Page 102 of Wallflower

Patrick paces impatiently from one side of the window to the other. Only stopping intermittently to glance around outside. Presumably, looking for me.

Let him boil and bubble in the hot water he’s found himself in. I want him emotional, unsettled, and irritated. Those are the people that make mistakes, let loose information that would otherwise be kept close to the chest. I want all his lies to overflow, spilling at my feet so I may choose how I’ll manipulate him to staying the fuck away from Rose and I.

He turns from the window, and I emerge from the vehicle, hiding my face within the shadow of the sweater’s hood. It’s still warm here, even as dusk closes in, but nowhere near as balmy as home. A chill shivers along my spine as I slide my weaponinto its usual place at the back of my waistband, the cold metal instantly starting to warm from the heat of my body.

Patrick’s too eager, opening the door for me before I’ve even stepped foot onto his property. That’s how a worried father would act though, right? Or is he playing up the part of a heartbroken parent to pull the wool over my eyes?

I don’t have any semblance of how a loving parent should act. Mother favoured my sister, leaving my brother and I to mostly fend for ourselves. Father was incarcerated for a hit and run under the influence of drugs and alcohol that killed three teens. If he’s ever been released, he hasn’t reached out. I know not whether he’s alive or dead, and when it comes to him, or anyone else I share blood with, I don’t care. But my lack of knowledge around the dynamics of a loving family bothers me. I don’t know what to look for, how to determine genuine love from fake. All I recognize is pain when I turn inward and observe my childhood from an outsider’s perspective.

“Mr. Keller,” Patrick says in greeting, extending his hand for a shake. I nod, not removing my hands from my pocket. I may have seemed nice before. Curious to the commotion he was causing in the grocery store parking lot, but now I’m on the hunt for answers. Not content to leave here without finding out why he sold his two daughters, or what he intends to do about it if I can ‘find them’.

“Please, come in. Have a seat.” He gestures toward the large living room, well-worn couches focused around a large tv. They certainly aren’t rich—or weren’t. The skin trade pays quite well. The middle class neighbourhood is cute, quiet. My guess is it’s very family oriented with a lame neighbourhood watch to keep away the riffraff. Nothing stands out in any way, all the houses are the same style of varying neutral and earthy colours. With sensible family vehicles in each driveway.

Looks can be deceiving, something I know all too well, and I intend to dig until I uncover whatever it is this family is hiding.

Moving around the low coffee table, I take a seat in the only available chair. Patrick choosing to sit on the chesterfield across from me.

“Will your wife be joining us?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe.”

“Her daughters go missing and she can’t be bothered to hear out a possible lead?”

“Frankly, Mr. Keller, she thinks you’re full of shit. Some wacko who’s taking me for a ride to see what you can gain from it.”

“I assure you, that’s not the case.”

“Then get on with it.”

His tone cranks that urge within me tighter. My desire to drive my fist into his middle-aged face is hard to resist.

“I know where they are.”

Patrick’s green eyes light up, and I can’t help but feel it’s genuine. “Are you sure? You’ve seen them?”

“One of them, I think. What were their names again?” I haven’t forgotten a single detail of what he told me, though it slips my mind among the eagerness to see my flower.

“Chelsea and Rose. Melborne.” He tacks their surnames on for good measure.

“Can I see their pictures again? Maybe a few different ones?”

I already know Rose is part of this family, but it wouldn’t hurt to memorize Chelsea’s face in case I pass her within the walls of Bleakcrest. Though, I’m not sure if she’s still there.

“Yes, absolutely.” His eager fingers are clumsy as he pulls the phone from his pocket, opening the photo album and passing the device my way.

Slowly, I swipe through the pictures. Rose is sour-faced in most of them, an air of negativity surrounding her. Chelseabeams like the sun, clearly the favoured child of the bunch. “Do you mind if I send some of these to myself for reference?”

“Sure, go ahead. Whatever you think will help.”

My fingers fly across the screen, selecting all the photos of Rose I find with a few of her sister mixed in, and texting them to my burner phone. Once the device in my pocket vibrates with the new message, I delete our text thread. Patrick doesn’t need to know what I sent myself, and this phone will be going offline very soon.

Passing the phone back to him, I say, “Do either of them have any distinguishing marks or features?”

“No. Well…Chelsea doesn’t, as far as I know. And my wife informed me Rose has a dragon tattoo, though I’ve never seen it for myself.”

“Hmm. Rose is the red head?”

“Yes.”