My heart stops. My world spins and I grab on to the frame around the window to keep from collapsing. “W—What?” I whisper, not trusting my voice. Alive. Alive. Alive. My War is alive. “I don’t understand. Brandon told me he died.”
“Really? He was touch and go there for the first day, from what I understand. He was in critical condition. Suffered a bullet wound to the chest, but no, Baylee. They expect him to make a full recovery. He’s very worried about you, in fact.”
My choked gasp is the last thing that comes over the line as quiet sobs wrack my entire body. With my back to the wall, I lower myself to the floor, no longer able to support the weight of my own body.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” I don’t know if I am saying it to Detective Stark or God or whoever, but in the midst of hell, this news is heaven.
“I’m so sorry you didn’t know, honey. We’ve been trying to reach you.” She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “I personally questioned Mr. Thompson about the attempted murder of Mr. McPherson, though, so he was aware that Warren didn’t die. I’m concerned that he may know more about the disappearance of your father than he’s letting on. Tell me where you are so I can come get you, Baylee. I have reason to believe you’re in danger.”
My hands begin to tremble and my heart thunders in my chest as if it may burst out at any moment. “He killed Gabe,” I blurt out. “He pushed him into the cellar.”
“Get out, now,” she orders. “Find a public place and call me. I’ll call the San Francisco PD and have them pick you up until I can get there.”
My mind races with thoughts of War. I need to get to him. To touch him and kiss him. To see if her claims are true.
My breathing is completely out of control. I’m heaving breaths as if I just finished running a marathon. “He’s at Fisherman’s Wharf at one of the restaurants, picking up dinner. I can leave now before he gets back but I have to go now.”
“Call me as soon as you—”
I hang up the phone and rush over to the shopping bags. I’d purchased a backpack to carry my clothes. Quickly, I unzip it and rip the stuffing from it. I shove my purse and a few of the new clothes into it. Finding his duffel bag, I search for the pictures of my family, which he’d put in there. I snag those too and then zip my backpack up.
Pulling my hoodie over my head, I tuck my hair inside and shoulder the bag. War’s alive. The love of my life and father of my child survived being shot. I need to get to him. With Brandon on his way back any time, I have to make every second count. I avoid the elevators and head for the stairwell. I sprint down four flights of stairs, ignoring the ache in my calves and the wooziness in my head. When I reach the bottom, I peek my head out the doorway.
Brandon is striding into the lobby with a bag full of to-go containers in one arm and a bundle of red roses in the other. He’s smiling, like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, and it causes a slight pang in my chest for my friend. The old Brandon. But he’s no longer here.
Once he disappears into the elevator, I bolt from the stairwell and past the receptionist. The moment I make it outside, I veer to the right and trot down the sidewalk in search of a cab.
Cabs are everywhere so I quickly hail one and hop inside as soon as it stops.
“San Diego,” I blurt out, “hurry!”
The dark-skinned man turns and glares at me. “Too far. I don’t leave San Francisco.”
I jerk my head over my shoulder and look back at the entrance of the hotel. There’s no sign of Brandon, but I know it won’t be long.
“Fine,” I huff out, “take me to the bus station. Please hurry!”
He grumbles but peels out and into the traffic. I keep my eyes affixed on the hotel until it becomes a blur. Brandon hadn’t emerged yet. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag into the backseat of the cab, but I know it’s not over. He’s going to be furious once he realizes I ran.
It took everything in me to kiss him and smile at him when I wanted to shake him. For trying to control me. For lying to me. For hiding things from me.
He hid the biggest thing of all.
War.
Had I known War was still alive, I certainly wouldn’t have been sitting at that cabin with him and Gabe. I would’ve been in War’s arms. Kissing away his pain.
The tears start and they don’t stop, despite the annoyed looks the cab driver sends my way. I cry the entire way to the bus station.
The bus ride was several hours long but I managed to get in a nap. My sleep was disturbed, though, with interchanging images of both Brandon and Gabe. Each were taking their turns violating me. In the dream, War was dead and bloody. I couldn’t speak or move or cry. All I could do was stare into their eyes—a demented set of coffee-colored ones alternating with an evil set of greens—as they relentlessly fucked me.
When an old lady woke me up to tell me we were near the bus station, I’d screamed. Actually screamed in terror. She’d scurried off, surely in a hurry to get away from the crazy, screaming teenager on the bus.
Now, I’m sitting in the back of another cab with the side of my head on the cold glass. It’s after midnight and I’m still on a mission to get to the hospital.