Page 85 of Pose for Me
Eyebrows scrunched, I lift my head and find a thick, folded piece of sketch paper.
Sitting up quickly, I grab the paper, my hands shaking. I open it and see that it’s the picture Ryell drew of me the night I was cockwarming. The night I saw Brock on the news. The night that changed everything.
Choking back tears, my eyes drift over to what is written in the top right corner. What I read breaks me.
Sweet boy,
I know you’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be. I broke my promise. I’m sorry about that. Words can’t express how hard it was for me to let you go. But I had to. A Daddy always takes care of his boy, and my boy was sad. I did what I thought I should to make sure you weren’t anymore. Please forgive me, baby boy.
I left the country, and I won’t come back. Don’t look for me. But remember you were the best part of my life, and if I could do it all again, I would still cuff you in my dungeon since I knew where it would lead us.
Be good, Agent.
Your Daddy
I holdthe sketch to my chest carefully as I arrange myself on my bed. Silent tears track my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away.
Ryell was here. He gave me the picture he told me I could have, theonlypicture he said I could have. Even when he’s breaking my heart, he’s taking care of me.
I sit up straight, but I’m careful not to crumple the picture. Ryell could be lying. It’s not like he hasn’t lied to me before. He’s probably at home, sitting on his back porch or cleaning his dungeon. He’s not gone. He didn’t leave the country.
He’s already lied to me before, so what’s to say he’s not lying now?
Scrambling off the bed, I hurry to the living room, stuff my feet into my shoes, grab my keys from the counter, and rush out the door.
My car was impounded as evidence when they found it parked about twenty miles from the bar a week or two after Ryell abducted me, so I hail a taxi and have them take me to a shopping center that I remember is close to Ryell’s place. My memory from the night I drove there after the bar is hazy, so I walk aimlessly for about an hour before I see his familiar turnoff.
I break into a jog, then a full-out run when the fountain in his driveway comes into view.
Even without knocking on the door, I can tell something is different. The house feels deserted, like it’s been standing empty for a while. But that can’t be. Ryell didn’t leave. He was only saying that so I wouldn’t give up his identity. But I wouldn’t do that. I’ll always keep his secret.
Slowly, I walk up to the door and knock. No answer. I wait for a few seconds, then I knock again. Nothing. I press on the doorbell repeatedly but no one comes to the door.
I twist the doorknob, not expecting it to be open, and it doesn’t budge. The door remains locked.
I walk around the house and peer through the windows, and my stomach sinks to my feet when I see the furniture covered with sheets.
“Please, no,” I beg, but I know it’s no use. Ryell is gone. He really left me.
I drop to my knees in some shrubs, crying so hard that I almost throw up.
I once told Ryell that I was still afraid of him but not for the reason he thought. I was still afraid of him because I knew he was capable of breaking my heart.
He proved me right.
Thirty-One
Lane
Six months later…
“It’swith great honor to inform you all that the fifty-year-old cold case is officially solved,” I say in a clear voice while looking at those assembled and the local news camera attending this press conference. “While the suspect is now deceased, we’re able to definitively prove that he was, in fact, the perpetrator in this case. To the family,” I glance back at the family of our victim, “I’m sorry justice came so late, but I’m glad to be a part of your getting the closure you deserve.”
The family thanks me, and I take a few questions from reporters then allow the family to give their statement.
This is my second solved case with the cold case unit in my new field office in North Carolina, and I should be over the moon about it. The instincts I prided myself on when I hunted active murderers paid off here, and I’m well on my way to solving a third cold case.
Instead, I feel empty, hollow.
