Chicks, Man

He rears his leg back and thrusts forward, kicking Clara’s body. I scream, the movement tearing at my wound. My stomach clenches. Before I can expel the sourness burning inside my stomach, I lose consciousness again.

Levi

I eat up the ground beneath my feet from pacing back and forth. We have zero leads. The cops don’t know shit and are fucking useless. They just keep asking us the same damn questions, as if we took her. The douchebag cop who first arrived keeps threatening to arrest me if I don’t calm down, so I’ve pulled myself away to try to do just that. I explained as best as possible my theory about the case and how it links with Hannah’s disappearance. Since Crete is out of their jurisdiction, they put in a call to the local law enforcement department over there requesting a wellness visit for Clara Hill. That was over an hour ago. And still nothing.

I gaze over at Kip, who’s beside himself with worry. The severity of this is starting to set in for us all. Jim has been on his phone calling in every favor he has, pleading with anyone who can offer him assistance in finding his little girl. It’s impossible, even at a time like this not to admire his endless love for his daughter. The way he’s always held her to such a high standard.

“And that’s why, when I grow up, I’m going to become the first woman President of the United States of America.” Mr. Matthews claps his hands, loud and proud, as Kip’s little sister jumps off the coffee table. She walks past me, and I swear the little kid winks at me.

“Isn’t she truly something?” Mr. Matthews says, watching his daughter bow in front of Kip, then skip off into the kitchen. Something is right. A little wild, if you ask me. “Only seven years old and already destined for great things. She’s already reading my old law school textbooks. Cheryl gives me slack for letting her. Says she should be reading books written for her age range. Barbies and all, but she’s an old soul this one. Already wants to debate law cases with me.” His hand falls to his chest as he chuckles. “She’s such a spirited child. I can’t wait to see what she becomes. She’s gonna make one man very happy one day.”

I was fifteen at the time of that memory. Didn’t put a second thought past his words letting me know his daughter was something special. Spending a lot of time with Jim growing up, I listened to him talk about Hannah often. How honored he was to be her dad. How her wanting to follow in his footsteps made him so proud. From awards, recognitions, Dean’s list to scholarships—she hit all the marks. She was, as he always said, making a strong path for herself. It was in those small chats I would dig for any memory of Hannah, ones of her not trying to annoy us or make a scene. She was always scurried away by Kip or chased away by Chase. There was never a moment that crossed my mind that one day she truly would be magnificent. In all facets. As I stand, watching the worry in his eyes, I wonder what my young, fifteen-year-old self would say if he knew years later, it would be me pining over his magnificent daughter, hoping she chooses to make me a happy man.

He’s listening to whoever is on the other line when I notice something distract him. He leans into his open vehicle and stands straight again, Hannah’s phone in his hand. Her battery must have enough juice to turn back on. Curious as to what leads her phone will offer us, I trek closer. I’m two feet away when the color on Jim’s face pales.

“What? What is it?”

Jim tears his searing gaze from her phone to meet mine. “My daugh—why does—someone sent her photos of Braydon and—he…he’s standing in what seems to be a family photo with Benjamin Miller.”

Hannah

“What the hell have you done?”

I’m jolted awake by yelling. My head is like a hundred-pound bowling ball as I try to lift my eyes toward the commotion. “I asked you to take care of this quietly. This is NOT quietly.”

Braydon comes into view. “It was an accident—”

The man strikes his large hand across Braydon’s cheek, snapping his head sideways. “An accident? An accident? There’s a woman lying lifeless over there and this one’s bleeding to death. I see no accident, son.” The man’s large frame adjusts until he’s in my line of sight.

Confusion followed by recognition sets in. Disorientation washes over me at the disbelief. My voice shakes with incredulity as I say his name. “Benjamin Miller.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. Because I know that face. I never doubted if I ever came eye to eye with this man, his would shine like the Devil’s. Evil comes in many forms, one being Benjamin Miller.