Page 87 of Misery
"Everyone out!" Aren's voice booms across the bar. Authority from nowhere. "Medical emergency! Bar's closed! NOW!"
People grumble but move.
Aren's got his prospect patch but something in his voice makes it so no one even argues with him.
Maybe it's the way he's holding me like I might shatter.
Maybe it's the broken glass and blood—when did I start bleeding?
My palm was cut, but I didn't feel it.
Within minutes, the bar's empty except for us.
Aren locks the door, flips the sign to closed, drags me behind the bar where we can't be seen from the windows.
"Talk to me," he says, pulling off his flannel to wrap around my bleeding hand. "What happened? Who was that?"
"The stalker. The one killing Los Coyotes and leaving me messages." My whole body shakes. Can't stop. Can't control it. "He was right there. Drinking whiskey. Talking to me. He could have—he could havekilledme. Killed everyone."
"But he didn't. You're safe. Door's locked. I'm here." Aren's got his phone out, calling someone. It rings. Rings. No answer. "Fuck. I need to reach Oskar?—"
"He knew things." The words tumble out like broken glass. "About my painting. My sleep schedule. My scar. He's been watching me. This whole time, watching. He's been in my apartment. He has my paintings. The ones I never showed anyone."
Aren tries another number.
Magnus this time.
It connects.
"Magnus? Yeah, we have a fucking problem. The guy who's been—yeah, him. He was just here. Talked to her. She's—no, she's not hurt but—what do you mean where's Oskar?"
I watch Aren's expression shift from concern to confusion to something like fear.
"What do you mean Ivar's missing?" He looks at me, then away quickly. Too quickly. "Fuck. Yeah. No, I'll tell her. Just—send someone. Rio, Tor, someone. Yeah. Now."
He hangs up. Won't meet my eyes.
"Aren?"
"Your dad's missing," he says quietly. "That's where Oskar went. He’s been trying to find him since your mom was attacked."
The world tilts. Spins. I grab the bar to stay upright. "What?"
"Oskar didn't want to worry you. Thought he could find him before?—"
"Before what? Before I found out my father's been kidnapped?" I'm standing now, anger overriding fear. Anger's easier. Anger doesn't paralyze. "He knew and didn't tell me?"
"He was trying to protect you?—"
"From the truth? My father is missing and my stalker just bought drinks from me and Oskar thought protecting me meant lying?"
The man's words echo:
Make sure everyone's where they're supposed to be. Especially fathers who don't pay enough attention.
He knew. He knew my father was taken.
Maybe he did it. Maybe he's working with Los Coyotes. Maybe?—
