15. Chloe
Chloe
“Whammy!”
I bounce into the air when my bowling ball crashes into the pins, scattering all ten of them into blackness.
“Tell me again why we haven’t started a bowling league?” Maeve questions as I return to the group.
Stella raises her eyebrows at Maeve, a look of disgust on her face. “Because bowling leagues are for old men.”
“So is fishing,” Maeve counters, looking pointedly at Stone.
“Not true, Maeve,” he argues. “And even if it were, that doesn’t offend me. I find my peace on the water. Unlike Chloe, who finds her peace with dead animals.”
I give him a punch in the arm for that jab. Jeez, it’s like a domino effect of glares and accusations going around.
“Why are you guys so tense?” I ask.
Stella shakes her hair out, folding her arms across her chest. “We’re just worried.”
“About?”
“You being drugged, Chloe,” she says, her tone laced with attitude.
I wave a flippant hand at her. “That is so last week. And I’m fine.” It was actually just last night, but after spending half the day with Colin and hearing him say he feels different about me, it may as well have been years ago.
Okay, so that’s not exactly what he said, but pretty much, and I’ve been lost in dreamland since then.
Stone lifts himself from the couch and heads to the ball return, waiting as the machine realigns the pins at the end of the lane. Ever the patient man. I’d have launched my ball down someone else’s lane by now.
“The only reason you’re fine is because your detective boyfriend made sure you got home okay,” Maeve argues gently, reaching for my hand.
I nod absently, considering what would have happened had Colin not known I was there. Come to think of it—he never did say how he knew I was there. Or that I was in the backyard. Or why he even suspected I’d been drugged. Huh.
But Maeve is the happy-go-lucky one in the group, so if she’s concerned, perhaps I should take it a bit more seriously.
All three of them very vividly remember me taking a drink from Max, one of the guys we met at the bowling alley last week.
They remember me disappearing into the backyard with him, and Stella was just getting ready to come check on us when—apparently—Colin blew through the back door with me in his clutches, dragging me to safety.
It’s quite surreal hearing from third parties what happened during that black hole in my memory.
I wondered briefly if Colin had done anything particularly mischievous during the period of time he dragged me from the party and got me into bed, and the thoughts of him touching me forced a surge of lightning through my stomach.
“You’re not still talking to his friend, are you?” I ask Maeve. All three of the guys from the group seem pretty tight, so if one of them is willing to drug a woman and take advantage of her, I wouldn’t put it past the others.
“Absolutely not.”
“She couldn’t even if she wanted to,” Stone adds, joining the group again after his two shots to the gutter. “All three of them have been AWOL since the party.”
“Seriously?” Damn. I was looking forward to having some fun, too.
“We’ll keep looking,” Stella promises. “Just…be careful.”
Our sweet Stella, the worrier. She’s always encouraging us to be careful. To be aware of our surroundings.
But something about the way she says it this time winds a spiral of unease around each notch of my spine. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t know exactly what Max’s motive was.
Maybe he’s your typical serial date rapist. But then, you think he’d have found a way to drug the first drink I shared with him. And if he’s missing now, will he just move on to another victim? A more vulnerable one without a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue?
I push away the thought in the back of my mind that tells me the predator has become the prey.
“How was your day with Colin?” Stella asks, surprising me.
I pull my legs onto the couch, folding them under me as I lean against the cushion and rest my head in my hand. “He loves me,” I say dreamily.
She scoffs. “Really. How was it?”
I shrug, turning serious. “It was great. I took him to volunteer at the shelter with me. We ran the painting class together—well, I ran it. He did paint a pretty cute panda though.”
Maeve stares at me in disbelief. “I cannot imagine that man painting a panda bear.”
“I know, right? Apparently it’s his favorite animal.”
I’ll have to remember to ask him why. It’s the last thing I ever expected to come out of his mouth. I mean, a bear, sure. But a panda bear?
Detective Colin Mills doesn’t strike me as the panda bear type. Then again, maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do, either.
“How was he with the kids?” Maeve asks.
“He was great. Quiet, you know, but nice. They were enamored with having a detective there.”
My friends nod, Stella’s constant scowl of concern melting a tad. “Any luck with you two?” I ask Stella and Stone, who share a quick glance.
Maeve, Stella, and I met shortly after my mother’s arrest, when her lawyer suggested I join therapy.
Said it would look good during the trial, though I can’t imagine how.
I wasn’t interested in that in the slightest, but I did find a lovely trauma survivor’s support group—lovely only because it brought Maeve and Stella into my life.
We never returned to the group after the meeting we met at, having found immediate connection and purpose in each other instead of the musty walls and muddy coffee in the church basement.
Stone wasn’t far behind Stella—which is as true today as it was then.
They grew up together, and he’s the one who found her on the brink of death.
They’ve been best friends since they were kids, and Stella never hunts without him close by.
They spend most of their time out of town, exacting revenge on all the people who wronged her.
“Not really,” Stella murmurs, her words clipped and bitter.
“We’ll find them,” Stone promises her quietly, and we all nod in agreement.
“Alright, I seriously need a nap. Will someone take me to my car?”
Stone offers me a ride, and the rest of us split ways with assurances that we’ll see each other later in the week.
I stare out the window of Stone’s truck as we pull onto the downtown drag, thinking about nothing but how damn good it’s going to be to crawl into my bed.
“Stell and I are doing a quick run up to Mt. Lance,” Stone says, his hand resting on top of the steering wheel as he drives. I glance over at him.
“I know she said you weren’t having much luck, but have you had any?” He looks so calm and cool, his eyes shaded behind his blue, reflective sunglasses, but instantly his temple flexes with tension.
“The last guy we found, it spooked the others. They all left the area or went into hiding.”
I face the window again, understanding the frustration of that considering Max and his friends also seem to be on the run. “Sounds like something people do when they know they’re being cornered. When they know it’s almost over for them.”
“Well, they’re not wrong. Just makes it all a bit more dangerous.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, turning back to him.
He glances at me before returning his attention to the road. “A cornered animal always attempts a strike.”
I think I see his lips kick up into the tiniest of smirks, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think Stoney Baloney likes when the cornered animal attempts a strike.
“Anyway, just wanted you to know we’ll be out of town. If you end up needing anything, I have a friend who lives nearby who can help.”
“I’ll be fine,” I promise.
The rest of the short car ride goes by in silence. When Stone’s truck slows to a stop next to my Bug, I hesitate to move, turning my attention to him again.
“I know what Stella thinks about all this,” I start, feeling a sudden wave of guilt for the exposure all my friends might be facing because of me. “What do you think?”
I get an easy shrug in response. “Love is complicated, Chlo. I know that. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“Oh? And what do you do that you ‘gotta do’?”
Stone laughs, reaching over me and pulling the door handle before pushing the door open.
“Drive to the city multiple times a month when I fucking hate it up there,” he says lightly.
And then he nods at me to scram. I narrow my eyes at him instead, because I freakin’ knew it.
And then I jump out of the truck and give the side a slap as he waves me off and pulls away.
My precious blue Bug is absent of tickets, but Colin told me I have accrued multiple in the time it has been parked here. Though I don’t know where I’m supposed to go to get those taken care of.
It may be surprising, but I have never actually gotten any sort of ticket in my life. Because I may be irresponsible, but I’m an irresponsible angel, thank you. And I try and stay as far away from the cops as possible. Except Colin.
From my car at the sidewalk, I can see his truck parked in the department lot. I consider going into the station, but his boss demanded he stay away from me, and I don’t want to get him in trouble at work.
Opening the door to finally drive my baby home, I stop dead when I see what I swear is the back of Max’s head turning a corner down the street.
I slam my door shut, hustling in his direction and looking around the area for witnesses in case I need to stab him and make it look like he fell on his own knife. That’s believable, right?
Stone usually does this part of the job; getting them subdued and drugged and all that.
But as I continue down the sidewalk in the direction of the alley Max disappeared down, I tell myself I could at least follow him.
Find out where he and his friends are hiding out so we at least know where to start looking for them.
I turn the corner into the alley, and immediately get a fist to the face.
My head hits the ground, and cold hands wind around my ankles, dragging my body deeper into the brick corridor. The rough asphalt scrapes against my back as my sweater drags up, sharp edges of rock pinching my skin.
“Bitch,” someone mutters, though I can’t be certain he’s talking to anyone else but me.
Any recollection of how I ended up here swims away as my head bounces against the hard ground, and the daylight fades from my vision.
“Pick her up.” The demand comes rushed, sounding far away and garbled like it’s coming from underwater. Whoever they are, they’re panicking.
Or am I panicking?
I force myself to try and focus, but the world spins around me as I struggle to open my eyes.
My ankles drop to the ground. The cold hands circle my wrists and tug me forward while my thousand-pound head lolls backward.
A klaxon alarm sounds in the distance. It sounds like a warning of impending hordes of zombies. That would be an interesting turn of events.
“Hurry the fuck up,” someone hisses.
“Hey! Police!”
Footsteps. Fast and heavy. A thud.
I hit the ground again, rolling onto my side and feeling the asphalt under my fingers. My vision fails to come back into clarity. I pinch my eyes closed, my head pounding. Off to my side, there’s more pounding. Grunts.
“Colin, stop!” someone shouts, and my heart nearly explodes in my chest. Where is he? I want him here. My hand slides against the ground, reaching out though I can’t be sure I’m reaching in the right direction.
My eyes roll back in my head as I try one more time to grasp my surroundings.
I feel like I’m slipping away, and thoughts of how Maeve would paint this scene on the canvas under my skull float through my mind.
Brick walls. A tussle. A dumpster. Great. This scene just bumped mud pit out of the number one spot on my list of Places I’d Hate to Die.
One. Two. Three. Four steps in my direction. A shadow. My name. A hand on my cheek.
And I’m gone.
***
The pain rings incessantly against my skull. My memories come in flashes.
It starts like a re-run of my favorite comfort watch, morphing into a version of the show I don’t remember as it begins again. The actors become unrecognizable, replaced by lookalikes that don’t sound alike at all.
Painting. Bowling. Punching. Dragging.
More punching. More people. Talking. Sirens.
A flashlight in my face. A pressure cuff on my arm.
A loud argument. Don’t touch her. A quiet warning. You’re too close to this.
The familiar feel of my soft bed underneath me. Eyelids fluttering. Colin in a chair in the corner, lit only by the bright blue glow of his laptop, the rest of the room shadowed in darkness.
The bed dips beside me, a whisper of words trailing across the duvet and crawling under the covers with me. “You’re chaos, Stark.”
I think I mumble back, “I’m your chaos.”
And I think I hear his response.
“You might be.”