The Descendant

Chapter 7

"So," Elisabetta said, strolling into her kitchen the next morning. She had a white sports-bra looking thing on under an oversized beige knit sweater, along with black leggings that reached mid-calf. Her red hair was up in a messy bun with a few loose strands dangling beside her freckled face. "How'd you sleep?"

I shrugged. "Okay."

"Just okay?" Elisabetta scoffed, smirking. "Those fine Egyptian linens you slept between were the only thing my ex didn't take with him." Her face morphed into a scowl at the very mention of her ex — whoever he was.

"Fine, fine." I grinned, tucking my dark hair behind my ears. "It was amazing. I slept like a GD baby. Are you happy now?"

"I suppose." She grabbed a coffee cup from one cupboard overhead and put it in the Keurig. "I did a little research about Chan's mistress last night while I had issues sleeping."

"Oh?" I replied.

"Uh-huh." Elisabetta pressed the brew button on the Keurig and turned to face me as it began to brew. "Hannah Don, is it?"

I nodded, sitting down at the bar. "Go on."

"She's on her Facebook a lot, you know. Posts probably too much crap about stuff only she cares about."

"Okay... and?"

"Don has issues. Like... addiction issues."

"Like what?" I prompted her, a little annoyed she only spoke in short, choppy sentences.

"She got out of rehab a few months ago due to some kind of alcohol thing — and she has a little schizophrenia up her sleeve."

"How bad of a schizo is she?"

"According to what I found," Elisabetta said, taking her cup now full with piping hot coffee out of the Keurig, "it's just some mild schizo tendencies."

"Oh." I frowned. "That's it?"

"Be grateful I even took you in, Tora-Langdon. Seriously." She sipped her coffee as I tried to warn her that it was probably too hot — then proceeded to yelp in pain. "What the he — fudge, this is so GD hot!"

Shaking my head, I took a bite of the flavorful corn cereal I was eating, not at all savoring the horrid soy milk taste that lingered in my mouth.

At least staying with this moody detective sort of took my mind off of Ethan and August. Just a little.

---

Elisabetta and I walked into the jail that afternoon. She was confident — I, on the other hand, was not.

"Relax, Misty," she said as we approached the policeman and woman at the front desk. "You get stressed out about nothing."

"Nothing?" I said in disbelief. "Excuse me for not wanting to go see Philippe."

She shrugged carelessly. "Hello, officers," the detective said calmly. "We're here to see Philippe Chan." My ex-fiancé's name rolled off her tongue.

The policewoman nodded. "Your names, please?"

"Elisabetta Murphy and Misty Tora-Langdon."

"Follow me." The policewoman stepped out from behind the desk and headed toward the visitation room area.

My heart thumped so loudly I could've sworn everyone could hear it. This was the same prison where Ethan was held. I fought back tears as we made our way through the prison.

"Here we are. You've got fifteen minutes." The policewoman stepped aside.

Elisabetta sat down on one of the chairs and I sat on the other. We waited for Philippe (nervously).

After several seconds, Philippe walked to the other side of the glass alongside a policeman. His orange uniform and bushy beard made me shiver.

"Mr. Chan," Elisabetta said smoothly. "I'm Elisabetta Mur —"

"I know who you are," Philippe interrupted, keeping his eyes locked on the redhead in a pantsuit. "And I know who she is. I just don't know why you're here."

"We came to talk to you, Mr. Chan," she replied.

"About what?" he asked, frowning.

"A who, not a what... Hannah Don," Elisabetta answered.

Philippe's lips formed a straight line. "Oh."

"Mr. Chan, we'd like to ask you about Ms. Don. I'm sure you know her very well," continued Elisabetta.

He didn't respond. Instead, his gaze shifted to me.

"Why is she here?" Philippe finally spat.

"Why she's here is not important, Mr. Chan. Tell us what you know about Don."

We sat in silence for what seems like eternity. His gaze never moved from me.

Elisabetta cleared her throat. "If we run out of time," she said, "then we'll come back tomorrow.... And the next day, and the next day, and the next day — until you decide to talk."

He narrowed his eyes. "She's five-six. Blonde hair, hazel eyes. Very busty. Very easy to spot in a crowd. Smooth-talker and can get out of things easier than you can find someone to hook up with, Elisabetta."

I glanced over at Elisabetta, who seemed to be losing her patience with the smart-aleck comment yet pleased Philippe is finally talking.

"Secretive but will open up to you with false information. She likes chicken pot pie and the strongest whiskey you've got. Want her to talk? Drown her in hard liquor."

Elisabetta was scribbling down notes like a madman.

"Drives a black car that goes fast. Leaves unnoticed with unimaginable ease. Hangs out at bars and strip clubs and anything of that sort. Cunning, hot, and devious."

"Is that all?" Elisabetta asked.

Philippe nodded, stroking his beard.

"Time's up," the policewoman said.

"Thank you, Mr. Chan," Elisabetta said quickly, standing up.

"Sure." He stood up and rejoined the cop on his side of the glass.

I followed Elisabetta and the policewoman out of the prison, unsure of what to say.

"We've got some information, huh?" the detective said, getting in her car.

I get in the passenger's side and nod. "Aren't we going to... y'know, fill out a missing persons report or something?"

Elisabetta shakes her head profusely stabbing the key in its hole and twisted it hard to start it up. "This isn't the police'a business, Misty. We're dealing with a crazed person, okay?"

I frowned, staring out the window. How is that not the police's business? "Mhmm."

I can't help but to think that Ethan and my son would be found quicker if the police were involved.

But then again — what do I know?

Elisabetta sure knew best.

Not.

---

Aye!

I'm going to be updating this more frequently (yas🙆).

How was your day?

Mine was meh.

Like you care 😁

Okay imma leave