Chapter 2
LANDON - NOW
Last night, we didn’t go straight to the hospital like we wanted to. For one thing, there are three major hospitals in San Esteban, and we had no idea which one is treating Alice. For another, visiting hours would be over. While we could get in regardless, we wanted to let Alice get her rest.
And for a third—we aren’t sure she’ll be happy to see us.
Instead, we spent all night reviewing old footage from Alice’s disappearance.
We pored over the police files we’d been able to obtain from our contact in the department, Detective Baldwin.
We even reviewed the entirely useless media footage, just in case there was something we’d missed the first hundred times we watched it.
Every time Alice’s piece-of-shit husband, Brayden, came onscreen, I wanted to punch something. Sure, he looked sad as a kicked puppy while he cried about his missing wife. “Please bring her home,” he’d blubbered. “Please.”
“Fuckin’ douche.” Cody had turned off the screen.
Now it’s Sunday, though, and Cody and I want to get into Alice’s hospital. At least, I want to get in.
“Why are we doing this again?” Cody asks as I pull into the Margaret Chung Medical Center parking lot. “And how the fuck did you convince Baldwin to share which hospital Alice is at?”
“Baldwin didn’t need to say a thing. I guessed, and he confirmed by refusing to say another word about it.”
“As to my first question,” Cody presses, “why the fuck are we doing this?”
I park and get out of the car without answering. He knows why we’re doing it. Alice was, at one time, a good friend. And I have a feeling she’s going to need good friends again.
Unfortunately, the receptionist doesn’t agree with us. “Your names aren’t on the list,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you through or give you any further information on a patient who may or may not be here.”
I know she’s here. I look over at Cody.
He sighs at me before leaning in close, but not too close, turning on the charm.
His twinkling, light brown eyes can usually get us whatever we want.
“So, Mayumi,” he says, reading her name tag, “the thing is, Alice is our friend. I promise, we aren’t reporters or anything. We just want to help her—”
Mayumi gives him an impassive look. “You can leave now.”
“Hold on a second, maybe we can work something out? Please?” He smiles and widens his eyes at the same time.
“I like girls,” she says bluntly. “Whatever you’re doing with your eyes? It might work on other women, but it makes you look stupid to me. Get out.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can’t help but laugh as Cody and I leave the hospital. It’s rare he gets shot down. In fact, this might be only the second time I’ve seen it happen.
“Alice probably has a thousand officers from SEPD working on this,” Cody says with a sulk in his voice. “She doesn’t need us.”
“I think she does.”
He’s silent as we get in the car, rubbing his clean-shaven face. He does that a lot when he’s thinking or brooding, so I wait to see what he comes up with.
“Well, fuck it,” Cody says. “We know someone who can find a way to contact her.”
It takes me only a millisecond to realize who he means. At the same time, we nod and say, “Ariel.”
ALICE - NOW
“Here you go.” Brayden drops a phone in my lap, then starts his truck. The engine rumbles loudly as I stare at the device.
“What’s this?”
“New phone. We, ah, had to give your old one to the police when you left.”
When I left. Like I went willingly.
I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s probably hard to say, when you were grabbed during your run, or when that psychopath took you and held you in captivity for a year. But when you were taken isn’t too wordy. He could’ve said that.
I stare at his profile, at his wispy blond hair that won’t sit still on his head. It’s always fluttering like some kind of slimy sea creature moving in the ocean’s current.
Suddenly disgusted, I look down at myself.
The dark yellow sweatpants and sweatshirt I’m wearing came from the local discount store, as well as a pair of too-tight shoes.
One of the nurses had urged Brayden to bring me some clothes before I was discharged.
This is what he came up with. A urine-yellow sweatshirt and pants, and shoes that don’t fit.
He clears his throat. It’s the Brayden segue into any difficult conversation, so I can already see where this is going. “We should probably talk.”
“Right.” I don’t want to talk about anything. I don’t want to talk about the kidnapping. I don’t want to talk about why I need a new phone.
But any of that is easier than talking about his relationship with Jericha. Their engagement. Their unborn baby. And that, obviously, is what he wants to talk about. The topic sits between us in the truck, like Jericha herself could be perched on the gear shift like a manic, pregnant Tinker Bell.
“You have to understand, Alice, that I thought you were dead.”
Thought, or hoped? I don’t speak the question out loud. He never liked it when I talked back to him.
He continues, “But I really want to work things out—”
“Sorry,” I say, because I should always apologize if I interrupt.
“Sorry, but can we talk about this later? I’m still very tired.
” The doctors said that other than some vitamin deficiencies, I’m completely fine, physically.
But they recommended major therapy, two to three times a week, for “as long as it takes.”
I will probably be in therapy forever.
“Sure.” He clears his throat again. He really does remind me of a frog. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. “Of course.”
“The only thing I need to know is whether she’s staying at our house right now. Are you taking me home to your and my house, or to your and Jericha’s house?” I feel sick to my stomach, just thinking about it.
“Our house,” he says. “Yours and mine. She isn’t living there, Alice. You don’t need to worry.”
But I am worried. And as I step into what I used to call my house, I should be worried.
There are signs of her everywhere. I know for a fact that Brayden didn’t haul his ass to Home-Sweet and buy a new welcome mat.
He would’ve left the old one at the front door until it faded and crumbled.
He wouldn’t have replaced the curtains in the kitchen, or switched out my carefully-embroidered hand towels for those deep purple ones.
For heaven’s sake, her jacket is on a hook in the entryway.
Speechless, I remove my shoes by the door. I line them up perfectly, side by side, before walking upstairs. Instead of going to our bedroom, I step into what should’ve been our baby’s nursery, had I ever gotten pregnant.
They completed the nursery. The walnut crib I’d picked out is assembled and arranged off to the side. The walls are painted a soft, sage green. Matching bedding has already been placed in the crib, along with a sage green, plush teddy bear.
This is a room for a baby who will never be mine.
I fall to my knees on the floor, staring around, wondering if I’ll ever breathe again.
“Alice?” Brayden’s heavy footsteps come up the stairs.
I scramble to my feet and back out of the nursery, blood pumping in my ears. I am perfect. I am calm. I am poised. I am untouchable, pristine, pure.
I stride across the hall to the master bedroom.
Even this room looks different. There’s bright floral bedding that I never would have chosen.
A self-help book about “claiming your rights as a pious woman” sits on the nightstand.
Walking over, I pick it up and turn to face Brayden. He gapes at me from the doorway.
“Did you even change the bedsheets?” I drop the book back on the nightstand to emphasize my point.
“Uh.” His mouth opens and closes. He is such a toad. “Jericha changed them.”
“I’ll sleep downstairs.” I go to my dresser and open it to get clean underwear and pajamas.
Strange clothes appear before me. Silky lingerie, lace. The kinds of things Brayden never wanted me to wear because my boobs are too big and they made me “look like a whore.”
These aren’t my clothes. They’re hers.
I blink back tears. No freaking way will I cry in front of Brayden. He no longer feels safe. Maybe he never did. I am poised, perfect, and I can handle this on my own.
“Oh.” He comes up behind me, so close I can feel his body heat and smell his sweat. “We—I mean, I—donated your clothing. I’m sorry I gave up on finding you, Alice. We’ll get you some new clothes, whatever you want.”
I step sideways, out of his reach. “I’ll be on the couch.”
Clutching my new phone, which is apparently the only thing in this world that I own, I make my way back downstairs. Thankfully, Brayden doesn’t follow me. I expected whining and complaints, but maybe like me, he’s just too fucking tired.
I find a new blanket on the couch that smells like Jericha’s flowery perfume.
This is a nightmare. I stepped out of a nightmare with Abe and into a nightmare with Brayden.
There’s no physical chain holding me to this nightmare, but I depend on Brayden for everything. He controls the finances, his name is on everything. Is mine? I don’t even know.
I was young when I married him three years ago—only twenty-three. I trusted him with my entire life. I thought we were a team.
Lying on the couch, I push the blanket down so I don’t have to smell Jericha. A strange chirp gets my attention, and I realize it’s my phone. Quickly, I silence it and check the notification.
Unknown Number: Hey, Wonderland. We’re thinking of you. If you need anything, call.
I stare at the text for a long, unblinking moment. There are only two people on the planet who call me “Wonderland”—Landon Sprechter and Cody Wells. Old friends from before I married Brayden.
Brayden never liked them. He said we couldn’t invite them to the wedding.
His feelings would be hurt if I texted them, and I felt so guilty, I stopped texting.
It hadn’t helped that they never approved of him.
It hadn’t helped that he found out I met them in grief counseling because their girlfriend—one girlfriend for two men—had passed away.
He thought they were lecherous old men, despite them being the same age as him, about ten years older than me.
He told me they were sinful and our church would never allow them to set foot on our campus, much less into the sanctuary temple itself.
In my quest to be the perfect wife, I’d let it go. I’d let them go.
But now, in the moment I feel most alone, most abandoned and forgotten, they remembered me. They’re reaching out, offering their help.
I stare at their text until the screen goes dark.