Chapter 30
Thirty
Lane
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Brock asks, as we ride the elevator up to my apartment. Luckily, I had all my bills on autopay, so my rent, electricity, and water have been paid since I’ve been missing.
Brock had a spare key to my apartment and came over to check on the place and make sure everything was in order. He aired it out before I was discharged so my apartment wouldn’t smell stale.
I step off the elevator and make my way down to my door, feeling a sense of unease that I’m back here alone. This isn’t my home anymore. My home is where Ryell is. And until I’m back with him, I’ll be fucking drifting.
Shoving the key into the lock, I twist it and step inside, not knowing what to expect.
When I look around what used to be my home, I feel…
empty. This place is small, nothing like the sprawling expanse of Ryell’s house.
The bright colors it’s decorated in clash into my senses, nothing like the muted and monochromatic set up of Ryell’s.
Everything is the same as I left it, but I’m not.
I’m a different person, and nothing makes it more apparent than how I feel like a stranger in my own kitchen.
I drop my keys on the counter and simply stand there. Nothing is out of place, everything where I had it the last time I was here. Even my plants are still alive, Brock having been meticulous about watering them in my absence, sure I’d return.
I almost jump out of my skin when Brock’s warm palm lands on my shoulder. For a moment, I forgot he was still here. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks.
I peek into my bedroom and have to fight back a smile when I remember how Ryell came into my space and pulled the corner out from my bedsheets. Such a small thing, but even then, he knew that would get to me.
“No, I’m good.” I pull in a deep, steadying breath. “It’s just…difficult being back, you know? After I spent weeks locked away with no contact with anyone, it’s hard being able to move freely.”
When I was interviewed by SSA Fisher, I pulled some of the truth from my captivity.
I told them I was cuffed by the ankle and left alone in a room for months.
When they asked why I was abducted, I said that it had to do with a case I solved a few years back, a serial killer that had a fan base, and one of their crazed fans wanted to teach me a lesson.
Since Ryell dropped me off so far from his home, they were scouring the Hartvale area for suspects, which keeps the heat off my Daddy.
They also stopped searching for the man I left the bar with, since I told them we went our separate ways after I left that night and I was snatched before I got to my car.
I was as thorough as I could be about my time in captivity, so I think they believed me.
“Before you return to work,” Fisher said, turning off his recorder and closing his notepad, “you’ll need to have at least a month of therapy appointments with our FBI-based psychiatrists. When they clear you, you can return to the field. If you’re up for it.”
I didn’t give him a concrete answer, but I know in my heart that I don’t want to continue with field work.
I’m not sure what I want to do or when I’ll hand in my resignation, but it won’t be long.
I’m just…tired. I miss my Daddy. My melancholy only gotten worse over the last week and a half.
All I can think about is how Ryell treated me.
He was soft; he was good to me; he was the best Daddy I could ask for.
Brock nods, his eyes reflecting profound sadness. “I don’t understand, but I get it. I’m sorry you had to go through that. If you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”
He lingers for a few minutes while I make my way around my apartment, then after checking on me one last time, takes his leave.
Alone now, I go to my room, suddenly exhausted. My thoughts and feelings run wild, making me too tired to function half the time. All I want to do is sit in the dark and sleep.
I know I’m in a slump from being released from captivity and being around people and not with Ryell. I don’t want to pull myself out of it. I want to wallow in it, because that lets me know I loved him and my feelings were real.
Toeing off my shoes, I lie in bed. I grab one of my pillows to pull it to my chest when I hear paper crinkling.
Eyebrows scrunched, I lift my head and find a thick, folded piece of sketch paper.
Sitting up quickly, I grab the paper, my hands shaking. I open it and see that it’s the picture Ryell drew of me the night I was cockwarming. The night I saw Brock on the news. The night that changed everything.
Choking back tears, my eyes drift over to what is written in the top right corner. What I read breaks me.
Sweet boy,
I know you’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be.
I broke my promise. I’m sorry about that.
Words can’t express how hard it was for me to let you go.
But I had to. A Daddy always takes care of his boy, and my boy was sad.
I did what I thought I should to make sure you weren’t anymore. Please forgive me, baby boy.
I left the country, and I won’t come back. Don’t look for me. But remember you were the best part of my life, and if I could do it all again, I would still cuff you in my dungeon since I knew where it would lead us.
Be good, Agent.
Your Daddy
I hold the sketch to my chest carefully as I arrange myself on my bed. Silent tears track my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away.
Ryell was here. He gave me the picture he told me I could have, the only picture he said I could have. Even when he’s breaking my heart, he’s taking care of me.
I sit up straight, but I’m careful not to crumple the picture. Ryell could be lying. It’s not like he hasn’t lied to me before. He’s probably at home, sitting on his back porch or cleaning his dungeon. He’s not gone. He didn’t leave the country.
He’s already lied to me before, so what’s to say he’s not lying now?
Scrambling off the bed, I hurry to the living room, stuff my feet into my shoes, grab my keys from the counter, and rush out the door.
My car was impounded as evidence when they found it parked about twenty miles from the bar a week or two after Ryell abducted me, so I hail a taxi and have them take me to a shopping center that I remember is close to Ryell’s place.
My memory from the night I drove there after the bar is hazy, so I walk aimlessly for about an hour before I see his familiar turnoff.
I break into a jog, then a full-out run when the fountain in his driveway comes into view.
Even without knocking on the door, I can tell something is different. The house feels deserted, like it’s been standing empty for a while. But that can’t be. Ryell didn’t leave. He was only saying that so I wouldn’t give up his identity. But I wouldn’t do that. I’ll always keep his secret.
Slowly, I walk up to the door and knock. No answer. I wait for a few seconds, then I knock again. Nothing. I press on the doorbell repeatedly but no one comes to the door.
I twist the doorknob, not expecting it to be open, and it doesn’t budge. The door remains locked.
I walk around the house and peer through the windows, and my stomach sinks to my feet when I see the furniture covered with sheets.
“Please, no,” I beg, but I know it’s no use. Ryell is gone. He really left me.
I drop to my knees in some shrubs, crying so hard that I almost throw up.
I once told Ryell that I was still afraid of him but not for the reason he thought. I was still afraid of him because I knew he was capable of breaking my heart.
He proved me right.