Ally's POV
I think part of me knew that everything with Troy was too good to be true. I think that in the war between my head and my heart, my heart won. I let him back in. Why the fuck did I let him back in?
He was doing so well. He cleaned himself up. He said he did it for me - for us.
I had every intention of telling the girls, but it needed to be the right time. It was never the right time. When he showed up that day, everything stopped. I could see that glazed over look on his face. His hair a little wild. His button down only half tucked in. My heart broke like it had so many times before at the hands of the man I had loved since high school. I knew it was over, and I knew it even before he threw the punch. God, what was I thinking?
I was enjoying the little flashes of the Troy I fell in love with. Reveling in the small details of my sober ex-husband. Though it was good for my nostalgia, I think a part of me had known it wouldn't last. I have been subconsciously preparing myself for moving on for years and now that it is officially over, I need to get myself back in the game. I can't keep on trying to fix someone that can't be fixed at the risk of breaking myself.
I decide to download a dating app or two. I don't know much about apps but I do know that I don't have good luck with meeting guys in person, so I might need some extra help.
I set up my profile and start looking through the pictures. Well, he's good looking. Ugh, but he works at a night club. Pass.
After a few swipes, I stumble on a really good looking guy. 5 foot 8...he likes dogs. He loves God. He sounds...perfect. I check out his profile and he's 2000 feet away. How on earth could I get so lucky?
I decide to be really confident for once and send him a message. Gotta start somewhere if I want to 'get back out there'.
Me: Hey there
Ugh, was that too forward? Do I sound too desperate?
He quickly replies back. Oh thank god.
Him: I was just about to message you. Hi there :)
We speak on and off for the next three hours. He's so witty and smart and hot. I'm totally liking this.
Him: So will you meet up with me? Like, maybe tonight for dinner? I know it's soon, but I just want to meet you.
Is it too soon to be going out on a date? Probably, but who cares. It's a date, not a proposal. To hell with it.
Me: Yes, let's do it.
Him: Perfect. I'll pick you up at 6. I'm relatively new to the area. I trust that you know a good place to take me to ;)
This guy is so cute.
I'm so happy I could die.
--
Lauren's POV
A few days have passed and Camila and I are in bad shape. We changed the locks on both the door to my apartment and the one to Ally and Camila's. The entire apartment has been debugged and several small cameras have been removed from my place. They unfortunately were not able to be traced to any particular IP address. Of course they can't trace it. Why would anything be that easy in my life?
Cops are now stationed outside both of our apartments on a 24-hour watch. Dinah is luckily in charge of watching Camila and Ally's apartment. She is on a rotational duty, so she is supposed to switch off with Officer Redding halfway through the night, but she refuses. If we're at the apartment, Dinah is there, keeping an eye on us.
Camila and I have been sleeping at her place for the past few nights, but we aren't doing much sleeping. For the most part, Camila is up during the night pacing back and forth in the bedroom. She eventually crawls back into bed around 3 am and then we get up at 5. I'm concerned for her, but I don't know what to say when I can't even wrap my head around the situation.
She has also been unusually clingy. Camila is naturally very independent, but ever since the day at Christian's apartment, she hasn't left my side. Whenever I go into another room, after a few minutes, I can hear a weak, "Babe are you ok?" It's heartbreaking.
When we sit down for dinner, her chair is smack up against mine and her legs are draped over me, but we don't really speak. I love being around her and having her physically attached to me, but having to care for the both of us like this is exhausting. I want things to go back to normal.
When we're not at my place, we're at the precinct. It's the only place we can go to that feels even moderately safe. But when we're there, we don't interact. We don't hold hands. Hell, she barely even looks at me.
I miss her. I miss talking to her about random things throughout the day and hearing her perspective. I miss seeing her little smiles form when she listens to me speak. I miss her lips so badly. Yesterday I tried to crack a joke and she didn't even bother to look at me.
"Camz," I say, "It's been a week. Can we watch a movie? Or go get some ice cream?"
She looks up at me from the couch and frowns. I keep catching her staring at the TV, but it isn't on. She's physically here, but emotionally vacant.
"I just miss you."
I bend down and kiss her on the cheek. "Thank you," she says. She lightly grabs the tips of my fingers with her own and clings on for a few seconds. Progress.
I can understand her pain. For the first two or three days, I've been incredibly angry and a little bit paranoid. Angry that I hadn't been able to protect us. And distressed about the fact that my first murder case turned into a silly game of cat and mouse - and that I was the target.
Luckily and unluckily for us and my paranoid mind, the main culprit is missing. Christian Dreyer has been MIA for the past week. There has been no sign of him. He hasn't used any of his credit or debit cards. He hasn't reached out to his father. His phone log is completely empty. How does someone just disappear off the face of the earth?
--
Another three weeks pass. Camila and I now have some semblance of normalcy. The case has gone cold for the most part. We still have no sign of Christian Dreyer.
After the two week mark, we started to feel much better - much safer.
The physical closeness has persisted, with a notable lack of sex. I mean, I'll take cuddles and sweet kisses from her over nothing any and every day of the week, but I only ever got to touch her... got totaste her once and I need it again.
Camila is all smiles today and I'm hopeful. Hopeful that the worst of the storm is behind us, but there is a lingering worry over the next time Christian is going to rear his ugly head. It can't be over. He is too good - too maniacal to end his little game here.
I know that I can't keep hiding the texts I've been receiving. Part of me has known I shouldn't have from the moment I realized that it was not a prank. The longer I wait, the harder and harder it gets to bring myself to tell her. Each time I think the opportunity has presented itself, my mouth stops cooperating with my brain and nothing comes out.
I haven't received a single anonymous message since we discovered Christian's creepy apartment shrine, but I still need to come clean about it. I've been trying so desperately to protect Camila that I've done just the opposite. When I tell her, she may never speak to me again. Am I just being selfish? I finally decide - it's now or never. I have to tell her tonight.
--
We pull up to the station and make our way to the door of the precinct. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and hang back for a second, urging Camila to go over to our desks and telling her that I'd meet up with her. She looks back at me with those big eyes and I can tell that leaving her by herself, even for a few moments, was giving her a lot of anxiety. But she willingly agrees, and starts walking over to her desk to catch up with Dinah.
I exit the doors once again and step back into the parking lot. Looking down at my phone, I notice that I have a text. Of fucking course.
(973) 492-0998: So you think you have it figured out, huh? I'm not ready to give you a 'congratulations' just yet. Let's call this an... intermission.
(973) 492-0998: There may even be a special guest in the next scene. Stay tuned.
A special guest? Fuck. I try calling the number. No answer. If I manage to get him on the phone, maybe I can find out where he is by the sounds in the background. I call again. No answer.
He uses an encryption software that reroutes his call to somewhere in Saudi Arabia. There is physically no possible way to track him.
I pull open the text app.
Me: Why are you doing this?
I glance towards the door. If I take any longer, Camila will come to look for me.
(973) 492-0998: Because it's too much fun. And because of the look on your face right now.
I turn around in the parking lot and search the cars in my line of vision. He couldn't possibly be here. This is a controlled lot with only police access.
Me: We have a cop stationed on every block within a five mile radius of here. You wouldn't dare.
(973) 492-0998: Yeah? Check your glove compartment.
Peering into my car, I glance over to the glove compartment. I cautiously open the car door, quickly unlatching the glove compartment handle and removing a flat, square object. I unwrap the black wrapping paper and turn it over. It's a movie. A Bronx Tale.
Me: I'm going to fucking kill you, myself.
Nothing.
Me: Where the fuck are you Christian?
(973) 492-0998: You're getting much, much warmer sweetheart.
My first instinct is to lean over the guardrails to see if someone's watching from the outside. Everything is completely still. I rush back over to my car, pop open my trunk and stuff the movie into the back, where it can't be seen. I straighten my suit jacket and smooth out my white button down shirt and walk back into the station.
"What was that?" Camila asks as I approach her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I lean over her desk and kiss her on the cheek. I can't keep going on like this. She deserves the truth.
--
I need to get Camila out of the apartment. It's been over a week and we haven't had any conversations with any sort of real content. I need to tell her about the text messages but I just have no idea how I am going to approach it. When we go to leave for the day and she gets into my car, I turn to her.
"We're going to Robbie's, is that ok?"
"I don't know..." she says, hesitantly. Her brown eyes look so sad.
"Camz, we need to get out of the apartment. It's not healthy."
"I know, but we don't know where he is. And I don't think I'm comfortable..." Her hand grabs mine firmly.
"We have every cop from here to the city out looking for him. He's not going to be stupid enough to follow us to Robbie's," I assure her.
"Lauren, no one can even find a picture of him. The quality of his school ID was shit. He wasn't in any clubs. We can barely find any goddamn information on him. How is it that his father wasn't able to provide a fucking picture or his son. You and a small handful of the officers are the only ones that actually know who we are looking for."
"Camila," I take her hand in mine, giving it a little tug to make her look at me. I promise you, I will let nothing happen to you. And neither will Dinah, for that matter and she has seen him. Look -" I point to the car behind us. "Dinah is following us. She's going to stay in the parking lot and wait for us, okay? One drink."
"Okay."
We finally get to Robbie's and make our way over to Big Rob, who is already pouring two big drinks for us. His usual giddy self is out today, but neither Camila nor I want to deal with it.
"My ladies!" He slides out of the bar and brings us both into a big hug. "Wait a second. What's wrong?"
"Rob, we didn't even say anything yet," I huff.
"Yeah, but the look on your faces. I know what that means."
"Our main murder suspect is on the loose and he's apparently been following us for months, taking photos of us." Camila is staring at the floor.
"Where is that mother fucker? I will bash is goddamn skull in!" Big Rob pounds his fists together.
"Rob, relax. We have all our guys on it."
"Ok well, please be safe, both of you. And the first round, as always, is on me. But I don't suggest either of you drink much tonight. You need to be alert, just in case."
He gives my hand a soft squeeze and I smile, reassuringly. Camila and I make our way over to a booth and sit down with our beers.
"Camz, I need to speak to you about something. But please hear me out first."
She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and gives me a short nod.
"I've been trying to figure out how to talk to you about this, and I realized that there just is no good way. I've been receiving text messages for a few weeks. Anonymous text messages." Her eyes bore into mine as I fiddle with the frost on the glass in front of me. "Most likely from Christian." I pause, trying to gauge her reaction, which there isn't much of other than the same fear in her eyes. "I didn't know it was from him, and I couldn't trace it. It was harmless at first and I was convinced someone was just fucking with me. The texts were mostly him playing a game and saying whether or not I was Hot or Cold in finding out who the killer was."
She doesn't say a word, but her face is getting red. Her eyes are fully on mine now, piercing me with her gaze.
"I didn't tell you because at first, I thought it-I mean I didn't think it was anything serious. When I started to realize it wasn't a game I didn't want to get you involved... I didn't want anything to happen to you. And I knew that by telling you, it would only freak you out and make you paranoid. So I decided to keep it to myself. But now we know who is behind all of this, so there is no use keeping this from you anymore."
Nothing.
"Camz-"
She gets up out of her seat and starts walking towards the door. I run behind her, reaching out for her hand, but she pushes me away.
"Please, just don't touch me. Can we go home now? I need to process all of this."
"Camz, please, just hear me out." She struggles to get away from me.
"Not here," she seethes before heading to my car.
The ride is silent and we arrive at her apartment. She doesn't wait for me, just storms inside and ushers me into her bedroom.
"Phone." Her hand is outstretched in front of her, palm up. I pull the phone out of my pocket and place it in her hand.
"Lock code."
"0-6-2-7"
Camila spends the next few minutes scrolling through the conversation with Christian. The pit continues to grow in my stomach.
"Lauren." Her head snaps up to look at me. "What does this mean. Lauren, what the fuck does this mean." She holds the phone in front of my face with a piece of the conversation frozen on the screen:
Me: How the fuck did you get into my house? Who the fuck do you think you are?
Fuck. Fuck. Tears begin to pool in Camila's eyes.
"Answer me," she demands.
"One of the days we worked from my apartment. The day I thought I left the door unlocked. Camz, I didn't want to involve you. I couldn't. That was the day I realized it wasn't a game and I-"
"You need to leave."
"No! Camila pl-"
"Now."
"I was trying to protect you," I choke out, my voice thick. My vision steadily gets blurrier as the tears invade my eyes.
Camila scoffs, tears now running freely down her face. "Lauren this is not protecting. He was in your fucking apartment. He had fucking- Lauren he had pictures of us. Why the fuck would you keep this from me. Protect me, my ass. You were putting me- you were putting us in danger." Her words hit me like a fucking freight train. She is right. The last person on earth that I would ever want to put in a dangerous situation, I did.
"He left magazines and a message. I thought it was just a scare tactic. Camz, I'm so sorry."
"You know, it's funny... you think you let me in. You talk this big game about how I'm the only person who you have been able to let your guard down with. But then here we are..." Her eyes look heavy. Then the tears start falling down her face. "I don't need your protection, Lauren. This is not something you should have fucking kept from me."
"I -" I can't help but realize how true her words are. And how ironic it is that in the process of letting Camila in, I just managed to keep her out.
"Please... go."
I'm fighting the urge to stay put and force her to listen. It's a war of my head and my heart. I know I need to give her time to breathe and think things over, but my heart can't take it. It's a hard decision to make.
Why am I so fucked up?
She won't even let me stay. She ushers me to the door and practically shoves me out of it onto the front stoop. There is no goodbye, she simply turns and slams the door in my face. I stand facing the door for what feels like eternity, the rain falling and hitting my face and eyelids until the point that I can't even see.
--
I drive home alone that night to my apartment in silence. Camila isn't responding to any of my attempts to contact her. I even decide to text Ally but I don't hear back from her. My mind is racing, but I try to calm myself down by taking deep breaths. Don't do anything drastic, Lauren. Relax.
I open my Spotify, deciding to drown out the rest of my night with some music. The first thing that pops up is the "Her" playlist and I think back to the moment that I finally had all of Camila for the first time. Her voice. The softness of her skin. I feel sick to my stomach.
The feeling of heartbreak is taking over with each passing minute that I don't hear from her. We've slept together every day for the past month, and now the thought of sleeping without her is foreign. I never smoke but I feel like I could use a pack of cigarettes. Searching the drawers in the kitchen, I realize I threw away the last pack I had. Fuck.
I reopen my Spotify and create a new playlist - titling it with the only word that comes to mind, "," and put on a few songs, the first by Zero 7 - 400 Blows. I hook my phone up to my TV and lay there sprawled out on the floor, listening.
The thickest stitch to our soul
Living with this will wither us both
And I felt every blow
Felt every blow
The song continues for what feels like 10 minutes. Impatient, I check my phone again and I still haven't received a text from Camila. I don't know what to do at this point. How could I be so stupid to hide those texts from her? I curse myself out for a half hour until I get up off of the floor, making my way over to my bedroom and falling backwards onto my bed.
The soft sounds of the night and the beautiful voice of Sia eventually put me into a deep sleep plagued with vivid dreams of Camila. When I finally wake up in the middle of the night, it's 3am and I only have two more hours until I have to get up.
I turn over in my bed and reach for my cell phone on the nightstand. I turn on the screen and notice a text from 10 minutes ago and five missed calls. What the hell?
Camila: Have you heard from Ally?
Camila: Lauren, PLEASE answer your phone.
Camila: Something is very, very wrong.
I jump out of bed, not even bothering to put on clothes over my tank top and boy shorts. I grab a sweatshirt and a pair of shoes and run out the door.
--
Ally's POV
I am beyond excited. My new boy toy arrives exactly at 6 PM with a bouquet of roses. He sure knows how to treat a lady. His dark hair is combed over to one side and he's wearing wing-tipped shoes. I'm usually into much manlier guys, but I'm willing to give him a shot.
I dodn't tell the girls that I'm meeting up with him. They would just tell me that it's too soon and that I need to spend some time by myself for a while. They can be really hard on me sometimes. But honestly, if they met this guy, they'd like him too and what I really need right now is a distraction.
"Thank you for these, they are so beautiful," I say, as he hands the roses to me and opens the passenger door so I can get in. His brand new Corvette has Florida plates on it and I take note to ask him when he got it.
"Of course, my father used to say that you always have to treat a lady right."
I smile at the thought. Troy would never do something like this for me.
"So, how long have you lived in the area?" I ask him, as we pull away from the apartment. "I noticed that you have Florida plates."
"Only a few weeks. I recently moved from the city, actually. And before that, I used to live in Florida...I don't exactly know what made me want to move, but I just thought I needed to get out of there. That place is so stifling."
"Yeah I could see that. I've never been fond of it." I like the way this guy talks, as if he's in intense thought. Like he's searching for the right words to say.
He babbled on for a few minutes about some movie I've never seen called A Bronx Tale. His eyes are still focused on the road ahead.
"You know, I heard of this really great place right off of the thruway. It's a diner, but not like a regular diner. Like, it has gourmet food and stuff. Do you think you might want to check that out instead?" he asked.
"Sure, sounds good. I'm always up for trying new food places... This one time I went to a new Chinese fusion place with my friend Camila and we both got food poisoning but the food was so good that we didn't even mind. So, I don't care where we go, I'm really up for trying everything and anything... Did I tell you that I absolutely love Waffle House?"
He smiles at my sudden case of word vomit, but doesn't say another word the rest of the drive. We finally pull up to the place and I look out of the window to check out the area. It definitely doesn't look like a new restaurant. A dilapidated building is sitting in the center of an empty field, a few of the windows are broken and the roof is leaking. A sign overhead says "Thruway Diner," but "Diner" is missing some letters. The only car in the parking lot is an old Chevy pickup truck that has a flat tire.Where the hell did this guy take me? Ok, be calm. I've been to some awful looking Waffle Houses before. Don't judge a book by its cover.
I get out of the car, turning my back towards him. "You know, I've never heard of this restaurant before," I say, looking at the seemingly abandoned diner. "I know you said it was new, but how new is it?"
"It's so new. No one even knows about it."
"Why don't we try somewhere down the road? I don't think this is the right place." I see a racoon make its way out of a crack in the front door. This place is entirely empty.
"Trust me, this is the place. It's right behind that building over there." He points to an empty storage shed on the side of the diner.
Something isn't right. I touch my back pocket to see if my phone is still there. If I pull out my phone, will it be too obvious? My feet are sweating in my heels and I slowly begin to slip my feet out of them so I can run. After the gravel parking lot there is a field of grass and then the woods. I need to get myself there.
He doesn't respond and I no longer hear the gravel shift under his shoes. Without hesitation, I begin to run but I soon feel a hand reach around my face and a soft cloth pressed firmly against my mouth. With every breath I take in, the more control I lose. My hands reach out and scratch his arms, but I don't have the energy.
"What are you..."
My limbs are so weak.
I can't move.
I am so naive.
Where am I?
What's happening?
And then my eyes close.