I nod once in understanding. “She screamed as loud as she could. She tried to fight him but he was too strong. She said her throat burned she screamed so loud, but he started bashing her in the head with something . . . she thought it was a flashlight. That was the last thing she remembered.”
“Was it the man at the bar she danced with?” Detective Andrews asks, and I’m shocked he’s entertaining the thought that he may actually believe me. “Another girl went missing a week ago,” he informs me. “We think her disappearance could be connected to Casey’s.” My heart sinks. I should’ve gone to the police and tried to help. If it was the same guy, maybe I could’ve stopped it. The look of horror on the Purcells’ faces is too much to bear and tears stream down my face as guilt slithers through me. I’ve been so busy running from my gift, only using it because I absolutely had to, when I could have been helping, really helping.
“His name is Jeremy. At least that’s what he told her.”
“Is she still here?” Mr. Purcell asks; his voice hopeful.
“No, sir. I’m sorry. But she rode with me from Vermont to here and told me some stories about you, both of you. You guys used to take a road trip to Montana once a year, right?” They both gasp, their eyes lighting with hope.
“She couldn’t tell you where he went?” Andrews asks.
“It doesn’t work like that. They’re only tied to this world to the people they have to help. She needed to help her family. Nothing mattered more than that to her.”
Mrs. Purcell sniffles. Taking her husband’s hand, she gazes at him with tear-filled eyes. “It was killing us not knowing. Now, it hurts, but at least we know she’s really gone.”
We talk for a bit longer, and I give the Purcells all of the information I can. When they leave, they both hug me and Detective Andrews leads them out. “You’re not leaving town anytime soon, are you?” he asks me.
“My father wants me to leave with him tomorrow.”
“I may have more questions,” he says, as if that will make me stay.
“He junked my truck, and I just lost my job at the restaurant. I’m not sure I have much of a choice at this point.”
“We have plenty of room for you, Charlotte,” Henry says. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You can sleep in Ike’s old room.” My eyes clench closed as an ache forms in my chest. Ike will go soon.
“I’ll be in touch first thing tomorrow,” Detective Andrews says to Henry before leaving, noting my emotional state.
“Ike’s a special man, isn’t he?” Henry says, as he leads me back in and shuts the door.
“Yes, he is,” I agree, wiping at my face with my arm. “One of the best men I’ve ever known.”
“And George is pretty special, too, huh?” He gives me a knowing smirk. Is it that obvious I love them both?
“Ike saved me,” I explain. “He came out of nowhere and changed my life. He’s everything good in the world.”
Henry smiles as he nods. “That’s a good way to describe him.”
“And George, there’s a lot of love in there, ya know? He seems so . . . tough, but he has such a soft heart. I’m in love with both of your sons, Henry,” I admit, and although I’m scared of what he’ll say, it feels so good to say it to someone, and get it off my chest.
“So when Ike leaves, to you, it will feel like he’s died,” he says, grimly, with sympathy in his eyes.
“It’ll feel like half of my heart is going with him,” I weep, wiping at my face.
“Will you stay? I mean . . . after he goes?”
An image of George flickers through my mind, his dark eyes and easy smile—he’s really beautiful when he shows the real him. When Ike leaves, if I leave George behind, I think I’ll only be a shell of a person. But he’s so angry with me, what else can I do? “I love George, Henry, but . . .”
“But he’s acting like a jackass?”
I smile faintly. “Ike and I knew he might take it rough, but I didn’t expect so much . . . anger.”
Henry pats my shoulder. “I hope you won’t give up on him. Give him a little time to come around. He’s deeply hurt, is all.”
“I’ll try,” I promise, but I’m not sure George will give me the time of day.
Mope. Mope. Mope. If you looked up the word ‘mope’ in the dictionary, George’s picture would be right beside it. He’s walked around in a daze, brooding for hours at a time. His dejected mood saddens me, but I will say this, he hasn’t done drugs, and that is a very good thing. All he’s done is sit around and be pissed off.
“George, I know you’re hurting, brother. Stop being a douche and go talk to her,” I tell him, and I’m filled with sorrow that he can’t hear my words. It upsets me to see him like this. This is not how he normally is at all.
When there’s a knock at the door, he sits frozen for a moment, debating on whether to ignore it or not. Maybe he thinks it’s Charlotte. “George, I know you’re in there,” Sniper yells from outside, and George rolls his eyes. “Open the fucking door, ya wanker.”
“Piss off!” George yells back, remaining seated on the couch.