Page 61 of Traces of Her

Lydia’s not breathing, her heart stopped.

Ryder pounds on her chest, her ribs crack underneath the pressure.

The paramedics try to take her from him, I peel him off of her.

Words flow from everyone’s lips, yet no record in my memory holds onto them.

It’s a goddamn fucking mess.

Ryder collapses on the grass, clutching his knees with his hands coated in her blood as he silently sobs.

Lydia’s rushed onto the ambulance as one of the men works on her, willing her heart to beat.

In a flash they’re racing down the street, sirens ringing and lights flashing throughout the darkness of the night.

Standing with my hands shoved deep in my pockets I glance down at Ryder and survey the rest of the yard, my eyes coming to a stop by where the van was parked.

Rowena.

She’s gone.

“Where is she?” I spin toward Ryder. “Where the fuck is Rowena?”

He looks up at me with dead bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“Huh?” he asks in a daze.

“Rowena,” I yell at him. “Where is she?”

He slowly shakes his head. “I never saw her.”

No.

Ripping my hands from my pockets, I roughly run them over my face as realization slaps me in the face.

Motherfucker.

He fucking took her.