Into the Night

by Marin Montgomery

  The same goes for Waikiki Beach. It’s ruined, the beauty marred by my baby sister’s disappearance.

  I’m obsessed Will Loomis is guilty, that he’s hiding her somewhere, using her for his own gain, pimping her out.

  I rent a car to follow him, wearing oversized sunglasses and an auburn wig, chain smoking cigarettes one after the other.

  He works at a mechanic shop during the weekdays, his weekends spent teaching surf lessons at the same locale. I watch him from a distance. His extracurricular activities still include riding waves. I’m amazed at his ability to merge with the ocean, coasting over them in one fluid motion.

  His mode of transportation has upgraded, a baby blue moped or a souped-up truck, walking home not enough to trick young girls into coming with him.

  I’m jaded and angry, a bad combo. The three years that have passed haven’t been kind – a strained relationship with my parents, no college degree, and a career path as a cashier in a convenience store.

  Bitter is what I am.

  Permanently tainted to the island.

  At night, Will still spends his time at various bars, he ages but the girls stay the same, young and naïve.

  I watch him from a high-top table, disgusted by the way they fawn over him, their childlike expressions and blind trust in him a poignant reminder we were once that innocent. My blood starts to boil as I seethe in the corner.

  The last night on the island, I stop in at The Ocean Club, noticing Will’s stupid blue moped parked outside on the strip.

  I don’t bother with the wig, the inside dim and murky. I glance around but don’t see his tall stature and dark hair. He must have started at another location tonight.

  This time, I have a seat at the bar. David, the old bartender, pours someone a whiskey. I try to make eye contact with him, but there’s not a flicker of remembrance. No expression, his eyes flat, the gold wedding ring still wrapped around his left ring finger. I know I must look different – my hair’s long now, past my shoulders, a lighter caramel color with honey-streaked highlights, and I’m filled out, not as lanky. I’m legal, my ID real this time.

  Blair Priscilla Bellamy.

  He scans my ID, his eyes never leaving the card to examine my face before he slides it back to me. He squints at the name. “Drink?”

  “Michelob Ultra.” I decide on beer, less chance of being drugged if I watch the cap pried open. “Bottle please.”

  He removes the top in one swift gesture. Sliding it across to me, I swig it.

  “You live in Nebraska?” he asks. “What’s that like?”

  “Cold,” I say. “Nothing much to do. Lots of corn.”

  “Cornhuskers, right?”

  I give him a small smile, lighting a cigarette.

  Shit.” He whistles. “Midwest. I’ve never been.”

  “Middle of nowhere,” I say, blowing a ring of smoke.

  “You know you can’t do that in here, right?” He reaches for my lighter, tossing it in the trash.

  I exhale, stomping it out on the floor as he winces.

  “What part of Nebraska are you from?”

  “Would you even know where?” I twist the neck of the bottle. “Are you familiar with the state?”

  “Yeah, my friend lives there.” He shrugs. “Omaha.”

  “Where did you grow up?” I ask, feigning interest.

  At that moment, Will walks in, followed by a blonde with spiky hair and a lip piercing. If her jeans were any tighter, she’d need pliers to remove them.

  And this is coming from my twenty-two-year-old self.

  I watch him out of the corner of my eye, my pulse racing as I struggle to maintain composure.

  “You see that guy over there?” I nod at Will, since it’s rude to point.

  “Yeah.” David shrugs. “He’s a regular.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. Surfer dude.”

  “He come in a lot, a lot?”

  “Few times a week. This is his home away from home.”

  “This your full-time job?” I make conversation, my eyes glued on Will as he orders a drink from across the bar. The girl doesn’t sit, instead she heads to the bathroom.

  “Nah. I do this for fun. It’s a great way to meet people.”

  “Excuse me…” I interrupt, “I’ll be right back.”

  Following the young girl to the bathroom, I watch her enter a stall. I pretend to wash my hands, rinsing them repeatedly under the faucet.

  She comes out a moment later.

  “Hi,” I say, handing her a paper towel. She looks puzzled, unsure why there’s a bathroom attendant all of a sudden.

  “Hi,” she gives me a sideways glance, unsure if she should know me.

  “How do you know Will?”

  “We go way back.” She looks in the mirror at me, glassy-eyed. “Why?’

  “Oh, I used to know him.” I shrug. “Not a big deal except he killed my sister.”

  “Huh?” Her mouth drops open. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Never mind.” I shrug. “Have a good night. Hope you don’t end up as another missing girl.” I raise my eyebrows. “The body count keeps piling up.”

  She stands woodenly as I turn to walk out, never moving an inch.

  Smiling at David, I slide back onto my stool and order my next round.

  Raised voices cause me to turn. Will and the blonde are in a shouting match, her finger pointed directly at me.

  I flip back to the front, scrutinizing the bottles of liquor on the top shelf.

  Swallowing, I turn my attention to David. “How long you married for?” I eye the gold band.

  “Long enough.” He laughs. “I met her in middle school.”

  “Seriously?” I gasp. “That’s a story right there.”

  He nods his head in agreement. “You’re telling me.”

  “She mind you working nights?” I’m curious, as bartenders are night owls and it must make relationships hard unless they have similar hours or occupations.

  “Nah, she’s preoccupied a lot.” He grins. “She likes her space away from me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You married?” he asks, leaning on the counter, eyeing my naked finger.

  “Just because I’m a small-town girl doesn’t mean I follow the trend,” I tease.

  ‘True.” A drunk co-ed wearing a tiara comes bum-rushing the bar. “Need. Shots,” she yells, her blonde hair cascading down her back in waves.

  Will’s female companion grabs her purse off the table, storming out, her heels clicking on the floor.

  Then his voice behind me.

  “What the fuck?” He slams his hand on the counter directly in front of me. “Who are you?”

  I turn slowly, my eyes drifting to his bronzed face and dark hair. “Hi Will.”

  It takes him a moment, but a flicker of recognition appears.

  “Blair?”

  I haltingly nod my head up and down.

  “Why’re you telling people I killed your sister?”

  David’s confused, his eyes darting between the two of us.

  “It’s true.”

  He punches the air with his fist. “It’s a lie and you know it.”

  “Then why so defensive?” I reach in my purse, gripping the pepper spray. “Get the hell away from me.”

  He looks at David. “This girl is psycho.” He points at me. “Just remember, you’re in my bar. I didn’t seek you out, Blair. And Bristol’s been missing for a few years. It’s time to stop focusing on old news.”

  Tears sting my eyes as he turns on his heel, heading to the other side of the establishment, shooting daggers over his shoulder at me.

  My thoughts are interrupted when a waitress rushes over, helping the drunk blonde sit down, the tiara falling on the table as she passes out facedown. “David...” She sighs. “We gotta get this girl outta here.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” he asks her. “Get the bouncer?”

  “
Is it always a shit show like this?” I roll my eyes at a group of co-eds squawking a Journey song horribly off-key.

  “It’s mildly entertaining.” He shakes his head in amazement. “The shit people do to shake loose.”

  A short, petite, dark-haired girl walks up, leaning over the bar to whisper something in David’s ear. I can’t hear what she says but immediately he lines up a row of shot glasses.

  “Hey, want a shot?” He starts pouring tequila. “I gotta make ‘em for that bachelorette party. Might as well make extra.”

  “Nah, but one more beer please.” I watch him stick lemon wedges on the tray with the liquor.

  Glancing across at Will, he’s not pouting too hard, staking his claim at another table with a wasted group of girls. It’s impossible to tell who’s the most inebriated of the foursome.

  A red-headed man sits on his other side, beard scraggly, voice slurred, loudly gesticulating.

  We have a winner, I think.

  Sipping my beer, I watch the way Will slides his hand up the girl’s thigh, her skirt hitched up to her waist. The blonde laughs at something the ginger says.

  He must’ve made a joke, the giggles loud enough to overtake karaoke. Will reaches out a hand, pulling her towards the dance floor, grabbing her tight around her waist.

  I slam my last bottle down hard on the counter, the glass rattling, imagining him and my sister, the way he put the moves on her.

  Déjà vu all over again.

  She’s happy, or punch-drunk happy as they say, while anger courses through my veins like heroin through a syringe. Once it’s injected, the feeling of despair and half-truths destroy me, seeping through my bloodstream, just like a drug.

  Out on the dance floor, their moves are sloppy and jerky, hands fumbling for each other in the dark. I’m half-perched on my stool, eyes glued to their every move, David glancing at my sulky expression with interest.

  He’s too polite to ask why I care so much. Probably assumes I’m a bitter ex-girlfriend. I might as well be.

  Will and the girl leave together, their mouths pressed against each other’s lips.

  I hurriedly drop forty dollars on the counter for my tab, thanking David for his hospitality. He eyes me suspiciously, watching me follow them out of the bar.

  Staggering, they both walk to Will’s moped, my long legs keeping up with their inebriated pace.

  “We better not,” she says, running a hand through his curly hair.

  “No, we better.” Grinning, he caresses her bare shoulder.

  “Nah, it’s a bad idea.” She halfheartedly pushes him away.

  He stumbles, reaching to yank her by the hair. “Stop talking and let’s ride.” Grabbing her hand roughly, he pulls her towards the bike, pushing her leg over the seat.

  My temper boils over. I clench and unclench my fists.

  Another girl he discards for his own amusement, his advances unwanted, yet he forces himself on her.

  Before he can react, I close the gap, my fist landing on his jaw. A look of surprise registers on his face, his chestnut-eyes dazed as he recognizes me as the assailant.

  The woman screams and reaches in her pocket for her phone, dialing 9-1-1.

  She must think I’m trouble. She doesn’t know who I just saved her from.

  Goodman shows up, surprise registering on his face when he sees me. His partner separates me from Will and his lady friend.

  Except from the bits I hear that drift over to me, I learn she’s not being harmed, only berating him for wanting to drink and ride. The argument stemmed over his unwillingness to take a cab home.

  He gladly presses charges for assault and I end up in court.

  My trip is prolonged as I have to make an appearance in front of a judge. I call Mark, infuriated at the injustice that Will thinks he can act innocent to everyone else. He’s quiet as he listens to my tirade.

  Will shows up with his attorney to the hearing, and they agree not to press charges if I agree to stay off the island for a period of three years, plus stay five hundred feet away from him for the same amount of time.

  It’s a blow, considering my sister is still missing.

  The judge listens to me plead my case.

  Her tone is kind but firm. “Ms. Bellamy, Mr. Loomis hasn’t been indicted or charged with kidnapping or any other crimes against her person. In fact, it’s unclear exactly what happened to her. Have you considered she left the island of her own volition, drowned, or was picked up by someone else?”

  Tears streak my cheeks as Will looks on, smug in his pinstriped suit.

  I stand, “Your Honor, may I address the court?”

  She agrees, her arms crossed as she hears me out. I explain the situation as Will has the audacity to look bored.

  “I concur that this is a terrible loss, Ms. Bellamy. I encourage you to undergo counseling, in fact, the court demands it, and anger management as well.” She raises the gavel, signaling the end of my pleas.

  Mark waits for me outside the courtroom, his biceps barely fitting in his three-piece suit.

  “Blair.” He gives a frustrated sigh. “I hate meeting like this.”

  “I know,” I say, “but I’m not sorry. He knows what happened to her.” I attempt a small smile. “Plus I get to see you for old time’s sake, that’s not half bad.”

  He tries to keep a straight face, but a twinkle’s in his blue eyes.

  We walk out of the courtroom and stand against the wall. “I’d tell my teenager the same thing I’m telling you.” He pauses, making sure he has my undivided attention before he continues. “You can’t always assume the innocent are guilty and vice versa.”

  “What’re you saying, Mark?” I’m thrown by his statement. “That he didn’t hurt Bristol?”

  He shakes his head, defeated. He taps the toe of his wingtips against the bench I sink into.

  I cross my arms in defiance. “You know he knows something. Or someone. This doesn’t just happen like this.”

  “Maybe.” He’s contrite. “But I’ve never found any evidence linking him, and neither has the PD.”

  “They’ve never worked the leads or gave a damn.” My voice escalates. “You know they’re so focused on tourism and keeping a clean image, that’s all anyone cares about.”

  Mark’s wounded by my vitriol. “I don’t agree with that statement at all.”

  I bite my lip, resentful of everyone and everything in this courthouse. I stalk out, my legs carrying me to a waiting taxi.

  And Mark...the only person I’ve entrusted with this case is now divided on the perpetrator.

  “You’ve gotta let this go.” He tries to grab my arm, but I yank it away.

  “Why, because it’s so easy for you?” I scowl at him.

  “Blair...” he throws his hands up. “Come back here.”

  “You want me to let my sister die in vain?” I toss over my shoulder, sliding into the backseat of the cab.

  “No, but I want you to live life.” He softens his tone. “You’re drowning.”

  “What does it matter when no one saved her?” I argue, waving my arms emphatically at the courthouse steps where Will’s talking to his attorney, a dark-haired woman in a wrap dress.

  I’m headed back to Nebraska, to a home I don't have, a life of big dreams and bigger goals thwarted by this cocky asshole.

  Mark gives me a small wave good-bye, his figure shrinking in the rearview, defeat in his weary eyes.

  We fall out of touch.

  I’m now completely alone.

  It takes time, but I have to hit rock bottom before I can pull myself out of the black cloud that envelopes me.

  It comes a couple weeks later when I’m perusing the news online, scanning the Oahu paper.

  Another girl has disappeared.

  When I see her picture pop up on my screen, a cold chill runs down my spine. I’m 99.9% sure it’s the blonde girl in the tiara celebrating a bachelorette party.

  28

  Bristol

  When I finall
y pick enough at the carpet to get to the padding underneath, it’s foam. Thick, almost bouncy. Definitely for sound-proofing.

  I spend my time memorizing every corner of the room.

  Time passes, hours, months, all go by at a snail’s pace.

  Years certainly, but I don’t have a birthday to celebrate. It’s like my age has paused in here. It’s never acknowledged, I’m forever twelve to him.

  The Mole’s either jovial and talkative, or disagreeable and sadistic, a true split personality. I’ve learned the color of his eyes reflect the oncoming storm, determining whether it will subside or turn into a hurricane. This helps to prepare me for the severity of punishments, though it never gets easier. I just become numb.

  One evening, or at least it feels like night, he shows up after being absent for a period of time.

  Freckles stand out against his ruddy complexion, a sure sign he’s going to blow a fuse. His eyes darken.

  Sure enough, he flips out on me because the bed’s not made to his exact specifications, a corner untucked.

  Dragging me by my long braid to the door, he kicks me in the ribs.

  Face flushed, eyes bulging. “You’re gonna scrub the bathroom.” He pants.

  “Why’re you upset?” This is a pointless question, and I know better than to ask.

  “You take me for granted. I feed, clothe, and give you shelter, you ungrateful whore.” He screams, kicking me again, this time catching my chin with the toe of his sneaker.

  I ball up in pain, holding my knees to my chest.

  “Get up.” He snaps his fingers.

  Balling my fists, I use my hands to pull myself up the wall.

  “I’ll be right back.” He steps around me, sliding and locking the door shut behind him.

  Catching my breath, I start to cry. They’re furious tears, angry and repressed.

  When he comes back a minute later, he sets a pail and toothbrush at my feet.

  “You’re going to scrub the bathroom...with the toothbrush.” He thrusts the door open, pushing me out and to the right.

  “I’ll be right here waiting.” There’s a metal folding chair set up in the hall. “I’m going to write while you get to work.” He pulls out a small black notebook and ballpoint pen.