That is, if I was drugged. Maybe this is all a hopeful speculation. Perhaps my mind created those memories of red ribbons and the pinpricks of needles to give me an excuse for not speaking up sooner.
Will I ever be able to trust myself when I know I'm a liar?
Ellis’ phone abruptly rings. He startles but quickly picks it up from the middle console. “It’s Owen,” he tells me, then answers it.
While he talks, I half listen, half think not only about what I’ve discovered, but about the things I’ve found lately, like the photos I found in my mother’s room, the list of places in the mountains, and that key Trystan wants so badly. If it is the key to the gate, maybe I could just walk onto the property. Camilla said there were answers to be found at that place. But what if that’s a trap? She already set me up once.
“The results came back for your blood work,” Ellis informs me, drawing me from my thoughts.
When I notice his expression, I say, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
His throat muscle works as he swallows hard. “You have high amounts of Rohypnol, which is also known as the date rape drug. One of the most significant side effects is memory loss. People even call it the forget-me-not drug—it has that big of an effect on the memory.”
I grind my teeth with so much force that my jaw pops. I stab my fingernails into my palms. I knew this was a possibility. But hearing that a doctor confirmed it…. That someone drugged me…
“I know I said that I’m pretty sure I remember my mother drugging me when I was younger, but who did it at the bar that night?” I attempt to sift through thoughts of what happened that night. I can recall drinking, getting that voicemail, and then everything becomes a distorted mixture of haze.
Slut.
“It has to be the same person who wrote that note on my locker in high school,” I say. “It can’t be a coincidence that they cut the same word on me that was painted on my locker.”
Ellis winces at the reminder of the mark on my flesh. “Can you remember anyone who was at the bar? Other than Clara and me?”
“The bartender. And Camilla. But I saw her leave.”
“Did she see you before she did?”
“Yeah. We locked eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time.”
He chews on his bottom lip. “What was she doing while she was there?”
I scratch at my back, right where the word is cut. It’s starting to itch, and I worry it might be infected.
“She was talking to the bartender,” I tell him. “It looked like they were arguing. She looked a bit strung out, too.”
“But she definitely saw you there?”
“Yeah… Wait, do you think she drugged me?” I question it as if it’s an absurd idea, but then I remind myself that only an hour ago I was behind bars because she set me up. I can smell the foul stench of the cell in my clothes. “I guess if she’s willing to get me arrested, then there’s probably a chance she could’ve. I still don’t understand how she could have done it, though.”
“Unless she got the bartender to do it for her.” He starts up the engine as I gape at him. “Think about it, Aves. You don’t remember anyone being around before you blacked out, other than Clara and me. Obviously, there were other people at the bar and maybe someone managed to toss a pill into your drink without you noticing—that shit happens. But if this is connected to the woods and this group and your family, I think it would have to be someone you know.”
I reach to put my seatbelt on. “But do you think the bartender would do that for Camilla? They’d have to be really close.”
“Or he owes her.” He shifts gears then drives forward. “Or he’s connected to this hunting group.”
“That makes sense.” I peer around. “Where are we going?”
“To talk to the bartender.” He pulls out onto the road that’s covered in puddles. “If we work this right, we might be able to get some answers about this group. Or at least a lead that may get us to some substantial proof, because right now, all we really have is hearsay.”
My throat feels thick. What if this bartender does have something to do with it? What if he drugged me? Am I about to walk into the monster’s den and look him in the eye?
The old Ava would have run away.
The new Ava, though, while terrified, wants answers.
So, I shut my lips and bite my tongue hard enough that the taste of rust floods my mouth, leaving the protest in my throat to drown in blood.
21
