“Tough shit,” I whisper. “You can’t make me wear those fuckers.”
She laughs out loud. “Give me time, big boy. We’ll see.”
Joshua
I come back to the present—my mind is constantly jumping between memories and stupid conversations that we had. I can remember every damn detail about us but not the most important thing. What happened last Saturday night—that’s what I need to remember. I’m trolling deep through my mind for a clue but all I keep coming up with is more memories of my beautiful girl. I look at the wall and see the clock turn over another hour and my heart sinks again. Time… how do you stop it… or better still turn it back? With every hour that passes I know the chance drops further of us finding her. It’s been six days since Natasha was taken. Police are streaming in and out of our hotel room, photographers and journalists are camped outside. We have the whole top floor of the hotel to ourselves. My parents and Natasha’s mother are all here. I am surrounded by people who love me and yet I am entirely and utterly alone. I have no way out of this. Natasha is gone.
I can’t eat, speak… function. The only thing on my mind is my beautiful fiancée and how deeply I let her down. Bridget walks into my room with a protein shake.
“Josh, you need to eat.” She passes me the shake. “Or drink.”
“Thanks,” I murmur as I take it.
“Did you sleep last night?” she whispers.
I nod as I look at the floor. I can’t lie to Bridget. I have hardly slept in six days.
“Are you still throwing up?” she whispers.
I shake my head while still looking down.
“That means yes,” she whispers as she runs her hand down my arm.
“Josh, Natasha would want me to look after you. Tell me how to help you,” Bridget murmurs.
I smile sadly and walk over to the window to look out to sea, and she walks over and embraces me from behind. “Josh, please don’t fall apart. We need you to be strong.”
I drop my head. “I’m trying,” I whisper.
“Try harder,” she murmurs.
I turn and take her in my arms. “Are you ok?” I whisper into her hair.
She nods into my chest. “I’m so sad,” she whispers in a muffled voice. “How do we do this?”
Cameron walks to the door. “The police want to have a meeting with the family,” he says in a monotone. I pull from Bridget’s embrace and my eyes meet his.
“Why? Have they found something?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he replies.
With a heavy heart Bridget and I follow Cameron down the hall to a common meeting room that the police have been using as a base to coordinate with our security guards and search teams. There are three policemen in the room along with Natasha’s mother, my parents, Cameron, Bridget and me.
The police all shake my hand. “Mr Stanton.” They nod.
My heart starts to race. This is the first time they have requested to speak to us together.
“What’s happening?” I ask impatiently.
The policemen exchange looks. “We have a few reports th
at have come back from the crime scene.”
“Any prints?” I blurt.
“No,” the tall one answers. “Not that we can find.”
I shake my head in disgust, of course not.