Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
And there are the memories of our father, of course. The things he did to us. Mostly to her, I know now.
My mind shifts to what I learned from Robbie about Blue’s father. The damage he did to her and her sister. What is it with fathers? Aren’t they supposed to protect their daughters? There are enough monsters in the world without having to be attacked in your own home by a man who should protect you, aren’t there?
That sensation of my throat closing up, all that old emotion, the damage I’d been able to keep buried for so many years, it’s back. Like it was toward the end of my time there. I close my eyes, force in a deep breath, tell myself to focus.
Amsterdam has helped, at least a little. I don’t see Zoë’s face at every turn. She was never there. My failure to protect my twin sister doesn’t fucking stare me in the face every fucking minute of the day there. But it’s not like I lived a life there either. I exist. What right do I have to live a life? How selfish for me to even consider it when she doesn’t get to be alive at all?
My cell phone rings as I drive off the property. I push a button to answer, and Jericho’s voice fills the car.
“Where are you?”
“I’m heading to Blue’s apartment to see what I can find. Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”
“I’ll pass that on to Isabelle.”
“You told her?”
“What was I going to do, go into her closet and take her clothes and hope she wouldn’t notice? Speaking of, you left things here too. Guessing you’ll need them. I’ll bring them by later. Since you’ll be spending more time here than you expected why don’t you come over? See the kids. You’re still Angelique’s favorite uncle.”
I chuckle. “Easy when you’re the only uncle. What was the manager’s name at Hotel Petterhof by the way?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Spencer. Mitch Spencer. He’s no longer employed at the property, but I’ve got someone looking into his whereabouts.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
“I want to help, Zeke.”
“No. You’re not part of this. I’m not getting you involved any more than you already are. You work on finding Spencer. I’ll call you once I leave the apartment.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Join the club. I gotta go.”
“All right, brother,” Jericho says after a long silence. “I’m here for you whatever you need.”
I nod, knowing he can’t see me, and disconnect the call. I head toward Blue’s apartment. I spent a few hours looking through her phone last night but didn’t find much. She has no contacts apart from her sister and a contact marked Rudy Nurse who apparently works at the facility. No socials, as I already knew. Her web searches and history were meticulously cleared. And the only email in her inbox was the one notifying her of my one-dollar deposit into her account.
Her texts with her sister changed abruptly about two years ago. She only sends her knock-knock jokes. There are messages from Rudy, too, who gives her updates on how Wren is doing. How must it feel to not know your sister anymore even though she’s right there? Is it a similar loss as death? In a way, it must be.
But I can’t care about that. I need to focus on the task at hand. Like I told Blue, she’s here because she fucked up. She has only herself to blame and I can’t care about the motivator behind her attempt to blackmail me.
The apartment building is about forty-five minutes away in a pretty shitty neighborhood. When I arrive, I park my SUV in the lot and look around. It probably costs more than all the cars parked here combined. I climb out, lock it, and look up at the five-story building that looks like it hasn’t had any work done to it in a decade at least.
In the corner of the lot, I see a worn-out Honda Passat, its black paint peeling, one of the tires looking like it needs air. The car stands out because it’s the only one with Pennsylvania plates. I cross the lot to take a closer look, peering into the window when I find the doors locked. I’m pretty sure it’s hers. I snap a photo of the license plate and send it to Robbie asking him to find out who it’s registered to.
I head toward the stairs that will lead inside. One of the two glass doors at the entrance has a crack in it that’s been taped up and the lock is broken. I push the door open and enter. The vestibule is messy with two broken umbrellas just lying on the floor and a bag of trash someone couldn’t be bothered to take to the dumpster I saw in the corner of the lot. It stinks.