Street Girl

30 | elliot

"Oh my God, stop."

She laughs and shuts the door behind her. The darkness drowns me again. I'd never show it, but I do appreciate her affection. I guess it's okay to know some people care about me. Even if it's just my stupid parents.

Crossing my arms behind my head, I spiral back into thinking about Lucy. I can't believe she's with some abusive asshole. What if he hits her? What if he—

I shudder and clench my eyes shut. No, I can't picture that. It physically hurts. I have to do something.

My MacBook rests on my desk and shines in the moonlight.

Fuck it.

Tearing out of bed, I slide into the chair and open my laptop. On Facebook, I type Lucy Pembroke into the search bar and tap my foot like a jackhammer against the hardwood floor, rattling the cup of pencils on my desk. A few profiles in Godfrey pop up under that name, but not one who looks like her.

So I go to Google.

My chest pounds as the cursor blinks. Okay, slow down a minute. Am I really gonna do this? Google Lucy like a fucking stalker?

No, it's not stalking... I'm a concerned friend. Or a secret agent. Whatever I need to tell myself, because this is happening. I type her name and press enter. Random LinkedIn profiles show up, so I add "Godfrey."

That yields more results.

Alastair Pembroke, CEO of Godfrey Financial, found dead. Daughter, Lucy, missing.

My heart sinks into the pits of my stomach. Jesus Christ.

Alastair Pembroke dead. Lucy Pembroke missing. Lucy Pembroke found. Murder or suicide? Nameless boyfriend "just a theory."

My airways tighten until I can't breathe. These could be about any of the Lucy Pembrokes I saw on Facebook, right? My finger trembles over the mousepad. Do I even want to know more? Will I ever see her again? Because that last kiss felt like a goodbye.

With sandpaper on my tongue, I click an article about this Alastair Pembroke's death. The layout loads a photo next to a body of text. A man with a moustache stands next to a woman with freckles and brown hair, and beneath them, a little girl with straight bangs. Lucy. I'd recognize that cute, impish face anywhere.

My head spins. I don't know this girl at all.

When something raps at my window, I slam my laptop shut and fall back in the chair, landing on the floor in several loud crashes. My leg is somehow twisted up in the feet of the chair, and I'm face-to-face with my ceiling.

"El? Are you okay?" Mom calls from the other room.

"Fine, Mom." I kick the chair away. "I fell, sorry."

"Well, keep it down," Dad grumbles. "I'm tryin' to sleep in here."

I must be insane. I swear I heard something knock. My heart thunders as I look at the wall.

There's a face in my window.

I grab the scissors on my desk because this is a literal nightmare. But the cute little face isn't ghoulish or monster-like—it's Lucy's. She mouths, "Let me in," but I'm too dumbstruck to budge. When she knocks on the glass, I scramble to the bed and open the window. Cold wind follows her with specks of snow as she slides into my room.

"Oh my god, Lucy. Did you crawl all the way up here? You could've gotten hurt! And my parents are home, they'll kill me if they catch you."

"Then we'll have to keep this quiet." She sits on the edge of the bed. Her teeth chatter and she rubs her hands together, her eyelashes coated in frost. Instead of the red coat from earlier, she's back in the leather one. The one she used to always wear with me.