20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Cassie

Z oey followed me expeditiously. There was no hesitation in her quick steps as she grabbed whatever she could to protect herself from the cold. She sat beside me now in the passenger seat of my vehicle—silent, alert eyes behind her glasses peering every which way as I pulled out of my parking spot on the street. One of Liam's sweatshirts haphazardly pulled over her head and draping down to her mid-thigh, the black fabric offset with the winter pallor of her skin, and at first glance, she looked small—pale—meek.

However, on par with all things Zoey, she was anything but, for her presence was large.

All I had managed to say before she rushed out the door with me was, "Talk about it in my car?" and because we had said nothing since, she had close to no details on the source of my nervousness. Not knowing where we were going or why and racing alongside me, her appearance of meekness was a falsity. Her silence was a choice. A bold one that solidified what I already knew about Zoey and encapsulated the definition of ride or die.

I glanced her way as I turned onto the main road and headed for the highway, her focus locked on me, and though I knew that now was the time to explain my panic away, the words were caught in my throat. One would imagine that my inability to speak on the subject was due to my hesitance to admit my relationship with James, but that concern was long gone. I just…didn't know where to start. How to start. And when I had realized that Zoey was adamantly sticking with me, I knew that I would have to confess it all. It was…unideal, to say the least, but I had thought that if it were up to me, I could manage to do so delicately.

The thought of anything delicate was impossible now, and all I could do was cut to the chase.

"I'm gonna tell you something that's gonna feel like the main part of this story," I admitted rapidly. "I mean, I fucking wish that it were the main part of this story, but it's not—it's background information that you'd end up getting anyway with all the bullshit that's happening, and I…" My words began to meld together. "I want to be-straight-with-you, and it feels weird to have you grasping at straws about why I'm so goddamn nervous, how-I-know-certain-things, and where-we're-going-and-why—"

"Cassie, whatever it is, I'm fine," Zoey interjected sharply. "Stop being so considerate of my feelings and just spit it out."

"Try not to react or—or focus on it 'cause it's not important." I rephrased, "I mean, it's important— it is. It's just not important right now—"

Zoey exclaimed, "For the love of— spit, Cas!"

"Me and Jay have been seeing each other."

Her eyebrows shot up above the rim of her glasses. "Seeing each other as in…" My hesitation to answer made her squeak an alarmingly high-pitched, "Oh my GOD!"

"Zoey."

She smacked a hand over her mouth. "Not reacting—totally not reacting."

Due to the circumstances of the anxious undercurrent surrounding us, I would have thought that her tone being downright muffled glee would have been impossible. She let her fingers fall away from her face, delicately placing them in her lap, and I realized I was wrong as she seemed to be struggling to contain a large smile .

And, yes, I did feel as though we were on the precipice of… something. But because I couldn't tell what exactly that something was and there was no tangible proof for the reason of my nervousness, I allowed myself to ask:

"I'm sorry, are you… happy?"

Zoey looked at me hesitantly. "I'm allowed to react?"

I shrugged. "For a second, I guess. 'Cause I don't want this to be weird and—"

"Not weird," she immediately replied with a rapid shake of her head. "Not even a little weird. I— yes, happy, good, great. This is a secret at the moment?"

I nodded, letting out a sigh that conveyed the weight of her approval leaving my shoulders. "Liam," I spoke my brother's name with no other explanation for I didn't think it was needed.

"Oh, him," she remarked. "Yeah, I'll have to buy him a casket once you tell him, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. I'm great. I…have about forty thousand questions for you, and we will circle back to those when it feels like shit isn't in the process of hitting the fan." She paused to blow out a quick breath through her mouth, and asked more seriously, "Main part of the story?"

I exhaled, "Thank you."

She waved a hand in the air as if to say, ‘Nothing of it—go on. '

I told her, "Something's up with James."

"How so?"

"Well," I began, "we talked on the phone this morning after he left, right?"

Zoey appeared to be biting the inside of her lower lip. "I have connected that puzzle piece, yes."

"And he was fine." I eyed the road ahead, knowing it would be the start of James' commute to work, and got in the right-hand lane in preparation to turn. My blinker clicked away as I reiterated, "Totally fine." I turned the wheel, and the clicking ceased. "Happy."

"You're making me want to ask all those questions that I said I wouldn't, Cas," Zoey said. "What's the gist?"

"He got pulled over driving into work."

"Se?or-rule-follower got pulled over?" she returned with a smirk. "Why?"

I shook my head. "I have no idea 'cause he didn't call me back."

Zoey squinted. "'Kay."

"So, I texted him, I dunno, two hours later." I grabbed my phone that rested in the cup holder between us and blindly handed it to her. "Five-two-nine-seven," I spoke my password without hesitation. "Look at our messages."

She tapped on the screen several times, swiped down, and chuckled, "Ha— when did he ‘ducking ditch you,' exactly? You sound pissed."

"That one's old, Zo'," I admonished her referencing my first texts to James when he had rushed out of Henry's with his friend, Brooks. "Scroll to today."

"Not exactly hard. Y'all don't text much," she murmured.

"Don't think Jay's much of a texter," I replied.

Zoey snorted. "Old fart."

I rolled my eyes. "And we've been basically living in the same place since Colt showed up, anyway…there's not much of a point to messagi—"

"I'm sorry, you've been what?!"

I snapped, "Messages, Zoey."

"Fine, fine." Reading quickly, she scoffed and muttered, "Grumpy old man— oop— come over another time?"

"Yuh huh."

"Weird phrasing."

"Exactly," I returned. "That with his short-ass responses…I dunno, it made me nervous, so I checked his location."

Zoey shot me a side-eye. "You have his location?"

"He asked for mine and gave me his."

She clicked her tongue several times. "Possessive, Jay. "

"He was worried about me," I retorted with more bite than I intended.

Zoey smiled wide. "Defensive, Cas."

"Point," I reminded her in a stern tone, "is that I had his location. Had. It's gone now. It's not showing up anymore."

Her expression pinched together. "You think he turned it off? Unshared or something?"

"He wouldn't do that," I said confidently. "And no way any of those new messages are James. They're too short, they don't make sense considering I'm living with him for the time being, and if I told Jay this morning that I was planning on going back to my place instead of his," I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, "he would have freaked. I mean, the man's been anxious as fuck. All," my voice lowered to imitate him, "‘I need to be around you. I need to know you're okay—'"

"Stop, stop! Specifics later . And I really mean that—if you don't give me details, I will perish, Cassie." She paused and then clarified, "Your point is that he wouldn't be like, ‘Oh, sure, stay at your place! Deuces.'"

"Well, I don't think Jay would ever say deuces in place of goodbye, but yes." I sighed loudly. "That was my point."

Zoey questioned slowly, "Maybe…a friend from work got ahold of his phone? "

"And decided to turn off his GPS, text me to say that I shouldn't come over tonight, and that I should just stay at my house?" I frustratedly threw a hand up only for it to fall back to the wheel. "Why? Why would anyone do that?"

"Okay, ah…what are you getting at, here?" Zoey asked hesitantly.

"I don't know," I whispered. "Just have a bad feeling."

"Well, where are we going?"

"I don't—I—I'm retracing steps, I guess? He was on his way to work, obviously."

"Right…one sec."

Zoey placed my cell back in the cup holder and retrieved her own from the front pocket of Liam's black hoodie. Her fingers tapped away, and just as she was lifting the phone to her ear, I asked:

"What are you doing?"

"Covering all bases," she said quickly before she spoke into her phone, "Hey, Claire. Quick question. No context. Have you heard from Jay this morning?" I caught her eye as she admonished, "I said no context— 'kay. What about Luke?" She listened to Claire's response, and then abruptly trilled, "Mmkay, cool, thanks, bye!"

Claire yelled through the speaker, "Zoey, wait! Why—" but it was cut off by Zoey immediately ending the call.

"You hung up on her," I noted .

"She'll forgive me," Zoey returned. "No one needs her digging for details right now—she said no, by the way."

I had already assumed that was the case. I mumbled back, "Thanks for that."

"Mhm," she offhandedly hummed. "What are your thoughts, exactly?"

"Best case scenario…I guess I find him safe at his work because a fuckin' class clown of a coworker took his phone?" I murmured, "As much as I want that outcome and know that I shouldn't cause an act of violence at his work, I swear to God, I'll punch whatever fucker thought this was funny."

"Atta girl," Zoey mumbled.

"Hold me back, for Jay's sake?" I asked.

She chortled, "I can try, but that may be on him."

I looked over to give her the smallest of bitter smiles, she returned it, and I continued, "Worst case scenario…"

My words were cut short when I focused ahead once more, and I saw James' grey sedan on the side of the road. There was nothing peculiar about it—no trails of spinning tire tracks or skidding steps through the muddy snow that had almost completely melted. Only his car, and nothing else.

My thoughts just…stopped .

I heard Zoey call to me as I let off the gas. Recognized the profanity that fell from her mouth as I firmly depressed the brake. I didn't have the headspace to respond while I quickly turned the wheel to pull up behind his vehicle, though. I barely had the chance to shift into park before my seatbelt was off, I swung my door open so hard that I heard the hinges complain and rattle, and I was running.

There was nowhere to go, really.

It was seven frantic steps until I reached James' car, parked neatly on the shoulder. I stood beside it, my breath running through me heavy as I saw all there was to see—an abandoned vehicle on the side of the highway. I vaguely heard myself muttering, "No, no, no," as I peered into the driver's side window that had been left open.

It was clean on the inside, as I already knew it was. A holster for his phone that was affixed to his dash was empty. The back seat was barren. The front seat held only his work briefcase. There were no clues. No tells. Just a horrid realization that I may have been right.

"Cassie?" Zoey nervously spoke my name as she approached.

My breaths went shallow. "I…um…I don't…I don't understand. "

"Maybe he had car trouble?" she offered gently. "After he got pulled over by the cop, I mean." Zoey squatted down. "Are the tires fine? They seem fine."

My head whipped left and right, and I pointed toward the ground behind his car. Though it hadn't appeared that his pulling over into the mud was out of emergency and there was indeed no sign of what one would deem a struggle, there were other indentations in the earth.

"Tire tracks."

Zoey followed where my hand gestured with her eyes—over the impressions that the thread's groove made—and there was no arguing where the vehicle had gone. It appeared that it had pulled up behind James' car just as mine had and then drove back onto the road. What may have been footprints were scattered about, but because neither of us were detectives by any means, there was no telling who they belonged to, which occurred first, or where they were going and why.

"Um," Zoey thought aloud, "the tracks could be old? Or—or from an Uber or something, if he had to catch a ride to get to work?"

I shook my head, for there was just…no way. There was no. Goddamn. Way. That the outcome of all of this was that simple—that he was pulled over, had car trouble shortly thereafter, just so happened to forego contacting me while we felt like we were on the precipice of a crisis, and then had his phone confiscated by God knows who…who was sending me messages that were so unlike James.

Yeah— no goddamn way was an understatement at this point, and it was all I could do to grunt some sort of dissatisfied noise in Zoey's direction before I spun and began to stomp back to my Jeep.

"Cassie!" Zoey exclaimed. "What are you—"

"Car!" I yelled over my shoulder. "Now!"

Her steps scurried behind me, and we were both barely planted into our seats when I hit the gas. Zoey's hands splayed on the window and center console to secure herself as we returned to the highway, and once we were free of the mud, gravel, and rock from the side of the road, she reached for her seatbelt. I did the same, and without any provocation, I spoke my thoughts aloud regarding her assumption that the tire tracks could have been from a ride service:

"He could have called me—I could have driven him to work."

"And pull you away from the apartment?" she countered. "We'd ask why. Lee would've been weird about you leaving alone—"

"Yeah, yeah, right—Jay, too…but if not me, then Luke, right?" I added, "And Claire hasn't heard from him. Luke hasn't heard from him. None of this makes any fucking sense! And…and he would have told me. He—he would have called me again. Been like, ‘You're not gonna believe this,' or—or-or, ‘M-my morning's gone to shit, Darlin'."

My argument began firm but turned frantic, my vocal cords shaking while I stammered back to her.

"Okay, okay, shhhh," Zoey consoled from my right. "Where's your brain goin' here, Cas?"

"I don't—I don't know, but dancers have been disappearing, right? I—he's been to Gas Lamp. He's associated with me…"

I couldn't finish the thought.

"What, you think he's been…like… taken?" Zoey disbelievingly replied. I said nothing in response, and she returned with a sigh, "Look, I get that you're worried—I do. And I'm with you, this is weird, but…why would that happen?"

I shook my head. "I have no idea, but it—it all feels wrong."

"We…we can't jump to conclusions."

It was said in an assuring manner—as if hearing it would calm me—and while I knew I appreciated the sentiment, I didn't have the ability to absorb the gesture .

I shrieked, "Jump to conclusions?!"

Zoey flinched. "Easy, Cas—breathe—"

"All I'm doing is jumping to conclusions, Zoey! How the hell can I not?!"

"I'm just saying that he could still be at work," she clarified.

"And even though his goddamn briefcase is in his car, I'm driving there on the off-fucking-chance that he is," I snapped, "but I'm a tad bit concerned about whatever the hell we're supposed to do if he's not. Go to the police? Report him missing? Give them almost none of the information we have because otherwise, we may be incriminating ourselves with fucking murder since this shit all seems tied together? And then, guess what?" I looked at her with what was most likely a crazed glare, and she appeared to be holding her breath as I remarked, "It's not like they're gonna send out a goddamn search team right away without probable cause of him being in danger!"

Her arms outstretched toward me as if she had the intention to soothe me, but her expression twisted as she appeared torn on what to do, and her limbs hung in the air.

"I know, I know," she spoke, "I—I'm sorry, Cas, I'm freaking out, too, but let's just…stay calm and take this one step at a time. "

The suggestion was valid. Reasonable. Level-headed.

Unfortunately for Zoey, though, I was not. My lungs were burning. Tears were flooding my vision. My heart was thrumming wildly as if it were trying to escape my chest and pounding in my ears, and my response ripped through my lips in an angry, shrill:

"He could be GONE, Zoey! Missing! I don't know what to do— I don't know how to fucking brEATHE right now!"

Zoey's lips pressed together tightly as she silenced herself. I saw her watching me in my peripheral vision as I rapidly wiped away the evidence of my crying from my cheeks, and she finally offered:

"Do you want me to drive?"

"No." I sniffled, as my nose had gone runny. "Thanks."

"You know where you're going?" she asked.

Though I had never visited James' workplace, I nodded. In a pleasant conversation so recently had on his couch, we had casually discussed his job. I thought back to it now, wishing I could smile as I remembered his hearty chuckle when I joked that the name of the establishment was a mouthful, and I had accused him of making up the title on his own in jest. He hadn't, and he had proven as such by showing the name on a map app in his cell. Identified with an icon of a small briefcase, the text was displayed in its entirety between two parentheses after the label of Work, and he had pointed at it with a playful, enthusiastic, ‘See?'

I swallowed through the lump in my throat. "Analytic Integrative Solutions, International LLC. Not far from Gas Lamp…it's off Third Street and Pine, but I've never been. You mind looking it up, just in case?"

She obliged, and there was no further inquisition. No additional attempts to assuage me. It was silent as we drove save for the occasional clearing of my throat, directional instruction from Zoey, or clicking of my turn signal, and after what I knew was ten minutes but felt like far longer, I was pulling into the parking lot outside of his work.

James and I had once spoken about the feeling of existing within a living hell…and I had thought that I was already there. When I had rapidly left 2B with Zoey, my odd, keen sense of anxiety was reminiscent of a premonition—a forewarning that I was desperately trying to shake. But it wasn't then that I considered my presence within a realistic hellscape. It was when I had seen his car, abandoned with no sense of where he had gone, that I had considered, or, rather, realized, that I was stuck in the flames.

The visit to his workplace had lasted all of five minutes.

The building was small, grey, and no doubt created for an office space. Windows lined the walls of the single story, darkened with a tint so passersby couldn't see within, and the entrance was clearly visible. The glass door had white lettering on it, but it was illegible from where we were parked.

Zoey and I had marched through the front door, and I found myself taking in the space with an eye of scrutiny.

A white desk was situated directly in front of the door, a large computer monitor resting atop it. To the left was nothing but two doors—one for a women's bathroom and the other for the men's—and on the right, a glass dividing wall that lacked any opacity whatsoever. What appeared to be an area to scan a key fob for entry was directly next to the door handle, and beyond that, I could see straight into what I assumed was a break room. There were two individuals chatting while pouring coffee, and I recognized neither of them.

"How can I help you two?" the woman from behind the desk had asked us.

I didn't recall any of her features—only that she was dressed in a blouse that was colored a vibrant blue. I also couldn't remember our exact response. I knew that I had asked if James Turner was in the office, and Zoey had interjected to state that we were planning to meet him for an early lunch. The woman had squinted at us curiously, and I assumed the reason for that was twofold :

Firstly, it was only just approaching 10:30, and the notion of lunch seemed far off.

And secondly, our collective appearance didn't exactly depict that we were ready to publicly sit down for a meal.

Despite that, she had still replied in a chipper tone, "Oh, sorry—James is out today."

Her casual mention of there being a nasty flu going around and questioning of whether or not she should leave a message for him from us hung in the air until Zoey inevitably responded for me. Her tone was light and offhanded, not a word of her reply was heard by me, and she ushered me back out the door with a hand on my lower back.

As if I had just left an active warzone, I was riddled with tinnitus. I stared forward from the passenger seat while Zoey took the wheel. My cheeks were salt-streaked and wet, and I made no attempt to remedy that. For there was nowhere to run and no clue of direction, the sensation of being trapped swarmed me—buzzing in my ears until my phone began to vibrate loudly within the cup holder between us.

I grabbed it, my limbs moving in slow motion, and squinted curiously at the contact before swiping across the screen and setting it to speaker.

My voice was quiet as I answered, "Colton? "

Zoey's focus snapped to my cell.

"Yes, hello, hi." He replied in what I've learned is his usual sarcastic tone, but it carried an apparent angst. "Are we past the pleasantries?" He didn't wait for me to respond. "Cool. We need to talk. Are ya free?"

His obvious urgency woke me from my despondence. "If you know anything about James, then yes."

"James?" he questioned. "What am I supposed to know about James?"

He sounded altogether confused at the mention of his name, and my stomach dropped even further.

"God dammit, Colton!" I hissed. "And I thought for a single second that you'd be a lifeline—"

Colton pressed again, "What am I supposed to know about James?"

"He's. Fucking. Missing!" I yelled. "That's what!"

"What?!" He returned my alarmed decibel. "The fuck do you mean he's missing?"

"I mean that I cannot find him," I retorted. "What the hell do you think I mean?"

"Jesus—this isn't productive," Zoey interjected. "Hi, Colt. Long story short, Cas had reasons to believe Jay wasn't at work even though he had texted saying he was. And he's not at work. We checked. Found his car on the side of the road—no crash, no nothing, just pulled over. "

"Oh," he replied. "Fuck." Colton hesitated for a moment, and then slowly asked, "I…take it that you haven't been to your previous place of employment to pick up your check?"

I bit back, "Does it sound like that's on the forefront of my mind?"

"No," he quickly responded in a high pitch. "Nope. Not at all, but, ah, coincidentally, I was there this morning," he quickly explained, "less crowds, easier to talk, yadda yadda—and get this… it's a goddamn ghost town."

I blinked several times over. "What?"

"Apparently, there's been somewhat of an exodus."

Zoey and I glanced at each other with wide eyes, and I inquired, "What kind of exodus?"

"Er—of the mass variety?" He rephrased with purpose, "A mass. Fucking. Exodus."

"Okay, um—wait," I spoke, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that if ya think the place was understaffed before—which, we both know that it was—then you should see it now. Like I said. Ghosty." He clarified, "Talked with some staff there—casual shit, right? Dancers are flying out the door since this past weekend…not disappearing— quitting." Colton waited for a beat that held a substantial purpose. "I don't…I don't want to say this is related to Jay, but—"

Zoey interjected, "Why do you think shit from Cassie's work would be related to Jay?" She narrowed her eyes skeptically. "The hell do you know that we don't?"

Colton groaned as if we were acting oblivious. "I was calling in the first place 'cause the timing of me talking with you guys about all this shit before, combined with a bunch of dancers cutting and running from a place that pays them to be there, was coincidental as fuck."

It was my turn to squint, then, and I asked, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it makes me feel like word could have spread…and typically in big bag guy land," he began sardonically, "when news about big bad guy shit is spreading around like wildfire, those big bad guys aren't terribly appreciative of that." Zoey rolled her eyes at his tone, and my gut twisted as his pitch dropped to one that was grave. "Which, again, is why I called. 'Cause if rumors are being spread or something, this could be—to put it mildly— very bad if it gets back to any of us. To me—to you— to Jay. Did you—"

"Start rumors?" I cut off his insinuation. "Of course not."

"Even if she did," Zoey remarked, "how would that get back to James? "

A burning sensation similar to acid reflux crept up my throat.

"Jay said he went to Gas Lamp?" Colton inquired.

"Yeah, him and a million other dudes, I'm sure," Zoey noted. "So, he's been to your work— so what?"

Colton hummed. "Did he make it obvious that you're together?"

Zoey's focus moved from the road to my phone. "You know that they're together?"

My head fell back to the headrest as I griped, "Is that relevant?"

He dismissively answered, "I walked in on them sucking face."

She immediately diverted her attention back to the highway, pressing her lips together tightly as if she were forcing herself to remain silent on the matter.

"And yes," Colton said, "it's relevant. If someone thinks you know anything or are spreading word around and he's close to you…"

"If that were the case, why wouldn't they just take me?"

I heard Zoey blow a rough breath through her nostrils, and we all went quiet for a beat.

"Maybe he was just an easier target?" Colton pondered aloud .

As I considered the thought, I forced myself to swallow through the burn. With me being passed around like precious cargo, James had been the only one of us who was isolated…and he most certainly would have been an easier target.

I murmured, "Maybe."

Colton grumbled something unintelligible before saying, "I just…I dunno. I don't know what we're missing, but it's something."

The leather creaked beneath us as both Zoey and I shifted in our seats uncomfortably.

"I can agree with you there," I replied.

"What, um…what are y'all planning on doing? Talk to the cops?"

I sighed heavily, looking to Zoey for a moment as we exchanged expressions that said, ‘What the hell else are we supposed to do?'

"Yeah?" I returned with an upward inflection. "I mean— yes. Yes, definitely, I just—Luke doesn't even know yet. I don't know what to tell the police or where to start."

Speaking to me rather than Colton, Zoey reminded me, "From an outsider's perspective, without admitting to a hell of a lot, you're, erm—"

"A confused, paranoid girlfriend," Colton cut in. "They're not exactly gonna send out the SWAT team for that. Ya need your ducks organized. I got it." I nodded in agreement, though I knew he couldn't see me, and rather than wait for my response, he asked, "Meet you at 2A or 2B?"

Zoey's brow furrowed. "What? Why?"

"Heads together for the ducks, right?" he replied, matter of fact. "I already told y'all—in for a penny, in for a pound. And if my gut's right on this, you may be pointing me in a direction that I really want to go. 2A or 2B?"

"B," I spoke.

"On my way. See you in a bit."

Without an ounce of hesitation, the line cut off.