That Night √

36» That Shock

Grace's POV
« NOW »

I wiped my hands on my jeans and flopped down on the chair, loud music blasting in my ears. The bar was not surprisingly already filled with people, even if it wasn't midnight yet.

I pushed my hair behind my ears and looked around the huge bar. It was another one of those typical evenings in Welsh's Bar. Filled with mostly teenagers.

Thankfully, I wasn't doing the midnight shifts anymore. I still did the evening shifts, but not till midnight. Frank had been kind enough to understand.

Almost.

My hand moved on its own and I stuffed it in my pocket, before taking out a folded photograph. I opened it up and smoothed out the crinkles.

Once again, I felt my heart race a little when I looked at it. When I looked at Jack. Every time I looked at this picture, the longing increased inside me. To see him.

It has been so long since I last saw him.

And that wasn't even the most hopeless thing. The most hurtful thing was that I didn't even know if he was all right. I didn't even know if he was fine, if he was safe.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply.

There must be a way. I needed to know where he was. I needed to know who took him. I just didn't know how.

Cynthia.

I frowned at that. Of course, she had told me that she could help me with this stuff. But was she even to be trusted? What if she had wrong intentions?

I couldn't just trust anybody.

I looked back at the photograph and at the dark room where Jack was. It was completely dark, gruesomely dark. Jack hated being in the dark.

Sudden fear started clawing at my heart.

Maybe contacting Cynthia was the only way.

•••••

I wiped off the dust from the familiar telephone and sat down on the couch.

I still hadn't done anything for my own phone. It was still lost. I didn't have the time and money to buy a new one.

I hadn't exactly needed one until now.

I looked down at the telephone and dialed the number Cynthia had given me. Surprisingly, I had memorized it quite easily. Maybe because I had been debating a lot on whether to call her or not.

I placed the receiver on my ear and really hoped it worked. It rang for a long time before somebody picked up.

"Hello?" It was a voice of a woman, rich with some sort of accent—Italian, I guess. "This is The Blackwell Enterprises."