Finding Faye: Read online

  Dad died in a car accident just a few months after that.

  I know this is another one of those moments. A moment there is no coming back from. Dad is gone. Now mom is too, and Travis is somewhere in Afghanistan and he has no idea that I’m in trouble. I will send him a letter the first time the bus stops, but it will still be days, maybe weeks, before he gets it. And it’s not like he can just come home because I want him to. I know that isn’t how war works, even though I really wish it did.

  I’m scared.

  Keeping my head down, I clutch my backpack to my chest as the bus pulls away from the station. I don't want anyone to see my tears. I don't want anyone to ask any questions.

  A little over four days, one hurried letter to Travis at a stop in Ohio, and more tears than I could ever count, and I step off the bus in Spokane. The cabin is near the town of Clark Falls in Idaho, so I only need to backtrack about twenty miles. I just have to figure out how to get there. Twenty miles on foot is a lot, and I’m going to need supplies.

  I picked up a discarded New York Times at a bus stop the day before, so I am aware that I've been declared missing. They are calling the execution I witnessed a home invasion gone wrong. The police aren't sure if I am a victim or a suspect.

  I'm pretty freaked out.

  If the police are looking for me then I have to think whoever killed mom and Brad must be looking for me too. I have watched enough movies to know that much. So now I have to hide from the police and the bad guys.

  I'm in so much trouble. Once again, I wish Travis could be with me, but the reality is that I’m going to have to figure this out on my own.

  2 years later

  Travis

  I'm finally out.

  I never thought I would regret signing on for another four years with the Corps. I had planned to make it my career, but then I got that letter from Faye two years ago, covered in tear marks and smeared ink, telling me what had happened and that she was on a bus headed to Idaho and my grandpa's cabin. I knew then that I had to leave. But at the time I was in Afghanistan in the middle of some pretty serious shit, and there was no requesting time off to run to the rescue of my dead uncle's step-daughter.

  I called and spoke to the detective on the case, but Faye was still missing and the police had no leads. They told me she was either part of the plan to kill her parents or a victim of foul play herself, but I knew better. If she ran to Idaho alone it was because she was afraid, so I waited for another letter.

  And waited.

  No letter ever came.

  Now I’m in Idaho, finally heading back to the cabin.

  I make a stop at a sporting goods store to get some gear. I have no idea what I'm going to find there. It doesn't have running water or electricity. It's just an off-grid hunting cabin. Faye wasn't there the last time I checked, and I doubt she would have made it this far by herself. She's just a kid.

  But I have to check. Have to be sure. Just in case.

  The cabin is just how I remember it—in the middle of freaking nowhere. The road is completely overgrown with blackberry brambles. I drive in as far as I can before I leave my pickup and walk in the last half mile.

  It has been abandoned for a long time. There is nothing on the outside that would indicate anyone has been here in years.

  My heart is thumping like crazy and I feel nauseated as I climb the rickety steps and push open the door.

  It’s a feeling I grew familiar with in the desert. It’s anticipation. Nerves.

  I push the warped door hard to force it open, swipe a few cobwebs away, and duck to get through the low threshold. It's cold and empty inside. I didn’t expect anything different, but I still feel my shoulders droop in disappointment. It may be what I was expecting, but still, I had hoped she would be here, or that there would be some indication that she had been.

  Now I'm not sure what to do, or where to start looking for her.

  As I turn to hike back out to my truck, I see it. Tucked in the corner of the narrow bunk against the wall, almost hidden behind a pile of old moth-eaten blankets, is a flash of pink fabric. It's dim and dusty, and so out of place that I rush over and snatch it up.

  Holding it in my hands, I stare at it, my heart in my throat, tears burning my eyes. I would know this anywhere. It's a little stuffed unicorn. I know it’s Faye's because I won it for her at a school festival right before I graduated.

  She was here!

  Obviously quite a while ago, but she made it this far. That means she has to be close. We had a plan, and I’m sure that she moved forward with it.

  The real question is, where the fuck is she NOW?

  Faye

  It’s my birthday. Nothing has changed in my world. I’m still hiding, still looking over my shoulder. I don't know if I need to or not, but I'm afraid to do anything official in my real name and I’m even afraid to find out if anyone is still looking for me.

  I bought an old pickup when I got to Spokane years ago. I found a homeless guy who was willing, for a little cash, to play the part of my dad while I bought a beater at a dumpy used car lot. I gave him $200 and he was happy with the deal. Since it still runs, I'm pretty happy too.

  The past few years have really sucked. I stayed at the cabin as long as I could. It took about six weeks before I realized it could be a long time before Travis came for me, and that meant I had to figure it out for myself.

  I couldn’t just live alone in the woods. If the winter didn’t kill me, I would probably go crazy.

  I started out by going to Coeur D’Alene and finding a cot in a women's shelter. That kept me going through the winter, and they even helped me find a job waitressing and get my GED, even if it wasn’t in my real name. I learned a lot about blending in and disappearing from watching the women who came and went.

  After almost a year I noticed one of the local sheriff's deputies showing up a lot at the diner I worked at. He was always trying to talk to me. Looking back, I realize he wasn’t that much older than me and probably wanted to ask me on a date or something. Not that I would have gone out with him. It scared me, though, so I apologized to my boss one evening, loaded up my meager belongings at the shelter, and headed to Spokane. Once there, I found a job. Thanks to the money I had been able to save, I was able to afford a tiny apartment over an automotive shop. No more shelter for me.

  After that first year, I gave up hope that Travis would find me.

  I was too scared to write him again. Afraid that somehow it would lead someone looking for me to my doorstep, or even worse, lead danger to him. So I tucked my memories of him away, just like his letters and photos, and I focused on saving myself.

  I’ve proven I can do it. If, in my quietest, loneliest moments I wish to see his face again, to let him keep me safe, no one but me will know. It’s my one weakness, this hope that somehow Travis will find me. But in the light of every new day, I pack that dream away and get back to the business of surviving, even if I’m not thriving.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Travis

  I wake up in darkness, heart racing, like I do every day. I've been back in the real world for years, but I still can't shake the dreams of sand and heat and death. Or worse, dreams of Faye. She haunts me. Leaving her behind that day, all those years ago, has never left me. I’ve carried the small girl she was with me every day since I left. My promise to come back for her ringing in my memories. I should have gone back to New York to see her every time I made it stateside. I regret every opportunity I had and didn’t do something to force Brad to let me see her. Didn’t want to see her sad face when I had to leave again. It was easier not to push. I was selfish and I know it.

  I’ve searched for her. I’ve never stopped. Hell, after my discharge from the Marines I spent six straight months going to every town and city within fifty miles of the cabin looking for her. Didn’t matter how big or small. When it became apparent I wasn't going to find her that way, I started a security and private investigations company wi
th my buddy Blake so I would have the resources to find her and support myself while I was doing it.

  Our business has done well and now I have connections with every law enforcement agency nearby. They all know that I’m looking for her and I have been called in to look at dozens of photos of young women fitting Faye’s description who have been arrested or worse. It’s the ‘or worse’ cases that really dig into my heart.

  Blake hasn’t been able to find any trace of her in his weekly internet searches either. I know she is out there somewhere. I can’t explain it, but I can feel her somehow. I just don’t know where to look.

  The only lead I ever had was the cabin, and that ship has sailed. Something has to give or I won't ever find her.

  After my return from Afghanistan, I was able to discover the home invasion that killed my uncle and Faye's mom was not what it had been portrayed as. I graduated high school with a couple of guys who are now on the local police force. They were willing to talk to me over a few beers one night. Off the record, of course.

  It was a mafia hit.

  The cops knew it. They had since day one. I had figured that Brad was mixed up in some kind of shit, but I didn’t ever suspect that he was working for the mob. The police believe he knew things that made him expendable when an FBI investigation started getting too close. Claire was either collateral damage, or she knew too much, and she paid the price for Brad’s bad business.

  The most disturbing thing was that the police hadn’t seemed to know anything about Faye. She was just missing and considered a person of interest to the them.

  One thing that I have been able to determine is that the mob knows she was there that night. My sources relayed that the Cerelli’s would very much like to talk to her about what she may, or may not, have seen that night.

  My only consolation is that they want to find her. That means they haven't.

  Not yet anyway.

  If I find her first, she hopefully won’t ever have to talk to them. Not if I can help it.

  I roll out of bed and take a quick shower before heading into my office. It's across town from my house, and there is always work to be done, even if it is only 0400. A couple of marine buddies joined Blake and I in our fledgling business venture, and we have spent the past year and a half busting our asses making a name for ourselves. Most of our jobs are private security for rich assholes. That, and we catch other rich assholes cheating on their spouses.

  It’s not what I had planned for my life, but it pays the bills and we are actually doing pretty well. So well, in fact, that we have opened small offices in Seattle and in Portland, Oregon. I don't travel much anymore, preferring to stay close to what I have come to think of as home.

  All I do these days, when I’m in the field, is surveillance. It was my specialty in the Marines, and it helps me spread my web of contacts. Every job I do, every contact I make, is a potential line to tracking down Faye. Everything else is secondary.

  Someone, somewhere, knows where she is. They have to. Not finding her is an unacceptable outcome. I have to bring my little Sweetpea home like I promised her.

  Chapter Two

  Faye

  I am so weary of always being alone. No family to go home to. No real friends to hang out with or share anything with. I feel like a ghost.

  I don't even look like myself anymore. I have pictures, so I remember what I used to look like. I used to be pretty, with vibrant red hair, rosy cheeks, and bright green eyes. Now sadness and fatigue cling to me like the smell of smoke when you’ve sat too close to a campfire. Not that I’ve done that in recent memory. The changes I see in myself sit like acid in my belly, and I avoid looking at my reflection as much as possible.

  I hate what I see. I'm too pale and too thin, whatever curves I once had been developing have been lost to hunger. The only time I smile is when I'm working. It didn’t take me long to learn that tips are better if you’re smiling and flirty with the customers.

  I've been waitressing at the same rundown truck stop since I landed in Spokane a few years ago. Sometimes I think I should leave and go anywhere else. Somewhere sunkissed and warm all year would be ideal, but I don't want to get too far from the cabin.

  It’s been years since I ran, and still I cling to the crazy hope that Travis hasn’t forgotten about me. In reality, I’m sure that he has.

  A couple times a month, when I have a day off and gas money at the same time, I go out there to look around and spend time in the one place I still feel a connection to him. Even a tenuous connection is something. I’ve been doing this since the boredom and the need to buy food drove me to leave the secluded shelter behind. I always hope to see some indication that someone has been there.

  That has only ever happened once.

  Two years ago, I KNOW that Travis had been there. For once, I had the gas money and the day off two weekends in a row. When I arrived, I could tell that someone had parked a vehicle in the road where it became too overgrown to drive through. The very first thing I noticed when I shoved my way inside was that my little pink unicorn was missing. I left it there as a sign, and no one but Travis would have taken it.

  As far as I can tell he hasn't ever been back.

  I have no reason to believe he will.

  He did his duty. He came and checked, saw I wasn’t there, and I’m sure he moved on with his life. I can’t blame him if he did. I still want to find him, though I have no idea how to go about it. I went to the library once to see if he had any social media accounts, an address, anything that would be helpful. But there was nothing.

  I don't even have a cell phone anymore. Officially, I still have my old one. I wasn't willing to give up my photos from when I had some friends, something of a life, even if it was all tainted by my mom and Brad. The slapping, the drinking—even that was preferable to being so alone all the time.

  Scalding tears slip down my face and I burrow under my thin covers, hugging my pillow, trying to soothe myself. I cry myself out and get out of my bed to pad barefoot across the cool floor to my bathroom. It’s time to pull myself together, dry my tears, and get ready for another day of work.

  A girl has to eat.

  I'm pulling a double shift today so one of the other waitresses can go to some school thing for her kid. It’s going to be a long day, but I don’t mind. It’s still better than working eight hours and then coming here to be alone with just my thoughts for company.

  I never knew anyone could be so lonely that any company was preferable to being alone. Even my books don’t help ease the ache in my heart anymore.

  By the time I’m dressed and ready for work I am mostly over my pity party. I say mostly because… well, it’s lonesome not having anyone to really talk to. I would rather be alone than risk anyone else's well being. I just wish I knew if the danger following me is real, or just my imagination.

  As much as I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head, my gut tells me that it is real, and that is what continues to keep me from reaching out to people. I learned to trust that feeling the night I grabbed my things and ran. I know without a doubt that if I had hesitated even a minute longer I would have ended up like my mom, a crumpled heap on the floor.

  What is wrong with me today? I just can’t keep my thoughts away from all the bad things. My mind keeps picking at them like loose strings on a sweater.

  I wish...so many things.

  I wish no one was looking for me.

  I wish I had even one person to confide in.

  And more than anything I wish I had some way to find Travis.

  The only emotional indulgence I allow is telling myself that once I find him he will assure me that I’m safe, that everything is going to be okay, and that he will take care of me from now on. Just like he did when I was little and ran to him when I was sad or frightened. He always made me feel secure, and my heart clings to the remembrance of that feeling. Other than that one thing, I have to be ruthless about being strong and making my own way.

  I kn
ow the reality. THIS is my life, as much as I might wish that it wasn’t.

  No one is coming to save me. That is for books and movies. For all I know, Travis didn’t even make it home from Afghanistan, and that is why he never came for me. Something in my soul tells me that I would know if he was gone, but I also know that I shouldn't pin my hopes on the promise an eighteen-year-old boy made to a sad little girl whose heart was breaking.

  Trying again to shake off the funk I’m in, I pull on my ratty old jacket and grab my keys. It’s time to go to work.

  I park my pickup in the side lot of the diner like I usually do and peruse my surroundings. For the most part I ignore them, but something feels different today. A tension in the air. Maybe it’s because I have been feeling sorry for myself and wallowing in those unproductive feelings, but the sketchiness of the truck stop really hits hard today.

  There are two banks of grimy pumps outside of the mini-mart and diner. Nothing has a name. That should be a prime indicator of how low-class this place is. Old hand-painted signs over the doors say only “Diner” and “Market.”

  Across the highway is a strip club that’s in even worse shape, its neon sign faded and always blinking GIRLS. The parking lot always sports several motorcycles and run down trucks, no matter what time of day.

  Several of the day shift waitresses at the diner cross the highway for evening shifts stripping, and there are several more who use the diner as a way to make “appointments” to meet truckers when they get off shift. That’s the kind of place this is: waitressing is more often than not a front for prostitutes.