by Evelyn Glass
We didn’t really speak anymore, unless it was to talk about Ella. I understood that—I mean, it had all happened so quickly, without any warning, that it had left us both reeling and with nothing better to talk about or even think on. But that didn’t mean I didn’t miss the times when we would talk about grown-up stuff. I longed for the days when we would sit and talk about nothing in particular, when we would talk over coffee about how his night had been and what I had planned for the rest of my day.
I found myself getting short with him when I should have been more understanding, but I couldn’t hold back. I loathed the way he talked to me now, as nothing more than a sounding board to bounce his ideas off of. I needed space, but I was scared to give it to him in case he did something awful when he was left by himself. I needed the push to get out—and that came in the form of a meeting with Amanda.
“My boss called me in today,” I called to Jazz as I pulled on my clothes. “I think I need to go. Will you be alright?”
“Course,” Jazz replied, monosyllabic as ever.
“Are you sure?”
“Just go,” he sighed, and I shot a look at him. I knew he didn’t mean it, that I was just the one in the way of his bad moods with everything that had gone down, but it still sent an angry jolt through my body when he spoke to me like that. I headed out the door, to my car, and started the drive out to Amanda’s office. She had left a message on my phone the day before, and I had no excuse not to go out and see her.
I arrived a half-hour later, and found Amanda waiting for me in the reception area. She cocked an eyebrow as soon as she laid eyes on me, and looked me up and down. “Oh, Mona…” She pulled me into a tight hug. That seemed to have been happening a lot these days. “How are you?”
“Shitty,” I admitted, dropping my bag at my feet. “You?”
“Fine, fine,” she replied distractedly. “Come into my office, we need to talk.”
I did as I was told, and took my seat opposite her; how many times had I been in here in the last few years? I couldn’t count them off the top of my head. But I’d never felt as…off as I did at that moment. The way she was looking at me, I could tell there was something going unsaid here, something that she was having trouble coming out and saying.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning forward, my patience for bullshit worn thin since everything had gone down. She took a breath before she spoke, obviously making sure she had everything in place.
“You’re still staying with Jazz, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Mona, there’s something I need to ask.” She put her hands on the desk in front of her. “Do you think there’s any way he could have something to do with Ella’s disappearance?”
I couldn’t do anything but gape at her. She’d intoned the words carefully, as if making sure that I had heard every single one. I couldn’t believe what she was implying. Did she know Jazz at all? Well, no, I reminded myself. I paused for a moment to steady myself before I replied.
“Amanda, I really can’t stress enough how little I think that’s true. I’ve been around the two of them for a long time, and he’s an amazing father. He’s cut up about this in ways you couldn’t imagine. Trust me when I say that he has nothing to do with this.”
“Are you two together these days?” She cocked her head at me.
“Yes, but—”
“Look, Mona,” she cut across me. I could tell that she wasn’t enjoying this, but knew she had no choice. “I’ve been involved in a lot of these cases. Maybe I’m just cynical on the matter. But when it comes to cases like this one, one of the parents is often involved.”
“What about her mother?” I protested. “Haven’t you looked into her yet?”
“We have, and she’s way across the country,” Amanda replied smoothly. “She couldn’t have had anything to do with it.”
“Doesn’t she care that her daughter has gone missing?” My jaw hung open. I couldn’t imagine knowing Ella and not loving her with every fiber of your being.
“We’re in contact with her.” Amanda waved my question away. “This is about you and Jazz.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, exasperated.
Amanda’s face softened. “Take some time for yourself. It doesn’t have to be forever, just…a few days. Go back to your place. Get some space.”
“You really think he might be involved with this?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. I hadn’t even considered it.
“I just want you to be safe.” Amanda steepled her fingers. “Do you have somewhere to go? We can set you up somewhere if not.”
“I do.” I nodded. “I can go back to my place for a few days. Have you got someone keeping an eye on Jazz while I’m away?”
“We will, yes,” she promised. “Thank you, Mona. I’m sure you’re right, but…” She trailed off, leaving the other possibility hanging in the air between us.
“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “Look, I’m going to go. Call me if you need to talk again, okay?”
Amanda smiled at me and led me to the door, and before I knew it, I was back on the road again—but this time, heading back to my apartment after all this time away. I texted Jazz once I arrived, letting him know that I wouldn’t be coming back—I wasn’t sure how long I’d be away for, but as I slipped into a bath and closed my eyes, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt guilty for leaving Jazz alone like that, but I needed space for myself. I wasn’t sure how I was meant to get through this while I was providing emotional support for both of us—and I knew if Amanda said there was someone keeping an eye on him, then there was. He would be safe, for now, and besides, I needed to take some time to myself.
When I was out of my bath, I ordered some takeout and ate it ravenously in front of some crappy TV show. Just for an hour or so, I was able to get my mind off everything that had happened. I felt myself relax, and as soon as I had finished my food, I found myself dozing off, coddled by the comfort of being in familiar surroundings once again.
I woke up with a start the next morning, pulled from some dream by a sudden shock of nausea. I glanced down at the takeout packages still on the floor in front of me; maybe I had food poisoning or something? That would be just my luck, given everything else that had happened already. I got to my feet, and switched off the TV, which had switched over to the news while I was asleep. It was still early, around six or seven, and I dragged myself to the bathroom and heaved a couple of times over the toilet.
When I got to my feet, I washed my hands, wiped the sheen of sweat from my forehead, and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d lost weight—I could tell that much. I hadn’t been eating much in the last few days, and it showed, my face was gaunt and sallow. I didn’t like looking this way. Another wave of nausea hit me, and I knelt back down again, heaving up the last of my takeout and regretting that I’d ever had it in the first place.
I managed to make it through to my bedroom, and flopped down on the unmade bed—it smelled a little dusty, as it had been while since I’d been in there to change the sheets, but I didn’t mind. Jesus, what was wrong with me? Was this just a reaction to everything that had been happening? Maybe I was due my period or something like that.
A cold flush of fear passed across my scalp as it hit me. When was the last time I had had my period? In the mess of everything that had gone down, I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. I strained my mind to remember. Two months ago? More? Jesus, how could I have been so stupid?
The pieces began to slot into place. We hadn’t used a condom when we’d hooked up in the safe house the first time, and then…well, I had been feeling sick in the mornings, and my period hadn’t come. No. No. Surely not. What kind of sick cosmic joke would this be, if I turned out to be pregnant after we lost Ella?
I lay there for a few more minutes, waiting for my sickness to pass—but it had been replaced by the kind of sheer panic that only comes from realizing that you may have just fucked up your entire life for good.
I made my way up to the counter on autopilot, clutching the pregnancy test to my chest protectively the whole time. My heart was beating quickly, and I tried to ignore the minutely cocked eyebrow of the clerk as I handed it over to her along with a bar of chocolate. I hopped from foot to foot as she rang me up, and snatched it off the counter as soon as she was done.
I hurried back to my place, and tried to come up with some other reason that this could all have happened. Maybe I had some kind of long-running flu that just took ages to shift? Maybe we had used a condom and I had just somehow wiped it from my memory? Maybe I’d had my period but it had been so light I hadn’t noticed? I knew I was kidding myself, but still, no one would have blamed me for hoping that none of this was actually happening to me. I had been through enough. I was exhausted. I didn’t have it in me to go through this on top of everything else.
I went straight to the bathroom, tearing awkwardly at the packaging around the test until it flopped to the floor with a loud clatter. I grabbed it, pulled down my pants, and did what I had to do. I read the back of the package—two minutes, that’s how long I had to wait. Two minutes and then I would know for sure what I had to do.
I put my head in my hands and tried to pretend that none of this was happening—at least I could hold on to these two minutes, the last sane two minutes of my like. I couldn’t bear to look at the strip as I counted down the seconds in my head, worried that it might show a result too early and steal my last seconds from me.
Once my countdown was done, I opened one eye—and stared down at the strip blankly. A pink line.
Positive.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
If I had to describe the feeling when I smelt the smoke curling through the window, I would have said it was nothing more than exhaustion.
At that point, it felt as though the world had fully turned against me, shifted its gaze on to ruining my life and taking any shred of hope that I might have had left and wringing it dry. Up until then, hope still pulsed in my veins; maybe, just maybe, I could make something of this. Maybe there was a chance that she was still alive, unharmed, ready to run back into my arms and forget that all of this happened in the first place. If I could just find her...
I stayed up late at nights, no Mona to keep me on a decent pattern now that she had retreated back to her apartment. I couldn’t say I blamed her; I didn’t want to be around me. I just had no choice. If I could have torn my brain from my head and found some way to convince myself that none of this was really happening, I would have done it. In fact, when the nights seemed to tighten like vines around my throat, choking me, I wondered if there was a way out. I would eye the knives in the drawer, pull them out and let the blue moonlight bounce off the blades. I knew I couldn’t do it—not while Ella might still be out there, at least—but I took some comfort in the thought.
I hadn’t heard from Mona since she’d left, and frankly, I wasn’t surprised. I had pushed her firmly away from me, convincing both her and myself that the only way to get Ella back was to obsess to a dangerous degree. The cops tried to assure me they were doing all they could, but that couldn’t be true, otherwise they’d have answers for me by now. I saw her face behind my lids when I closed my eyes, and ached to hold her again. I cried a lot, not even knowing that I was doing it—as though my body had started mourning before my brain had. I did my best to pay it no attention, and focused instead on wracking my brains for what to do next.
I was asleep on the coach when the scent came wafting through my door—I recognized it at once, and snapped upright in an instant. My eyes were still bleary with sleep, but my brain was wide-awake, in full panic mode, blood whooshing loudly around my head. My first thought was of Ella, and getting her out of that burning building before anything happened to her—but once that instinct dissipated painfully, I knew I had to investigate. I leapt to my feet and ran over to the cooker. It wasn’t as though I’d used it much in the last week, but still—and nothing; it was off. I couldn’t find the source of the smoke anywhere, until I heard a loud smash from next door.
I hurried outside, and found myself confronted with it. The smoke was choking now, getting in my eyes, filling my lungs, obscuring my vision—but I could still see it through the thick black fog. Mary and Paul’s house. Burning.
I sprinted towards the building without a second thought, heart pounding—where they still in there? I had no idea what time it was, but if they were asleep in their beds—
“Jazz,” I heard a tired voice come from beside me, and turned to find myself faced with Mary. She was wrapped in a threadbare robe, her face drawn. “We’re fine.”
“What happened?” I put my hand on her shoulder, half-comforting and half-panicked—Ian had been in there, what if Ella had somehow got caught up in all of this?
“We don’t know,” she replied. Her voice was soft, as though she couldn’t quite register what had happened as reality. And who could blame her? Paul stood to the side of Mary, a few paces behind her, dumbfounded. I wondered how long they’d both been out here—I could see some curtains twitching, and a few other neighbors began to emerge from their houses. Before long, the place was swarming with them, offering Mary and Paul tea and comfort and food and a place to stay. It would have been a heartwarming display of community if it hadn’t been brought on by something as hideous as this.
I stood in front of the burning building for longer than I could recall, staring into the flames. Eventually, they became almost soothing in their repetition—it wasn’t until the firemen turned up and roughly jerked me away from the house that I snapped out of my reverie. I watched as they doused it with water, as the flames fizzled into nothing—and revealed the hollowed-out shell of the house beneath. There was nothing left but the skeleton of the place, the furniture and carpets and everything else eaten up by the fire. I had never seen anything like it before in my life, and I couldn’t drag my eyes away from it. How did something like this just…happen?
It didn’t.
The words flickered through my brain before I had a chance to get a hold of them, but I knew at once that they were true. I didn’t want to have to consider the possibility, but there was no way something like this happened out of chance. Someone did this—torched this house, let it hollow out from the inside. Maybe Paul and Mary were pulling some kind of insurance scam or something like that? But no—the look of blank shock on both of their faces couldn’t have been faked, no matter how fantastic at acting the both of them were.
They might not have been involved with this, but someone was. Shit like this didn’t just happen in the suburbs. Everyone was too careful. Too considerate. No, this felt like the work of someone who was trying to cover something up. Ian? Addison? Whoever else was involved with their hideous plan?
I strode back towards my house, the smell of smoke thick on my clothes as I stepped back inside. I let out a sigh—was this my fault, somehow? I had climbed into the attic and found that scrap of paper, maybe that had been enough to set whoever it was off into doing something like this. But…why now? Why not when we had first closed in on him back more than a month ago?
A knock at the door took me by surprise; I jumped, and turned to answer it. Probably one of the neighbors asking for help with the Paul and Mary situation. I pulled back the door, and found myself faced, instead, with Mona.
“Uh, hi,” she murmured. It had been four days since I’d last seen her, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and draw her against me, to feel her small form against my own. But I knew she’d left for a reason, and I didn’t want to push my luck.
“Come in.” I stepped aside, making way for her, and she brushed by me—close enough that the smell of her filled my nose. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to get my h
ead together. She wasn’t here for that. She probably heard about the fire somehow and came down to make sure that everything was okay.
“What’s going on out there?” She gestured to Paul and Mary’s house, to the thick clouds of smoke and steam that had settled over our shared lawn. I furrowed my brow.
“I thought you knew?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “I came to see you, and when I got here…”
She trailed off and looked towards the house, and I could tell that she was thinking about Ella, wondering, somehow, if this was connected to her. But we couldn’t linger on shit like that when we had no reason to believe it.
“I don’t think they know yet.” I shrugged. “I went round there when I smelled the smoke, and the two of them were already outside. And then the firemen turned up, and rest of the neighbors came out to help, so I got out of the way.”
“Jesus, that’s so horrible.” She shook her head and reached for the counter, as though steadying herself. She placed a hand briefly on her stomach, an odd gesture—but I didn’t have any time to linger on it as the door went again.
