38
On her last night in New York, Bianca decided to surprise her sister at work.
She took the subway downtown to visit the fancy restaurant that Lyric had bragged about.
Bianca didn’t have a reservation, but she hoped she could talk her way inside.
She’d flown hours to visit her kid sister.
Surely, the hostess could find her a seat at the bar, where she could splurge on a cocktail and watch Lyric in action.
She got off the subway and let her phone direct her to the Meatpacking District.
She’d dressed up a bit, but her clothes were a combination of bargain basement and thrift store, unlikely to fool the well-heeled crowd.
Still, Bianca was an attractive woman, perfectly presentable.
She was confident she’d be allowed inside.
The restaurant was as chic as Lyric had promised.
Located in a distressed-brick building with massive latticed windows, it had a heated outdoor dining area where sleek customers ate oysters off beds of ice and drank flutes of champagne.
Bianca walked up the steps and into the tiled entryway, jittery with nerves and anticipation.
Lyric had done it. She’d come to this massive city as a na?ve kid, and she’d landed a decent job in a reputable establishment. Bianca felt proud. And relieved.
She was greeted by the ma?tre d’, a thin man in a tailored blue suit.
“I don’t have a reservation,” Bianca explained, “but my sister works here. I flew in from Indiana to visit her.”
“And who’s your sister?”
“Lyric Bentley.”
His expression tightened. “Lyric no longer works here.”
“I saw her this morning,” Bianca blurted. “She told me she did.”
“Well, she doesn’t.”
“When did she leave? Did something happen?”
“She stopped showing up about a week ago.” His eyes flicked past her to the patrons in the queue. “I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
Bianca found a small bar with cheap drinks and sticky tables.
Over a whisky and Coke, she processed the information she’d learned, her sister’s lies and fabrications.
She was vibrating with the need to call Lyric, to demand an explanation, but she knew what that would illicit: more denials, more manipulations.
They’d both learned those skills from Yvonne.
They knew how to twist the truth, to talk their way out of messes.
And she didn’t want her sister to get angry and go dark, to cut Bianca off.
She needed to know the girl was safe in her new life.
Lyric was her only family. She meant everything.
Over a second drink, she resolved to stay calm and handle the situation delicately.
She’d meet Lyric for breakfast tomorrow and pretend she’d never gone to the restaurant.
Then she’d gently tease out the truth by assuring her sister there was no need to be ashamed of feeling overwhelmed in such a high-stress environment, serving an elite clientele.
Lyric was a kid from a small town who’d tragically lost her father, had survived a toxic mother. Bianca needed to go easy on her.
In the morning, Bianca packed her small suitcase and took the subway to the breakfast place they’d chosen.
She ordered coffee and waited for her sister.
And waited. As she sipped her third cup, she broke down and called.
Bianca was irritated by then, but not angry.
Lyric must have slept through her alarm.
It was typical teenage behavior. But the call went straight to voicemail.
The kid had turned off her phone or set it to Do Not Disturb.
Now she was pissed off. As she wheeled her suitcase through the streets toward Lyric’s apartment, she simmered over the selfishness.
Bianca had spent a lot of money to come here, to check in on her sister.
She was the only person who cared about the girl, and Lyric couldn’t be bothered to get up and eat some fucking waffles with her. It was rude and inconsiderate.
Her sister’s building was a squat three-story structure surrounded by bustling restaurants and delis.
Bianca weaved through delivery trucks and marched up to the ancient intercom.
She hit the button for Lyric’s unit and plugged an ear against the background noise.
There was no response at first, so she pressed the button again.
And then again. Finally, a sleepy voice answered.
“Hello?”
It had to be one of Lyric’s roommates. “Can you get Lyric? I’m her sister.” It was a demand, not a question.
Bianca waited. A few moments later, the staticky voice returned. “She’s not here.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she stayed at a friend’s last night.”
“So, she didn’t come home last night? Has her bed been slept in?”
“No… I don’t know.”
“Where did she stay? Does she have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? Look, I worked late last night. I need to go back to sleep.”
“Open the door. I need to come up.”
There was a brief pause. “Who did you say you were again?”
“I’m her older sister!” Bianca realized she was yelling. “Let me in!”
There was silence. The girl had hung up.
A sickening sense of wrong churned the coffee in her stomach.
In Indiana, she’d known something was off; that was why she’d come here.
Lyric had tried to fool her, convince her that everything was fine, but it wasn’t.
Bianca felt the certainty in her marrow.
She needed to get into that apartment, so she stabbed the buzzer again.
And then again. The girl inside did not answer.
Panic made Bianca’s breathing shallow. This apartment, that roommate, were her only connections to her sister in this huge, anonymous city.
She needed to know if Lyric had a boyfriend or a girlfriend, someone who kept her out all night.
How was she making her money? How would she pay her rent?
She buzzed again, and again, and again. She’d annoy Lyric’s roommate so much that she’d have to let her in.
Aggressive honking at the end of the block caught Bianca’s attention.
She turned toward the eruption, saw a sleek black town car blocking the street.
A burly man in a too-tight suit got out of the driver’s seat and hurried around to the passenger side.
He opened the door and dragged a girl out of the vehicle.
She was stumbling, drunk or high, as the big guy half carried her toward the sidewalk.
He set her down on the curb and hustled back to his vehicle.
Bianca was already running before her mind had fully processed the scene. It was not just any girl; it was Lyric.
As she sprinted toward her sister, the sleek car sped past her.
Bianca glanced inside, caught the briefest glimpse of the driver: shaved head, pockmarked skin, dark glasses.
He was just some guy, a hired chauffeur, a man paid enough to dump a nearly unconscious teenager on a city sidewalk.
She reached the crumpled form of her sister on the asphalt, her head bowed between her knees.
Bianca knelt beside her, and Lyric lifted her head.
Her eyes were blank, confused, and frightened.
“What happened to you?” Bianca demanded.
Lyric started to cry. “I—I don’t know…”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What are you on? What did you take?”
“I… don’t remember.” She looked around her, terrified. “I don’t know where I am.” She gripped Bianca’s arm. “You have to help me.”
“I’m here. You’re safe.”
Bianca held her little sister as she trembled and cried.