Impressions of You (The Impressions Series Book 1)

by Christopher Harlan

  “I never thought I’d say these words to you, kid, but I think I found your guys. You were right.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’ve been searching for Annabelle’s kidnappers for years. No one but my brother knows anything about the work I’m doing, and even he thinks I’ve lost it. But who else was going to help? Him? What else am I supposed to do? Our parents are dead, and Kane’s done everything in his power to forget about what happened to Annabelle. Even the police have given up. Anna’s case had been designated a cold case years ago, which left only me, the big brother whose fault it was in the first place. I couldn’t protect her from those men when I was a kid, but I know that I can find them and bring her justice as a grown man.

  I’ve spent more damn time and money than I can even keep track of on this whole thing, using the influence of my father’s company to gather information that I know would lead me here eventually, and I had made the right contact through Phil to tie it all together. For a long time everything’s gone cold; and all I’ve had were binders full of police reports and newspaper clippings, but I trusted myself to be able to see something in all of those documents that no one else could see. My mind just works differently than most peoples, even cops, and I knew that one day I’d find something no one else had noticed. “What are you talking about, Phil?” I ask. “This better not be another one of your smokescreens. I’m done with you giving me hope and it turns out to be nothing.”

  “This isn’t like the other times, trust me, look.” He opens the file folder on his lap, and on top of the pile of papers is a picture of two older men, walking on what looks like a city street. “It’s them,” he says, and even though I know who I’m looking at, it’s too much to process right away. They just look so . . . ordinary. If I passed these guys walking down the street I wouldn’t look twice; just a couple of men who look to be in their fifties at this point, which makes sense given the time that’s passed since the crime.

  I don’t know what I was expecting to see if I ever found them. I never actually saw the guys when the kidnapping took place, I was passed out on the ground with a crowd gathered around me, but over the years I’ve visualized them to be monsters; giant men with evil faces right out of a horror story. But, like Mia said, all of my recollections of that time are still through a thirteen-year-old’s mind. Still, it’s disturbing to realize that these men aren’t monsters at all, and they aren’t frightening, they’re just normal people who committed a crime that tore my family apart.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask him. “And how do I know this is really them? We’ve had false leads before.”

  “The photo was taken by a PI friend of mine—same situation as me; former cop, great detective,” he explains. “I asked him to follow up on the thing you noticed in all the reports, and it didn’t take very long after that for him to find them.” The thing he’s referring to was something that I picked up on after years of looking over all of the information of the case. I had been through all the official reports more times that I could count, and was sure that I hadn’t missed anything there. Instead I started thinking about non-official things; pieces of evidence that might exist that were never even discovered. Cases like Anna’s went cold fast. No police department was going to allocate funds and man-hours to find these guys when there was a living victim who was unharmed, so I assumed that things had been missed because no one was looking that closely. The crime took place in a time before cell phones were common, but there were still plenty of pictures taken that day on regular cameras. It was a family event, the type of place where people snap off pictures of their kids, and I wondered if any of those photos still existed. The cops had interviewed everyone at the festival, but there were no photographs that had been taken into evidence. What if, sitting in some random person’s family scrapbook, there was a picture of the guys who took her who were in the crowd? I asked Phil to look into it.

  “I had my friend re-interview some of the original witnesses who were still around and willing to talk. Only this time I had him ask if they had taken any pictures that day that still existed. He collected about thirty pictures from a dozen different witnesses, and turned copies of them over to me.” My heart’s racing as I listen to him explain the story; it was a long shot under the best of circumstance, but it’s exactly what I had hoped for, and the more detail he adds to the story the more excited I get. “I contacted the original detectives on the case and showed them what I had, and I asked them if there was anyone in the pictures who they didn’t remember interviewing. One of the detectives was brand new on the job, maybe twenty-five years old, and is still a young guy. He remembered just about everyone I showed him except a few women, who were never profiled as being the perps.”

  “Okay,” I say, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

  “There was one photo that had a man in the background who the detective didn’t remember, so he took the photo and used enhancing technology that wasn’t available back then to manipulate the image so that I could see the man more clearly. He has a tattoo on his neck; and nowadays there are actually tattoo databases that can be used as identifiers for anyone who has a record. I went through old mug shots and found the guy; he has a record a mile long, including an attempted kidnapping collar a few years before your sister that got thrown out of court due to a technicality. From those records it was easy to find his partner; they’ve been committing crimes together, and have been in and out of the system for years.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, shocked.

  “Tell me about it, kid,” he says. “It must have been God himself who intervened, because in decades of police work I’ve never seen anything come together like this.”

  “It’s just an expression,” I say, “it isn’t miraculous, it makes sense.”

  “Oh yeah,” he says mockingly, “how do you figure?”

  “No one cared after she came back to us, and if they had they might have seen this. Plus, some of it is just time passing. The technology to catch these guys just didn’t exist back then, and now it does.”

  “I guess so,” he concedes. “But still.”

  Yeah, but still. What Phil doesn’t know is that this is only phase one for me, and that I made a vow to myself that if this day ever came, I wouldn’t hesitate to act.

  “So I guess the question is, now what?” he asks me, and I look at him intensely. When he first told me I felt a weird kind of happiness, as though something good had actually happened, but now all I feel is a rage boiling up inside. These guys are free, walking around without a care in the world, and my sister is a grown woman who lives her life surrounded by specialists who I pay to make sure she doesn’t have a mental breakdown. The idea that these guys were walking to a local diner to have lunch, or going to see their girlfriends, or doing anything except rotting in a jail cell filled me with a special kind of hate.

  “I assume you have their locations.” I say to him.

  “Yeah, all that stuff is in the rest of the file.”

  “Good,” I say. “Now, about that other thing I texted you about . . .”

  WE GET IN MY car and I decide to shut my British lady down and go back to Wesley’s place on pure memory. She wasn’t much help the first time around, anyhow, and I seem to remember the way there as if I had made the trip a hundred times before, even though I’ve only been there once. Dacia is in the passenger’s seat, literally and figuratively, supporting me through every step of this drama. Once we turn onto the road leading to Wesley’s place she shoots me a where the hell are we look. “I know, I was freaked out when I came here the first time too. Just wait until you see the place.”

  “Well I can’t imagine why you were freaked out driving on a long, winding one lane road in the middle of a forest. Jesus, Mia, who is this guy?” During the ten minutes left to the trip I give Dacia the broad strokes of what I’ve learned about Wesley: son of a wealthy software tycoon, secluded mansion in the middle of nowhere, anxiety issues, weird but sexy younger brother, all of it. “Wait, w
ait, wait, hold up, rewind. Say the last part again.” I knew she’d be stuck on that. The wealth and giant home were impressive enough, but it was abstract to her, and didn’t really affect her one way or the other. The hot brother, on the other hand . . . “So why is this the first I’m hearing of this beautiful sibling, Mia?”

  “It’s the first you’re hearing about a lot of things I guess.” As I navigate the long, winding road I explain Kane as best I can, starting with how I met him.

  “So you were, like, totally naked? Like spread eagle on the sheets with him standing over you while his equally hot brother was in the shower?”

  “First off, Wesley’s way sexier than his brother, let’s get that straight, and second I wasn’t spread eagle, you just have a sick mind. But yeah, the rest happened like you said.”

  “Huh,” she grunts. “Interesting.” When Dacia made that sound and said that word, it was really a euphemism. I couldn’t imagine what was going through her perverted mind as we drove, and she didn’t bother sharing, but what was going through my mind was pure confusion. What the hell happened? What had turned a nice evening into this dramatic scene I was stuck in? I alternated blaming him and blaming myself, depending on what minute of the trip it was, until I realized that it was both of our faults. We’re at the point where he could have disclosed to me if something was going on, and I was to the point where I should know how to keep my insecurity demons at bay. Both of us had messed up, and now hopefully both of us could fix it.

  Once we slow down enough to safely pull up next to the mansion, I take my eyes off the road for a second to catch a glimpse of Dacia’s reaction. I already know how she’s going to react—how any normal person who didn’t grow up around wealth would react—like we had taken a trip into a real-life Grimm’s Fairy Tale. Her jaw literally drops, and her eyes open as widely as they can. She looks over at me, mouth agape, and eyes wide with awe. “Mia, you were not exaggerating. I didn’t even think places like this existed.” We step out and I watch her take in the full experience. Even at night the place is beyond impressive, and if she’s anything like me she feels dwarfed standing outside of it.

  I notice that Wesley’s car isn’t in the driveway, and before going to his door I text him, Mia: This is stupid—I’m sorry—I wanna make this better. At your place now, where are you?

  I stand awkwardly with Dacia outside the mansion for a full minute to see if he respond, but I don’t get a text back.

  “Well I guess there’s only one move left,” she says to me, and I see her approach the door. I saw that Kane’s car—a gaudy, hyper-expensive Maserati is parked next to the mansion. I noticed it the other day when I was leaving and didn’t think much of it. Now I realize that it made perfect sense—the arrogant car belonged to the arrogant Marsden boy.

  Dacia approaches the giant front door and slams down on the brass knocker. “Why do I feel like some old guy in a tux is gonna answer?” I smile.

  “I thought the same thing, they don’t have the old guy in the tux—he didn’t come with the house I guess.” We both laugh and wait for something to happen. It seems like a while but then we hear footsteps coming from inside, just behind the door.

  “Maybe it’s the maid.”

  “They don’t have one of those either,” I tell her, then can’t help but say, “and wouldn’t you know it, their dishes don’t dance and sing when you eat.”

  “What! What kind of mansion are they running here,” Dacia jokes. “Really, Mia, you need to find yourself a billionaire who knows how to act like one.” The huge door opens and makes that loud, creaky noise you would expect it to. Kane is standing behind it, looking beautiful and arrogant as usual.

  “Found him,” I say. It’s true, Kane belongs in this house—he looks every bit the part of the sexy, rich playboy. This whole setting is perfect for him, but it doesn’t fit Wesley at all. Kane stands there, playing his role. I know Dacia’s swooning, and to tell the truth, if I hadn’t experienced his personality first-hand I might have felt the same. His face is deceptive—it’s almost genetically engineered to make girls drool: green eyes, chiseled features, and a jawline you could use to draw angles on your geometry homework. I know what Dacia’s thinking, she didn’t need to tell me.

  “Well, if it isn’t the naked blond girl, thanks for bringing a hot friend over, but I’m a little tired,” he jokes. “But I do appreciate the olive branch after you were so rude to me the other morning.”

  “What!” I yell, so outraged that I think I might hit him. And then I see him smile—he looks the most like Wesley when he smiles. It makes his face look less cocky and more genuine.

  “Wow, you must be angry,” he tells me. “I can’t even use my sarcasm without you flying into a rage. Relax, girl, I’m only joking.” Relaxation is about the last thing that’s happening right now, and he can see it all over my face. “Of course, I wasn’t joking about the hot friend part,” he says, glaring at Dacia like he was one of those starving cartoon characters who sees the other character as a giant ham.

  “You’re the hot younger brother, huh?”

  “Well, my reputation proceeds me, I see,” he says with that same cocky smile, only this time he’s looking at me. “Has my brother’s little blonde thing here been telling you about me? She’s a little biased, I wouldn’t take her word for anything, except the hot part, she got that right.”

  He’s such an asshole! And this whole little dialogue is just distracting me from the reason I came here to begin with. To make things right with Wesley. I check my phone one more time to see if maybe he’s texted back, but there’s nothing. “So can we come in and wait for your brother?” I ask.

  “Of course you can,” Kane says, moving his arm away from blocking the door and softening his expression into a gentler look. “You look upset. Is everything okay?” Kane lets us in without any more sarcastic bullshit, and Dacia and I follow him into the gigantic living room. “So, tell me, what has our Wesley done to make your face look like that, Mia?” He’s never used my name before, and when he does it humanizes him a little bit. And he seems genuinely concerned.

  “He didn’t do anything. Not like you mean. It was just something stupid, or at least I thought I was stupid, and then he just left with no explanation. I thought that he might be here.”

  “Ah, I see,” he says. “Well he isn’t, and running off can be Wesley’s specialty when he’s stressed. But you’re welcome to wait here for him as long as you’d like.”

  “When did you become so nice, Kane?” I ask, totally surprised by how nice he’s being. “No offense, but I kind of got dick from you the first time we met.” I realize what I’ve said and I want to crawl inside myself and die.

  “Oh, Mia, you make it too easy. I’ll let that one go.” Dacia actually cracks a huge smile and lets out a chuckle, which gets Kane’s attention. “And you, friend,” he says, motioning to Dacia, “do you also get dick from me, or is that just a Mia thing?”

  “Ha! You wish. I get asshole from you, actually.” Dacia’s trying so hard to get the better of the conversation that she doesn’t even realize what she said.

  “Whatever you’re into, sweetheart, I don’t have many boundaries.” He smiles and leers at her deviously, “There’s plenty of time to discuss our . . . proclivities, later on. But back to you, Mia, so what was so stupid?”

  “Why do you even care, Kane, you seem like you don’t give a shit about anything but yourself,” I say raising my voice a little bit. “Inappropriate jokes aside, that’s the real vibe I get from you. So you can stop pretending you care about me and Wesley and what we’re going through.” Kane looks a little shocked by how forceful I’m being. His face changes back into that serious look he gave me when I first snapped at him. Maybe that’s his thing; he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.

  “Well, Mia, while I do respect your evaluation of me as a human being based on about ten minutes worth of time spent together,” he says, looking at his watch, “let’s just say that we Marsden boy
s are complex people. We have many faces, and it’s less important that you understand why I care than you understand that I do care. So stop deflecting and just tell me already.” He’s right. He’s cocky and he’s kind of a prick, but he isn’t wrong about anything he’s saying. Complex is the right word for this whole family, and I only know two of them personally. And I did come knocking on his door tonight; I could at least try to offer him an explanation.

  “Fine.” Dammit! I used the word. “I know about . . .” I stop myself short, not wanting to betray Wesley’s trust about everything he told me.”

  “Annabelle,” Kane interrupts. “Yes, I know. Wesley told me that he told you all about it.” I was surprised. “That afternoon when we had our first awkward meeting,” he reminds me, “we had a brotherly conversation about the whole thing.” I guess that’s what their little discussion that morning in the hallway was about. “That’s when I knew that you must be someone very special to him.” Kane continues, “I don’t believe he’s told anyone in the world about all that. I know I haven’t.” It’s a very real moment for Kane and me. I see now that Wesley told his brother to back off of me, and that I wasn’t just some random blond he brought home from a drunken encounter—he shared their deepest, darkest family secret with me, and let me into a very exclusive group in the process. Kane understands what that knowledge means, and in some weird way it must have made him a little warmer towards me. As warm as Kane gets, anyhow.

  “Well, telling me was a good decision, clearly he’s very smart,” I say, and I hear Kane laugh at me, mockingly.

  “Well, girl, you certainly win the award for the most obvious statement of . . . well, at least the week, possibly of the month, but I’m not around you much, so I don’t know how many other obvious things you say on a regular basis.” I can’t stand how sarcastic he is. It’s like he has an answer for everything.