The Departed

could help, but she didn’t think there was a damn thing she could do that would ease this girl’s pain. How could she do anything that would help? How could anybody? “I can go. You don’t need to talk to anybody if you don’t want to, you know. You can wait until you’re ready.”
    There wasn’t an answer. The girl, maybe sixteen, just stared at her through her long hair. Her face, soft and a little too round for modern society’s strict standards, was pale. She had a round body as well, with the generous curves a girl like her would probably hate. Staring into those pale eyes, seeing the scratches, the scrapes, and the bruises, knowing what those boys had been willing to do, what they’d wanted to do, Dez had to fight the urge to scream.
    “I’ll go,” she said, her voice husky. She was going to cry if she didn’t get out of there. Cry and beg the girl to forgive her. But how could she?
    She was almost to the door when the girl spoke. “You…were there.”
    Dez paused and looked back. “Where?”
    “At…there.” She looked away, her gaze bouncing around the room like she couldn’t stand to look at anybody or anything. “Where they found me. Where you found me.” She swallowed and then looked at Dez again. “It was you. You found me. Didn’t you?”
    Dez nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”
    The girl started to sob.
    Unsure if it was welcome, uncertain if she should just leave and call for one of the nurses, Dez made her way to the bedside. She reached out and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. But the moment she touched her, the girl reached for her and then, just like that, she was wrapped in a desperate, clinging embrace. “Oh, God…I was scared…”
    “Shhh.” Dez stroked a hand down pale, soft blonde hair, staring out the darkened windows into the night. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re safe, I swear.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    T HERE are strange things happening around here—a terrible thing happened yesterday. I can’t even discuss it with you,
it’s so awful. Perhaps it’s best that you aren’t here, my angel.
    The pen paused, trembling over the paper. A heavy sigh filled the air as the days were counted out. Not that it was necessary. Only a few remained. The flowers were on order, the dress had arrived. Everything was set. And the world was in chaos.
    It’s not good for a young lady to see this sort of thing. Not good at all. I hope it all settles down soon. I want peace for our day together.
    My pretty, perfect angel.
    My only.
    * * *
     
    “DO you know her?”
    “I dunno.” Brendan shrugged and gave the detective what he figured was a tired but polite smile. He wanted to look frustrated and aggravated, without looking too pissed off—he was his dad’s son, after all, and they were politicians to the bone.
    “You can’t give me any more details than that?” Detective George Stahley stared at him, his brown eyes resting on Brendan’s face in a way that left Brendan wanting to fidget. He had a serious face, serious eyes, and he didn’t seem too inclined to hurry up, either. Brendan wanted out of there. “You work there—hang out there. You and your boys are all over that place. But you’ve never seen that girl?”
    As he spoke, he nudged the picture forward.
    Brendan glanced at it and then back at the detective. “No. At least I don’t think so. But you have no idea how many people come in and out of that place, man…um…Officer, or do I call you Detective?” He wrinkled his brow and shot a look at his dad— I’m nervous, I’m tired…Dad, help me out …
    His father laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
    Brendan looked back at the detective as his dad said softly, “Detective Stahley, it’s a hotel. A popular one, with a lot of people. Surely you can’t expect Brendan to remember every girl that’s passed through there.”
    Stahley gave his father a polite smile and then looked back at Brendan, tapping the picture with his finger. “Look again.” Then he reached inside the folder before him and pulled out a different picture, laid it alongside the shitty one he’d been pushing at Brendan for the past twenty minutes. “Here’s a different one. We’ve got her name now, have a better picture.”
    This one Brendan recognized.
    It hit low in the gut, almost like he’d been punched. He bit the inside of his lip hard to keep from saying anything, to keep from showing any reaction.
    Shit .
    She was looking down, like