Chapter Two

“You’re lying,” I spit. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down. I just need to know if anybody else is here that I can talk to. And if they’re not here, I need to know where they went.”

“Nobody was here. I live alone. You have the wrong apartment. Unless you’re placing me under arrest or have a search warrant, I would like you to leave. Right now.”

The officer looks at me intensely for what feels like a full minute. She’s tall, probably just under six feet. She has broad shoulders and shoulder length black hair that is tightly pulled back, and her eyes are a color I’ve never seen before. They’re dark. From here they look like a dark gray, but I assume there must be some color to them. She’s wearing a scowl that I can only assume is permanent, and to be quite honest, she would be quite terrifying if it weren’t for the fact that she is fidgety and nervous.

She taps her middle and ring fingers rapidly on the gun holster and speaks more timidly than before: “Okay, ma’am. Have a nice day.” And just like that, she turns around on her heels and walks out the door, closing it quietly behind her.

I quickly lock the door, double- and triple-checking that it is, in fact, locked. I turn the lights off and rush around the apartment and lock all my windows, peeking outside into the darkness to make sure nobody is watching me. I can’t see anybody, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Satisfied that my apartment is as locked up as it possibly can be, I sit on my bed in the dark and I call Cameron. I need to make sure he’s okay.

He picks up after a few rings, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yellow,” he says in his usual goofy fashion.

“Cam! I know I just woke you up and I’m sorry, but this is an emergency. I need you to make sure all your doors and windows are locked. Try to do it quietly so you don’t wake your parents, but get it done. ASAP.”

“Why, what’s going on?” he asked groggily.

“A police officer came to my apartment looking for you. It wasn’t a… normal visit. I think we’re both in danger.”

“Did you read his mind?”

“Her. And yes, I did. It wasn’t good – actually it was really, really bad. I think you should skip work tomorrow and come straight here. Or maybe I should go there.”

“My parents would know something’s up if you’re nervous and freaking out. They know you too well.”

“Okay, well, come here then. We need to talk as soon as possible. I’ll explain everything.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there at 9. Make coffee – I’ll need some since I know I’m not going to be able to sleep now.”

“Will do. See you then. Lock everything up. Stay safe.”

I hang up and realize my hands are shaking and I’m exhausted. I fall backwards onto my bed, fully clothed, and I close my eyes.

I wake up at 3:23 in the morning, unaware that I had even fallen asleep. Only half-awake, I send Cameron a quick text asking him if he did what I asked and I dress down for bed before crawling back under the covers.

I wake up again, this time to my 7:30 alarm. It’s Sunday and I don’t have to work or go to school, but I like having a sense of consistency with my sleep patterns. Knowing Cameron is coming over at 9:00, I start my morning routine by putting my long, dirty blonde hair up in a messy bun, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and drinking a protein shake. At 8:30, I get the coffee going.

I haven’t checked my texts yet, so I grab my Galaxy S from my nightstand, expecting a message or two from Cameron. There’s nothing. I check to see if I forgot to send the text earlier in the morning, but it had sent.

I call him. It rings several times and goes to voicemail. I immediately call again. No answer. This time I leave a voicemail.

“Cameron. It’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. I’m worried.”

My coffee maker beeps. I pour myself a cup and spill a little. I go to the fridge for creamer, only to forget what I was looking for. I check my phone again. Still nothing. I remember the creamer. I pour it into my coffee and I bring my mug and phone to the couch, where I decide to lay down and stare at the screen in my hand.

I wait. And I wait. And thirty minutes go by and I still haven’t heard from Cameron. So I call him again. He still doesn’t answer. So I jump up, throw on some flip-flops even though it’s raining, and get in my car to drive to his place.

I get there in ten minutes and right away I notice that his car is gone. The beat up little Honda Civic is usually parked in the driveway of his parent’s house, the cherry red color contrasting with the dark olive green of the small suburban home.

Maybe he left and is on his way to my place.

But maybe something happened. I knock on the front door, hoping one of his parents answer. The click-clacking of high heels comes closer and his mom appears behind an opening door.

“Vienna! How are you, dear? Cameron’s not here, you know, but you’re welcome to come in and have a cup of coffee if you’d like….”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful, Mrs. Finch, but I just came by to grab Cameron’s phone charger. He forgot to charge his phone overnight and I figured I’d come get it for him. I plan on meeting up with him once he’s at work.”

“Of course, come on in. I’ll just be in the kitchen if you need anything. Please lock up on your way out. It’s good to see you!”

“Good to see you too, Mrs. Finch.”

My acting skills must have been on par, because that woman has some strange sort of extrasensory perception that alerts her anytime something is wrong. I speed walk to Cameron’s room, planning to simply pretend I’m grabbing a cell phone charger, when I see his phone on the bed. My heart drops. He never forgets his phone. I stuff it in my pocket hurriedly, wanting to get back to my car as quickly as I can because I think I’m going to be sick. I wave goodbye to his mom as I leave, fake smile and all, making sure to lock the door behind me.

Back in the car, my heart is pounding and my hands are trembling. I enter the passcode on his phone and check through his most recent texts and call history. There were no strange messages, but the call log had something of interest. There was a three minute phone conversation with an unknown caller at 3:27 this morning.

He had spoken with someone just minutes after I had texted him, and I haven’t heard from him since. I feel an icy chill run down my spine.

My best friend is gone. I can’t call the police, because the police are in on it. I can’t tell his parents – not yet. It’s my fault, and I need to find him.

***

Meanwhile, in another part of the city….

“Do you have the boy?” I ask my business partner, Declan Wolfe, over a secure line. I’m an impatient man, and there is a very restricting time limit on this one.

“Target has been obtained, sir. We are ready for phase two. We will await your order.” Declan has always been straightforward and business-professional; it’s a quality I appreciate.

“What about the loose end?”

“The loose end has been terminated, sir.”

“And have we been compromised?”

“All of our sources have confirmed that we were not compromised, sir. The target hasn’t spoken to anybody else.”

“Good. Initiate phase two.”

“Yes, sir.”