Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The waiting room looks exactly the same as it did months ago—beige walls, scuffed linoleum floors, the same posters about domestic violence and drug awareness peeling at the corners. My stomach churns as we approach the front desk, the receptionist barely glancing up from her computer screen.
"We have an appointment with Detective Kirby,” Colleen says, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "It's about the Claudia McAllister case."
The receptionist types something, then gestures toward the familiar row of plastic chairs. "Someone will be with you shortly."
We sit. Wait. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, and I count the tiles on the ceiling to keep from losing my mind. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four.
"Ms. Singh?” A male officer appears—same guy who questioned me about the robbery. He doesn't seem to recognize me. "Come on back."
We follow him into a small interrogation room. Grey table. Three chairs. A camera mounted in the corner. My pulse hammers in my throat.
Colleen slides the printed texts across the table, hands remarkably calm. "These were delivered to my door. Anonymously. They're from my niece's boyfriend’s phone. She was seeing someone older. A man named Daniel."
The officer picks up the pages, scanning them with narrowed eyes. Minutes stretch. My knee bounces under the table until Colleen's hand covers it, stilling me.
"How did you obtain these?" he asks finally.
"Like I said. Someone left them at my door," Colleen tells him with a straight face. "I don't know who."
He studies us both, suspicion flickering across his face. My heart kicks against my ribs. I force myself to hold his gaze, channeling every ounce of fake confidence I've ever mustered.
"Any idea who might've sent them?"
"No clue," Colleen says. "But whoever it was—they wanted me to know the truth about what happened to Claudia."
The detective leans back, tapping his pen against the table. "We'll look into this. Run a thorough investigation. But I'll be honest—anonymous evidence doesn't hold up well in court."
"I understand. I just need you to find her." Colleen's voice cracks. "Please."
"You said these were texts retrieved from the boyfriend's phone?"
“Yes,” I chime in. "His name is Dylan Maclean.”
"Yes, we've interrogated him. He did not want to volunteer his phone. He wasn't helpful at all in fact. Unfortunately, we had no grounds to get a hand on it. Any evidence on it probably won't stand. We have protocols to follow, unfortunately."
Colleen sighs audibly. I'm also torn up, fraying at the edges.
Anger simmers beneath my skin—hot and restless and helpless.
The justice system seems so completely, utterly useless.
How can protocols and procedures matter more than finding someone who's missing?
How can red tape tie the hands of people who are supposed to protect us?
It makes no sense. None of this makes any sense.
He softens slightly. "I know… it's not what you wanted to hear. We'll do everything we can. Might need to contact you both with follow-up questions."
"Anything," I say quickly. "Whatever you need. We want to help."
"Alright." He stands, gathering the papers. "We'll be in touch."
I sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through the screenshots for the hundredth time. The blue light from my phone burns my eyes, but I can't stop. Won't stop.
Dylan: where tf are you
Claudia: out
Dylan: with him again?
Claudia: jealous?
Dylan: you're playing with fire
Claudia: maybe i like getting burned
I zoom in on the dates. Three weeks before she vanished. My stomach twists.
Dylan: he's too old for you. you know that right
Claudia: age is just a number
Dylan: he's gonna hurt you
Claudia: you're the one who hurts me
My throat tightens. She was fifteen. Troubled, sure. Reckless, absolutely. But still just a kid.
Dylan: claudia please. i love you. come home
Claudia: Daniel understands me. you never did
There it is again. Daniel.
I switch to another thread, a few days before she disappeared.
Claudia: i told him about us
Dylan: wtf why
Claudia: because he deserves to know
Dylan: what did he say
Claudia: he wasn't happy
Dylan: no shit
Claudia: he said i have to choose
Dylan: and?
Claudia: …
Dylan: CLAUDIA
Claudia: i need time to think
The next message is dated two days later.
Dylan: pick up your phone
Dylan: claudia
Dylan: ANSWER ME
Dylan: fine. fuck you then
Nothing. Radio silence.
Dylan: where are you
Dylan: everyone's asking about you
Dylan: your aunt called me
Dylan: this isn't funny anymore
Dylan: claudia please
I swipe to the final screenshot. My hands shake.
Dylan: if something happened to you i swear to god
Dylan: daniel did this didn't he
Dylan: i'm gonna kill that motherfucker
I drop the phone like it's on fire.
Julian shifts beside me, half-asleep. "Babe? You okay?"
"Yeah." The lie tastes bitter. "Just… couldn't sleep."
He pulls me close, wrapping his good arm around my waist. His cast presses against my hip—a reminder of what Daniel's capable of.
daniel did this didn't he
What if Dylan was right?
What if Daniel didn't just vandalize the pool hall, didn't just break Julian's hand—what if he did something worse?
What if Claudia isn't missing?
What if she's dead?
"Liza." Julian's voice cuts through the fog. “You need to stop this. You're not eating. You're not sleeping. This isn't healthy."
"I need to find something. Anything."
"The police are handling it."
I laugh, bitter and sharp. "The police don't give a shit about some troubled girl with a drug-dealer boyfriend."
He takes my phone gently from my hands. I want to snatch it back, but I'm too exhausted to fight.
And that's when it hits me. Really hits me.
Claudia. Sweet, beautiful Claudia. The girl upstairs with the Reese Witherspoon smile and those big hopeful eyes. The one who used to ask me about bartending, said she wanted to learn mixology someday.
Daniel was sleeping with her. While he was with me.
The betrayal slices clean through my ribs, sharp and sudden. I shouldn't care—I don't love him anymore, haven't loved him in months—but the humiliation burns hot in my throat.
How long? How many times did he kiss me after being with her? How many nights did he lecture me about my clothes, my friends, my life choices while he was screwing a fifteen-year-old girl in secret?
Right under my nose.
"Liza?" Julian's face swims into focus, concern etched across his features. "What's wrong?"
"He was cheating on me," I whisper. "With Claudia. The whole time."
His jaw tightens. "That son of a—"
"I was so clueless." The words taste like ash.
"You're spiraling." Julian cups my face, forcing me to look at him. "This obsession with Claudia, with Daniel—it's eating you alive."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You picked at dinner. You didn't even finish your coffee this morning. When's the last time you slept through the night?"
I pull away from his touch. "I can't just forget about her."
"I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to take care of yourself." His voice cracks. "Baby, you're scaring me."
"I'm scaring you?" The laugh that escapes sounds unhinged even to my own ears. "Daniel's out there. He hurt you. He might have hurt Claudia. And you're worried about my sleep schedule?"
"I'm worried about you." He stands, paces to the window. The moonlight catches the sharp lines of his shoulders. "You're not yourself anymore. You jump at every sound. You check the locks three times before bed. You barely smile."
"Because there's nothing to smile about."
"That's not true." He turns back to me, eyes glistening. "We have each other. We're safe. The police are investigating. But you—" He gestures at the bed, at the phone lying facedown between us. "You're drowning in this."
My throat tightens. "Someone has to care."
"You do care. Too much." He sits beside me again, gentler this time. "Liza, listen to me. You can't save everyone. You can't fix everything. And you sure as hell can't do it if you're running on empty."
Tears blur my vision. "What if she's dead?"
"Then that's on Daniel. Not you."
"But I could have—"
"Could have what? Read his mind? Known he was a predator?" Julian's voice turns sharp. "Don't do that to yourself. Don't take responsibility for his evil."
I want to argue. Want to scream that I should have seen the signs, should have known, should have protected her. But exhaustion crashes over me like a wave, pulling me under.
"I'm so tired," I whisper.
"I know." He pulls me against his chest, hand stroking my hair. "When's the last time you ate a full meal?"
I can't remember.
"Exactly." He kisses my forehead. "We're ordering Chinese. You're eating every bite. Then you're sleeping."
"Julian—"
"No arguments."
I let Julian order the food while I lie back against the pillows, closing my eyes. Just for a second.
But my hand finds my phone again.
Just one more look.
I scroll through the conversation again, where the messages get shorter, more desperate.
Dylan: babe wtf is going on
Claudia: I can't do this anymore
Dylan: can't do what? Talk to me
Claudia: Us. I can't do us.
Dylan: is this about that daniel guy
Claudia: I need to go
Dylan: claudia wait
Claudia: He's my life now. I can't get away from him.
Dylan: what does that mean
Claudia: I have to break up with you
Dylan: just tell me what's happening
Claudia: I can't
My chest constricts. I read it again. And again.
He's my life now. I can't get away from him.
Those words. The way she phrases it. Not "I don't want to" or "I love him." But can't.
Like she's trapped.
Was Daniel just being possessive? Demanding she cut Dylan off? That sounds exactly like something he'd do—I remember how he tried to isolate me, how he hated my friends, my job, my independence.
But this feels different. Darker.
I can't get away from him.
Why can't she? What did he do to her?
My mind races through possibilities. Blackmail? Threats? Was he holding something over her? Or was it simpler—just his control, his manipulation, the way he makes you feel like you can't survive without him?
God, these texts are so cryptic. Why didn't she just tell Dylan what was happening? Why all the vagueness?
Maybe she was scared. Maybe Daniel was watching her phone.
Or maybe she couldn't even articulate it herself. I remember that feeling—being so deep in Daniel's web that I couldn't explain what was wrong, couldn't find the words to describe how he'd slowly stolen pieces of me.
"Liza."
Julian's voice startles me. He's standing in the doorway, expression somewhere between exhausted and furious.
"You promised."
"I found something." My voice sounds far away. "Julian, look at this. She said she couldn't get away from him. What does that mean?"
He crosses the room in three strides and plucks the phone from my hands.
"It means the police need to deal with this. Not you."
"But—"
"This is what you do, Liza," His tone leaves no room for argument. "You eat. You rest. You try to sleep. And you stop torturing yourself."