My hands were shaking as I pushed myself away from my computer. The distance I put between myself and the desktop didn’t make a difference, however. The web page was still there, mocking me with its words.
I hadn’t been surprised when I found the suspects Brandon told me about on Americas Most Wanted—I'd be surprised if I hadn’t found them there. And I hadn’t been shocked by the article I found on the site. However, the words on the article did manage to shake me to my core, to threaten to break down the flimsy walls I'd put up in order to keep myself from falling apart completely.
These people were disgusting, sick, vile…
And they had Serenity in their clutches.
With every word I read, I became less sure of the fact that Serenity was still out there, breathing and fighting. I didn’t doubt Serenity, but what these people did to their victims…it made me want to vomit and cry at the same time.
I wiped at my eyes as a few tears fell. Dammit, I thought. Not now. At any moment, Angie, Tommy, or my parents could walk in, and if they saw me crying, they’d demand to know what I was looking at. If Tommy saw what was written there…
I hurried to ex out of the screen before that could happen and then got out of the chair, falling back onto my bed. I stared blankly up at the ceiling, my eyes burning as horrible thoughts flitted through my mind, each more horrifying than the next.
I shouldn’t have looked up the article, I thought. It hadn’t made things better—knowing exactly what Serenity was up against. It had made things worse.
But what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t go out and search every single abandoned warehouse I could find. I wanted to—more than anything, really, just so I could feel like I wasn’t completely useless—but I couldn’t. This wasn’t the movies, where the sibling went missing and the sibling left behind made it their mission to bring their loved one home. It was the same internal battle, but that’s just not how things worked. Not here.
If I left, it would accomplish nothing. It would only add more angst onto my family’s shoulders, more worry, more fear. I would only be in the police’s way. And I'd have no idea where to begin searching in the first place. By the time I searched one warehouse, I'd probably be out of time. If I wasn’t out of time already.
Please, I thought for what was probably the millionth time since the beginning of the night. Please be alive. Please. Please. Please.
A few more tears found their way down my cheeks before I could stop them. I didn’t bother wiping them away, just continued staring at the ceiling as I cried. I hadn’t been lying when I'd told Angie that it was okay to cry in a situation like this—I meant it, and I felt no shame in it. But it didn’t make me feel any better. Not about any of it.
Angie hadn’t come into my room since our conversation, so I could only take that as she had no idea what was really going on, that our parents had decided to keep the information from her as long as they could. I felt bad for Angie, but at the same time, I was glad she didn’t know. It was unbearable, this knowing.
My eyes closed as more tears dribbled down my cheeks. I just wanted this over. I wanted the murderers caught and I wanted Serenity back home, safe and sound. I wanted this tightness in my chest to go away, to stop feeling like I could suffocate with the emotions blocking my airways.
But life isn’t fair—you don’t get what you want because you simply want it. Instead, you’re stuck feeling what you don’t want to feel and going through things you can’t bear to go through.
My eyes opened as I heard the sound of my doorknob twisting. Angie appeared through the opening, her eyes red and watery. I wiped at my cheeks before standing up, my eyes wide. This was twice tonight that Angie showed she wasn’t made of stone. I didn’t blame her, obviously, but it was shocking. Especially after what she’d told me in the hallway.
“Ang,” I whispered.
“Is it true?” she demanded, her voice shaky.
I didn’t answer for a moment, just stared. Had I been wrong in my earlier assumption—had our mom and dad decided to divulge after all? “Did they—?”
Angie shook her head. “No. But I was pissed that no one would tell me what was going on, so I decided to listen in on what they were saying.” She sucked in a breath. “Is it—is it true? Was she taken by serial—serial killers?”
I tried to answer her, but found that I couldn’t. Between the distraught expression on her face and the turmoil within myself, I found myself unable to do anything but stand there and try not to crumble into a million pieces.
However, Angie didn’t need me to speak in order to know. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I imagined terrible things in my head, but this—and you said—and you said she didn’t have the night, didn’t you?” She brought her hands to her head, closing her eyes. “No,” she muttered. “I have to, I have to keep it together—”
Suddenly her eyes opened and she rushed over to me, wrapping her arms tightly around me and digging her head into my chest. She burst into tears, sobbing freely into my shirt. I didn’t hesitate to hug her back, my own tears matching her own as I rested my chin on her head.
“She’s dead isn’t she?” Angie demanded in despair. “She’s dead.”
I hugged her tighter, trying to find my voice in the midst of my tears. “I don’t know,” I whispered finally, my voice barely finding its way out of my throat. “I don’t know.”
Angie cried harder at that, all of her woe being let out into the open now that she knew. This was so much different than earlier, when she was scared but completely uncertain as to what the hell was going on. Now she knew just how shitty and horrifying this entire thing really was, and she didn’t have the strength to pretend that she was okay. Later on, she’d probably criticize herself, call herself weak for breaking down like this. But I didn’t think she was weak. She was one of the strongest people I knew.
“I’m scared,” Angie said after a few moments of silence.
“I am too.”
“I’m terrified that—that we’re never going to—see her again.” Angie coughed as she fought to speak between sobs. “If she dies…oh god, what are we going to do?”
I tightened my embrace because I didn’t know what else to do. There was nothing I could do, no possible way that I could make Angie believe that this situation wasn’t as intolerable as it really was. This was agony, and we both knew it. Angie wasn’t stupid. She’d see right through any lie I told. And I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her anyhow.
My mind strayed to the other families that were going through this exact same thing. How were they dealing with this? Were they dealing at all? Had they found some way to make it through the night without breaking down completely? Or was the grief and fear overwhelming them, making every breath seem impossible?
“What are they doing to her?” Angie mumbled thickly.
Words from the article flashed before me before I could stop them. Mutilated…some barely recognizable… I swallowed, silently praying that Angie wouldn’t make the same mistake I had and look it up online.
And that was how we remained—hugging, crying, succumbing to our sorrow, even if only for a little while.
