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“Likewise.” He glances down at me. “Do you have a picture?” he asks.
I nod, pulling out my phone and pulling up my sister’s social media. Then it dawns on me to check her socials, not that she shares much. She’s always been a private person.
Fredrick takes my phone, turning the image toward the bartender. “Seen her?” he asks.
Tank's gaze sweeps my sister’s face, obviously trying to place her in memory. A frown creases his brow before he shakes his head and gestures subtly towards the far corner of the room. There’s something so strange about their interaction I feel unsettled. How do these people know each other so well?
Fredrick nods in silent thanks before leading me in the direction the bartender gestured.
A man who’s somehow bigger than Tank stands with his back to the wall, sunglasses covering his eyes despite the dim light. I sense he’s surveying the room.
Fredrick shows him the picture, and the man stares at my sister’s face for a moment before shaking his head once and returning to his stoic stance.
The set of Fredrick’s shoulders shifts, and I know he’s disappointed as we make our way back to the bar. I sit, taking in all the people dancing and trying to imagine my sister in a place like this. Alex is the type to come here, drink too much, and make poor decisions - even some that lead to him being shot. But Emma? She’s always been so responsible.
I guess that even those we love can have secrets we’d never guess. ...Which doesn't make me feel any better.
Emma's face, the sister I knew, flickers behind my eyes—her laughter, her secrets, how close we’d been. Now I can’t imagine feeling further apart.Why did she run away? Had I pushed her away somehow?
Lowering my head to hide the sudden tears in my eyes, I glance down at her photo on my phone. Around me, people’s faces blur together, their motions filled with joy and excitement as I feel my world crumble around me.
Desperation winds tight in my belly, each negative thought dragging me further into the darkness.
“Emma,” I whisper to myself as I touch her face on screen, “where are you?”
A kid with neon wristbands walks past me to the bar, then glances down at me.
“Hey! You know Riley?” he asks, his voice excited.
Riley? Emma’s middle name is Riley. Fredrick's hand takes my arm, gentle yet firm as if offering me support.
“We're looking for her,” he says, his voice steady as he steps in closer to me.
The kid glances around, his movements suddenly nervous. He lifts both hands in a gesture of innocence - or not wanting to get involved - then takes his drinks and vanishes back into the crowd. I want to chase him down, tackle him, and demand information.
Instead, my heart drops and the tears threaten to come back.
“Damn.” The frustrated word scrapes my throat raw.
Fredrick, though, is smiling, the expression softening the hard lines of his face.
“Why are you smiling?” I ask, wondering if he knows something I don’t.
He glances my direction, his eyes dark in the low lights of the club.“Now we know she's going by Riley,” he says, his warm hand gently closing around mine.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Riley. Emma's middle name is the one she’s known by here. It's not much, but it's something—a fragile lead when I thought all hope was lost.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I wonder how I can take a call in here. I take Fredrick’s hand and pull him toward the door. When I let him go, his hand lightly touches my lower back as if to assure me he’s still close.
Once outside, I see the caller was mom, and I move away from the building with Fredrick staying close. My fingers tremble as I call her back, the screen of my phone blurry as I try not to panic and internally beg for good news.
She answers quickly. “I was so worried when you didn’t answer,” she says, her voice breathless.
“We’re still looking. Did she call or anything?” I ask, hopeful.
Mom’s breath hitches, and a broken sob comes through the phone and claws at my insides. “No. She sent a text that she’s safe and okay, but what if she’s not?”
“We’re still looking,” I say, hoping to ease her fear.
