Page 88 of Beautiful Deceit
“I don’t want cereal, Darryl. I want to go home.”
I feel and hear the door shake, when he either kicks or hits it.
“It’s not going to happen, Jessica. You’ll never leave me again.”
His footsteps thunder away.
Desolation beats at me. I know he won’t ever let me go, but hearing the words spoken, crack something deep within my soul.
Beau
It takesa full day to convey, to both the New York and Alabama police, the whole story. After finding out Darryl was the sheriff of her small town, the FBI is called in, because there's a good possibility he's taken her over state lines.
Cortez and Hall hand over Tasha’s murder investigation, believing the cases are related.
I can't allow myself to think he might have already hurt her. The guilt is a heavy burden. So many things, should have been handled differently. I should have told the police about the connection with the flowers, instead of thinking it was purely circumstantial evidence that they wouldn’t pay any mind. I should have told her when Brian first texted me about Darryl being in the wind, and most importantly I never should have let her out of my sight.
I stand in Sam’s empty apartment, thinking of all the things I could have handled differently, anything that would lead me to having Sam in my arms now.
Her studio is torn apart, having been searched, along with the unit downstairs. After reviewing her cameras, someone spotted Darryl going in and out of the lower apartment. He was just biding his time, waiting for the right moment to spring out and take her. I gave him that moment.
I do one of the only things that I think might help. I make a call. Vince, my ex-agent, promises the world on a platter. I ask for a single press conference.
I petition the media for help, standing outside her store. I beg for anyone’s assistance to help bring her home. I choke up, not sure if what I’m saying is even understandable.
They run with the story. They put Samantha West’s face everywhere, and she is nowhere to be found.
I sit watchingthe news unfold, the small-town community she grew up in rallies around one of their own, admitting something seemed wrong with the pretty young girl who would often sport a black eye or limp. Nobody wanted to believe Sheriff Darryl was capable of such a thing.
I getphone calls updating me of every lead, but they all turn into dead ends. His house holds no clue as to where they may be. The apartment below hers is a mess, walls full of holes, cabinets smashed, some ripped clear off the wall. They tell me they found a few small holes drilled in the floor, so he could either listen or watch her from downstairs.
As disturbing as that is, it’s just another nail in my coffin. Was it me insinuating myself into her life that made him crack? Maybe if I'd just left her alone he never would have escalated things this far.
Days and nights pass.I can't sleep, and can't stand being surrounded by her things, but can't bring myself to leave her studio. I'm slowly losing my mind.
Brian calls every day with updates on how things are going down in Alabama.
It's always the same, "Nothing new yet, Beau, but she's strong. She's tough, just hold on. We'll find her."
Twelve days pass,and I have to do something different. She's out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her, and I'm afraid to leave her apartment, fearing she might come home and find it empty.
Without telling Brian, I make flight arrangements and charter a small plane to Mississippi and fly into a small airport closer to her home than the airport in Birmingham.
I rent an SUV and find my way to where Brian is staying.
Chapter 27
Samantha
I'm no longer trackingthe trays. I leave the rotting food piled next to the door. The smell is disgusting, but it can't be that much worse than me. How my body has gotten so filthy in this tiny room gives me something to ponder before I doze off.
Banging and shoutingwakes me up. I'm sluggish and can't be bothered to listen to the yells.
My eyes close again.
A crack to the cheek jars me. My eyes are cloudy. Someone’s standing right over me, shaking me violently. Screaming. I have no idea who it is or what they are saying, confusion clouding my thoughts. My body jolts against the thin mattress of the bed. My head is wrenched back, and liquid is poured down my throat. I cough and sputter, gagging.
I turn over, trying to get the water out of my lungs. A fist hits the side of my head.
