She smiles weakly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

  I nod, unsure what to respond.

  She stays with me, watching, but barely saying anything while I eat the stew she made for me. A stew that’s heavy with memory and meaning. I don’t know the entire truth behind it, but at least I can feel it, the familiarity, the warmth of a home I don’t remember. If we didn’t look so different, I would almost assume her to be a relative, a sister maybe. I must have a family, too. People who love me, who possibly miss me and are out there looking for me. It’s weird that none of my vague visions seemed to be about them. Do I still have parents? Where are they? And what do they think where I am? Are they suffering because of my disappearance right now?

  Or is there just...nobody?

  Would she tell me about any of this, if I dared to ask? Probably not. I’m discouraged before I even try, marked by too many rejections.

  “I asked him to let me outside,” I say, thinking of the most recent instance when I was denied a simple request. “Just for a little while, just to see the sun.”

  Her eyes follow me as I get up, turning away from her as I walk to the window.

  “There’s a tiny little crack up here,” I say, climbing on top of the bench. “It’s so small that I didn’t see it at first, but it’s there. Just big enough to let in a blink of light, and even some air.”

  I get up on my toes, stretching up as far as I can to point at the upper right corner of the boarded window.

  “It’s here, I can see a hint of light when I hold my hand up like this,” I say, balancing on top of the bench as I turn my head, my eyes trailing over my shoulder back to her. “I was so excited when I found this. You have no idea. It’s pathetic. I can’t even actually see anything, but just being able to tell the difference between day and night...”

  I stop my rambling when I notice the change on her face. She’s no longer looking up at my face as I speak to her. Her gaze has traveled downward, locking on to my body, my upper thighs to be precise. I’m wearing a white nightgown, like always. The pieces change as I’m provided with new ones, differing in decor and detail, but the style is always the same, and they all end above my knees, thus barely hiding the marks he left on me. They have been there for days, adorning most of my backside with a pattern in diverse colors, blue and red shaking hands as they kiss my skin. They don’t hurt much and I have long gotten used to the sight, even wearing them with pride as they speak of my ability to endure their imprint.

  But she has never seen them before.

  And it’s obvious that they tell a different story to her.

  Chapter 51

  J

  I haven’t been summoned to see him this time, but I drove up to the station on my own accord. What Malia told me is reason enough to go for a preemptive strike before it’s too late.

  Something about the way the police—or Christopher—is proceeding, is odd. Very odd. I’ve never liked the guy, but after our last conversation, this feeling of animosity has reached a new level. It’s understandable that Petal’s disappearance would touch him on a personal level, given that he’s probably still hoping to be granted a different role in her life.

  But his recent moves don’t make sense. We were smart enough to lay out traces that could lead the search for her in a certain direction, suggesting that she might have moved back to California. There was even a letter, written by herself before we began the procedure. Malia made sure that it was placed in a location where her father would find it, but up until now, that letter has never been mentioned, neither to her nor to me. Did they never find it? Or is it a deliberate decision to keep this as a disclosed part of the investigation? I would understand if I wasn’t among those who were told about it, but Malia? Her best friend?

  I can’t be sure whether Christopher knows about the letter and chooses not to tell us about it, or whether he’s simply ignorant to its existence. The latter could be possible, as I wouldn’t put it past Robert to keep the letter to himself after he found it. He’d never admit any failure in regard to his precious daughter, and the letter doesn’t shine a good light on him.

  I’ve asked Malia to pay him a visit, something that’s long overdue anyway. There’s a much bigger chance for her to get to the truth than there is for me.

  I, on the other hand, need to figure out what’s going on with Christopher. That’s why I’m here.

  He wasn’t happy about my call, acting dismissive and reluctant at first, before he did a one-eighty, seeming a little too eager to speak to me in person. He seems insecure and strained all the time. How this guy could ever succeed as a policeman and even be promoted to detective at such a young age is beyond me. I blame it on the constant struggle of our small-town department and its lack of suitable recruitment.

  “Come in.”

  His muffled response to my knock is as sullen as the face that welcomes me. He refrains from shaking my hand this time and just beckons for me to take a seat opposite of his ridiculously large desk.

  “I gotta admit, I was surprised by your call,” he begins, casting me a look across the table that’s laced with annoyance. “But guess it turns out for the better, as I was going to call you in soon, anyway. This just speeds up the process.”

  “Is that so,” I respond, crossing my legs as I lean back. “What for?”

  He shakes his head. “We’ll get to that. You called. Said you had something you’d like to discuss? About her, I assume?”

  “Did you make any progress?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Not even among old friends?”

  “Fuck off, Jayson. Get to the point.”

  “I’m pretty sure my reason for being here is not much different than the one you’d have used to call me in,” I tell him. “I talked to Malia.”

  “Ah.” He raises his eyebrows in understanding, visibly tensing up as he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. I can tell that he’s trying to appear dominant and in charge of the situation, but he’s clearly nervous.

  Why though? Shouldn’t I be the one who’s on edge?

  “And she told you—”

  “That you’re placing more focus on the latest Bridgewater murder for now,” I cut him off. “And that you found something on the victim that, as Malia quoted, will change the way people see me?”

  I add a pause, observing him as I let the information sink in. He probably didn’t expect Malia to share this with me, and maybe I’m risking too much by letting him know. After all, Malia and I have never been seen together, no one knows that she’s currently residing at my place instead of her own little apartment that is just a few walking minutes away from my mansion. And we’re not known to be friends. Petal is the only link that connects her and me, but it’s a strong one. It’s no secret that she was at my place back then, that she was sitting in the next room while I took something from Petal, just as I was asked to. It’s not unreasonable to believe that she would talk to me about anything regarding the investigation of Petal’s disappearance.

  “She wasn’t supposed to,” Christopher gnarls, grinding his teeth while a crease appears between his thin eyebrows. “That conversation was confidential.”

  “Believe it or not, I told her the same thing,” I say, reveling in the look of surprise that spreads across his face. “But here we are. And there are two things here, that surprise me, Christopher.”

  He arches his eyebrows in expectation while I go on.

  “The Bridgewater murderer has been striking terror for years now, and for whatever reason, you guys never even came close to finding him. Now that she has disappeared, while you reject the notion of her being his next victim, you still double the force working on the Bridgewater case?”

  He listens, his expression hardening as I speak. “What’s your point? You said it yourself, her disappearance touches me on a personal level. We have been friends for years.”

  “Yes, but you said—”

  “Jayson, let me ask you one thing,” he interrupts me, raising his hand like a student in class. “Have you ever heard of the drug Sodium Amytal?”

  A cold shower runs down my spine, hitting me with such sudden force that its impact is impossible to hide in front of him.

  “Thought so,” he says, casting me a condescending smile. “It’s the drug you use on your patients, isn’t it? When you knock them out before your procedure.”

  I frown at him. “Among others, yes. But I don’t use it to ‘knock them out’; the effect mechanism works a little more complex than that.”

  Christopher waves me off. “Yeah, whatever. But you’re familiar with it?”

  “I am.”

  “And you see, this is the thing here, Jayson,” Christopher says, taking a deep inhale as he seemingly prepares for his final strike. “Not many people are familiar with it. It’s not widely used anymore, because there are better alternatives to it—as I’m sure you know. In fact, you’re the only licensed physician in the area who is known to use it on a regular basis.”

  “It comes with the job.”

  “Oh yes, sure it does,” Christopher agrees. “I’m sure it has its benefits when your goal is to hypnotize a person, to make them tell you things they wouldn’t tell anyone else, to make them docile and pliable.”

  “That’s not what my service is about,” I say, locking him down with a sinister stare. “And you know that.”

  He nods again, slowly this time, withstanding my gaze.

  “Of course,” he says, a cavalier tone lacing his voice. “But it can be used for that, right? Administered to the right person, it could make them an easy victim, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I shrug, unsure where he’s going with this. “Sure.”

  Christopher sighs, giving the impression that he’s not entirely satisfied with my nonchalant reaction. That changes when he continues speaking, finally revealing why he’s telling me all of this and what he meant by the things he said to Malia.

  “You know, Jayson, there’s something about that latest victim of the Bridgewater murderer that may lead our investigation in an entirely new direction,” he says, emphasizing each word and visibly enjoying his moment.

  “The autopsy report revealed something rather interesting: They found Sodium Amytal in the girl’s body.”

  He takes a deep breath, throwing an ugly smirk at me when he concludes. “And like I said: Jayson Bowlan is the only person in this area who’s administering this drug, known far and wide.”

  Chapter 52

  Petal

  “I have something for you.”

  The smile on his face is hard to read. There’s something sinister about it, but it’s not a threat. He told me to look up at him right after he stepped through the door, approaching me with his hands behind his back. I tilt my head back, considering him with questioning eyes when he comes to a halt in front of me.

  “It may be a little early for this,” he says, kneeling down before me. He keeps one hand behind his back while using the other to place a finger beneath my chin and keep my head in place. “But I think you deserve it. Like you said, you’ve been a good girl lately.”

  My heart starts hammering with joyous excitement. Is he going to let me take a walk outside? Will I finally get to the sun, breathe in some fresh air, feel the wind on my skin?

  “Close your eyes,” he says, jutting his chin forward.

  “Yes, Master,” I respond, hoping to enforce his generosity with my obedience.

  A startled sigh escapes me when I feel something on my throat, something hard and cold. A necklace? But it sits tightly, more like a choker. I shiver when he closes it around my neck, the cold metal resting on my skin with heavy weight. He fiddles with the clasp at the back of it for a while, until there’s a loud click sound.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I do as I’m told, met with his dark hazel gaze and a small silver key that he’s holding up in front of my face. My hands fly up to my throat on instinct, feeling out the metal ring that’s now closed around my neck. There’s a little pendant attached to it, a small ring, just big enough for my index finger to fit through it.

  “It’s a collar,” he enlightens me. “It shows that you’re mine.”

  I throw him a bewildered look, hooking my fingers below the collar and yanking at it.

  “You can try, but you can’t take it off without this,” he lets me know, lifting the key up before my eyes for a second, before he lets it disappear in his shirt’s pocket.

  “Why?” I ask. “Is this to stop me from running away?”

  I can feel the hope blossoming deep inside my chest. My mind is still set on being allowed outside, and it makes sense that he would equip me with a device that would stop me from getting away from him. But why not just cuff my hands to his if he wants to make sure I stay close?

  He shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s a symbol of ownership, nothing more, nothing less. But yes, it does provide us with some new options of restraining you.”

  Before I fully process what he’s saying, he reaches up, hooking his finger through the little ring at the front of the collar, pulling on it as he gets back up on his feet, dragging me with him.

  “So... this is not for a treat?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.

  His finger is still hooked through the ring as he stands before me, giving me a little yank so I’m forced to take a step forward and stand so close that our bodies touch.

  “It’s a gift, yes, but not a treat,” he confirms. “If anything, you owe me a little punishment for using my name.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did when you were by yourself,” he cuts me off. “You told me yourself.”

  I furrow my eyebrows as I look up at him. He let it pass when I told him about it, why is he so keen on punishing me now?

  “I’m still healing from last time,” I utter, causing him to smile.

  This smile I can read. It’s a simple one, open and without any hidden meaning. It’s the display of a pleasant memory, a harsh but pleasing scenario between the two of us. There was no reproach in my voice when I pointed out my bruises. Yet, as much as I like them, I’m also terribly aware of the wrongness of it all.

  Nothing made that clearer than the girl’s horrified expression when she saw them.

  “Show me,” he says, and I see lust flickering in his eyes as he does.

  I share his sentiment, but when he lets go of my collar, gesturing for me to turn around and lift my gown for him, I’m flooded with hot shame. My movements are slow, but compliant with his wish. I slowly gather the silky fabric, pulling it up and exposing my marked behind for him.

  “Beautiful,” he assesses, caressing the curve of my ass so tenderly it’s hard to believe that it was the very same hand that caused the bruises in the first place. “You look stunning, Petal. Wearing your marks with such gorgeous pride.”

  I blush at his words and turn around, catching his amicable smile.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Not everyone shares that assessment.”

  He frowns. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Her,” I say, nodding toward the door. “The black-haired girl. My... friend. She saw the marks earlier today and she looked appalled and terrified.”

  The frown on his face grows stronger.

  “Earlier today?” he asks. “When was she here?”

  “Um... I don’t know, a while ago when she brought me the stew—”

  “She was inside your room today and brought you stew?”

  His voice is so loud and thundering that it makes me flinch in fear.

  Why is he getting so angry at this? Did I do something wrong? Did she?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

  He steps forward, hooking his finger through the ring at my collar again to pull my face so close to his I’m forced to rise up on my toes, my shoulder pulled up to my ears with frightened tension as I meet his furious gaze.

  “When, Petal?” he hisses. “When was she here? How long ago?”

  “How am I supposed to know!” I snarl back at him. “You know I have no way of telling time!”

  “An estimate!” he yells. “You can give me that, can’t you?”

  “I don’t know! An hour maybe? Or two? No...,” I stutter, shaking my head. “No, it wasn’t that long. Less than two hours, most likely.”

  His eyes turn to narrow slits. I haven’t seen him this angry since...

  No, I’ve never seen him this angry before.

  Chapter 53

  J

  “This house is so beautiful,” she breathes, her gaze glued to the glistening waves that wash against the shore next to the cliff walk. The sun is about to set, already coloring the sky in warm tones while the wind feels colder against the skin.

  We’re sitting out on the terrace, on lounge chairs that I’ve barely used all summer. It hasn’t been long since I bought this property and there was too little time to make use of it since my office is still in Barrington and I spend most of my time with work.

  She’s one of the few people who even know about this place. I didn’t like the idea of advertising the fact that I’m now the owner of one of the famous mansions along the cliff walk in Newport. It would only attract the wrong kind of attention and jealousy.

  “Do you intend to move here?” she asks, taking another sip from her drink. We’re already on our third Gin Tonic and the spirit has painted her cheeks in a lovely red while her green eyes begin to turn more and more misty. I’ll have to be careful, I know that.

  But she’s here. She came to me. She created this, the very first opportunity for us to be alone ever since...

  “Maybe,” I say, shaking off thoughts that shouldn’t creep out of the darkest corner of my mind now. “Eventually. But not for a while. Not as long as I still have my practice in Barrington.”