Page 112 of Love is Angry

“How are we going to pick one room out of the hundreds of thousands of potential places?” I snap. “You think Julian would take her somewhere I’d recognize, only to have his goon send me a picture of it? You think he plays games…” I trail off, feeling like a complete fucking idiot. Of course he would. He’d cackle at the idea of me chasing my tail, all while keeping her locked up somewhere I’d stumble onto her if I just went about my daily routine. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, and send her the picture.

The wind whips ice cold off the lake. Noelle shivers, then nods at Sibel’s house. “You know where we are?” she asks.

“Sibel Osman’s place. The last victim before Maddie.”

She nods. “It’s going to take time for me to enhance this picture. It’s going to take time for you to come up with a plan. You want to join me? She might be more willing to talk to me if you’re there. All I ask is that you follow my lead. Think you can do that?”

It’s a tough question. Right now, I’d like nothing more than to break down every door and beat everybody into a bloody pulp until I find Madison. Unfortunately, that is exactly what my father expects of me. Loss of control. Furious frenzy. Berserker behavior. Anything that justifies retaliation via legal channels. It’s what he’s good at—pushing people’s buttons until they lashout. He proved it earlier with Laura and Steve. Playing the fucking innocent right after he admitted he had Madison. Son of a bitch.

“I’ll do my best.” It’s all I can offer, given the circumstances.

Noelle takes that with a grim nod and walks toward Sibel’s house. I follow closely, frequently glancing back and forth to briefly observe pedestrian traffic. A neighbor takes out his trash, pulling the cans across from his driveway. A jogger checks her Fitbit as she darts past us, headed west. An old lady walks her terriers farther ahead, her feet light. More noise comes from the dogs’ claws scratching the pavement. That’s how quiet Sundays really are out here by the lake.

As soon as we reach the porch, my pulse starts racing.

I ring the doorbell and wait. One second. Two. I steal a glance at Noelle. She’s watching me intently and with visible concern. I wonder if she means it or if she’s just trying to be empathetic. Well, if she’s just out to use me against my father I no longer have any reason to mind. The old man needs to live out the rest of his days in a dark and filthy cell.

The door opens, and my heart stops for a second. I guess Sibel’s stops, too, as she recognizes me.

“What are you doing here?” she manages, then takes a couple of steps back. “Come in before anyone sees you!”

“Thank you,” Noelle says, and goes in.

I follow and watch Sibel as she steps out onto the porch for a moment, looking up and down the road to make sure we weren’t followed. Judging by her degree of paranoia, I think she’s been stewing in her own juices here since we last saw each other.

As soon as Sibel locks the door and turns to face us, I see it. She’s pale as a sheet of paper. Dark shadows nestle beneath her almond-shaped eyes.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Noelle says. “But the urgent matter I called you about this morning has suddenly become an emergency.”

Sibel crosses her arms and shakes her head at me, deliberately ignoring Noelle. “I told you not to come here anymore.”

“I know you did,” I reply. “But we have a problem, and you’re the only one who can help.”

“I don’t want to help you! I just want to be left alone! Why can’t you respect that?” she snarls, already tearing up.

Something tells me she’s been wearing the same tracksuit for days. There are faint stains of mustard and other sauces sprinkled here and there. Remnants of chip crumbs by the collar. If I walk into the living room now, I’ll likely find it to be a pigsty—though, chances are, pigs would be more civil than a traumatized and depressed human.

“Julian has Madison,” Noelle interjects. “He’s holding her hostage. Now—you agreed to speak with me about your experience with Julian, anonymously. But now I have to ask you for something else. Sibel—do you know where Julian would take someone if he wanted them out of the way for, say, a week?”

Sibel blanches, gives me a horrified look. The mere mention of Madison’s name has a heavy effect on her. The tears start streaming freely down her cheeks. “Oh, god… no, no, no…”

“I’m sorry. But I have to stop him. I have to save her.”

Noelle touches Sibel’s arm. “We need your help, Sibel.”

“I need to know if there’s anything you know that might help me find Madison. We’re running out of time.”

Sibel leans back against the wall. She seems to have trouble standing on her own. Noelle helps her into the kitchen and settles her by the dining table. I take a seat next to her, while Noelle fills a glass with water.

“I’m truly sorry,” I say again, covering her trembling hands with mine. “I really am, Sibel. But Madison…she’s innocent. She never asked for any of this. No one paid her off. She’s kept to herself. We can’t let my father destroy any more lives, you know that, you have to know that.”

It sounds to me like I’m pleading for Madison’s life. Well, so fucking be it, if that’s what it takes to get Sibel’s cooperation, then I’ll do it a thousand times over. Doubt flickers in her gaze, and I know she wants to help, but I fear that wanting isn’t going to be enough.

It makes me wonder. “What does he have on you?” I ask, eyeing her carefully. “It can’t be just the house and whatever money he’s been paying you, Sibel. What else is it that’s stopping you from speaking up?”

“My mother’s hospice care,” Sibel murmurs, lowering her gaze. “She’s at Lavender Acres.”

“That’s a premium elderly care facility,” Noelle says.

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