When I’d left the library I was carrying three of Joshua’s books.
I barely managed to make it through another meal with Brian. I kept my head down a lot, faking another headache, and had to force myself to eat the fish and salad on my plate. Other than his banal inquiries as to my day, he was silent, although he did inform me he had a late meeting and left as soon as dinner was done. I was grateful there was no function to attend that evening, and with a sigh of relief, I wearily climbed the stairs to my room.
Sitting on the bed, I stared at Joshua’s books. I hadn’t even looked at which ones they were. He wrote them and that was all that mattered. They were a piece of him. Apparently, I was lucky that there were any on the shelf as they were very popular, so I was grateful to have gotten them. Two were mysteries and the other was a more of romance/mystery that I had read before and enjoyed, surprised at his slight change of genre. I decided to reread that one. Curling up in the chair, I opened the book and soon lost myself in his mesmerizing words. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up, the house was silent and the book was on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, I knocked another one off the table and Joshua’s card fluttered to the floor. I gazed at it for a moment then my eyes drifted to the cover of the book I was reading. Again and again my eyes darted between the two, understanding dawning in my brain.
WIH98
The book “When It Hurts” was laying at my feet.
Trembling, I picked up the book and opened it to page ninety-eight and skimmed through it, my eyes stopping at one line.
“There are moments you know you have to reach out and ask for help. This was one of them.”
My heart began pounding. My eyes flew back to the card.
AAW 193
I stumbled over my feet trying to get to the bed and grabbed the book “An Alternate World” and flipped to page one hundred and ninety-three.
My eyes widened as I read the passage about a secret message being delivered on a special kind of paper. A type of paper that only showed the writing on it when the paper was wet. I stood shaking, looking down at the card in my hand, wanting to believe I had figured out what Joshua was trying to tell me. Clutching the card, I went to the bathroom as quickly as I could on my trembling legs. I turned on the faucet, praying as I placed the card under the flow until it was soaked.
I set it on the counter and waited. Slowly, I watched in amazement as a set of numbers appeared clearly in between the cryptic messages.
A phone number.
Joshua had given me a phone number.
Terrified the number would disappear; I grabbed a piece of paper and copied it down. Then I sank to the floor, my entire body quaking. I buried my head in my hands and breathed slowly until I calmed down. Ever so slowly and quietly, I made my way downstairs to the kitchen and picked up the phone and dialed the number. When it started to ring, I closed my eyes, praying Joshua would pick up. But there was nothing. After a few rings it stopped; there was a soft sound and then nothing. I stood listening to the silence on the end of the line, my breath coming out in small gasps. Unsure what to do, I hung up.
Unsteadily, I made my way upstairs, trying hard not to sob in disappointment. It was the middle of the night. Joshua must be sleeping, I kept telling myself.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, when I went to the hospital, I would call Joshua and he would somehow get me out of here. He would know what to do. He had to.
Then I would go back home to him and Bear.
And I was never leaving them again. Ever.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Joshua
Cecilia came bustling through the door, arms full. She’d gone into town to get some things while I was looking through the files she had brought. I got up and helped her with the bags and followed her to the kitchen. Silently, we put away the items she had bought and then sat down at the table. She looked over everything I had spread out. “Well?”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t add up, Cecilia. Everything a normal investigation would uncover points to an upstanding citizen.”
“But?”
I looked at her. “Frank’s digging found a pattern of aggression, and it seemed to escalate as he grew older. Then at some point it stopped. Or, at least, stopped being recorded. My gut tells me he never changed.”
Cecilia looked at me confused.
“I think his father paid dearly to have all traces of his behavior removed from his records.”
“But what about the other people involved?”
I looked at her steadily, my voice quiet. “Money talks, Cecilia. It also buys silence. We both know that.”
She nodded in silent agreement.
I opened another folder. “The financial pictures are interesting as well. James is well paid, generous benefits, the whole CEO-type package, yet …”
“What?” she prompted.