“Almost twenty years.”
Well, hell. She’d know. “Yeah? Well . . . thanks for the info.”
“Maybe you have the wrong house,” she suggests. “It could be on a different street close by. They all look pretty similar around here.”
“Maybe. You might be right.” I finally allow myself to stare longingly at the house—Katie’s house. It’s small, white with pale blue trim and matching shutters flanking the windows, the front door painted a rich, glossy red, which surprises me. Such a bold color, but maybe she likes bright colors. Pots of colorful flowers dot the front porch and a wooden swing hangs from the roof, similar to the one my interrogator is currently sitting on.
If I could, I’d walk into Katie’s yard and look through the windows to see how she lives. Her tastes, her furniture, the photos she might have on the walls. But not a one of those windows is bare. Curtains or blinds cover every single one that I can see and besides, I’d look like a damn criminal—a peeping Tom trying to catch a glimpse of a vulnerable woman all alone inside.
No way will I allow myself to share any traits with my father. I hate myself enough already. Any and all comparisons to him would fucking wreck me.
“Who lives here now?” I ask nonchalantly, ignoring the way my heart speeds up. I want just one word about Katie—Katherine. One little fact, a morsel of information I can take back with me to savor later.
Tell me she’s safe. Tell me she’s happy. Tell me she has friends and a cat and she has a good job and she’s seeing someone who might be special. Tell me she’s close to her family and she smiles a lot and she’s not really lonely. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me all of that. I need to hear it. I need to make sure she’s okay.
That’s all I want. To know she’s safe.
“Never you mind that,” the woman says, like she’s scolding me. I take a step back, surprised at the blast of heat that shines from her eyes. Protective. I like that. It reassures me, knowing Katie has someone on her side living so close to her. Not that this frail-looking woman could prevent anything from happening, but . . . she could dial 911. Ward off weirdos who lurked around Katie’s house. Like me. “She’s a private person.”
And that’s all she says. All she’ll give me.
We stare at each other for a moment and I look away first, letting her win. Wondering if she’ll tell Katie that an unfamiliar man came around today. Do I matter that much?
Probably not.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell the old woman as I start back toward my car. My disappointment is palpable and I try my best to push it away. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, what I think I might get out of this. Closure? This will never be closed, what happened to me, what happened to Katie. We share something no one else understands. I wish I could talk to her but I can’t. I don’t want to open up an old wound and make it bleed.
I’ll have to be satisfied with the little bits and pieces of Katie that I slowly put together on my own.
For now, that’s enough.
Lying on a thin mattress for days while chained to a wall left me weak. I hadn’t eaten much and I hadn’t had much to drink, either. So when Will handed me a bottle of water after cutting the chain off my ankle, I gulped practically the entire thing down in one swallow.
“Take it easy,” he warned me, his low, even voice full of concern. I glanced up, saw his furrowed brow and frowning face, my lips still wrapped around the opening of the bottle. “You don’t want to puke it all back up.”
He was right. I slowed down, taking his advice, my gaze never leaving him as he reached into a backpack he’d brought and pulled out what looked like a folded T-shirt. He held it out to me.
“For you.”
I stared at the shirt gripped in his hands. It was navy blue with white lettering, but I couldn’t make out what it said. “What is it?” I asked, not willing to fully trust him. What if he had ulterior motives? Maybe he was being kind so he could take advantage of me. I didn’t know him. I didn’t know why he would want to help me. I didn’t understand any of this.
“A shirt. So you can change out of the one you’re wearing.” He gestured toward me. “I figured you’d want to wear clean clothes, though I don’t have any shorts or anything for you. I’m too big and you’re uh, too small.”
He wasn’t that big, but he was taller than me. I took the shirt from him and shook it out to discover it was a high school football shirt. The name emblazoned across the front, an eagle mascot thrusting his chest out, his expression menacing. “Do you go to this school?” I asked him.