Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“I know you’re scared and trying to process things so I’ll let you have a little time to yourself. But I’m telling you now, I’m not going anywhere other than the waiting room.” He leans over and kisses me on my temple, whispering, “I love you,” before walking out and leaving me in silence.

As soon as the door clicks shut, I let the tears I’ve been holding at bay escape. I promise myself it’s the only time I’ll allow myself to set them free, because after today, I won’t let anything come to the forefront. I’ll keep it all locked in a place where no one can reach—not even Nate.

The sound of a text message rouses me from my half awake, half asleep state. I turn my head on the pillow, looking over at Dad who’s sitting next to me as he pulls his cell out.

There’s only us here as Nate had to go to work and Mom is volunteering while she’s here.

Dad’s brows draw down and a frown mars his face. I keep my mouth shut as he lifts his eyes to mine, worry in their depths.

“The detectives are here,” he says, and as soon as he does, the anxiety takes over my body. I instantly start to sweat, my hands shaking as flashes of what happened take over my mind. “You don’t have to see them, but… the sooner you do, the sooner you can try and move on.”

I don’t want to agree with him. I want to scream and shout and tell all of the memories to leave me alone, to disappear just like it feels Phoebe has. But the rational part of my brain is telling me that they need to know what happened—they have to find her.

My eyes flick over to the window and around the room, searching for something that isn’t there.

“Okay,” I murmur, my voice croaky from the lack of talking I’ve been doing. “Tell them to come in.”

He types out a message and we wait until there’s a knock at the door. I watch as two men step inside, each wearing normal clothes with badges attached to their belts. The older of the two walks forward, his gray hair cut close to his head as he holds his hand out to Dad first, murmuring something before turning toward me.

“Hi, Beth, I’m Detective Frances.” He waves his arm over at the other detective at the end of the bed. “That’s Detective Howsell.”

I lift a hand in an awkward wave before flitting my gaze to Dad as he comes to stand next to me.

“Your dad has filled us in on a lot of the past events previous to you moving to the state. We’ve spoken to Mr. Carter and Mr. Cole to get more information regarding the last couple of months, but we’d like to hear it directly from you now.”

I nod in reply, taking a deep breath and opening my mouth to tell them. “It started with the first package…” I tell them about every package I received, what was in them and the dates and times. I then go on to explain that she got into the pool house, that I saw her follow me several times. “I moved out of Tristan’s house and into my apartment to keep them out of it, but she’d still sit in the lot and watch the building for hours at a time. I thought the only way out was to go home.” I meet Dad’s gaze as he gives me an encouraging smile. “I came home early because Tris needed—”

“Mr. Carter explained what happened at his house and what Phoebe said to them.”

“Okay,” I reply meekly. “Do you want to know what happened when I left?”

“Yes,” Detective Howsell says.

I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut as my whole body is wracked with nerves and apprehension. I don’t want to relive it, I want to forget it ever happened, but that’s not possible when I still can’t feel my legs after three weeks.

“I went home—to my apartment—and went out onto the fire escape. When I turned around she was… there.” I keep my eyes closed as I tell them what happened, seeing it like a movie playing in my mind. “She was talking about seeing her daughter and making me pay. I—” Dad places a placating hand on my arm and I take a deep breath, feeling the rush of anxiety and danger as I say, “I couldn’t calm her down and before I knew what was happening, she ran at me. I couldn’t grab onto anything in time and… we both fell over the railing.” I open my eyes, looking down at my hands that are resting on my lap.

Detective Frances steps closer. “Was there anything specific she said to you? Anything that would give us a clue as to where she would go?”

“She thinks I killed her baby.” I take a gasping breath. “But I didn’t, I swear.”

“We know that,” Detective Frances says, a small smile on his face. He lowers the small notebook he’s been writing in. “We’ll need you to come to the station and make an official statement when you’re…” His gaze flits down to my legs and back. “Feeling better.” I almost want to laugh at his assessment. Feeling better.

There’s an awkward silence before Dad pushes his hands into the front of his jeans pockets. “Have you had any luck with her whereabouts?”

“Not yet but…” I block them out as soon as he says they haven

’t. She’s still out there. She could be watching us right this minute. She could be waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike again. Watching and waiting in the wings like an understudy for a show.

“What about flight checks?” I hear Dad ask, his frustration evident. “You’re telling me she’s just disappeared into thin air? Vanished like a fucking ghost?”

“Sheriff Waters—”

“No.” He steps forward, lifting his hand up. “Don’t do that shit with me. I’m the inventor of that placating bullshit. That psycho tried to murder my daughter and you’re telling me you’re no closer to finding her three weeks later?”

“Dad.”

“I want a meeting with your sergeant. You should have your best guys on this case, not two detectives who are barely doing anything—”