Chapter Fifty-Six
FIFTY-SIX
Molly
Nine months ago
The music was coming from inside the walls, a guttural thump that made the house shudder, vibrating my very bones.
Have you seen … do you know … an appeal played on repeat, but no one knew where Gigi had gone.
Through the crowd, I spied a sliver of tattooed skin.
The room tilted as I parted clammy torsos and slick limbs to reach it.
Mikko Helle was whispering something to a blonde lady with a mannish haircut.
She kept laughing and laughing and touching his arm, and she was holding a huge glass of red wine.
She watched me as I approached, her kohl-lined eyes two dark slashes across her face.
The wine had stained her teeth the color of cinders.
“Mikko,” I said. “Hey. Hi.”
Dragging his gaze up to meet mine, the man gave me a lazy smile.
“Have you seen Gigi? I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Who?”
“Gi—” Far as I knew, I was the only person who called her Gigi.
My friend was quick and light and nothing like the name her parents gave her.
Plus, the nickname reminded me of Jenny.
“Angelica,” I amended, punching up the first syllable, as if that might entice him to care. “My friend? The girl I came with?”
“Oh. No.” He was already turning away. Beside him, the pretty blonde woman shrugged and lifted her glass to her lips.
“Mikko.” There was a panicky pitch to my voice, but I didn’t care.
It was almost three in the morning, and I couldn’t find Gigi anywhere.
Couldn’t reach her, either. Whether her phone had died again or it was the iffy cell service, my calls kept dropping.
“Can you help me look?” I pleaded, but he was head down with the woman again.
Surrendering to the liquor and pills addling his brain. Consumed by the woman’s gray smile.
I wasn’t in much better shape. All the giddy excitement I’d felt when we arrived was gone. Same people, same faces, every one strange to me, but their apathy felt dangerous now, their oblivion cruel.
Where had I last seen her? She’d been with Woody for most of the night.
Sweet, fatherly Woody. There were plenty of prospects around, but Gigi had glommed onto the one guy in the place who was twice her age, and she’d spent most of the evening talking to him about her father.
That was fine. It was what she needed. But I’d been up to the second floor.
While looking for Gigi, I’d seen Woody face down on a four-poster bed in one of the guest rooms, his arm dangling off the edge.
Again and again I’d searched those rooms, and every time Woody was still right there. So where was Gigi?
As I walked away from useless Mikko, a memory hit like a flash-bulb.
There had been a moment, several hours before, when I’d caught sight of her on my way to the bar.
No more Woody; she was standing in the hall near the door to the basement, talking to a guy I hadn’t seen before.
His arm was out against the wall, blocking her path.
Her smile was polite but wary. Then a couple had stumbled into the kitchen, moment-arily blocking my view, and when they shifted positions, Gigi and the guy were gone.
Eventually, I couldn’t stay awake any longer.
When I opened my eyes again it was morning, the last of the guests as ugly and sour as the sediment left behind by red wine.
I knew right away there were parts of the night that were lost to me forever, but not everything.
The face of the guy I’d last seen Gigi with burned bright.
That’s why I’m here now. Why I came back, and why I stayed.
For Gigi’s sake, I had to find him.