7
Veronica
I tried all sorts of things to get rid of the bed of nails sensations after Trixie left—work, cleaning, more yoga, even a jog up and down the long avenue leading into town—but everything just left me even more jittery. So when Ariel burst into my office at just before two PM, her face flushed, her hair uncombed and her sweater on inside out, I knew just how she felt.
She didn’t answer me the first two times I asked what was wrong, just plopped down on the stained sofa clutching her phone, her eyes very wide.
“I think something’s happened to Harper,” she finally said. “She always does a live chat on her channel on Mondays at noon, and today she didn’t show up. She also hasn’t posted a single thing since just after her concert on Friday. Why? Do you think that guy did something to her?”
I spent the next hour consoling her and trying to convince her there’s nothing to worry about. We had lunch at Ariel’s favorite pizza place where they serve only ultra-thin crust slices, had frozen yogurt with all the toppings and took a two-hour walk through the nearby forest, soaking in the sun and birdsong and all the scents of the world that’s waking up from a winter sleep.
“Artists are artists,” I tell her as we’re walking back to the office along the long, wide avenue lined with modern, brand-new condos. The stretch of buildings we’re passing now was designed to resemble waves of the sea, with dark blue roofs and matching detailing on the undulating balconies facing the street.
This town has grown like crazy in the last twenty years and it’s still growing. Most of these condos are still being constructed. Who will live in all these places?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ariel asks crossly when I don’t say anything more.
“Oh, you know. Maybe she had a sudden strike of inspiration and just had to drop everything and write new songs.”
I grin at her, but her face is completely serious, the expression on it something between anger and sadness. Damn, how I wish I hadn’t told her my suspicions of Chance on Friday night. Now she’s stuck in this loop of dark thoughts that can only lead to one place—her memories of the worst year of her life surfacing. The very air around her is filled with her jittery, anxious energy and I’m afraid a crash is just around the corner.
What the hell was I thinking telling her about Chance? I wasn’t, that’s what. Because there’s just something about that guy that makes me unable to think clearly.
“Look, still no update. And a lot of people are posting on her wall, asking what happened to her?” Ariel says, showing me her phone. “She’s clearly disappeared. And she never does, she’s always online. She replies to all posts and messages in a couple of hours, night or day. We should go to the police and tell them what we saw at the festival. And you should tell them what you suspect.”
I have no idea what else to do to calm her down. She could have a point. Maybe there is a connection between Chance being a no-show today and Harper going dark on social media.
“What would we even say?” I ask speaking aloud a thought I had, and not something I wanted to say. I want to calm Ariel down, not add more fuel to her anxiety.
“That we saw her talking to a guy with a known history of trafficking women,” she says, and I’m amazed at how her voice barely shakes as she says that. “And that she’s been gone ever since. For example.”
“We can’t do that, Ariel. I’m sorry. She might not even be missing. Maybe she just needed to go offline for a couple of days. We can’t violate her privacy in that way.”
Or Chance’s.
She stops and grabs my arm, yanking me to a halt. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes unnaturally bright as she glares at me.
“What if we’re her only chance, Nic?” she asks breathlessly. “What if we’re the only people who know she’s in danger?”
There is such desperation in her voice, such a sad and deep plea that I almost tell her we’re going to the police station right away.
But that’s not really an option.
“How about I call Chance and ask him about Harper?” I hear myself say.
Why did I even say that? How is that going to solve my sister’s anxiety? Maybe I suggested it because I want to hear his voice and know he’s alright. But I don’t, not really.
“OK, if you think that’s a good idea,” Ariel says, looking as perplexed as I feel. “Do you have his number?”
“At the office somewhere,” I tell her.
“Let’s go then,” she says and starts walking briskly.
It’s almost five and Trixie is coming at six. I hope my sister will be calm enough to return home by then, because I don’t think the two of them should meet. The sight of Trixie and hearing her story will trigger Ariel in yet more ways and that’s the last thing I want.
We’re both slightly out of breath by the time we reach the office, and my heart is racing as I dial Chance’s number.
“Who is this?” he barks after I already start to think that he won’t pick up.