Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LEON
The golden light of late afternoon filters through the trees as I sit on a park bench, watching Bailey across the meadow. She’s walking around the small pond, smiling at a family of ducks gliding across the water. She looks so damn peaceful it makes my chest ache.
It’s been six months since we found her at Alfred’s estate.
Almost five months of watching her slowly, carefully piece herself back together back at home.
Some days are harder than others. The nightmares still come, but they’re less frequent now.
She still flinches at unexpected sounds, still needs space when the memories slip into her conscious mind. But she’s healing.
It’s a beautiful sight, watching her heal.
My sketchpad rests against my knee, the pencil between my fingers moving almost unconsciously as I capture the way the light catches in her hair.
It’s grown past her shoulders again. She’s put on weight, healthy weight and muscle.
Her eyes are bright and cheeks full again.
She looks more like herself each day, though I know she’ll never be exactly who she was before.
None of us will. There’s no erasing who we are now.
The leaves are just beginning to turn at the edges, hints of gold and amber that show autumn is here. It feels fitting, going into this season of change. We’re all changing, adapting, learning how to be together again in this new reality. Living with the consequences of our actions.
I check my phone. She should be here any minute now. My heart hammers against my ribs. I haven’t been this nervous in I can’t say how long.
“You alright?”
Bailey’s voice draws me back to the present. She’s walking toward me, eyebrows raised. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. What’s going on?”
Before I can answer, a figure emerges from behind a cluster of oak trees near the parking area. Recognition hits Bailey like a punch and she staggers back a step, her hand flying to her chest.
“Cat?”
The young woman approaches slowly, her dark hair falling to her shoulders, her body and face almost as gaunt as Bailey’s was when we found her.
She’s wearing jeans and a simple blue sweater, and although she’s thin and weathered, she looks remarkably good for someone who’s gone through what she has.
“Hey, New Girl,” Cat says, her voice soft but strong.
Bailey doesn’t speak. Can’t speak, it seems. Tears stream down her cheeks as she covers her mouth with both hands.
For a moment, I think she might collapse, but then she’s running.
Cat runs too, and they collide in the middle of the meadow, holding each other like they’re afraid the other will disappear.
I stay on my bench, giving them space, but my pencil never stops moving. This moment needs to be captured. The way they cling to each other, the raw emotion on both their faces, the pure joy of being reunited. My chest tightens as I watch them.
After a long embrace, they pull apart enough to look at each other, hands still gripping each other’s arms.
“How?” Bailey says. “How did you get out? Where have you been?”
Cat wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s a long story. And your man,” she glances over at me, “he found me about a month ago. Been trying to convince me to see you.”
Bailey turns to look at me, her eyes wide with questions and gratitude. “You found her?”
“I had some help,” I say, trying to downplay the weeks of searching, the dead ends, the sleepless nights spent following every possible lead. “Falin and a private investigator.”
They walk toward me hand in hand. Bailey has this look on her face like she can’t believe Cat is real, that if she lets go of her hand she could vanish into thin air.
I scoot down for them to sit beside me, but they choose to sit in the grass in front of the bench, Bailey with her feet tucked under her and Cat with her legs crossed.
“Things got really weird after you left,” Cat starts as she picks the grass between them.
“They moved us around constantly… Sometimes different places every day. Houses, motels, offices... a few nights we even slept in the vans. King’s guys were paranoid, always talking about raids, about people disappearing.
It was just me and Lydia by then. One morning we woke up in some sketchy motel and realized we were completely alone. No guards, no handlers. Nothing.”
Cat looks up at Bailey. “So I ran. Found my way to my abuela’s house, got my little brother, and we moved to the Oregon coast. Been there ever since.”
“Oregon?” Bailey’s voice is full of wonder. “I can’t believe... God, Cat, I thought about you every day. Worried about you, about everyone...” She grabs Cat’s hand again. “What about Jasmine?”
“Still missing,” Cat answers, barely able to meet Bailey’s eyes. “I’m saving up for a private investigator… It’s just hard with money.”
I make a mental note to set aside a large sum for her. From what I’ve learned of Cat, she won’t want to accept it, but I’ll find a way.
They talk for the next two hours. Cat tells Bailey about finding her grandmother, about the relief of being back with family, about slowly learning to feel safe again on the quiet Oregon coast. She talks about helping raise her little brother, about getting her GED, about the job she has at a local restaurant.
I finish one drawing and start on another—capturing their expressions as they laugh, as they shed tears, as they hold space for the people they lost. It’s sad and beautiful all at the same time.
Bailey tells Cat about the testimony and Cat looks at her with awe. She explains why she decided to skip speaking with law enforcement. I can’t say I blame her… not with all the corruption we uncovered.
Finally as the sun dips lower, coloring the puffy clouds in hues of pink and orange, Cat stands and brushes grass off her jeans.
“I should probably get back to my hotel. I have an early flight tomorrow.”
“Wait,” Bailey scrambles to her feet. “You can’t leave already. We just—”
“I know,” she says. “I’d stay longer if I could, but I gotta get back to the kid.” There’s a smile on her face that tells me she’s more than happy to have that excuse.
They hug, and we walk Cat to her rental car. “Promise me you’ll call,” Bailey says.
“I promise.” Cat turns to me, holding her hand out to shake. “Thanks for taking care of my girl. You’ve got a real one.”
Our handshake is firm and Cat gives me a look that says hurt her and you’ll answer to me. “Don’t I know it,” I respond.
“And thanks for finding me. For finding us.”
She gets into her car, starting the engine. We step away, but at the last minute she rolls down the window. “Hey, if you hear anything about the others, let me know.” I watch her chew her lip for a second before she adds, “Even Elise.”
Bailey smiles and nods—I’m sure she understands exactly what Cat’s talking about.
As Cat’s taillights disappear down the road, I run my hand through my hair. “Shit, I should have told her about Firefly.”
“No,” Bailey says, slipping her hand into mine. “I don’t think Cat would go. That’s not her. She does things on her own, in her own time. I can’t believe you found her. I can’t believe she’s alive and free and...”
“She’s a survivor,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like someone else I know.”
Bailey steps closer to me, close enough that I can smell her shampoo and count the freckles on her nose. “I don’t know how to thank you enough. Seeing Cat again. That meant everything to me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, love.”
She spots my sketchbook, slung under my arm and gestures for it. “Can I?”
I haven’t shared many of my drawings with Bailey, or with anyone really, but I flip to the page that shows the moment her and Cat first saw each other. The shock on her face, the way Cat’s whole body sagged in relief.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes widen as she takes in the details. “This is incredible.”
She flips through, her expression more and more in awe as she takes in my work. I’ve captured every detail from the day. Pure joy. Pure gratitude. Pure hope.
She hands it back to me and wraps her arms around my chest. “I love you so much.”
Hearing those words is like a soothing balm. I know she does and it’s not the first time she’s said it, not even close, but each time hits deeper than the last. Like she means it more, like there’s less fear behind it.
“I love you too,” I murmur into her hair. “More than you know.”
As we walk back to my bike, Bailey leans against my side, and I can tell her steps are lighter, more hopeful.
This reconnection with Cat gave her something she didn’t even know she needed—proof that healing is possible, that they both survived, that the connections they made in that hell could still exist in freedom.
“I wish it could have been different for Polly,” she whispers as I hand her the helmet I had fitted for her. “Sometimes I close my eyes and picture her walking through my front door, smiling. She’ll drop a note on my table and leave the way she came.”
“Was that something she did?” I ask, wanting to know more without prying too deep. “The notes, I mean.”
She nods and slides the helmet on. “Always. Little words of encouragement. Sometimes silly drawings. She made everything less heavy… I think she’s the only reason I survived there so long without changing who I am.”
I start the bike and feel her arms wrap around my waist. As we pull out of the parking lot, I think about the drawings in my sketchbook, about Polly’s notes, about Cat calling Bailey “New Girl” like no time had passed at all.
Some connections survive everything. Distance, trauma, even death.
They leave marks that don’t fade, impressions that stay with us long after the person who made them is gone.
Today proved that. Hell, the past two years of our lives proved it even more.
No matter where we are… through the fires of hell and back, I know the people I love, the ones who love me too, that those connections are stronger than iron. Those bonds are everything.
Bailey’s grip tightens around me as we hit the main road. A gesture of trust. To anyone else it may not seem like much, but to me, the simple gesture that she trusts me with her life carries all the weight in the world. She’s choosing to hold on. To me, to this moment, to whatever comes next.
My sketchbook is full of memories, most of them burned into my mind long before I committed them to paper.
Bailey’s face when she hugged her parents for the first time.
Her expression when she took her first real bite of chocolate after over a year of barely eating.
The way she smiled listening to Jasper tell one of his ridiculous stories.
It all has one common theme—hope. Unguarded and real. That’s what I’ll carry forward into the future. Not the nightmares or the guilt, not the fire we walked through to get back to each other. Just Bailey believing that maybe we can all survive anything.
And maybe we can.