Be careful what you ask for.
When digging deep, you may uncover bodies.
Maisie's life has been falling apart since her older sister went missing years ago without a trace. With a dead father and a mentally unstable mother, the teenage girl ha...
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-MAISIE-
MY EYES FRANTICALLY scan the surrounding areas of the park. Looking specifically for a blonde woman with stormy eyes and long legs that could stop traffic.
There are seven women around. An old lady strolling alongside her equally old husband, and a redhead running in laps. Two mothers chatting near the swings, their sons playing together. A black woman reading under a tree, and a tiny blonde walking her golden retriever. Lastly, a tall brunette stepping towards Garcia and the little girl still in his arms.
My breath gets stuck at the back of my throat as my pupils follow the woman's movements. I can't see her face, and my heart beats as fast as the wings of a hummingbird between my ribs. My eyes run dry, I don't blink. I don't want to lose sight of her.
When Isla went missing, any girl walking in the street or behind the window of a car could be her. Any bubbly laughter made my heart skip a beat. Any whisper of her perfume stole my breath away. Any glance of golden hair was like sipping hope. Just to find out it was poison the second I saw all their faces. The bubbly laughs, the necks wearing the perfume, the blonde strands of hair—all of them belonging to girls that simply weren't my sister.
Once I even followed a girl. She had Isla's height and scent, golden locks and even a leather jacket. From behind, she was Isla. I had no doubt. And I wholeheartedly believed that for the three blocks I stalked her. Till—like always—the illusion came to its end once I saw she had brown eyes.
As I stare at the brunette talking with Garcia right now, I feel that same hope again. It pumps in my veins, feeds my organs, swirls inside the chambers of my heart. Only to burst into dust and poison me when she turns and I take a glimpse of her face.
It is not Isla. You can paint a blonde hair brown. You can't change the shape of the eyes and the slope of the nose, tough.
I turn around, moving straight towards Ethan's car. My heart has just been stabbed. Water rushes to my eyes. I am fourteen again. Fourteen and too naive. Of course it wouldn't have been my sister.
Isla would never have chosen to leave.
Right?
"Mais—" Ethan grabs my arm, I push him away. "Maisie."
My head shakes. Isla wouldn't have stayed away for three years. Three years seeing the news, reading the papers, listening to the radio. Knowing way too well our family has been looking for her.
What kind of person could have done that?
"Open the car," I all but beg when the door doesn't budge. "Open the goddamn car, Ethan!"
