Page 2 of The Complete Truth Duet
“Shit,” I repeated when I tripped over my accounting textbook. I vaguely remembered the thud of it falling over the side of the bed as I’d dozed off while studying.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I couldn’t afford to make that mistake again. What if—
No. No what-ifs. I lived in today. Not in the past. Not in the future. Today.
Lifting the mattress off the floor, I used my toe to shove the book underneath, careful to make sure it was deep enough that the lump it caused was unnoticeable.
After that, I snatched my new turquoise silk robe off the old rocking chair that served double duty as my “clean” laundry hamper and shrugged it on. I shouldn’t have bought that robe; it cost a small fortune even if it had come from the discount store. But I hated sleeping in anything more than a tank top and panties. With as many midnight “emergencies” as I dealt with, including those where I’d forgotten what I was wearing and run out of my apartment practically naked, I decided that it was time to invest in something that at least covered my ass.
Dragging my long blond hair up into a ponytail, I hurried to my bedroom door. It took two hands to force open the stubborn deadbolt and then slide the chain free. Making a mental note to get some WD-40 on that, I added it to the priority section of my to-do list, which was roughly long enough to wrap around the Earth—twice.
My bare feet padded against the short hallway’s distressed hardwood. It wasn’t the purposeful type of distressed meant to make that tiny apartment appear charming and rustic, but rather the kind that said it had been at least three decades since anyone had treated that flooring with anything other than contempt. But there was only so much a bottle of wood oil could do. And in the twelve years I’d lived there, I’d tried pretty much everything.
Holding my robe closed with one hand, I knocked on the door to the girls’ room. They hated sharing such a small space, but after listening to the constant bickering and arguing over the last six weeks, I was sure I hated it more. In a two-bedroom, eight-hundred-square-foot apartment, our potential sleeping arrangements were limited.
“Girls, get up! I overslept. You’re gonna be late for school.”
Silence. Where the hell had that been at two in the morning, when they were still up fighting over a curling iron?
“River. Savannah. Up. Now! If you miss the bus, I can’t take you this morning.” I rapped my knuckles louder on their door, but at thirteen and sixteen years old, they could have slept through me crashing into their room on a wrecking ball Miley Cyrus style. “Girls! Come on. I don’t have time for this. Get up and get dressed.” I gave the tarnished knob a loud rattle only for it to turn in my hand.
My skin crawled and panic slammed into me as the door creaked open.
No lock. No deadbolt. No chain.
Nothing to protect those two innocent children from the monsters who lurked around us.
My heart clawed its way into my throat as I flew into the room. The sight of River’s dark hair splayed across her pillow, her pink cheek barely showing from beneath her polka dot comforter, momentarily quelled my fears.
However, the twin mattress on the floor beside hers was heartbreakingly empty.
“Where is she!” I shouted, snatching the blanket off River. She’d been wrapped up like a burrito and went tumbling to the floor.
“Jesus, Cora,” she complained, rubbing the sleep from her big, brown eyes.
I squatted in front of her and squeezed her cheeks with one hand. Forcing her to look at me, I slowly repeated, “Where…is…she?”
Her eyes cut to Savannah’s bed before flashing wide with a similar terror that was spiraling inside me. “I…I don’t know.”
“Did anyone come in?”
She shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
Sounding more like a child than she had in years, she squeaked, “Positive. Do you think maybe he…”
She didn’t have to say it. I was way ahead of her with that nightmare.
I sucked in what I hoped would be a calming breath and attempted to focus on the most logical explanation.
But we didn’t live a logical life. The horrifying and extraordinary were far more common than the ordinary.
Savannah had been living with me for six weeks, but this wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out. And, God, I prayed she’d only snuck out.
“It’s going to be okay,” I assured River with a lie.
Her long, black lashes fluttered as she nodded. “She’s probably just hanging out on the first floor.”
Great. Now, she was reassuring me.
I patted her cheek and rose to my feet. “You get dressed. I’ll go find her. Pack both of your lunches. ’Kay?”
“Yeah,” she whispered instead of the usual argument.
After a brief stop to grab the building keys from the fireproof safe in my closet, I was out the front door. The cold concrete scraped my feet as I marched down the stairs. I’d only made it to the second floor when one of the new girls whose name I’d yet to memorize tried to stop me.
