Chapter 12
Autumn
My feet have never hurt so damn much in my entire life. I didn’t know it was possible. But hours of trekking back and forth from the bar, to the food counter, to the tables in the dining room—they add up into a shoe-covered nightmare.
Also, I don’t think I’ll ever get the stench of fried food and beer out of my hair or clothes.
This is my second night working at Bartleby’s, and now that my shift is over, I’m sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, trying not to cry with relief that I’m finally off my feet.
Maybe I can just sleep here and never put weight on my feet again.
Something about that idea—sleeping somewhere forbidden—sparks the memory of…
something. A dream, I guess. I must have dreamed of sleeping somewhere I shouldn’t.
Unless Clarissa and I once slept somewhere odd?
Maybe when we were in college. I want to say we stayed past hours in Shields Library. But no, that’s ridiculous.
I love the idea, though. Libraries are cool, calm. Safe, sexy.
Sexy?
Ha, libraries are not sexy. Shields Library was the stodgy great-uncle of the university. Very proper, no nonsense, and definitely not sexy.
Shaking off the strange turn of my thoughts, I pull open my wallet and surreptitiously try to count my cash again.
The hotel informed me that my room is paid through the end of May, which gives me another week there.
After that, I need to find somewhere else to stay, because there’s no way I can afford the hotel on my server’s tips.
The tips aren’t bad, although they seem to vary wildly. There’s no advice to be had on that point, unfortunately.
But the manager, Nicholas? Douche. Super douche.
He’s spent more time ogling my chest than he has spent managing anything.
I had to work with the cook to get some meals remade because of a customer error, and Nicholas spent the entire time holed up in the office.
Nicholas behaves better when the owner, Kevin, is here, but it still sucks.
The vibe of Bartleby’s is okay otherwise, I guess.
When I lived at home with Dale, I never came to places like this.
It was all about appearances, and Dale Smith’s stepdaughter couldn’t be seen anywhere shady.
I had to date the “nicest” guys and wear the best clothes.
I couldn’t get drunk in public, and the only adventurous sex I ever had was between the pages of smutty romance novels.
“Abigail!” Nicholas barks.
I jerk to attention and push my wallet back into my purse. “Yeah?”
“Where did you say you were from?”
The way he’s looking at me gives me the ick.
“I don’t think you asked,” I say, because I’m pretty sure he didn’t, not even during my interview. I’m going to have to lie. Talking about Altera or Kinasey County would be another thing tying me to Dale and my old life. “But I lived in Clear Springs for a bit. Davis, before that.”
Davis isn’t a lie, at least.
Nicholas says, “Were you a student there?”
“Briefly. I didn’t graduate.” Another lie. I hop down from my stool, wincing at the soreness of my feet. If Nicholas is in interrogation mode, it’s best I remove myself from the pub. I don’t want to have to keep track of a ridiculous web of lies just to feel safe.
The head cook passes me a to-go box with a burger and fries. I accept it gratefully before heading outside to make the long walk back to the hotel.
It feels like someone is staring at me the whole way, so I walk faster and faster, despite my aching feet.
Will
“Where are you going?” Xander asks as I reach for the door.
“Out.”
It’s been four days since Autumn left. Four fucking days. I’ve spent most of them watching over her. It isn’t right that she’s working her ass off. I don’t like the way her manager stares at her and the other female servers.
I don’t like that she isn’t in my bed.
Inside Bartleby’s Pub, I linger in a dark corner, keeping myself hidden from Autumn. If she sees me, it could cause her to remember. I tell myself that would be bad, although the truth is that I would be quite happy to have her remember everything.
No. Xander is right. It’s too dangerous. If I care at all about her, I’ll leave her be.
An hour. Two hours. Three hours, watching from the shadows. There’s that blond guy working with her again. The manager. He was here yesterday, too. I don’t like him. Don’t like the way he watches her. Rich hypocrisy for me to think such thoughts, since I’m watching her, too.
The manager boy waits on me. Sullen.
When he walks away, he stops near Autumn. It’s a quiet night. I hear him easily.
“You said you’re from up north, right?” he asks. “Kinasey County…that little town, Altera?”
Her hazel eyes widen. She shakes her head quickly. “No. No, I never said that. I came here from Clear Springs. And Davis. Just like I told you yesterday.”
He smirks. “I saw a news article online…Autumn Livingston.”
Fear causes her pitch to rise. “No. That’s a mistake. I’m not her.”
“You know there’s a reward for you, right? Can you pay it? I might keep quiet.”
“How much?” she whispers.
“Ten grand for information on your whereabouts. So tell me, Autumn, do you have ten k?”
Panic crosses her face. Then she straightens her shoulders. “I can get it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Give me five days.”
I don’t know what my little girl has planned, but I don’t think it’s good. She’s either going to do something illegal, questionable, or she’s going to run.
None of those are all right with me.
Even if I can’t have her, I want her in San Esteban.
The manager kid turns around, a triumphant smirk on his face even though Autumn is visibly quaking in fear.
I want to tear his head from his shoulders. Paint the restaurant with his blood.
I gesture him over. Put a bland smile on my face.
“What can I get you?” he asks, stopping at the edge of my table.
He has no idea I heard his threat to Autumn. If I were human, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to hear it.
I gesture he should lean in. Close. Closer.
Nobody else is around.
I grip the back of his neck and squeeze. “You are a right piece of shit, you know that?”
“Wh-what?” he stammers. He immediately begins to sweat. Fear sweat contains an acrid undertone. Xander could probably describe it better, but I know it when I smell it. This asshole is afraid of me.
He should be.
“You threatened that girl. I heard it. Only a piece of shit would do such a thing. Don’t you agree?”
“I—no? I mean, yes. Yes, I agree.”
“You know what I do to shits?” I ask.
“No, sir.”
“I flush them. They’re useless, they stink. You are useless, and you stink.”
“Please don’t,” he says, his blue eyes wide circles of fear. He knows I’ll make good on my threat. He’s probably, right now, picturing the way I could hold his head down in a toilet bowl until he drowns.
“You say one word about her to anyone,” I say in a low voice, “and you’ll have me to answer to.”
“Fuck, man, I won’t, I won’t,” he says.
“Are you sorry?” I ask, keeping my hold on his neck.
He tries to nod, but he can’t, so he says, “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“You’ll tell her that. As soon as we’re done here.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Where’s the boss?” I ask. “Is he here tonight?”
“Yeah. Office.” The punk points over his shoulder.
I let go of his neck with a warning look, then stand and walk back to the rickety office door. I knock.
“Come in,” a male voice says.
The owner sits at a tiny desk, his hands in his hair. Big black eyebrows. Blue eyes. Stocky frame.
“Hello,” I say. Inject some friendliness into my voice even though I’m still pulsing with rage that the scum-shit-bag manager threatened Autumn. “I’m William Hunt.”
“Kevin Bartleby,” he answers.
“You own this place?” I ask.
“I do. Just bought it off my uncle not too long ago for a song and a headache.”
I nod. “The restaurant business can be brutal.”
“Yep,” he says. Gives me an expectant look.
“You’ve a new employee. Abigail.”
He leans back and nods. “I do. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I have no complaints. However, I believe she could be in trouble. What do you think of that?”
“We take care of our own in my establishment, sir. If you’re threatening her, I must ask you to leave immediately—”
“No need. You’ve answered my question. I only want her to be safe, and you’ll never see me again. I appreciate your time.” I nod once before turning on my heel and moving to the back door so as to avoid being seen by Autumn.
She found a place to work where the highest person in charge will look out for her safety. That’s going to have to be enough.
The door squeaks open as I let myself outside. The sounds of the night pull me into a cold and hollow embrace.
I’m going to have to let her go. God damn it. God damn everything.
Autumn
My feet ache as I trudge into my hotel room.
The room feels impersonal, yet somewhat safe for now.
Still, I need to get out of this place, find myself a cheap apartment.
It’s way too long to walk back and forth between here and Bartleby’s, for one thing, and I don’t want to spend a cent on bus fare.
Plus, the entire way between the hotel and the pub? I still have that prickly feeling on the back of my neck, like someone is watching me.
I flip the deadbolt on my door, grab the TV remote, and collapse on the bed. Background noise isn’t a luxury—it’s a necessity. I’ve never felt so lonely, so alone. Why does my heart feel like it’s breaking whenever I have a minute to my own thoughts?
Lucky for me, I’m too exhausted to stay awake long, and I drift off to sleep.
“…Autumn Livingston, the twenty-five-year-old stepdaughter of business mogul Dale Smith, has gone missing from her home in Altera, California. ‘I thought she was going on a trip with friends.’”
I sit up, heart pounding, arms flailing to protect myself. That was Dale’s voice. Fuck. Shit.
He isn’t here. His voice is coming from the TV. I’m still struggling for breath as I watch his smarmy face, twisted with false despair, as he continues to weave his narrative of lies.
“It turned out, there was never any trip,” he says, in some kind of press conference.
“She’s been having some mental difficulties, paranoid delusions.
I should have monitored her medications better.
I’m so sorry, Autumn. If anyone finds her, or has information, please.
She’s my daughter, my only family. Bring my princess home to me, I beg of you. ”
The reporter in the studio comes on again. “The police are cautioning anyone who sees Autumn not to approach her directly. She may become violent.”
I can only stare at the screen, stunned. Violent? Paranoid delusions?
“You asshole,” I whisper.
Then my own face flashes up on the screen.
It’s a photo taken during one of Dale’s business dinners, hosted at our house.
I’m wearing a soft pink gown, looking wholesome and polished.
I remember that night. Dale gave me Mom’s pearl necklace to wear.
I remember feeling so sad, just absolutely sick with missing my mother.
The news piece flashes back to Dale, and he’s fucking crying. Big, fat tears roll down his cheeks. What a fucking snake.
“Dale and authorities believe Autumn is still in California, perhaps close to Los Angeles. If you have seen this young woman, please call the number below immediately. An award is being offered for information on her whereabouts.”
I have to get out of here. I can’t be found, I can’t be seen. I’m so stupid. I should’ve cut my hair, dyed it. I should’ve worn that kind woman’s reading glasses.
I leap off the bed and begin pacing. My items are scattered throughout the room. What’s the better move here? Stay put with my fake ID and a job with Nicholas, who knows who I am? It was so weird how he suddenly backpedaled on his blackmail attempt, but he seemed sincere.
Or do I run, risking more and more people seeing me as I go?
Xander
Her scent is going to haunt me for the rest of my days.
I’ve been following her. Will has been, too—and he’s so oblivious he hasn’t even noticed my presence. As long as I’m quiet, he doesn’t think to look around. Heartsick dumbass.
Correction: heartsick dumbasses. Because we both are.
But tonight, Will is nowhere around. Last night I watched as he intimidated Autumn’s manager. I couldn’t hear what was said by any of them at any point, but the boy looked like he was about to piss his trousers.
Now, Autumn is in her hotel room and Will is nowhere to be seen. For a long hour, I’ve leaned against the wall outside of her balcony window. There is no need to watch her, but I did peek in once to ensure she was safe.
It’s going to rain soon, perhaps in four or five hours. That won’t bother me. It never has, never will. I don’t mind the cold.
A rustling movement inside snags my attention. I peer around the edge of the window to see her sitting up. She’s now staring at the television screen with a look of abject terror on her pretty face.
I cannot see the television, but I can hear it. And after a long moment of watching, Autumn jumps up, agitated.
She’s panicking. It’s no surprise, given the news segment I just witnessed.
I know who she is now, although I’m not sure why she’s running.
The dickhead on the television screen, her stepfather, had an idea.
But paranoid delusions? That’s not something I saw in Autumn in the slightest. If she does have a mental illness, she’s masking it well, or if she was having a break, it is long over.
I don’t trust the dickhead stepfather. His demeanor is warm, sincere, but there is something false in it.
Our little mouse is obviously in more danger than Will or I initially thought.
If only I could comfort her, if only I could keep her safe like she deserves. Instead, I am stuck on the threshold, wishing to do more for her, yet powerless because if Will and I were to get involved, Autumn would be in more danger, just of a different sort.
She’s still pacing back and forth, deep in thought. I watch as she seems to make a decision. She reaches for her bag, but the movement causes her to turn her head in my direction. It should be fine; I’m concealed by shadows.
She stops moving. She gapes at the sliding balcony door. Stares.
Fuck. She’s looking right at me.