Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I watch the sun move up and replace the moon. The only thing in my head is the look of her eyes when she opened them and looked at me. I saw the look of horror. I saw the look of fear. I saw the look of a woman who was one step away from letting go.
"There he is." I turn and see my mother and father walk in with a tray of coffees. “We brought you coffee.”
The second I got to the hospital, Mom was running to be with my aunt Savannah as my cousin Chelsea was being rushed into surgery. Slowly, the room filled up with everyone we could think to call, but then just as slowly, the room started to empty when the news came that Chelsea was out of surgery and waking up. Ethan had wanted to stay, but I forced him out of here when I looked over to see Emily holding their baby girl in her arms. The only ones who stayed with me were my parents.
We watched the seconds turn into minutes and then the minutes turn into hours. I finally kicked them out of here four hours ago. My mother didn’t want to leave me, but my father dragged her out of here.
"Any news?" My mother sets the tray down and gives me a hug.
"Nothing,” I say, shaking my head and grabbing the cup of hot coffee from the brown takeout container. I take a sip, ignoring the burning right down to my stomach.
Sitting down, I look down at my feet. I’m still wearing the black outfit from when I found her. The only thing I took off was the bulletproof vest.
“Honey," my mother says, and I look over at her. She wrings her hands together, and I know she is nervous about what she is going to say. "What are you doing here?"
"Darlin’," my father says. My parents met when my mother was running from her ex. She is from the city, and he is from the country. Watching them together is like watching oil and water mix.
"Don’t you darlin’ me, cowboy,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. "I’m just asking the question everyone else is too afraid to ask." She turns and looks at me. “What the hell are you doing here?"
"Mom," I say, taking another sip of my coffee. “What do you expect me to do, just leave her here alone?" I ask. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. “We don’t even know who the fuck she is, let alone how to contact a family member to wait for her. Dying alone." I shake my head, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. The same lump that has been there since she opened her eyes and looked at me. “No one deserves that, Mom."
She puts her hand on mine. “But you don’t even know if she is a good person."
I look up at my father. “She has a point there. She was in the cabin." He runs his hands through his blond hair. They say I look exactly like him, but I’m a touch taller than he is.
"Under a fucking bed, beaten almost to death,” I say, sitting up. “I doubt she would be in there fighting for her life if they were working together. What if she has parents out there looking for her?" I ask my mother. “What if a mother, just like you, is sitting down in her living room waiting for the phone to ring? What if it was Harlow?"
"I get the picture, Quinn," my mother says, wiping a tear away from her face.
"Did anyone contact the missing persons?" I look over at my father, knowing that if anyone can find out who she is, it would be him.
"I contacted a couple of friends of mine and put some feelers out there." He puts his hands on his hips. “But no one fitting her description has been reported as missing."
I shake my head. “I don’t know what her story is, but something inside me tells me she has nothing to do with this."
"Or maybe you are too close to it to see what is right in front of you," my father says. Ever since I can remember, he has never been the one to sugarcoat things. He looks at things from both sides and sees the good and the bad in everyone. In his field, I guess he has to, and most times, we are butting heads about things. It’s why I didn’t follow in his footsteps. It’s why instead of going into computers, I stuck to the farm life.
"Or maybe, just maybe she was held there and not given a choice," I counter, and my father just stares at me.
"Guys," my mother says, trying to calm us both down. "It’s not the time or the place for this."