Chapter Six
Bella
I got back to the hotel later than I ’ d wanted.
As an avid surfer, I ’ ve spent my fair share of time in the water. But surfing off the shores of Costa Rica is an experience unlike any I ’ ve had.
I love my California beaches and the Pacific coast surfing, but the change of scenery is such a refreshing experience for me that I let myself take the time to sit in the water and soak it all in.
The trees, the birds. The warmth of the early morning sun contrasted with the cold water. It washed over me in such a therapeutic way that I lost track of time.
When I suddenly remembered we had to be checked out of the hotel by eleven, I swiftly paddled back to shore, returned the board to the resort shop, and then hurried back to our room.
I hope Harley checked us out and got our things, but I also feel bad that she ’ d have to move all that by herself. Then again, if she had been out surfing with me that morning as planned, we could have done it together. I know she won’t be upset about having to do it on her own, but I still have the thoughts running through my mind as I make my way to the front desk.
“ Hey, I just wanted to make sure my friend and I are checked out of the room,” I tell the clerk behind the counter. “ We were supposed to be out of there by eleven since we ’ re moving to one of the bungalows. I was out surfing and lost track of time. My friend is probably grabbing the bags out of there now if she ’ s not already gotten them.”
“ What room number?”
I give our room number and names, adding another apology. It’s only twelve minutes past check-out time, but I don ’ t want to wind up with more charges because of it.
“ Okay, looks like you ’ ve not been checked out yet. How quickly do you think you can be out of there?”
“ I just need to grab the bags,” I tell him. “ It ’ ll take all of ten minutes.”
“ Okay, if you can be out by eleven thirty, we can avoid having to charge you,” he says politely.
“ Thanks so much,” I tell him, certain that the relief is evident on my face. “ I ’ ll be right back.”
I dash toward the elevator, though in the back of my mind, I ’ m wondering where the hell Harley is. She said she would be back in time to check out of the place, and clearly, she isn't. I can ’ t be too annoyed with her knowing that I came back in late, and I dismiss the worry that flashes in the back of my mind.
I reach the room and let myself in, finding it exactly as I ’ d left it, so obviously, Harley hasn ’ t been back here since I left this morning.
Of course, with the way Lucas is, he probably convinced her she should stay for lunch, too. Who knows.
I bury my annoyance, trying to think of how I will tell her in the nicest way possible that I prefer not to deal with Lucas or Sebastian again for the remainder of our trip. I don ’ t want to argue about it with her, but I have a feeling that with how much she’s taken with Lucas, it will be a losing battle on my end to get her to slow down with him.
I lug all of our bags out of the room and drag them with me into the hallway as best I can, trying to maneuver the uncooperative suitcases to the elevator. I feel like an idiot trying to get so much through the halls at once, but at least I’ve gotten everything out of the room, so we won’t be charged for the whole day.
“ Here, miss, can I give you a hand?”
I turn to find a kind-looking man pulling a luggage cart over. “ You ’ ve got quite a bit here.”
“ Enough for two people,” I joke, despite his not knowing my situation.
“ That ’ s alright,” he says with a grin as he loads the bag onto the carts. “ Do you have a car outside waiting for you?”
“ I ’ m actually staying at a bungalow here,” I tell him. “ Running a little behind with the checking in and out, hence why I ’ m trying to move it all at once.”
“ Quite alright, quite alright,” he says with a laugh. “ I ’ ll order a cart to take this over for you.”
“ Really?”
“ Not a problem,” he assures me. “ We want all our guests to be as comfortable as possible, and I know how easy it is to lose track of time enjoying the beaches.”
I thank him profusely, and I ’ m surprised and grateful to find something resembling a golf cart waiting outside for me. The driver helps me load the luggage into the back of the cart and then drives me over to the bungalow.
He unloads everything and brings the bags to the porch for me, but the kindness does little to alleviate my frustration with Harley being M.I.A. I give him what cash I have for a tip, hoping it ’ s a suitable amount.
After I ’ m alone once more, I let myself into the bungalow.
Immediately, I ’ m impressed with the interior of the place. It ’ s not as luxurious as the hotel, but it ’ s certainly nice and gives us more room to spread out for the rest of our trip. I can only imagine how much Harley will gush over it when she finally returns.
Harley is known for getting caught up in the moment and losing track of time. I know she doesn ’ t mean anything by it, and sometimes I feel guilty about being the motherly one in our relationship. I want her to have fun while we ’ re here, and if she can get out on that yacht and enjoy her very own “ Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” episode for half a day, then who am I to stand in the way of that?
I begin unpacking, and if I ’ m honest, I ’ m somewhat smug over the fact that Harley isn ’ t here to pick out her room, meaning I ’ m the one who gets to make the choice. It ’ s a small victory, that I ’ m going to happily point out to her if she complains that I ’ ve taken the larger of the two rooms – and the one with the en suite bathroom.
I open the blinds and the sliding door, letting a nice breeze flow through the already light and airy bungalow. There ’ s no denying the place is adorable, and a small part of me wonders what it would be like to leave behind my high-speed life back home and move to a quiet little place like this. I chuckle and dismiss it from my mind as a fantasy, but one can dream.
By the time I finish unpacking and opening up the place, it ’ s after noon.
“ Where is she?” I say out loud as I grab my phone. I ’ ve been listening to music while I set up our temporary living situation, but I haven ’ t gotten any messages or calls from Harley. I wonder if perhaps she did try to text me and my music was too loud for the notification to be heard, but a quick look at the screen tells me that she ’ s not tried contacting me.
Mixed emotions swell inside me once more. I’m annoyed, frustrated, and admittedly a little envious because she’s probably out there having the time of her life while I’m doing the legwork. Yet, another part of me wants to be more easygoing and lighthearted.
I don ’ t want to be uptight and a worrywart on my vacation, and what better way to let some of that go than to let Harley be Harley and not worry about it?
But in the back of my mind, there it is.
It’s a question I ask myself every other week: Bella , why do you worry so much?
I’m probably a shrink’s dream — their meal ticket.
What with my issues of abandonment and my fear of losing loved ones that sometimes stifle me. I’ve missed out on certain life experiences, and occasionally, I’ve even been paralyzed by worry and fear.
But my idea of therapy is swimming and surfing. Not to mention, it’s cheap. On the other hand, Harley would say I just need a good hook-up occasionally. And while I can see how the endorphins and dopamine would hit much like it does with exercise — and conveniently, it’s free — I just don’t see it being in my repertoire, now or in the future. Miss Fuddy Duddy strikes again!
I try to ignore the fact that we don ’ t know Sebastian or Lucas from Adam. Just because we spent an entire day hanging out with them at the resort doesn ’ t mean we know their stories. My tendency to be overly cautious hinders me at times, but there are other times when I genuinely believe my caution is warranted.
This uneasy feeling – that we don ’ t know them or their backgrounds – was a large part of the reason I didn ’ t feel comfortable going out on their yacht. I didn ’ t want to be stuck in the middle of the ocean with two men I didn ’ t know. Whether that was worrying too much, as Harley would say, or whether it was smart, the result for me was the same.
I decide to text her.
Where are you? It ’ s past noon , and I checked us out of the hotel and moved all our things to the bungalow, but I thought you ’ d be back by now. Just come to the bungalow when you ’ re back, but please let me know you ’ re okay.
My mind starts to go to the worst-case scenario, but I fight it and force myself to push it to the back of my mind. I need a distraction. I ’ m pleased to find that our fridge has been stocked with drinks, so I grab a bottle of locally brewed beer, pick up the book I brought with me, and head to the little yard in the back of our bungalow.
Of course, it ’ s a tropical paradise , just like the rest of the resort, and I ’ m thrilled to find a hammock between two palm trees. There ’ s a BBQ area and even a beautiful fountain almost as tall as I am. Everything about the place is so serene, which is precisely what I need at the moment. I enjoy my cold beer, lose myself in my book for a couple of hours, and doze off under the sun's warmth.When I wake up with a start, I see that it ’ s almost four. I realize it ’ s the neighbors playing music in the yard next to ours that woke me, but I ’ m glad that it did.
Checking my phone, I realize I still haven ’ t heard from Harley. Now, I feel like being worried is genuinely warranted, and I try to call her. I don ’ t have much of a plan of what I’ll do should her phone be dead, and I ’ m relieved that it does, in fact, ring.
It goes to voicemail, but at least her phone is active. I kick myself for not thinking to share each other ’ s location, considering we were coming down to a foreign country, but that won’t do me any good now.
I can ’ t ignore the knot that ’ s formed in the pit of my stomach as I head back into the house. I typically have a pretty keen sense of things going on around me and a strong intuition, and the fact that I haven ’ t heard from her all day is starting to weigh on me.
I can only imagine what she ’ d say if I were to go to the extent of getting security or even local police involved, only to find out that she had just decided to spend the day lying on the deck of some rich guy ’ s yacht and forgot to check in. Not only would I feel like I overreacted, but she would probably never let me live it down.
But, as the hours creep by, I become increasingly agitated. I don ’ t want to freak myself out, but she ’ s been gone all day. It ’ s eight o ’ clock, and I think it ’ s time I at least alert the staff at the resort that I ’ m worried about her and see what the next options are. Whether I ’ m overreacting or not, I would rather do that than find out I didn ’ t do enough when she needed me.
I go to the resort’s main office and politely insist that I need to talk to someone in charge.
“ I ’ m here with my friend,” I tell the resort ’ s manager. “ We ’ re booked for thirty days here, but she went out with some other guests this morning, and I haven ’ t been able to get a hold of her since.”
“ Oh, that ’ s unfortunate,” he says. “ What ’ s also unfortunate is that we are not law enforcement, and I ’ m afraid if you wish to make a report, you’llhave to contact them directly.”
“ Can you give me any information on the men she ’ s with?” I ask. “ I have their names.”
“ Unfortunately, I cannot give out information on other guests in the resort,” he says. I ’ m starting to hate how much he ’ s using the word, unfortunately.
“ I don ’ t want personal information,” I tell him. “ I just want to know if they are even registered guests here or if you have a phone number on file. I ’ m concerned that my friend has gone out on their yacht, and I ’ ve not heard from her since. So, if you could tell me –”
He holds up his hand and cuts me off, “ Unfortunately, I cannot share details about any other guests in the resort. I might recommend that you ask around the social areas, but beyond that, if you feel that you need to put in a missing persons report, the only people who can help you with that is local law enforcement.”
I sigh. I ’ m starting to feel like we ’ re wasting valuable time, and I ’ m quickly realizing that I ’ m not going to get anywhere with this guy. He’s clearly been taught to regurgitate whatever policy they ’ ve given him, and no matter what angle I use to try to get information out of him, he ’ s going to tell me the same unfortunate result
“ Fine. Can you please give me the number and address for local enforcement?” I request. “ If this is serious, I want to get the information out there as quickly as possible.”
“ Of course,” he says with a smile I feel is too cheerful for the situation.
He writes down the information on a piece of paper and hands it to me, then gives me the standard, “ Please let us know if there ’ s anything more we can do to make your stay more pleasant.”
I want to tell him helping me locate my missing friend would be far more pleasant, but I don ’ t want to make a scene. I ’ ve wasted enough time with these people already. I need to move. I leave without thanking him, entirely aggravated with the whole exchange.
I ’ m already calling the number he gave me as I walk back to my bungalow. The knot in my stomach has grown to the point I ’ m downright nauseous, and my heart pounds in my chest as I explain to the dispatch why I ’ m calling.
“ I ’ ll have an officer reach out to you as soon as possible,” she tells me before ending the call. I ’ m a little put off by how casually everyone seems to be handling the situation, and I consider that I might be working myself up into a frenzy for nothing. But then again, I know what my gut is telling me. I feel like I'm arguing with myself in my head.
There ’ s still hope in the back of my mind that Harley is going to come walking in through the door with some explanation of how she ’ d lost her phone or how she ’ d lost track of time. Anything at this point would make me feel better if I only knew that she was okay.
Another agonizing hour ticks by before I hear back from an officer.
I give him the information he asks for and then tell him about Harley.
“ I found a note in my room this morning when I woke up,” I explain. “ She said she was going to go out with these guys we met on their yacht they ’ ve been talking about, and she was supposed to come back before lunch, but she didn ’ t. I haven ’ t been able to reach her, either.”
“ What are the names of the men she ’ s with?”
“ Lucas and Sebastian,” I say.
“ Last names?”
God, I ’ m an idiot. I wrack my blank mind as I try to think of whether they gave us their last names or if I can even remember them if they did.
“ I don ’ t know,” I say. “ But I can describe them.”
I do as best I can, though I continue to feel like the world ’ s biggest idiot as I do. I know I ’ m describing half the resort, and it strikes me as I ’ m talking that I don ’ t even know for sure that they gave us their real names, which sends a chill through me.
“ Alright,” the officer says. “ I have some good news, and I have some bad news.”
I ’ m not sure how to respond to that.
“ Meaning?”
“ Meaning I ’ ve made a few notes here, but I can ’ t make an official report until your friend has been missing for a full twenty-four hours.”
“ What?” I gasp. “ I thought that was a myth.”
“ A myth?”
“ I ’ ve heard that you don ’ t have to wait that long to put in a missing person ’ s report,” I tell him, fighting to remain calm. “ If she ’ s in danger right now, then we ’ re wasting time!”
“ Perhaps laws are different where you are from,” he replies casually. “ Here in Costa Rica, we must wait twenty-four hours before putting in the report. You must understand that while you have your fears, the person in question is an adult, and she might not wish to be found.”
“ Not wish to be found?”
I repeat the words he used, and I ’ m sure he can hear how incredulous I am. He sounds insane to me. The way he ’ s putting it, he makes it sound as though Harley has deliberately disappeared, and she doesn ’ t want me to know where she is or what she ’ s doing.
For as free-spirited as Harley is, and even with how much she and I disagree on certain life choices, I know she ’ d never intentionally hide from me. She would much more likely tell me that she understood my point of view, but she ’ s doing things her way.
“ If you haven ’ t heard from her by tomorrow morning,” he says. “ Then call me back, and I ’ ll put in this report, and we ’ ll open an investigation.”
“ If that ’ s how it has to be,” I say, hoping he ’ ll make an exception.
“ That ’ s policy,” he replies.
I hang up and fight the urge to grab a pillow and scream into it. I can ’ t believe everyone in this resort – and even in this town – treats this situation so casually. My cousin has vanished with two men we don ’ t know, yet they ’ re acting as though she ’ s some college kid who is trying to ditch her parents and have some fun for the weekend.
Deep down inside, I feel like there is something very wrong here, and I need to act quickly, yet I don ’ t want to alert our mothers yet and unnecessarily panic them.
Who do I turn to when not even the police are willing to listen to me? I need someone who will take this seriously and who will be able to act on what needs to be done. At first, my mind is blank. I ’ ve intentionally kept a small social circle for years.
Then, as if being recalled from some deep, core memory, a name comes to my mind.
Cole Jensen.