Chapter 44
Chase told me about his fight with Gabby before we left for this latest series after I complained to him for being the reason she cancelled our breakfast on Sunday.
I tried reaching out to see what was going on with her, but she was distant with me too while we were gone.
Enough is enough. Since we’re off today after getting back late last night, I stop by her office, but she isn’t there.
Her assistant says she took a sick day, which isn’t like her.
So, I’m stopping by her house to get to the bottom of what’s going on with her.
The last time she took a sick day was when she had a mammogram last year and I found her in a ball in her bed.
It has me on edge. I pull into her driveway and her car is parked in its normal spot around back.
Getting out of my truck, I sort through my keys to find the one to her door.
It’s no surprise when I find her door unlocked.
This girl is asking for a murderer to walk in one day.
What is surprising when I walk in is the glass shattered on the floor.
Remnants of the glass bowl where she puts her keys are scattered around the area.
I was only joking about the murderer, God. Please let her be alive.
I’m on high alert, wishing I had a weapon in case I’m about to encounter danger. Moving deeper into the house, I see wreckage. More glass on the floor. Papers are everywhere. It’s like someone swiped everything off the counters. Her purse is in the corner with its contents spilling out.
If there isn’t a burglar, then whatever is going on with Gabby is worse than I thought.
I’ve never seen something like this, especially not from her.
She’s normally cool and collected, even while stressed or under pressure.
She’s only ever cried the one time I found her.
The house is deathly quiet, but that doesn’t stop me from grabbing a knife from the butcher block just in case someone is hiding inside.
Blame her for all the true crime we watch together.
I slowly make my way to the stairs. The only signs of destruction are in the kitchen area, which makes me feel marginally better.
I keep my ears peeled for any signs of life or struggle.
Soft sniffles reach me when I get closer to her bedroom on the second floor.
The sight that greets me is one of nightmares.
Not again.
She lies motionless on the bed. Her hands are cradled under her head. Her legs are bent in the fetal position near her chest. The only movement is the slight rocking motion back and forth. She sniffles again.
“Gabby, baby,” I say softly as I approach the edge of the bed. She doesn’t move or respond.
“Darlin’, can you hear me?” Her dead eyes meet mine and the tears start falling.
“Hold on sweetheart, I’ve got you.” I step out of my shoes, drop the knife on the bedside table, and crawl into bed beside her.
Pulling her onto my chest, I soothe her as best I can with one arm while the other reaches for my phone to send a text.