Chapter 6 #2
Shock fills my chest. I know this necklace. My fingers tremble as I lift it from the box. It's old-fashioned, heavier than the others. I run my thumb over the front, over a raised marigold carved onto the gold.
My mind flashes back to a few weeks ago, the way it rested against Isabel's collarbone while we had drinks at Dolls. I asked her about it because a piece like this isn't fast fashion. She smiled and flipped it open to show me.
"My grandma gave it to me," she said. "That's her and my grandpa."
I didn't look that closely then. It was dark, and I could hardly take it in, but if it's hers, there's an easy way to find out. My hands shake as I open it. My knees nearly give out.
No.
Inside is a faded photograph. An elderly couple smiles out from behind scratched glass. This is Isabel's necklace.
I stare down at it, my pulse roaring in my ears. Why is it in the bedside drawer in my dad's bedroom? Why does he have it?
My eyes sting with anger, with disgust. How could he do this? He didn't just take their passports.
He took everything from them.
I sift through more of the jewelry, and with each piece that passes through my fingers, I practically hear the echoes of the women they belonged to.
Cheap bracelets. Thin chains. Hoop earrings.
Youth. Hope. The wild abandon of women thinking they were off to explore, not knowing they were being hunted.
The weight of it presses into my chest until it's hard to breathe.
I look down at Isabel's locket again, resting in my palm. Can I take this to Rio? Can I take this out of here?
Will this convince Rio?
I glance back at the bedroom door. If Dad notices it's gone, I'm finished. Rio might still doubt me. But there's a photograph inside. It's another clue. Another way to find her. Maybe he can use his software to find her grandparents and ask them if they can contact her.
And when they can’t find them, because my father took them, Rio will believe me.
I close my fist around it, the cool metal pressing into my skin as I weigh the risk of taking it, when, just then, a bike engine turns into the drive.
And it stops.
My blood turns to ice. Oh my God. He's back.
I look around the room, my mind scrambling. The jewelry box is still open on the bedside table, gold catching the lamplight. I snap off the lights so he can't see them from the drive. I have to cover my tracks. I have to put everything back exactly as it was.
The back door opens downstairs.
I can't let fear paralyze me. I can't walk out of here empty-handed. I'm taking the locket.
I slide it into the front pocket of my jeans, a brand on my thigh.
I move quickly but quietly, lowering each piece of jewelry back into the box, trying to remember what was at the bottom and what lay on top.
It's mostly a tangled cluster of chains and earrings, but I do my best to recreate the disorder I found.
My hands are shaking with fear.
I close the jewelry box as softly as I can and slip it back into the drawer. My heart is pounding so hard I worry he can hear it downstairs, as I ease the drawer shut millimeter by millimeter until it's flush.
Thank God I closed the bedroom door earlier. Thank God Tina is outside.
Boots cross the living room below. The sound travels up the open space of the house and hits me in the spine. Each thud is heavy as my dad's boots make their way up the stairs. If I open the door now, he'll see me. If I move, he'll hear me.
I spin slowly, scanning the room for somewhere, anywhere.
The closet.
I cross to it and slip inside, squeezing myself behind a suitcase and a row of hanging shirts. I pull the door nearly closed, leaving it just shy of latching. It's pitch black. The air smells like leather, detergent and the old musky smell that's distinctly him.
My dad's voice rumbles through his bedroom door. "What are you doing here, mutt?"
Oh God, Tina. She'll make him suspicious. Fuck me. She never sits outside his bedroom door…
The door opens. He steps inside. I can't see him.
I don't know where he is in the room. For all I know, he's already turned toward the closet, already reaching for the handle.
My mind runs through it in brutal clarity: he opens it, he finds me, he drags me out, and this ends in a way I don't survive.
I hear him inhale. A slow, deliberate breath. Can he smell my perfume?
A drawer slides open. Not the bedside table. Closer to the closet. The dresser. He rummages for something, fabric shifts, wood scrapes softly. I press my back harder into the wall, holding my breath. Every muscle in my body locks.
The drawer shuts, and a dangerous silence follows. The seconds stretch so long, they stop feeling real.
Then his boots move again toward the door. The bedroom door closes.
But my heart doesn't slow. What if he goes to my room? What if he calls my name and I don't answer?
Footsteps fall down the stairs, pound faintly through the living room below, and the sound grows more and more distant. Then, nothing but the roar of blood in my ears. Finally, the engine roars outside. It fades down the road for the second time tonight.
Only then do I unlock my lungs and breathe again.
I stay in the closet for what feels like an hour before I even consider moving. My muscles ache from holding still, but I don't trust the silence.
Eventually, I ease myself out from behind the suitcase, every joint stiff and shaky. I crack the closet door an inch first, letting a blade of moonlight in. The room is empty.
I reach for the bedroom door, half convinced he'll be standing on the other side. My pulse spikes as I turn the handle.
He's not there.
Tina lies right outside, muzzle on her paws, watching me as if I've personally offended her by leaving her out here on her own. "
He's gone," I whisper.
Her tail thumps once.
I slip my hand into my pocket and slide out Isabel's locket. It sits heavy in my palm, small and harmless-looking, as if it doesn't carry the weight of Isabel’s survival.
And mine.
Rio has to believe me.
I close my fingers around it and glance back at the bedroom door.
When the next shipment of women comes through here, my father will add their things to that jewelry box.
And if I know him, he'll notice something inside has shifted, if a chain lies differently, if the weight feels wrong in his hand.
I don't have much time. Rio and I agreed to give it time before we meet again. Four days left. That's a lifetime right now.
At least two women's lifetimes.
I need to meet Rio sooner.