always the most level-headed sibling. And my mum and brother? They’d be fine. Everyone would be just fine without me.
I woke up to the buzz of my cell phone vibrating on the floor beside me. Dread consumed me when I realized it was the police calling. They had to be calling to inform me that they had found Michael and Hana in some wooded ditch, their flesh rotting into the Earth.
I hesitantly put the phone up to my ear after I answered. My sweaty, shaking palms nearly dropped it.
“Hello?” I answered, holding my breath, feeling a hole directly in my heart.
“Jack Maynor? It’s officer Hanson. We’ve found your wife—she’s alive.”