Read Online Sliver Moon Bay: The Looking by Ivana Hruba - Free Book Online

sick. But he’s got her somewhere. And it’s up to us to
find her cause old Drake’s not gonna tell us where she is.
     
     

 
    22
     
     
    Chris was right. The old dude
isn’t going to fess up to anything. Old Drake lies in a hospital
bed wrapped up like a mummy, hooked up to all sorts. It’s obvious
what is happening here. He’s going to die. Still, Lilian pays no
attention to this horrible reality. She’s pleading with him to give
up Starling, to tell us where he’s put her. To just make a sign to
let her know. She’s giving him choices. Is she here? Is she there?
I know she’s safe. I know you wouldn’t hurt her, Drake. Just move
your finger, Drake. Please. Let’s save her. Your flesh and blood.
You know. You’re her grandfather. Have mercy.
    Of course, old Drake is immune
to this theatre. He’s past anything useful in this life. I’m
standing there, watching Lilian dying in his place, and the clock
is ticking, as they say. It is. In so many ways. There is pressure
inside me. It’s a hammer, hammering away same old same old. And
nothing is changing. Lilian cries, uselessly, into her hands,
collapsed in her wheelchair, and old Drake doesn’t give a— and I
feel I have to leave. If I don’t, I will take the pillow from under
his head and press it down over his face, and I will not let go
until he has. And then what? —Exactly.
    So I lead Lilian away from this
dreadful man. It’s really up to me to find my little birdie.
     
     

 
    23
     
     
    But there’s always something in
the way. Thirty six hours after the fire we’re back home. We’re
staying in the caravan until the house is fixed. We’ll be here a
while cause the house is a mess. The bedrooms are all pretty much
gutted and it smells of smoke in there and Starling’s room is
burned down completely. There’s a big hole in the roof right above
it and there’s basically nothing left of it. Lilian can’t bear to
go near it. So Chris and I carry out what can be used which is not
much, just the coffee table and some furniture in the living room
which is mostly intact as the fire spread on the other side of the
house. But the couch is too stinky and the cushions can’t be sat on
because of the ash so we chuck it out. It’s a job to keep us busy
while we wait to get busy with what matters. Of course, there are
other people doing our job, twenty-four seven. It’s only us lagging
behind. People are swarming all over the beach, the forest, the
town like a bunch of angry bees looking for a new home. Poking into
every nook and cranny. Without much hope cause it’s getting too
long now. Too long in the timeline. And time, in these cases, is
always of the essence. So why am I wasting what’s left of it?
    Around the corner, a commotion.
I see Chris by his truck facing off with a man. Ah, not that again.
But it is. A reporter has come by, wants to speak to us, take more
pictures to keep us current, in the public eye. But Chris won’t
allow it. He sets the man straight. Detective Martin is the one to
speak to. There will be no interviews with the family and if you
don’t get out of here I will take that camera off you, man. Chris
is getting hot under the collar. And why wouldn’t he be? He has a
good reason to be pissed off. The press hasn’t been that kind to
us. Speculative, more like. And only marginally helpful. We’ve
cooperated in the hope of, but in reality nothing has come out of
it. Starling’s picture in the paper, the write-up on the situation
in the local rag and the regional tv coverage has netted us a big
fat nothing. So thanks a lot, but you’ll have to move on now, man.
Chris is trying hard to remain civil. He doesn’t want any
attention. There is simply nothing new to report, he tells the man.
The man scratches his bald pate with a calling card. He hands it
over, Chris takes it. You can see he’s going along just to be rid
of the guy. Okay, I will call you if there’s any news. Chris tucks
the man’s card in his shirt