Fears and Scars (22 page)

A pair? I only know about Grace. And then it hits me. “Not me?”

“No. That couple changed their mind at the last minute. I don’t know everything, but I know the road that lead your parents to you was very bumpy. They considered adopting you a real-life miracle. Your mom took five years off work to be a stay-at-home mom not to miss anything with you.”

I stay silent, digesting this new information. Mom never shared this with me, and it saddens me. I always thought we shared everything with each other.

“We didn’t talk about your biological mother, but there was this one time when you were fourteen or so … Lily was packing some pictures to send to her—she did it every month since your birth—and I asked her why they hadn’t told you the truth. Your mom said she vowed to keep the adoption a secret.”

“Grace requested it. I know. My … Ryan found out as much as he could. Do you know anything about my biological father?”

“No. Your parents didn’t know either, I’m sure. Your mom told me Grace said he didn’t know about you. I remember how apprehensive Lily was at first, afraid he might find out and take you away.”

But he never did. Are Ryan’s suspicions right? Maybe my biological father has no idea I exist. Or maybe he just wants nothing to do with me.

Right there and then I decide I need to know. No more secrets and no more guessing. I’ll look for him, and I’ll be okay with whatever I find out. I'll have Ryan by my side. And Jacob and Nina and Mark. I will either gain another person to call family or … or not.

I smile at the thought. I can do that.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Caroline.” I give her a genuine smile.

“I should have done it years ago.”

Seeing regret and guilt in her eyes, I reassure her, “I was a mess. It wasn’t the right time.”

“You were in so much pain, and I didn’t want to add to it. I wasn’t sure it was my place. And I’m so angry at David about ambushing you.” At least her son had the decency to admit what he did.

“It’s okay. It had to happen,” I tell her. The last thing I want is for this amazing woman to feel guilt because of me. She’s shown me nothing but warmth and kindness my entire life.

I hate that her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t know why you left at first, Ellie. I was so angry at you for just leaving my son, and I’m sorry for that. Then he told us about the baby, and I … God, I should have checked on you more. Samuel and I, we always thought of you as our daughter. I’m so sorry we failed you.”

“You didn’t. I get it, and I’m sorry too. I should have asked for help when I needed it. Granny took great care of me until she went into the hospital. She was the best grandmother I could hope for.”

We’re silent for a moment. “Caroline. Granny. Did she know about the adoption?”

“Of course she did.” Caroline nods, seeming to sense what I need to hear. “It didn’t matter to her, Ellie. You were her granddaughter in every way that mattered.”

Her words coil around my chest, squeezing my heart tightly.

“I think your parents made a huge mistake by not telling you the truth, but, please don’t hold it against them.”

The tears break free, their warmth trailing down my cheeks as I wipe them away. “I won’t.”

We spend another hour talking about my parents and remembering little things they said or did. Caroline also offers to help sort out my parents’ stuff. She’s in touch with Mom and Dad’s other friends and colleagues and tells me she knows who would appreciate some of their things. By the time I say goodbye, I feel so much lighter.

A
fter a phone call
to Ryan and a shower later that night, I open the email Ryan sent me just before we broke up that contains information about my possible biological father. Robert North, who is a partial match to my DNA, has four cousins. After some research, the PI narrowed the list down to two—Jonathan and Keith North. The first one still lives in Chicago while the other moved to New York years ago. I don’t read their entire profiles, not wanting to know a person related to me from someone else’s words. I find their contact info and leave messages asking to meet.

Laying in my bed afterward, I take a look around my old room. Lacey white curtains, soft violet walls, a corkboard full of photos and notes hang above a simple white desk, bookshelves full of paperbacks and stuffed animals line the wall. It seems like I returned to an alternate universe. It also feels like Mom and Dad are down the hall. What I wouldn’t give for that to be true … for them to be alive.

I close my eyes and remember the thousands of ways my parents told me they loved me.

Memories flood to the surface—‘It’s late. Go to bed, pumpkin.’ ‘Don’t stress yourself so much.’ ‘Put a seatbelt on.’ ‘I’ll take care of it.’ ‘Good luck on your test! I’m sure you’ll ace it.’ ‘I’ll make you a cup of cocoa.’ ‘What’s bothering my little girl?’ ‘Tell us about it and you’ll feel lighter.’ ‘Don’t forget your gloves.’ ‘Call us.’ Curling up on my side and pulling a pillow to my chest, I let it go, all the negative feelings I’ve kept inside me.

This time when the tears stop, it feels good. For the first time in my life, a cry feels therapeutic.

Drifting off to sleep, I think about Caroline’s words. She’s right. Even though my parents’ blood doesn’t run in my veins, I’m a part of them.

T
he next morning
, before dawn, I make my way through the large iron cemetery gate. I zip my jacket and put my hands in my pockets against the late October chill.

I could hardly sleep thinking of how I was wasting the time on the past. That’s the last thing my parents would have wanted for me—to waste my life because they were gone.

I’m ready to say goodbye.

The sun is just starting to rise making the graveyard seem like it grew immensely since the last time I was here. My heart clenches. So much evidence of loss and tragedy surrounds me.

The rows of headstones I pass as the sun rises reminds me that I am only one of many people who lost their moms and dads, grand and great-grandparents, wives and husbands, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers. And we all need to make peace with our losses so we can live.

Knowing damn well how hard it is for the grieving, I wonder about those who passed away. Granny often told me they’re supposed to be in a better place. Is that where they are? In heaven? Or living another life? It would be so much easier if I knew Mom and Dad were okay.

My heart clenches when I reach two grave markers sitting side by side. Five years gone, and it still hurts the same.

My parents thought I was their miracle child, but the truth is what they did for me—took in someone else’s kid and loved me unconditionally with everything they had and always supported me and gave me the best childhood I could imagine—that’s a real miracle. They were
my
miracle.

“Hi Mom, Daddy. I hope Granny’s with you now. Well, I … God, this is hard because I have no idea what to tell you.” I swallow and lower myself to the cold ground. “People say time heals. Well, you know what? They should mention the biggest challenge is not to die or go insane in the process of healing.” I laugh, but it sounds as broken as me. “Maybe it’s me; it must be. People are planning to colonize Mars soon, and I can’t grow up and move on.”

I’m glad there isn’t anyone around to listen to my pathetic ramblings.

“So anyway, I came to pack the house and sell it. Hope you approve. We were happy there, and maybe someone else will be too.”

Words start flowing even though I struggle to feel my parents’ presence in this place. Nevertheless, looking at their names etched on the headstones, I go on. I tell them about Granny and how she took great care of me while she could. I tell them about Nina, a true friend who’s become a sister to me. I don’t hesitate to mention my emails and phone calls with Jacob, my brother who I’m dying yet terrified to meet. I tell them about Ryan, the man I love deeply and desperately. I speak about my dreams and my fears for the future until my throat is sore. By that time, the sun is high in the sky, my tummy rumbles, and my bum is numb. I ignore it all and talk some more.

When I feel all talked out, I ask them to forgive me for all the times I blamed them for leaving me alone. And then I admit one thing I regret not telling them when they were alive—I thank them. I thank them for taking me in, for loving me unconditionally, for being the best parents a child could wish for, for raising me into the person I am today. Basically, I thank them for everything.

Wiping the stubborn tears from my eyes, I say goodbye, hoping that somehow the Universe will deliver it. “Love you forever, my real and only Mom and Dad.”

A
row
of boxes lines the living room wall, ready to be shipped to my new home in New York. I delivered twice as many boxes to the women’s shelter yesterday. Everything is arranged. And it took me only three days of non-stop work to do so.

The truth is, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without Caroline’s help. She let me be when I needed time alone, gave me advice when it was necessary, and fed me three times a day despite my protests. Saying goodbye to her and Samuel was hard, but we promised to keep in touch. I intend to do so this time.

As I reach for my suitcase next to the front door, a mixture of feelings spread through me. It’s hard to pick all of them since anxiety definitely prevails, but grief is still there. It just has an entirely different … color … and her grip on me is much lighter, or maybe it’s my grip on her. It’s hard to tell who’s holding on to who.

I’m not surprised to see a sleek black Town Car instead of the cab I ordered waiting for down by the curb, ready to take me to the airport. Ryan thinks it’s sweet and not micromanaging, and this time I’m going to agree with him and enjoy it.

A tall, middle-aged man in a suit opens the door for me. “Miss Williams?”

“Hi.”

While he takes care of my suitcase, I give one last glance to the house.

No heartache.

No worry.

No regrets.

Just sweet memories. Just warmth in my chest.

I’m leaving this house with a light heart.

When I settle in the back seat, I exhale contently.

“Would you like some champagne or water?” the driver asks.

I smile brightly at him. “No, thank you. I’m all good.” Ready to get to the airport, to get to Ryan and our happily ever after.

I’m so ready for this next chapter of my life that I want to scream at the man behind the wheel to just drive. What is he waiting for?

He frowns and mumbles under his breath, taking out something from his jacket pocket. “Gotta do it my way then.”

What?

“Excuse me?” Before the words can leave my mouth, I see a gun pointed at me and hear a click. The trigger. He pulled the trigger.

Am I dead?

I
’m not dead
.

The indescribable terror traveling through my body is proof.

All I can think is
run
. I have to run. I’ve been shot, but I must escape.

The handles don’t budge. I can’t open the doors. I test the window I can’t break it. And we’re moving. The asshole who shot me is taking me somewhere.

Then it hits me—I feel no pain, only terror. And I feel no blood running down my neck. My hands suddenly feel too heavy and don’t cooperate when I try to raise them to my neck.

Think, Liza. Think.

No blood. I wasn’t shot. But I saw the gun. He must have shot me. He must have drugged me.

“What’ve you done to me? Why?” I cry.

“You’re going to be fine. Just close your eyes and sleep.”

I’m right. He drugged me.

Why? What have I done to him?

I can try to choke him with my bag handles, but I’m too weak with the drug spreading through my body.

I’m so screwed.

What is he going to do to me?

My heart is pounding so hard, it might explode any minute.

Ryan. I’ll call Ryan. But my hands doesn’t listen to me when I tell them to open my bag and take out my phone. They feel numb and don’t move.

Fear skyrockets in every cell of my body, my eyes blur, my chest burns. I’ve never been so helpless in my life.

God, why? Why?

You always hear about people who think they’re dying and how their life flashes in front of them in a matter of seconds. Well, I don’t see it. I see a future. The future that was so close just minutes ago.

I see Ryan’s happy face on our wedding day. Our children running along the beach into my husband’s open arms. I see sunsets and sunrises, breakfast and dinners, birthdays, Thanksgivings, Christmases, a life full of joy and love.

I inhale sharply. I can't breathe. Is this it? Is this how I’m going to leave this world? With no hope left, trying to swallow and failing? I just pray for one thing—let Ryan have this future, let him have all the happiness in the world.

And then, I succumb to the blackness.

L
iving
in a state of constant worry is very familiar notion.

Since I was old enough to comprehend, I knew my father was a monster. A monster who hated my mother for cheating and then dying without getting the punishment she deserved, who despised my brother for being the product of her affair.

When I was sent to a boarding school in France, I lived in constant fear for Mark. I hated being powerless and did everything I could to save him. And when daddy dearest passed away six years ago, I was confused and angry for not getting my revenge. I took my first worriless breath then, and the feeling was fucking incredible.

Now I’m back in hell.

Liz is missing. It’s been three hours since she was supposed to board my plane and didn’t show up, and I can’t reach her.

The fear is devastating.

“Can’t track her phone? How is that even possible?” Terror thrums through my veins as I shout at Clayton through the phone. “Are you even trying to help me?”

“Ryan, I’m doing everything I can. I sent you her call log from the past twenty-four hours. Do you see anything strange?”

“No. There’s nothing there.”

Elizabeth only made five calls—three to me, one to Nina, and one to a taxi service.

“I’m now sending you her calls and messages from the last three months, but I don’t see anything there either. Are you sure she didn’t board some other plane?”

“She knows my jet. Plus, how many charters would just let her in without checking who she was?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man.”

“Tell me you will fucking find her,” I snap. “Should I call police?”

“They won’t do anything until twenty-four hours has passed or at least twelve, but you’re free to give it a try. Wait a minute. My tech guy’s showing me footage from two cameras in Elizabeth’s neighborhood. I’ll look through it and call you back.”

All sorts of worst-case scenarios rush through my mind. Who would take her? Why? I’ve made a lot of enemies when I worked for my father. Before I can make a list of names for Clayton to look into, Mark steps into my office.

“Come on, Ryan. The plane’s ready.”

“Mark, what if she took commercial flight? She’s so afraid of flying. She may have taken those sleeping pills, or maybe she messed up her flight info. What if we go to Seattle and she comes here?” I ask him, desperate for some answers.

“All those options sound pretty amazing compared to …” He swallows, his blue eyes serious. “Shit, Ry, I’m there with you, but as much as want to believe everything is fine, it doesn’t look that way.”

I run a hand through my hair and growl through clenched teeth.

“Clayton called the Seattle police and pulled some strings. They asked the neighbors. Caroline Young says she saw Liz getting into a car—an expensive black sedan. That’s all we have, Ryan,” Mark states. “Clay’s guys are checking if anyone refused the cab Liz ordered and looking for that car on every footage they can crack.”

My body tenses and my stomach flips inside out. Liz is in danger. I can feel it in every cell in my body.

T
here’s
no sign of a struggle. No clues. Just a pile of boxes. Knowing Liz willingly got into that car doesn’t ease my concern. Why would she do that? Who was in that car?

Twelve hours has passed and I still have no answers.

Then I see David Young walk through the front door, and everything clicks into place—his absence since Liz was kidnapped, his lack of contact with her since he left Moscow. It’s him. He took her.

I’m on the asshole before he can blink. The first hit to his jaw is so strong, his head jerks back and he loses his footing. I ignore the pain in my hand and tackle him to the ground.

Our fists fly and somehow the jerk gets lucky and lands one hard punch to my jaw. The feeling of blood in my mouth only fuels the force of my next blows. Young groans as I punch him everywhere I can with everything I have in me. Again and again.

“No,” I roar when someone tries to stop me. Two sets of hands latch on to my arms and pull me off him.

“What the hell, Ryan?” Mark’s words are muffled by the blood whooshing in my ears.

How had I not figured this out from the beginning?

“Let me go, Mark.” Bile bubbles in my throat. “He took her, and he’s going to tell me everything before I kill him.”

Clayton’s people help Young to his feet, and I watch him gasp for air, clutching his stomach, his face splattered with the blood. Good. That’s what he deserves.

“What are you talking about?” Mark demands, his hands still attached to my upper arms, restraining me from going after Young again.

My jaw is so tense I spit words through clenched teeth. “It was him. He kidnapped Liz.”

My words stop everyone. All eyes are trained at the bastard. Two guys who were helping him take a few steps back.

“Are you insane? Fuck you, Price.”

“Where the hell is she?” I demand, my whole body trembling with barely-restrained fury. “I know it was you. Everything makes sense now. No ransom demands. No sign of struggle. Liz went willingly in the car because it was you driving. You must have said it was a surprise; that you came early from your trip to see her and wanted to take her to the airport. Right? What now? You’re going to keep her locked somewhere so she’ll be with you? I swear if you even touch a hair on her—”

“You’re nuts,” he screams, interrupting me. “I haven’t seen Ellie since Moscow. My plane just landed, and I listened to the messages my parents left on my voicemail in the airport. And you know what? I don’t have to tell you anything. I just can’t imagine how a psychopath like you could get the girl.”

“You’ll tell me,” I growl. “You’ll tell me everything even if I have to cut the truth out of you.”

“What is going on here?” Samuel demands, just as Caroline speaks up.

“God, son, what happened to you?”

I swallow the acid coating my throat and tell them the truth. “Your bastard son kidnapped my wife and now he’s trying to get away with it.”

“She’s not your wife, for fuck’s sake.”

I flex my blood-covered fists, trembling with the need to hit him again.

“Watch your language, young man.” Samuel addresses me, “What you're saying is completely unacceptable. My son loves Ellie with his whole heart. He wouldn’t do this. Tell him, son.”

“Really, Dad? You too?”

“I’m just trying to calm you two down. We need to look for a real kidnapper and not waste time on this.”

“Samuel’s right,” Mark joins in. “Ryan, I know you aren’t David’s fan, but you need to listen to him,” he tells me, letting me go. “And your son, Mr. Young, has some explaining to do. It doesn’t add up. He flew across the globe six months ago to see Liz, and when she came to Seattle, he wasn’t here. Then when she went missing, there wasn’t a word from him for twelve hours. My brother is right. It does look suspicious. Why weren’t you here following her like a puppy this time around, huh?”

“Fuck you, Price Jr. I don’t owe you anything.”

Piece of shit.

Another attempt to attack the bastard ends unsuccessfully—too many people prevent us from getting close to each other.

“
D
avid Young was
in the D.C. office of his father’s firm,” Clayton informs me half an hour later.

Now that my fury has been released, I feel drained and helpless.

Sitting on the floor in front of the row of boxes, I imagine how Liz packed them. Being here next to the things she touched not too long ago brings me closer to her.

“I have at least a dozen people who can place him there. His flight records match, and I tracked his phone. It wasn’t him.”

“He must have hired someone then. Keep looking. Check Young’s financial transactions and his parents’ as well. I don’t trust them.”

Clayton disappears into the kitchen, which his people transformed into their field office.

“Do you really believe he would do that?” Mark joins me on the floor, his features drawn taut. “You love her. What if Liz chose him? Would you kidnap her?”

“Of course not.”

I rake my hands through my hair.

If it wasn’t Young, who then? One of the many people I ruined on my father’s orders? That was ages ago. And why are there no demands? There must be demands if they took her as leverage. Unless something went wrong and they …

Ice plunges through my veins at the thought.

No. I can’t go there. “I need some fresh air.”

Mark dips his head in understanding.

I relocate on the back patio in hopes to clear my head.

God, what do I do?

It’s all my fault. I should have never left Liz’s side. It’s my responsibility to stand against any and every danger and make sure she’s safe. And I failed. I keep failing the woman I love again and again.

As I look at bloody knuckles, everything boils inside me—fear, anger, pain, disappointment with myself. The darkness of my despair is so deep, it feels like I’ll drown at any minute. A life without Liz breathing and walking happily on this earth is not something I’m strong enough to endure. If something happens to her … I can’t live with that. She’s my heart. She's my everything.

Stop, Price, stop! I can’t afford to waste time on thoughts like that. I have to find Liz.