Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

There were two doors. One was on the wall beyond the foot of the bed, and there was a second one off to the left. Both closed.

Chloe heard some stirring, then the flushing of a toilet. It sounded as though it was coming from behind the door to the left.

She watched it.

The handle turned, and then the door opened wide. Chloe’s vision was slightly blurry, but there was someone standing there.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” the person said. “I was wondering if you were going to sleep forever.”

A woman’s voice. No, younger than that. A teenage girl’s voice.

The girl walked closer, grabbed a chair from a small, round dining table, dragged it over to the edge of the bed, and sat down.

“How you feeling?” she asked.

“Like shit,” Chloe said.

“Yeah. They drugged you.”

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” Chloe said, her words slightly slurred. “When they find out what you’ve done, you’re in deep shit. This is kidnapping. You’ll go to jail for a long, long time. Fuck, my head’s killing me.”

“I can probably get you an aspirin,” the girl said. “And don’t blame me. I didn’t kidnap you. I don’t even know who you are.”

Chloe moved her tongue around, trying to get things working. “I’m Chloe.”

The girl extended a hand, and when Chloe didn’t have the strength to raise her own, the girl gave her arm a squeeze.

“Pleased to meet you, Chloe,” she said. “My name’s Nicky. Welcome to hell.”

Fort Wayne, IN

Travis backed his van onto the street and Miles got in on the passenger side, having to haul himself up to get in. Travis tromped his foot down on the accelerator before Miles was fully settled into his seat, or had even reached for the seat belt. He blew through a stop sign and swerved to avoid a squirrel that had dared to dart into the street.

“It’s not far,” Travis said, eyes straight ahead.

Miles decided against the seat belt and opted instead to brace himself against the dash. God forbid they should hit anything. A deploying airbag would snap his arms like twigs. The van made a right, then a left, then sped down a stretch lined with fast-food outlets, carpet discounters, and muffler repair shops. Travis made another right, heading away from the commercial district and into a residential area that was a mix of modest houses and low-rise apartment buildings.

He brought the van to an abrupt stop in front of an old, three-story house that might have looked majestic back when it was built sixty or seventy years before, but had not aged gracefully. The paint on the trim was peeling, the steps up to the porch sagged noticeably in the middle, many of the shingles were curled, and the front yard needed a good weeding.

“She’s got a room here,” Travis said, and was out of the van and running up to the porch before Miles even had his door all the way open.

Travis tried the front door and, finding it locked, started banging on it. A few seconds later, a sixtyish, balding man Miles presumed was the landlord appeared and opened the door. By now, Miles was on the sidewalk and close enough to hear the conversation.

“I’m looking for Sandy!” Travis said. “It’s an emergency!”

“What?” the landlord said.

“She lives here! Upstairs!”

Before the man could say another word, Travis squeezed past him and entered the building.

“Hey!” the landlord cried.

Miles reached the door and caught a glimpse of Travis heading up a flight of stairs, two steps at a time.

“You with him?” the man asked Miles.

He nodded. “It’s important we find her. Something may have happened.” Miles was solemn enough that the man appeared persuaded.

Upstairs, they could hear Travis banging on a door. “Sandy! Sandy! It’s me!”

By the time Miles and the landlord reached the second floor, Travis was standing at the door, his face breaking. “If she’s here, she’s not answering.”

Miles, making his voice as calm as possible, asked the landlord, “Can you open it?”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Unless, it’s not a drug overdose or something, is it?”

“Yes,” Miles said.

The man dug into his pocket for what Miles guessed was a master key, moved Travis out of the way, slid it into the lock, turned, and opened the door. He went in first, followed by Travis, and at the tail end, Miles.

It was one simple room, filled with mismatched furniture. A double bed, a dresser and one nightstand, a small desk, and two chairs. One was for the desk, the other an easy chair. There was nothing to suggest anyone was living here. No personal items, no clothes, no book next to the bed. Not even a phone charger plugged into the wall. The bed was made, a couple of throw pillows propped up against the headboard.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Miles asked.

“Down the hall,” the landlord said.

“Is this the right room?” Travis asked. “Isn’t this Sandy’s room?”

“There was a girl here, that’s for sure,” he said. “Looks like she up and left.”

Or was taken, Miles thought.

“I heard someone leave only a few minutes ago, just before you got here, but I was in the back of the house at the time.”

Travis shot out of the room and ran down the stairs. “Thanks,” Miles said to the landlord, and went after Travis.

Once they were both in the van, Travis put it in Drive and took off down the street.

“Where are we going?” Miles asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Stop. There’s no sense driving around wildly. We need a plan.”

“I don’t have a plan!” he said, on the verge of tears.

The street ended in a T, and when Travis brought the van to a stop, he had to decide whether to go left or right. He sat there, foot on the brake, the engine idling roughly.

“Tell me what to do,” Travis said.

“I don’t know.”

Travis looked right, debating whether to head in that direction, then left.

“Holy shit,” he said.

“What?”

His voice was no louder than a whisper. “I think I see her.”

Miles leaned forward in his seat to be able to see around Travis. About a hundred yards away, on the sidewalk, walking away from them, was a young woman pulling a wheeled carry-on-sized bag behind her.

“You sure?” Miles asked.

Travis wasn’t going to wait until he was certain. He hit the gas again, cranked the wheel hard left, and sped up the street, steering over into the oncoming lane and coming up alongside the woman.

“It’s her!” he said as he powered down the window. “Sandy!” he shouted.

She’d already heard the van and was looking his way. She appeared alarmed at first, then relieved to see who it was, but then almost as quickly, her expression became one of discomfort. Miles, on the passenger side, and probably not immediately visible to Sandy, blinked several times as he tried to get a good look at her.

“I’ve been calling!” Travis said. “What’s going on?”

Sandy held her position on the sidewalk. “I’m leaving,” she said.

“Sandy, why—”

“I’m freaked out. I have to get away from here.”

“Please, get in. There’s an explanation!”

“A what?”

“I think I know what’s going on. Get in!”

Sandy appeared to give the offer some thought. She held her ground another moment, prompting Travis to hit a button that retracted the side door behind him, inviting her in. Finally, dragging the bag behind her, she reached the open door and set her luggage in first. She must have been thinking she’d then go around and get in up front, but caught a glimpse of Miles in the passenger seat. He’d been looking at her, but turned away when she spotted him.