Page 87 of Sterling Clay

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “But I need to go.” I click off the phone before Meredith even says goodbye, and call Stone.

“Mavis and Dutton are missing.”

Stone inhales sharply before asking a barrage of questions. When did I see her last? Did she report to work? Was Dutton at Meredith’s? I can only answer two out of three before telling him I’ll call the hospital, already fearing what they’ll tell me.

When my suspicion is confirmed—Mavis did not report for her shift—I stare at her phone in my other hand, glaring at the ten digits in circles on the home screen, willing the passcode to somehow reveal itself.

I try her birthdate. Fail.

Dutton’s birthdate. Fail.

I wish I knew her sister’s birthdate. Maybe her death date. I even try my birthdate, but I’m quickly running out of options before the phone will lock on me.

I try to think of any other number that might be of significance to her.

Then I take a lucky guess as I only need six digits.

7-9-5-8-3-7

Sylver.

The phone unlocks, and I breathe out a deep sigh of relief. Scrolling her favorite contacts for someone I don’t know and probably hasn’t heard about me, he’s the third person I can think of who might know where Mavis and Dutton are.

I click on the contact for Mavis’s Dad.

Chapter 31

[Mavis]

When Darren pulls into the motel parking lot, roughly an hour outside of Sterling Falls on some obscure highway, I have no sense of where we were. The seedy, rundown location screams motel rooms that rent by the hour.

I complained at first. “Dutton needs medical attention.” I wanted him checked for a concussion better than the brief scan I’ve done in Darren’s truck. Plus, he needed ointment for the seatbelt burn on his neck.

“The kid looks fine.”

The kid? Was he kidding me? His kid. Although, Darren had no claim to the boy he created.

Inside the dark room, a musty smell lingers. Darren keeps the blinds closed.

For the longest time, we are quiet. All three of us.

Darren took a seat in a chair two sizes too small for him. He’s been staring at his phone but not necessarily scrolling.

I don’t have my phone to distract Dutton with Princess Power videos, and the television doesn’t offer any streaming services. Not that Darren has bothered to turn it on. Instead, I sit on the lumpy double bed against the headboard with Dutton curled into my side. Stroking his hair, I attempt to keep him calm while my heart hammers in my chest.

Eventually, Dutton naps, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. Black and blue marks are forming beneath my eyes from the pressure of my nose slammed by the air bag. The tension of gripping the steering wheel is starting to settle in, making my upper back and neck stiff. I briefly close my eyes.

When Dutton wakes, he whines, “I’m hungry.”

Darren’s head shoots upright as if he’d forgotten Dutton is in the room. His large mouth falls open, before he snaps it shut. His gaze fixates on Dutton tucked into my side.

“He’s turning soft,” Darren grunts.

“He’s six,” I remind him, not certain Darren can count that high. Or has bothered to recall how much time has passed since he denied this child was his son and dumped my sister. “And he’s hungry. There’s a difference.”

Darren is really referencing Dutton’s appearance. A time, or five, he’s eyed Dutton’s peach sweatshirt with a gold-colored crown.

“He didn’t eat breakfast,” I explain. “And we missed lunch as well.” The digital clock on the nightstand tells me it’s after five. Clay must be coming out of his skin at my absence. While he might not have noticed I was missing during the hours of my shift, we do communicate often with text messages and an occasional phone call, and by now he’d notice I haven’t responded to any.