I swallow the bile rising up my throat.
Pulling the door handle, I already know that it will be locked. I knock, but I already know that no one will respond. I feel dread settling in my stomach.
Where is she? And why is all her stuff gone?
I dial Alex.
“Yeah.” His gruff voice isn’t exactly welcoming on a good day, but now it’s even more menacing.
“Hey. Do you know where Kayla is?”
He’s quiet.
“Alex?”
"Not in Little Hope." He says shortly.
A stone, the size of Mars, drops into my stomach. "What do you mean 'not in Little Hope?' Where is she then?"
“She left.” He’s curt. Way too curt for somebody who rooted for us to get together.
“Where?” He’s quiet. “Fuck, Alex, where did she go?”
"I have no idea, you fucker. You messed this one up, just how I told you you would." And he hangs up.
What the fuck? I look at the phone. Where did Kayla go? And why didn't she tell me anything? I try to redial her with no success. Fuck. Fuck! I don't know what's happening, but my gut tells me it's bad.
So I shoot her another message with the same results.
Then I call Freya.
"Yes?" Her voice is tepid, but I feel I might have some luck here—at least she isn't pissed at me.
“Hey, Frey. Do you know where Kayla is?”
“I do.” She says, her tone suddenly terse. Never mind, she's definitely mad at me for something.
“And where is she?”
“She specifically instructed me not to tell you that.”
“Why the fuck not?” I’m getting pissed at this charade.
"Calm your voice." She's enraged now. "You're getting what you deserve."
"What do I deserve? I don't even know what happened. And if she's okay. Is she okay?" Freya's quiet. "Is she okay, Frey?"
“She will be.” She says after a pause. Well, that sounded ominous as fuck.
“Is it something I did?” I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if anything even remotely bad had happened that would send her out of town without saying a word, but I can’t come up with anything. The last time we talked, we had a sweet, quick chat. She had to run somewhere in Springfield, where she's been a few times in the past week to talk with her tattoo guy, TJ, who buys her incredible art. That's it. What could have happened between our last conversation and me waking up from my crash?
“She didn’t tell me.”
"Freya." My tone turns to a growl. I know she knows more than she says.
“I don’t know, alright? I tried to torture the answers out of her, but she never said anything.”
“Why? You are her friend. Why wouldn’t she share it with you?” I pull on my hair.
