28. Enslee #2
It sounded morbid but seemed to fit the serial killer joke stickers also mixed in with the others.
Leaning back, I positioned my long legs so I could lie comfortably on the bed, then I closed my eyes.
The scent around me was sort of fruity, like the perfume I had in my bathroom, and the mattress itself was memory foam that fit my frame perfectly.
How many days and nights had I lain here in this very bed?
I still had no idea what this all meant, but I felt I was on the verge of a major breakthrough. If I could recover my memories, everyone could stop acting like they were walking on eggshells with me. I continued to breathe in deeply while keeping my eyes shut.
It felt so familiar. It smelled familiar. It smelled like me.
I finally sat up and opened the laptop. It was asking for a password, which of course, I couldn't remember. Then I saw a fingerprint, eventually trying all of mine until I found a match. It was the index finger on my right hand that’d fully opened the laptop, and when it did, the screen was awash with a bunch of individual folders.
There were a few programs of things I didn't recognize, but I did see the Google emblem, so I clicked it.
I typed “Enslee Byrne” into the search field and immediately thousands of results came rushing forth.
Killer Thoughtz. From the looks of the results, it appeared to be a blog and podcast. I suppose that was why I didn't have an actual job. I returned to the search field and added Declan Fitzgerald next to my name, but the results returned all featured either him or me, but none of us together. I tried to remove mine and put in “girlfriend,” and my heart broke the moment I did. A slew of photos came back, and I instantly recognized some of those as the photographs that he’d shown me, but the girl in them definitely wasn't me.
“What the hell’s going on?”
My hands started to shake as my stomach grew queasy.
I was about to vomit. Clicking on one of them, it was an event he and a fashion model had attended.
Maybe with his fame, I was more of a secret.
He was worried about the paparazzi and all, so I tried to hold onto that, even though it didn’t explain the duplicity in the head swapping.
I was going to be ill, but I decided to pull up the other man, hoping to find something real.
A huge amount of pictures also came back of him, but he was with a blonde in all of them.
A lot of those photos were the same ones he had shown me too.
Only I wasn’t this woman either. She did look familiar, and I gagged on the knot in my throat when I realized she’d been the girl in the television show Declan was currently filming.
I scrubbed shaky hands down my face as I moved from the image tab back to the general search page. When I did, it showed a number of news articles, and some as recent as just a few hours ago. They all mentioned a fiancée, and I clicked onto them hoping everything would make sense, but it didn’t.
Apparently, the blonde in those pictures was not only his fiancée and Declan’s co-star, but she was missing, and the prime suspect for her disappearance was none other than the man whose cock I’d sucked dry in the shower last night.
Still trying to justify things, I clicked on several and ended up reading over a dozen, which all said the same thing.
Brogan Sinclair might be a cold-blooded murderer.
Still holding onto my delulu, I read about the suspicious circumstances.
The articles talked about his nonchalance over her disappearance and focused on his lack of cooperation with the authorities.
He’d also refused several polygraph tests, had lawyered up with a team of high-powered attorneys, and had no alibi for the night in question.
There were rewards being offered, and in the six-figure range at that, but not by him.
Layla Harte’s father owned a media empire, and he was desperate to find his daughter.
Meanwhile, the one who could be responsible for her disappearance was fucking not only Declan, but me, and my stomach dropped.
I couldn’t even find an explanation for his behavior.
Did I think he was a violent criminal? No, but then again, he and Declan had put a lot of effort into deceiving me.
From what I could tell, I was some sort of social media influencer. What could they actually want with me?
I began to hyperventilate, unable to breathe as I gasped for air. Closing my eyes, I finally gripped my temples as a sharp pain struck like lightning across them. Tears were now streaming down my cheeks as the last few weeks of happiness all fell apart.
He did it!
That was more real than anything else had been.
Quickly, I tried to think of what to do, but I couldn’t manage to even formulate a goddamn thought.
I was growing sick to my stomach, especially now that I remembered being so excited over landing an interview with him.
His case had interested me the first time I’d heard about it, and it was the reason I’d driven straight to New York when my request had been granted.
Only, it hadn’t been, at least by him. I was beside myself at this point, and as I squeezed my eyelids closed, I could see the last scene start to play like one of those fucking movies of Declan’s.
I saw myself in his office where he’d been rude as hell to me.
He’d intimidated me, but I’d tried to get anything from him that I could.
He’d found out what I was up to and had threatened me, then thrown me out of his office.
The curses I muttered as I escaped his office echoed in my head, including the one I’d let out when I’d realized I’d forgotten something. I returned to retrieve my keys, and that was when all hell broke loose. More memories came rushing back when I saw him with Declan. And he was…
Oh. My. God!
One of the most recognizable faces in Hollywood was on his knees with the cock of a suspected murderer in his mouth.
The motive was clear at that moment, and I knew when two sets of frantic eyes turned to me that I was in trouble.
That was what sent me running. They chased after me, and I’d been scared.
No, that was too mild to describe how terrified I’d been.
That same terror now came back because I had no idea what they’d do to me once they realized their game was over.
Once they realized I’d recovered my memories.
I could go on pretending as if I didn't know they’d caused my fall, but I’d never be able to let either man touch me again without physically recoiling.
I couldn’t stay unless I wanted to end up like Layla.
I wouldn’t let these lying bastards hurt or kill me.
I dropped the laptop onto the mattress and, despite shaking uncontrollably, tried to focus.
I spent the next hour scouring every inch of the van for my keys and cell phone, which appeared to be the only things missing at this point.
When I came up empty after a fourth sweep, I knew they had to be in the house somewhere.
Grabbing the laptop, I exited the van and rushed back inside.
My search there was as fruitless as my van search had been. Despair filled me and I started to cry.
“Wipe those tears, Enslee-Bear,” I heard a man’s voice say, and my body recoiled. “You want to be my good girl, yes? Then, just know it’ll only hurt for a minute.”
I continued to shake, especially when I realized that some memories were best kept hidden forever.
As I remembered what I kept under the seat, I ran back out to my van and pulled out the small pink 9MM, which I’d always kept loaded.
A single woman traveling the country alone while living in her van was dangerous.
Although, no monsters were as bad as the two here and the one who’d just made his own unwanted reappearance in my memory.