10. - – Clara
CHAPTER TEN
-
CLARA
Darkness wasn’t just the absence of light, it was a weight pressing against my eyelids.
I tried to shift, but my limbs felt like leaden weights anchored to a cold, damp floor.
When I finally forced my eyes open, the world didn’t brighten.
It stayed a muddy, suffocating gray. My head throbbed with a rhythmic, sickening pulse - a reminder of the heavy thud of my trunk door meeting my skull.
I reached back, my fingers brushing against the source of the pain. My hair was matted, stiff with something tacky and metallic-smelling. Dried blood. It flaked off under my fingernails like rusted paint.
How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? My stomach gurgled with hunger. The silence in this small stone cellar felt ancient, as if time had stopped the moment I was shoved inside.
I tried to scream. I opened my mouth to shout for Elias, to scream his name until my lungs gave out, but all that came out was a pathetic, dry rasp.
It felt like I had swallowed glass. My throat was parched, my voice stolen.
I hammered my fists against the heavy wooden door above me, but the sound was swallowed instantly by the walls.
The person who took me felt like a familiar presence, but I hadn’t gotten a good enough look at his features to be certain.
The terror didn't come in a wave. It was a slow crawl of ice up my spine. Elias was still in a hospital bed, broken and vulnerable. If I was here, who was watching him? A feeling in my gut told me whoever was behind this, was also behind Lydia’s death, and potentially even his accident. They were trying to get to Elias..
The copper scent of the blood on my neck pulled me backward. It wasn’t my own face I saw in the dark, but Leo’s.
I remembered finding him in the hallway when I was young. My protector. His face was a map of bruises, his lip split exactly where mine was bleeding now. I wanted to help him, so I grabbed some cotton balls and antiseptic from the medicine cabinet. My hands shook as I cleaned his wounds.
The flashbacks refused to dissipate and I was right back there, witnessing what my father had done, without any understanding of why.
"What did you do wrong, Leo?" I had whispered, dabbing cotton at the crimson smears. "You have always done a great job protecting me. Why did Father do this to you?"
Leo didn't look at me. He looked at the floor, a faint, uncharacteristic color rising to his battered cheeks.
"I didn't do anything wrong in my eyes, Clara," he said, his voice thick.
"But I left your side so I could protect someone else, and that wasn’t okay.
If something would have happened to you-" His voice broke.
I paused, the cotton ball hovering in the air. "Is she safe now?" I understood exactly what he meant. I hoped one day I would be free and on my own, with a life away from my Father. Leo gave a small, pained nod. A ghost of a smile touched his swollen lips. "Yes, she is.."
Back in the cellar, I pulled my knees to my chest. The blood on my hands felt like a bridge to that moment. Leo had been distracted. Someone had figured out his weakness, and he eventually disappeared. I had always feared the worst for him.
Then it hit me: this wasn't a random attack. The person who slammed the trunk lid, the person who left me here to bleed out on this dirt floor, was the same shadow that had haunted me for years.
Maybe I am the final piece of their puzzle. My fingers dug into the dirt of the cellar floor, my terror curdling into a cold, sharp resolve. I couldn't stay quiet. If my voice was gone, I’d have to find another way to scream.
DETECTIVE MILLER
The air in the observation room was stale with the smell of burnt coffee. On the other side of the glass, Josh - or whatever the hell his name actually was - sat with his hands cuffed to the table, looking entirely too comfortable.
I leaned against the doorframe of the interrogation room, checking my watch. Hill was already inside, pacing a tight circle around the suspect.
"Let’s try this again," Hill said, his voice grating. "Name?"
The man looked up, a slow, jagged smirk spreading across his face. He had a distinct voice that sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. "I told ya, Detective. You can call me Josh, or you can call me sir. I ain’t picky."
Hill’s voice was filtered with frustration. “Look, I know your name isn’t Josh Moore.” He paused, sounding angrier than before. “We ran your ID.”
Once I had all the confirmation I needed to put him behind bars, I stepped into the room before Hill had the chance to speak further, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind me.
"How about we call you Bruce Moretti? We found a link connecting you to a case from back in the day.
You worked for a one Silas Sterling, didn't you? "
Moretti’s eyes flickered before settling back into a dull, predatory calm. "The old man was a Saint. Kept his word. Unlike some." He glared and looked off into the corner of the room.
"Like Elias?" I asked, pulling out a chair and sat directly across from him. "Or perhaps you know him better as Leo?" I drew his name out and gauged Bruce’s reaction.
Moretti spat on the floor. "Leo is a parasite. I made a promise to the old man before he kicked the bucket: I’d dispose of the trash. That bastard has been on this list a long time."
"Is this why you showed up at the hospital?" Hill leaned in. "To dispose of the trash?"
Bruce laughed, a dry, hacking sound. "I was there to take care of things. I paid for the girl. I paid for the one now called Clara. High stakes, high price. And then Leo thinks he can play hero? Thinks he can keep me away from her after I put down the capital?"
Moretti leaned forward, the cuffs rattling against the steel table. "He got greedy. Started thinking the inventory belonged to him."
From what I had gathered, Leo had worked as Clara’s personal security from the time she was about eight until she was sixteen.
Her name back then was Lucy Sterling. It was his job to protect her and keep her from the hands of rats like Bruce who also worked for Sterling seeking out new, as he puts it inventory.
It appeared that he had been let go soon after he had helped one of the girls escape.
My stomach began to churn as I thought about the dolls we’d recovered from Elias’ place. The ones Lydia had received every year like clockwork for her birthday. "And Lydia? Was she inventory too?"
Moretti shrugged, his eyes turning cold. "Lydia was the lure. Every year, I sent her a little reminder of where she came from. A man’s gotta have a hobby, Detective."
"The dolls," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The lab results came back. Their hair wasn’t synthetic. " I couldn’t believe how easily he had opened up. It was like he had been waiting for his moment to be in the spotlight.
Moretti’s grin widened, revealing a gold-capped tooth. "Recycling, Detective. Waste not, want not."
The realization hit me like a physical blow. The DNA results from the lab told the story. The dolls didn’t contain hair from random murders. They were the girls who didn't survive the trafficking transit.
"You weren't just sending Lydia gifts," I snarled, standing up so fast my chair screeched. "You were sending her a silent warning… and a threat to Leo."
Moretti just stared at me, his expression unreadable. "It’s a cruel world, Miller. Some people are the hunters, some are the hair on the doll."
I had to get out of the room before I broke my badge across his jaw. “You’re going to tell us where she is,” I threatened.
“What’s in it for me?”
Hill and I exchanged a quick glance. “Let’s just say your compliance will benefit you in court,” I blurted out, knowing we would work on those details later. For now, we had to find Clara - Lucy - before she became just another one of his victims. Time was running out.