Gone (Gone #1) (16 page)

Panic covered his face. "But something has to be wrong. Why do they want us at this hour?"

"Because they don't want to waste any time, and neither do I. Let's go." She knew she should tell him about the blood, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. It would be like admitting defeat. They had to find their daughter.

Chad shook his head. "It's been a week. This can't be good. Did they say anything else?"

She twisted some of her hair around her fingers. "There was a little blood."

"On the clothes?" His eyes widened, and his face lost color.

Alyssa nodded. "We need to go. We don't even know if they're hers."

He sat in his chair, or possibly fell. Alyssa couldn't tell.

"Let's go. We need to go."

"Blood?"

"Chad, we have to look at the clothes. Whether they're hers or not, we need to find out."

He slammed his fist on the desk. "I'll hunt down the stupid bastard myself and beat him to a pulp. He'll wish he had never messed with our family." He stood again, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

They got into Chad's car, and as it roared to life the radio blared. "The case of missing Macy Mercer has grabbed our town by the heart. She's become everyone's daughter, even for those of us who never met her. I was talking to one of the people leading up the search party, and he—"

Alyssa turned it off. "I can't listen to that."

"Me neither." Chad pulled into the road and they drove in silence.

As they pulled into the parking lot, Alyssa asked, "Do you think the clothes are hers?"

"I have no idea. They could be anyone's. They could've fallen out of someone's gym bag."

"Someone's bloody gym bag?" Alyssa asked.

"It could happen."

After Chad set the alarm, he grabbed Alyssa's hand. "We're on the same team."

She nodded, feeling like a teenager herself, holding his hand as they walked through the lot. He had been holding her hand more since Macy disappeared, but it still felt unnatural.

When they got inside, they were whisked into a room with a dark plastic bag sitting in the middle of a table. The officer inside introduced himself as Anderson, the same one Alyssa had spoken to on the phone.

Alyssa stood, staring. "Are the clothes in there?"

The officer nodded. "Have a seat. We have some questions first, and then we'll have a look at the clothes."

She complied, but couldn't take her eyes off the bag. What were the clothes in there? Were they really Macy's?

"Ma'am?"

"What?" Alyssa turned to the cop.

"I have a few questions for you."

She nodded, and then answered some routine questions that she had already answered about fifty times since Macy disappeared. What was the point of asking the same questions over and over? Did that really do anything to help find Macy?

"Do you remember what she was wearing that night?" Anderson asked.

"Last I saw her, she was in her pajamas," Alyssa snapped. "She was tired from school—or so she said. Obviously, Zoey knows a lot more than I do. Didn't she describe what Macy was planning on wearing? We were out of the loop on that one. She didn't tell us she was sneaking out to meet someone she met on the Internet."

"I understand, Ma'am. We have to ask the questions to verify that the answers haven't changed."

She narrowed her eyes. "And why would they be different?"

"It's routine. Please, don't take it personally."

Alyssa heard Chad chuckle next her. She ignored him, keeping her attention on the officer. "Nothing has changed. We want to find our daughter. You brought us down here in the middle of the night, the least you can do is to show us the clothes."

Officer Anderson looked over his notes. "We've gone over everything we need to up to this point." He got up, walked over to the door, and opened it, poking his head out. He said something that sounded like gibberish to Alyssa. He came back in with not one, but two more policemen.

Did it really take five adults to look at a bag of clothes?

Chad stood. "Where were these found? And by who?"

Anderson put a hand up. "First things first, sir. This is Officer Reynolds and Detective Fleshman."

They all shook hands. Alyssa was certain that she would forget everyone's names, although she did recognize the two new men. "Can we see the clothes, please?"

Detective Fleshman walked to the bag, opening it slowly. Was he doing that on purpose? Alyssa thought she might explode. Dump everything out! What was he waiting for?

He held up a light blue camisole covered in blood.

Alyssa gasped. Chad wrapped an arm around her. "Is that Macy's?"

"I think so. But look at all that blood. Oh, dear God."

Reynolds looked at her. "You think it's hers? Or it
is
hers?"

"Macy wears those under her shirts all the time, but then again so do her friends. She's always liked that powder blue color. How would I know if it's hers? It could be anyone's." Tears filled her eyes. It was the right size. What would have happened to her baby to make her bleed like that?

Fleshman placed the camisole flat on the table, and then pulled out a black hoodie with little, red flowers all over it.

"Macy has one like that, but it has purple flowers," Alyssa said. Then it hit her: the flowers were covered in blood—that was why they were red. Her stomach lurched, and had she eaten anything the day before, it would have come up. "That's blood. It's covered!"

Chad held her tighter. She buried her face into his chest, sobbing.

"Where did you find the clothes?" Chad demanded.

"Near the mall," Anderson said. "By the jogging trail."

"What does this mean? Are you any closer to finding her? Will this help?"

"The next step will be to find out the blood is hers."

Alyssa sat up. "What do we do now?"

Fleshman gave her a sympathetic look. "Go home and get some sleep."

Dread

Zoey peeled some midnight-blue nail polish off her pinky nail. It had chipped badly, but she didn't care. Usually she kept her nails perfect, but with Macy gone, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Her mom yawned next to her. "They call us down here at this ungodly hour, and then they make us wait. Not everyone works the graveyard shift." She glared at the officer sitting at the front desk.

He looked at them. "The girl's parents are looking at the clothes now. I'm sure it won't be much longer." He looked back at the computer screen in front of him.

"I'll bet he's playing games," muttered Zoey's mom.

"Do you want to go home, and I'll have one of them bring me back?"

Her face softened. "No, Zoey. Honey, I'm sorry. I'm so tired. I know this has been a hellish week for everyone. I'm here for you, and I'm not going to leave your side. If I have to miss work again tomorrow, then I will."

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Mom."

"Work hours don't make themselves up. It's going to take me a few weekends and evenings to make up the time I've already missed, and I'm sure to miss more. Don't worry about it."

Zoey rolled her eyes. Why would she worry about her mom's work schedule? She went back to picking at her nails, and her mom pulled out her tablet. Zoey ignored her, pretending that her nails were most interesting thing around. She wasn't even fooling herself, the one person she wanted to.

Her stomach churned acid. All this time she had told herself she was mad at Macy for running off with Jared, but deep down she knew that wasn't like her best friend. Her shy, vegan friend who often hid behind Zoey wouldn't run off with a guy she had just met. As nice as that would be to believe, it didn't make sense.

What did make sense was what they were waiting to see: clothes with blood on them. It couldn't be—not Macy. The last week had to have been one long sick and twisted nightmare. But if that was the case, why couldn't Zoey wake up?

Conversation caught her attention. Zoey sat up, forgetting about her nails. It sounded like Macy's parents. The voices got closer, until she could see them talking with a cop. They rounded a corner, entering the waiting area.

Zoey stood up. Where was Alex? Did they leave him home? In a way, she was jealous. She wished she could get sleep instead of waking from nightmares constantly. Her dreams wouldn't leave her alone, always reminding her of what she was truly afraid of. She had woken up from almost every scenario possible: Macy being shot, stabbed, poisoned, strangled, hanged, drugged, and more.

Alyssa turned their way. Mascara streaked down her face, and her eyes were red and puffy. She had obviously been crying—a lot. Zoey's heart sank. Why were they even there? The clothes had probably already been identified as Macy's from the looks of it.

Her mom got up and gave Macy's parents both a hug. Nobody spoke about the clothes or Macy.

When Alyssa made eye contact with Zoey, she nodded. "Thanks for coming down here, Zo. You've always been such a good friend to…." Tears fell down her face, further smearing the mascara.

Zoey looked away, afraid that she would cry too.

Chad caught her attention. "We do appreciate you, Zoey. Both of you." He looked at her mom. "If you guys ever need anything, let us know."

"I'm the one who should be offering you something, Chad."

"Where's Alex?" Zoey blurted out.

Her mom glared at her. They both knew she couldn't help it, though. When she was uncomfortable, her mouth did its own thing.

"Oh, Alex!" Alyssa's eyes widened, and her lips wobbled. "I'm the worst mother ever. Macy is gone and we left without Alex."

Zoey's mom shot her a dirty look and turned to Alyssa. Zoey sighed. How was she supposed to know Alyssa would get even more upset?

"Alyssa, I'm sure he's better off at home, sleeping. You guys have been through enough."

"But we didn't even think to check on him! I forgot all about him when I got that phone call. I'm not—"

"He probably won't even know you're gone."

Alyssa looked at her. "But, Valerie, I forgot about my son. I forgot about him!" More tears fell, and she wiped at them, spreading the mascara sideways. Zoey wished she had something she could give her to wipe it all off.

The officer behind the desk called Zoey and her mom back. They said their goodbyes to the Mercers and followed him to a room with nothing except a table, chairs, and a black bag.

Three policemen came in, introducing themselves as Anderson, Reynolds, and Fleshman. Zoey let her mom do all the talking. She enjoyed being in charge and quickly dominated the conversation.

Zoey stared at the black bag, curious and disgusted at the same time. She wasn't sure if she wanted to run away or look at the clothes.

Before she knew it, one of the cops grabbed the bag. Zoey jumped, startled. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't been paying attention to anything being said.

"Why are we here? Didn't Macy's parents just see the clothes?"

Her mom sighed. "Didn't you listen to anything they said?"

Fleshman said, "It's okay. We know it's a stressful time." He turned to Zoey. "With you being her best friend, you might be able to offer additional insight that her parents couldn't."

Zoey shrugged. How could she help? She didn't know anything.

The detective pulled out Macy's pants. Zoey recognized them right away. They had spent hours at the mall looking for pants. Macy didn't like any of the ones she had, saying they were too out of style. Zoey thought her pants were fine, but she knew how cruel some of the popular girls had been to Macy.

"Do you recognize these?"

Holding her breath, Zoey nodded. She took a slow, deep breath, trying to control herself. "She bought those for her date." Zoey slunk down into a chair. She covered her face with her hands, not wanting anyone to see her cry. She had held herself together up to that point, but seeing the pants was too much.

Her mom was talking with the cops. She didn't want to hear any more. She was done. She sat up. "Can I go now? I told you those are her pants."

Fleshman walked around the table and put his hand on her shoulder. "We really need you to look at the rest of them. Can you do that much for us? For Macy?"

She sighed. "Fine." She took a deep breath, determined to keep herself together. The pants hadn't had any blood on them. Maybe the police had only mentioned blood to get them down there at two in the morning.

One of the other cops pulled out Macy's favorite hoodie. Why were the flowers red? The blood drained from her face. "Is that blood?" Without thinking, she grabbed the hoodie. It crunched in her grasp. "Is that Macy's blood?"

"We don't know yet. It's going to take some time to process. We wanted to have the clothes identified first because we have to send them to a larger department that has those capabilities."

Zoey dropped the hoodie onto the table. "It's hers, like the pants. Can I go now?" The room spun around her. She wanted to get out.