Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
LEON - PRESENT DAY
Being back in London feels exactly how I thought it would—like a heaviness settled on top of my chest and won’t let up.
My body felt the shift before I stepped foot off the plane.
I guess it’s true what they say about muscle memory.
The irony of this being where Bailey is, isn’t lost on me.
My personal hell becoming hers. It’ll only fuel me to find her as fast as possible.
My feet pound against the gleaming tiles of Heathrow as I search for a restroom before picking up my luggage and hailing a cab to Mum’s.
Travelers weave through the crowd. Business people dressed in smart suits clutching briefcases, exhausted families pushing trolleys piled with luggage, tourists meandering around shops selling overpriced shirts and tacky souvenirs.
The familiar London bustle, indifferent and relentless.
Someone knocks into my shoulder, almost pulling my carry-on backpack off, without an apology or even a backward glance.
That’s when I notice a man pulling a young woman along, his fingers wrapped around her arm like a vise.
I keep my eyes on them. There’s something about her gait that seems off.
He proceeds to knock into a tourist in his hurry, yanking the poor thing’s arm hard enough for me to notice from several feet away. Is she... pulling back? Resisting?
I don’t think on it for another second before I follow them.
My jaw clenches as the details around me seem to blur into blackness, a one-way tunnel leading me straight to them. The noisy airport fading to no more than a hum in my ears.
They stop in front of the restrooms and I linger around the corner, straining to listen.
“You have two minutes to do your business,” he says, grasping her shoulders with enough pressure to make her recoil. “Do you understand me?”
She speaks so low, I can’t hear her words, but I can tell by the pleading look in her eyes that she’s scared. She can’t be more than twenty—pale and thin with hollow eyes, wearing loose clothes.
My fists clench and it takes every ounce of resolve I possess to not intervene immediately.
Instead, I watch as she walks into the women’s restroom, and the man, who looks to be older than me, dressed in jeans and a jacket, carrying only a small overnight bag, positions himself against the wall, checking his phone with jerky fingers.
Beside me, an older woman stops to fiddle in her purse and I see my opportunity. I tap her on the shoulder. Her kind eyes greet me as she asks, “Can I help you, dear?”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I whisper, leaning close to her, “but I’m concerned about a young woman who just went into the ladies room.
She seems to be in trouble. Would you mind checking on her?
” I give her a description of the girl, adding, “If she seems frightened, could you ask if she needs help?”
The woman’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding and her eyes dart briefly to the man by the restroom door. She nods firmly. “No problem at all, love. I was heading in there anyway.”
As she walks away, I sigh in relief.
Now to take care of him.
With my head lowered, I purposely bump into him, knocking his phone from his grasp. “Watch it,” he growls, bending to pick it up, but I’m faster. I snatch it while keeping my flustered appearance, and catch a glimpse of an open message thread where he shared photos of that young woman.
I steal a glance at him as I head toward the nearest maintenance corridor, opening the settings to disable Face ID. “Hey!” he yells. “Get back here!”
Come on. Take the bait.
With an agitated look at the women’s loo, he huffs and takes off after me.
That’s right, follow me.
In any other situation, I’d have been able to disable security cameras and unlock doors, but they’ve increased security measures ten-fold since I started learning the tricks of my trade.
This leaves me with few choices.
I spot a security officer ahead, and make my way toward him, my breath coming in quick pants. I slip the phone into my pocket so I can analyze it better later. Could be a lead… imagine the coincidence.
“Sir,” I manage, before the guy catches up, forcing fear into my tone. “That man right there.” I gesture toward him. “He left a bag near the restroom. I thought I heard it buzzing, and he seems off. He was dragging a young woman around. I think she might be in trouble.”
The officer’s eyes widen, and he calls for backup, barely giving me a nod before he takes off after him. Within seconds, two more officers appear from different directions.
I duck into a crowded souvenir shop, and watch the man’s takedown unfold from a distance. Three officers surround him, one with his hand on his holster. The man glowers as they escort him away from the public area, most likely to an interrogation room.
My plan may not pan out, but hopefully it gives the woman enough time to get help. And I’ve got his phone. Who knows what kind of nuggets I’ll find in it.
For now, I blend into the crowd as I head to baggage claim.
Just another traveler in a sea of people.
The heaviness in my chest feels slightly lighter as I picture that man’s face the moment he knew he was caught.
And if I’m wrong about him, so be it. But I have a strong feeling my instinct is spot on.
Once I pick up my luggage, I find a spot outside and lean against the wall, waiting for my rideshare to arrive. I’d love to start digging into that guy’s phone, but there’s not much I can do right now without my equipment set up. It’ll have to wait.
Instead, I finally switch my phone off airplane mode and smile as I’m greeted by a long line of messages in the group chat.
Jasper: Miss you buddy. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your bike.
I shake my head and scroll down.
Damon: Should I hide the keys? Text when you land.
Jasper: I’m hurt… also can’t hide what you can’t find.
Falin: I have the keys and no, I’m not giving them to either of you. Lee, Havoc and Mayhem say hi xoxo
Blake: Be safe… miss you already!
I laugh under my breath. I miss those hellions too. All of them.
Me: I landed safely, am heading to my mum’s now.
Notifications light up my screen but I swipe them away.
After the long flight and the time change, not to mention the anxiety of being back, I don’t have it in me to yammer on.
Instead, I pull up the thread I’ve looked up everyday for the past year and a half.
My insides twist when I read the last message Bailey sent.
If only I’d answered her. Met her there. Done something.
Firefly: Grabbing a drink with Layne… wish me luck!
I’ve texted her everyday since. Multiple times on most days. Until the number no longer worked and then I moved the messages into a notes file.
Her last tracked location was a nightclub called Heat. We did everything but strip the place to the studs after she was taken. The police interviewed every possible witness, and of course we followed up with the same people too. Her roommate, her friends, random strangers that mentioned seeing her.
Nothing but dead ends.
Eighteen months of them, day after day, knowing she’s out there somewhere suffering, and I was the last person she contacted. Me. And I couldn’t even tell my best friends. That secret eats me up inside.
I switch my phone off before I chuck the thing out the window.
Familiar buildings and sights blur past as we head into Mum’s neighborhood, toward the same home I grew up in, the home I haven’t been back to in over three years.
I can still remember the day I decided to leave like it was yesterday.
I’d just gotten back from the weekend away with my father.
The weekend that changed it all. I grip the strap of my carry-on so tightly my knuckles turn white before grabbing my sketchbook and pencil to give myself something to channel the rage.
The charcoal glides its familiar path—the curve of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the arch of her lips. I’m in awe every time I draw Bailey from memory. My mind remembers her features perfectly, even after all this time.
Of course I would. She’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
Before I know it, we’ve reached the house.
I grab my belongings, tip the driver—something I’ve grown accustomed to from living in the US—and slowly make my way past parked cars and the small patch of grass where a few daffodil bulbs push their way through the moist earth.
The narrow brick row house stands shoulder to shoulder with the others along the street like dominoes, all in exactly the same state of disrepair.
It’s sad to see how the red brick has faded and chipped from years of rain and neglect.
My luggage wheel catches on the concrete step leading to the front door. Once I dislodge it, I stand there for a moment, staring at the tarnished brass knocker.
As I lift my hand to knock, the door swings open with a creak from the same old rusty hinge. “My baby is home!”
Mum launches herself at me, not paying any mind to the many bags in my hands.
I laugh and gently drop what I can, wrapping my arms around her small frame.
Her hug is warm, her scent exactly like I remember.
Floral mixed with something menthol from the cream she rubs on her arthritic joints.
I close my eyes and let myself get lost for a moment, forgetting the real reason why I’m home.
Mum pulls back and stands on her tiptoes to hold my face between her palms like I’m still a child.
“Let me look at you! America’s been good to you—you’ve filled out.
Grew a few inches?” Her honey brown eyes search my face and she tsks.
“You look tired, love. The flight was terrible, wasn’t it?
All the ladies at work talk about how much air travel’s changed nowadays. So expensive, so dull.”