Chapter Thirty
Caius
I know I look like a fool carrying a doll, but it’s evidence. It’s hers . This is the closest I’ve been to her in twelve years. I’m so close I can taste it.
Once back outside, my phone buzzes. I expect it to be S, but it’s Romy instead. I’ve missed a call from her as well while inside the restaurant inspecting the doll.
Romy: Come back. Help me. Theo drugged me.
I read the message several times. Her text doesn’t make any sense. I’d left both her and Kaitlyn asleep. Theo wasn’t there.
How long have I been running around seeking answers, though? A lot could’ve happened.
Whatever it is, I need to get back. I try ringing her, but she doesn’t answer.
Me: What do you mean he drugged you? Explain.
The message remains unread, which has dread pooling in my stomach. I try to call my brother, but he doesn’t answer either. What had been a brisk pace is now a jog as I head back toward the hotel. The second I get a chance to change shoes, I’m putting something a little more comfortable on. Running around the city wasn’t in my original plan when I left early this morning.
I pull up the tracker app I have on Romy and see that she’s still at the hotel. It gives me peace of mind that I’ll be able to solve her mysterious text soon. Just as I’m about to put my phone in my pocket to focus on not slamming into someone, I see the dot begin to move.
She’s leaving.
What the hell?
Is Theo taking her somewhere?
I take off in a full-on sprint, ignoring my blisters that are probably bleeding at this point. Wherever he’s taking her, I’ll find them. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t have time for this shit. Not when I am hot on Calista’s trail.
Her movement isn’t quick like in a car. She seems to be walking somewhere. Maybe she was just feeling off from our endless night of fucking. Theo probably did show up and the three of them are off to have a late breakfast. He most likely got past her grumpiness by offering to get her that pumpkin-flavored shit she drinks.
That’s it.
They’re just going to breakfast.
Even though my brain is trying to assure me, my chest feels tight. Something’s wrong. Deep down, I don’t believe that’s what’s happening at all.
I see her dot move on the app, taking her past a diner that would’ve sufficed for a breakfast stop. She also goes past a coffee shop. Wherever she’s going, she’s in a hurry.
Then I see her go into a pawn shop.
Why would Romy need to go to a pawn shop?
I nearly stumble once my brain unravels the most likely reason. The engagement ring. She’s pawning it. Why?
Cash, dumbass.
Was the text about Theo a ruse to trick me?
Did she assume I’d rush back to the hotel to check on her, only to find an empty hotel room? By then, she would’ve pawned the ring and been out of town in no time flat.
Unbelievable.
Last night, she had me convinced. There was something deep within us both connecting us. And she could just sever it like it was nothing?
That can’t be right.
But she’s at a pawn shop.
The hotel is in sight, and even though I want to rush up there, I ignore that need, going toward the pawn shop instead.
Once I reach the pawn shop, I’m panting heavily, but thankful to see the dot is still there. I nearly crash into an abandoned grocery cart filled with random crap some homeless person left. With a curse of frustration, I sidestep it and then fling open the pawn shop door.
Where is she?
I look for her blond hair and lithe frame.
Nothing.
What the hell?
A man in many mismatched layers of holey clothes and who reeks of body odor eyes me warily. I narrow my eyes, zeroing in on the phone sitting on the glass countertop between him and the pawnshop worker.
It’s Romy’s.
“Where did you get that?” I demand, stalking over to him. “Answer me, dammit.”
The man holds up two filthy, glove-covered palms. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man. This shit is mine.”
Right.
“You mugged my fiancée?” I hiss, shoving him backward. “Where is she? What did you do to her?”
“I found it,” the man counters back. “Didn’t touch no bitch for it either.”
I snatch the phone off the counter, ignoring the protests of the homeless man, and take off back out the shop door.
Please be at the hotel, love.
My mind races the whole way back. I don’t bother trying to call her since I have her phone, but I do blow up both my brother’s and dad’s phones, to no avail.
Finally, I reach our suite and burst inside. The television is on and Kaitlyn’s toys are strewn about, but she’s not there. My stomach twists. After a quick check in her room and bathroom, I determine she’s not in any of those places. Lastly, I check my room.
Nothing.
The girls are gone.
Theo isn’t here.
What the fuck is happening?
There’s evidence that someone has been here, presumably Theo. On either side of the bed there are empty coffee cups. Beside his is a used syringe.
She was right.
He did drug her.
My mind unravels to a dark, terrible place where Theo hurts her the same way Gareth did. The rage that consumes me is almost unbearable. I get lost in a fantasy of hurting my baby brother.
“You. Don’t. Get. To. Touch. Her.”
Each word is punctuated by my fist in his face. Over and over and over again. My once-handsome little brother’s face is beat to a pulp at my hand. I turn the smooth, youthful skin into a bloody, meaty mess.
I want to kill him.
I want to take him from this earth. Away from her.
After beating him within inches of his life, I drag him away, away, away from the crying shivering girl who belongs to me. He grunts as I manhandle him out of the hotel room and down to the stairwell.
“Don’t,” he begs.
He had no mercy for her as he took what belonged to me.
Ignoring him, I huff as I haul him into a standing position. Then, after spitting on him, I shove him over the railing. His scream is cut short when he slams to the concrete a floor below.
Dead.
He’s fucking dead now.
I snap out of my fantasy and root myself in reality. My brother is very much alive. Until I know what the fuck happened, I can’t just kill him. There’ll be plenty of time afterward if I find him responsible for hurting her.
Scanning the room, I look for more clues. There’s a journal that’s been left on my side of the bed with pictures scattered all about. I quickly peruse the items and determine that they belong to Vivienne.
Why is Vivienne’s journal here?
Is that what Romy was meeting Eva about?
The pictures are of a young child. I pick up one and stare at it.
Everything inside me turns to ice.
I’m frozen like a statue.
How many seconds or minutes or hours pass as I peek into this piece of history?
“More.”
I’m assaulted with more horrible things I’m forced to see. Why does he do this to me? Why does he force me to look at these bloody, gory things? It’s driving me to insanity. He keeps saying it’ll fix me.
I’m breaking.
He’s breaking my mind.
I know I’m sobbing and I know he hears me. He doesn’t care. He never does. The more I plead, the worse it all gets.
Someone screams in agony as though their soul is being ripped from their body. It takes a few second to realize the screamer is me.
How many brutal killings will I be forced to watch on this wicked slideshow in front of me? Torture, murder, rape, bestiality. The most awful things in this world have been culled into a movie meant just for me.
I can’t escape it.
Why does he do this to me?
Sometimes I wish my mind would actually shatter like he wants it to. Every time I think it will, though, a sliver of reality shines its way through. A memory of Mom or Dad. The way the grass used to feel on my bare feet in the field behind our house. Scents of something sweet as Mom made homemade cinnamon rolls. The sound of Dad’s deep, rumbling laughter that was contagious for everyone.
I miss them.
God, I miss them.
Someone curses and then lights come on, blinding me. The scenes being shown to me are shut off. Silence fills the room. All I can hear is the blood rushing to my ears. He comes to stand in front of me and then strikes me with such force I taste blood.
“What are you doing? How are you doing that?” he demands, fury dripping from his words. “Tell me, you stupid piece of shit.”
I’m used to his bouts of rage.
It means I’m winning.
I grin at him, blood no doubt covering my teeth. “Like I’ll ever tell you.”
This infuriates him. He hits me again, this time, the action making me dizzy. I know he’s experimenting on me. He’s trying to force me to think bad things, but I always remember good things. It ruins it every time.
“You’re such a disappointment,” he snarls. “I am doing good work here, unlocking secret parts of the human psyche, and you’re doing your damnedest to stop me. Perhaps you should spend some time alone to think about your actions.”
He thinks being put in solitary confinement is hurtful. To me, it’s a rest from his torture. I cry so he’ll think I don’t want that when it’s what I desperately need right now. At least then, I can be alone with memories of my parents.
My phone buzzes, jarring me from the past. I hate how my teeth chatter as the fear haunts me like an icy, arctic blast. I’m dizzied, but I snap out of it, realizing Dad is calling.
“Hello?” My voice is hoarse and barely audible.
“Hello, Son,” Dad says in a pleasant tone. “Busy morning?”
I clear my throat, forcing myself to sound more normal. “You could say that. Theo with you?”
“Why don’t you come over and we’ll have a little chat?”
Anger bubbles up inside of me. There were many times I wanted to kill Dad in the beginning after he adopted me. The mind games were never ending. I played him, letting him think I was his perfect, dutiful son, but his expert ability to fuck with my mind never waned.
“Where are you?” I ask, kicking off my stupid loafers so I can change into something more comfortable.
Dad chuckles, the sound dark and ominous. “At your future father-in-law’s. We’re waiting.”
I pull on a new pair of shoes and stuff the picture I’d found into my jacket pocket. “I’ll be there soon.”
I’m not sure what to expect with this meeting, but I know what I’ll demand.
Answers.
No more games.
No more lies.
No more mindfuckery.
Just answers.
I’ll get those answers even if I have to beat the truth out of them.