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Or maybe you were being held there and escaped. I keep the thought to myself, but considering everything we’ve learned and been through so far, it’s not that far-fetched. We need to find out what’s going on in that building.
If my father is connected to whatever hell she escaped from, that means she isn’t safe here after all. I could lead him right to her if he finds out anything about the past week. I need to figure something out, and fast.
To cover my panic, I nod over at her screen. “Did you find anything?”
“I froze the screen as soon as I saw myself. I thought we could watch it together?” She bites her lip and fiddles with the bottom edge of her t-shirt, obviously nervous about what she might see.
Scooting my chair back, I pull her into my lap and drag her laptop over. Yes, I know she’s an adult and could sit on her own. No, I don’t care. I want her close, for her comfort and mine.
The screen shows a young woman wearing dirty jeans and a thin, grey zip-up sweater. She stands out, not only because she’s wearing a sweater in the heat of a summer day, but because her clothes are incredibly filthy. She’s walking away from something off-screen, looking around her as if worried she’s being followed.
We switch to another camera view and rewind to the same time marker. Towards the back of the camera’s range, we can see her stumbling out of the cab of a semi-truck. At first, she leans against the truck, covering her face with her hands. Then she pulls on a pair of pants, wipes her face and arms with something that she shoves into her backpack, and puts on the sweater. She looks around to check her surroundings before she hurries away, walking closer to the view of the camera. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of head trauma yet.
In another camera view, she looks like she is heading into the truck stop, but she sees something and presses herself against the wall. She inches out of sight.
We flip through multiple camera views until we spot her again, sprinting into a small, fenced area behind the building. We find the camera that points behind the building, and it looks like the fence is surrounding three large dumpsters. She isn’t in view of the camera anymore. We can see only the entrance and tops of the dumpsters. Minutes later, a uniformed guard walks into the fenced area.
I hold my breath, expecting to see signs of an attack or struggle, but the guard leaves after a quick search of the area, talking into a walkie. We speed up the footage, watching a garbage truck come and go. I’m thinking we might have missed something and lost her, but when she finally emerges, there is blood everywhere, pouring down her face and all over her clothes. It's like something out of a horror film. She stumbles off into a wooded area behind the building and doesn’t emerge again.
Six stands up, her eyes closed, pressing her hand against the scar on her head.
When she finally opens her eyes, heavy tears track down her face, her expression full of fear.
“It was a tracker.”
Lukas
Micah and I head out of the estate hand in hand. Despite everything we are currently dealing with, and the mystery ahead of us, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. Micah is back in my life and now we have Six, who only brings us closer.
Micah is silent. We’re on our way to his parent’s house first, and I know he’s worried about how they’ll receive us or if they’ll tell him anything. He’s convinced they’ll turn him away without so much as a look in his direction. I told him I would hang back, my presence will likely make it worse for him, but he declined.
“I’m with you. I love you. They’re going to have to deal with it.” Gone is the little boy afraid of his parent’s judgment and his father’s temper. In his place stands a strong, proud, devastatingly beautiful man.
“At least now you can tell them you’ve been with a woman.” I do my best Jackson eye-waggle impression.
“I’m not sure they’ll consider today’s events a step in the right direction.” We both crack up, imagining his mother’s reaction to our newfound relationship dynamic.
But the laughter dies off when we pull into their neighborhood. I stop the car in our old spot, out of view from their house.
“Are you sure?” I ask him. “I won’t be upset if you choose to make it easier, and no one would think any less of you.”
“I’d think less of me. And uh… I don’t want to go in there alone.” His admission is full of pain and fear.
Nothing could make me leave his side.
I park on the street in front of their house in case we need to make a quick escape. Micah rolls his shoulders back, straightening his spine, the picture of strength and confidence. He rings the bell, but there’s no answer, so he tries his key. The door opens.
Micah’s eyebrows raise. “I thought they would have changed the locks already.” He calls out for his parents, but no one is home. “There’s a calendar in my father’s office, we can see how long they’ll be gone. If my father has an appointment, we might want to go check your house and come back.”
According to the calendar, they’re out of town. The schedule suggests they left yesterday for a three-day trip to “The Shapiro Center, BU”. There’s an address listed, so I look it up.
Passing the phone to Micah, I tell him, “It’s an Alzheimer’s research facility associated with Boston University.”
“That makes sense, actually. He took an extended sabbatical from work after some kind of incident in a surgery.” Micah rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowed as he puts it all together. “He’s been acting strange, getting confused, angrier than usual. I definitely noticed something different about him when I got home.”
“What do you want to do?”
Without another word, he picks up a letter opener from Dr. Williams’ desk and sits in the tufted chair. Micah used to say his father was most intimidating when he was sitting in that chair.
