Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
I pause here, trying to let that sink in. Also because I’m bluffing. I will never ever involve my father or my brother in this. They’re both cut from the same cloth, and they’ll only use this situation to somehow hurt me and in turn, Reverie. I know that because my father has tried. He knows how much Reverie and her friendship mean to me so over the years, he’s threatened to send her away. A way to keep me in line. The only reason he lets me stay with her in the city is because he knows I’ll never go against him. I’ll never let him do anything to hurt my best friend. I’ll die first. And my brother? Well, in many ways, my brother is a bigger asshole because he likes to pretend he cares about me. He likes to call me like a concerned brother and act as if he doesn’t know what our father is doing to me. As if he doesn’t know what our dad has done to our mother. So no, I’m not going to involve my shitty family. But these people don’t know that.
“You know he knows the mayor, don’t you?” I continue, keeping my spine straight and my voice threatening and loud. “He knows everyone who’s anyone in the state of Montana. My brother too. And I don’t want to have to play the Turner card, but I will if I have to, so—”
Detective Pearson sighs sharply, cutting me off. “Follow me.” Then, glancing over at Officer Grant, “You and me. We’re gonna have words.”
Officer Grant blanches, and despite my annoyance at him, I do feel bad. It’s not his fault I got stuck with an incompetent cowboy cop. But before I can do anything about that, Detective Pearson spins around and strides through the bullpen to the hallway that leads to their offices and interrogation rooms. Thank God. I follow him to one of the interrogation rooms, the same one where he went over my statement with me.
The first time they brought me in here, I was too shaken up to use my head. Too jittery and scared. Terrified about Reverie. They’d made me wait hours before they processed everything and took my statement. A thousand scenarios were running through my mind, all bad, all more panic-inducing than the last. Where was she? Was she okay? What did he do to her? Where did he take her? I wanted to tell them everything I knew, everything that could help them find her. I told them it was my fault. I made her do this; I made her write to him and now she was gone. I didn’t even stop her when she finally decided to go see him after all. Instead of talking sense into her, I helped her pick out dresses. God. But I thought… Jesus, I don’t know what I thought except if Reverie loved this guy—and she did, it was plain to see—then maybe, just maybe, he might be different. He might be good, better than all the other men in our lives. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? He’s probably just as bad as the rest of them. Worse even.
I knew the cops had trouble keeping up with me. I was talking too fast. I was too distraught. That was my first mistake—or rather, second, after not being able to protect Reverie from the monster who took her. I should’ve been calm and collected, threatening like I was today rather than hysterical. I should’ve used my head and powered through like usual. It’s one thing to act like a ditzy, overemotional, rich college girl who only cares about partying and herself, but to actually dissolve into panic when Reverie needs me the most is the worst thing I could’ve done.
So this time around, I’m better at hiding my emotions. I walk inside with all the determination in the world and head to the white table at the center of the room. I take a seat in the dark blue plastic chair, ready to convince him to finally listen to me. But he gets there first. “Checked out the café you mentioned. Asked around, showed them pictures.”
My heart starts pounding, my composure slipping slightly. “Y-you did?”
He pulls out the chair on the opposite side and takes his own seat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And?” I prod, coming to the edge of my seat. “Did you find out something? Someone must’ve seen her or heard something… I mean—”
His expression hardly changes when he informs me, “No one remembers seeing your friend.”
“And Bo? Did they—”
“Not him either.”
It’s hard to focus with how fast and loud my heart is thundering in my chest, but I do it. I have no other choice. “So then, expand the search area. Ask more people. Someone must’ve seen something.”