AN: Thank you to everyone who left reviews for chapter six. Special thanks to Alex Beckett, who writes Everything Changes (go check it out!), for starting this story and enjoying it. *heart eyes emoji* Also, another special shout-out to TangledUpLies for one of the sweetest PMs I've ever received. *heart eyes emoji* You guys (including the reviewers who mentioned it) are awesome for picking up on the tension between Nick and Amanda - that's, like, the very foundation of this ship and so I plan to milk it for all it's worth. But I promise I won't drag it out for 100 chapters.
I did promise M-rated goodness and you'll find a bit of that here, but I wouldn't call it 'goodness' and it's probably not what you're expecting. I just thought the last few chapters have been too light-hearted, so I pulled this story back into a dark and twisty place. Just a little reminder that this isn't going to be all cute and fluffy rollaro. So, uh, TW for themes of rape and child molestation. Read, enjoy (some parts), and review.
Hush
7. Paparazzi
She slammed on the gas until the dial hit ninety; the dust on the road parting for her like the Red Sea. The miles of farmland she passed were dormant, straw-colored stalks yielding upon the gentle breeze. Inside the car, her square frames shielded her eyes from the blinding rays of the mid-morning sun.
Waking up just as daybreak peeked from the stretch of sea, Amanda slipped out of the covers and the comfort of her bedmate's strong arms. She dressed quietly and tiptoed downstairs. She thrust the key into the ignition and drove up north to the Tuckahoe Woods Preserve. Armed with a mental map of the twenty-mile radius of where her sister could be, she started her search at the town closest to the center. She drove up the freeway until she pulled toward a right exit at a rural community. Houses and barns were spaced far apart; long stretches of road disappearing in dirt clouds over the edge of the horizon.
The information she had gathered revealed that Kim likely made a phone call from a local payphone somewhere in this rural town. As she drove further down the road, she spotted the first signs of civilization – an idyllic street as if plucked from pre-war Middle America. She kept her eyes open for a payphone, spotting nothing but local grocery stores, barbershops, and mid-century styled diners. Eventually, she found one telephone box located in front of a generic gas station at the end of Main Street. Past that point, it was as if civilization had ended and it was back to abandoned farmland.
Parking the car, Amanda hopped out and headed into the adjoining convenience store. A teenage boy with shaggy hair and a spotty face manned the till. He was distracted; his eyes focused on an old TV set armed with an antenna. With his elbow propped up on the counter, his chin slipped off his palm when he noticed the new customer. Hastily, he collected himself and stretched out his arm to press the power button. She couldn't blame the kid; I Love Lucy reruns were a great cure to a summer job's monotony.
Amanda browsed the aisles for a few minutes as she thought about her sister and what she would have been doing in a place duller than Loganville. She imagined Kim's bony fingers touching the display of Coca-Cola cans, sending them down to a sticky heap much like she often did when she was just a little girl.
She pulled a box of tampons from the shelf and a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. As she approached the counter, the boy didn't say a word. His mouth twitched into a nervous smile as he scanned her items. "$8.47," he said. She threw down a pack of gum on the counter and pointed through the glass to a box of Lucky Strikes. The only reason she was prolonging the transaction was to gauge if the teenager was, indeed, as clueless as he appeared. The more he didn't know, the more she could trust him not to tell on her. His pockmarked cheeks flushed as he pulled out the cigarettes.
After paying for her things, Amanda pulled out her phone and swiped to the most recent picture she had of Kim. Her smile was wide enough that her prominent cheeks nearly touched her eyes; her sandy blonde hair was pulled to the side to reveal a swan-like neck. She was the picture of innocence – but of course, Amanda knew her sister was anything but that.
"Have you seen this girl recently?"
The boy hunched over and squinted as he studied the picture. His bushy brows knitted together, his tongue licking the border of his bottom lip. "Yeah, I've seen her come in here a few times," he began, gesturing to the bottle of Arizona Iced Tea on the counter. "She buys the same drink, actually."
"Do you remember when she was last here?"
He shrugged. "It's been about a month. I think the last time I saw her was around Labor Day. She came in, bought a pack of smokes, and used the change to make a phone call."
Amanda glanced at the solitary telephone box by the side of the road. She pictured Kim standing in that box and making that cryptic phone call, telling her she didn't need to worry about her because the people who took her were taking good care of her. But Kim was messed up in the head, and she often couldn't tell the difference between good Samaritans and manipulative monsters. But that cryptic call she received was some time during the tail end of winter, which meant Kim had been living in that area for a while, and she was making calls to someone else. "Was she with anyone when she came by?"
"No. She was always alone… I always thought it was weird how she'd come by once every two weeks or so to pick up groceries, and then walk out east," the boy said. "There's nothing out there but farmland for miles, so she must've been walking for hours with, like, twenty pounds of stuff on each arm."
Amanda quickly thanked him as she grabbed her items and headed back into the car. She pulled out of the spot and drove eastward; and as the gas station attendant had told her, it was all uncultivated farms. About five miles into her journey, though, she spotted a shuttered house standing at the end of a long, dirt road. At one point in time, it must have been this beautiful Victorian house with a wrap-around porch and a third-story lookout with sloped ceilings. But weather and neglect had run it down – shingles falling off the roof, paint chipping of the walls, and plywood and yellowed newspapers boarding up the windows. Taking a chance, she drove up to the abandoned house.
The gravel crunched beneath her boots as she marched toward the porch steps. The floorboards creaked, and when she reached the front door, she noticed the slats of wood nailed across. There was no way inside.
She walked around the house in search of a way in. And she was ready to give up, when she noticed the drainpipe running the length of the house. If she could manage to climb eight feet up, she could get on the overhang and possibly through the second-story window.
Grabbing a nearby bucket to boost her up, she crawled up the wall, the toe of her boots digging into the weathered cracks on the siding. Using her elbows, she pushed herself up onto the overhang and grabbed the pipe so she wouldn't slide off the steep slope. She kept her body close to the wall, he knuckles turning white as she gripped on for dear life. Her feet slid along an imaginary line, as close to the wall as possible, until her fingertips felt the cool metal of the windowpane. She breathed in to brace herself. And in one swift motion, she tucked her chin and used all her weight to fling her body forward. Shards of glass and torn newspaper fell to the ground followed by her body, landing in a loud thud.
Rolling off to the side, she stopped as she hit a wall. She looked up to see dingy pink wallpaper peeling off and hanging over her head. She pushed herself up, careful not to cut her palms on the broken glass.
Scattered around the room were mattresses stained in various bodily fluids. A door was ajar to reveal another room with more mattresses on the floor. The smell was overwhelming; it reeked of saccharine cotton candy perfume trying to disguise the odor of stale piss. She held onto her breath as she pushed the door open into the other room, hitting a plastic hamper that had tumbled its contents onto the floor. Against the gray mattress and the dust-covered wood floors, the rainbow of lace and satin stood in stark contrast.
She didn't need to crouch down and inspect it firsthand to realize she had accidentally knocked over a basket of dirty laundry. The fishy stench of used panties had her turning her head away. She swallowed down just as her gag reflex had decided to come up.
Walking past the panties, she continued to explore the second floor of the house. She guessed that its former residents packed up and left in haste. They had taken almost everything with them apart from that laundry basket and bits and pieces of makeup and lotions that were strewn over the bathroom sink. An open bullet of red lipstick had rolled over to the base of the toilet, and she wondered how it had gotten there. If it had been forgotten, or if it had been lost in a struggle.
Downstairs, dirty blankets sheathed vintage furniture. A sofa with faded floral upholstery had cushions that were stained in varying shades of brown and rust. Kitchen cabinets still contained a few non-perishable food items, including boxes of Ritz crackers and ramen noodles. The gag reflex reared its ugly head again when she opened the refrigerator. Inside, rotting food festered, the mold forming spores in the dark and damp confines. She slammed it shut just in time to hear a crash from the living room.
Her heart raced. Amanda suddenly wished she had taken her gun with her; but she couldn't have risked her partner waking up to the beeping noise of the safe. She crept to the archway that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. She steadied her breath and closed her eyes, before she peered past the wall only to find a stray cat.
The cat purred as it rubbed its cheek along the smooth curve of the object it had knocked down. Amanda squatted down beside it and eyed the animal carefully. It sensed her disquiet, baring its teeth before slinking away. She picked up the egg-shaped ceramic, now sporting a crack along the middle. Setting it back on its stand on the console, she found a simple crucifix attached to a delicate silver chain. Throwing one last look around the room, she pocketed the necklace.
The condensation on the beer bottle transferred to his fingers. Lifting it to his lips and letting the ice-cold liquid soothe his throat, he watched as the colony of seagulls descended to the water. Their beaks barely touched the surface before they swooped back to the sky.
It had been hours since Amanda had gone missing. There was no way to reach her because her cell phone was powered off. He was almost erratic enough to call Olivia and ask her to use police resources to track down Amanda; but with her cell off there was really no way to do that. Besides, he didn't want his failure to keep track of his grenade of a partner to be broadcasted in the 1-6. He would just have to wait and sit around like some pathetic fool.
The sound of gravel trampled under the soles of her boots lifted him from brooding contemplation. He looked up to see Amanda approaching. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun; her cheeks were brushed over by a layer of dirt and grime. As his eyes traveled down her body, he noticed the scrapes and the inflammation on her right forearm.
She averted her gaze as she tried to walk past the deck, heading straight for the door. Nick quickly rose from the chair, the base of the bottle striking against the table.
He held his arm between her and the door. "Where the hell have you been?"
Amanda tried to duck and get past him, but he leaned his whole body against the door, effectively stopping her. She lowered her head and chewed on her lip. "I was out."
"Out where?"
She lifted up the bag containing the items she bought from the convenience store, and she drew a box of tampons. "I didn't think you'd want to come with me to pick these up."
Nick scoffed and shook his head. She had to have been out of her mind if she expected him to believe that load of bullshit. There was no way she was gone for hours and returned covered in dirt and scratches just to pick up one box of feminine products. It was actually quite insulting how she didn't try harder with her lies.
He knew she went out of town.
The reason he knew that, for sure, and knew that she wasn't just held up at the grocery store, was because he took one of Phillip's cars to drive around Southampton looking for her. And when he didn't find her, he, instead, ran into one of the women he met at brunch.
Violet Walker had invited him and Amanda to a cocktail party at her house that coming Friday. She refused to take no for an answer; not that Nick was going to say no, considering he and Amanda had both agreed they were going to work on this investigation together.
But when he woke up that morning to find the empty space beside him on the bed, and later, to discover that the car had gone missing – he knew that the previous night's agreement didn't mean anything to her. She was still going to keep secrets from him. And there was no worse feeling for someone as innately paranoid as him than to be left out in the dark.
Nick stared at her, the serious expression on his face unwavering. " Where were you?"
Amanda didn't answer. She looked past him, at the door she probably prayed would be her escape. She clenched her jaw and sucked in her cheeks, refusing to comply with his demands.
He grabbed her wrist and trained his eyes on the thin scratches running along her skin. She tried to shake off his grip, but he held tighter. "What happened?"
"It's nothing," she said, unfolding the sleeve of her shirt to cover most of the evidence. "I fell on my arm. It's not a big deal."
"Fine." Nick released her wrist. He stepped aside, running his fingers through his hair. One day, it seemed as if they were making progress. And the next, it was like she was doing whatever she could to sabotage their partnership. Resting his arms on the rails that wrapped around the deck, he glanced over his shoulder to meet her eyes. "If you think keeping things from me is the way to save those girls, then if – no, when – this case gets thrown out, it's gonna be on you." he said. She cast down her eyes and crossed her arms protectively over her body. "By the way, I thought I'd let you know we're invited to Violet Walker's party on Friday. It's an exclusive guest list and she's expecting us to be there."
She scratched her neck, her brows furrowed. "You don't think this could be –"
"—I don't know," he interrupted. "I doubt it. It's too soon; it's not shrouded in secrecy. She asked me in the middle of the street so…. I guess we'll just have to prepare ourselves for whatever happens." Nick stared out to the water; it helped calm him and keep his temper in check. Even though all it really did for him was muzzle down the anger and the vitriol.
Inside, that fire was still burning.
"You're right," she said, and by the time he turned around, she had gripped the doorknob and pushed inside. As she crossed into the cabin, he shook his head and cracked open another bottle.
June 26
The Walker compound was situated on a cliff with breathtaking views of the Atlantic. Compared to the imposing luxury estate that belonged to generations of the Walker family, Phillip and Grace's house looked like a summer cottage. Not to be outdone, the interiors of the estate were just as luxurious with antique furniture reupholstered in lavish fabrics. The walls were decorated with priceless pieces of art they've collected from painters they've rubbed elbows with over the years. Among the well-dressed guests, there were a handful of photographers roaming the crowd and snapping pictures. Drifting through halls bordered by marble columns, maids and stewards moved with military precision as they served and catered to the guests' every whim.
Dressed to the nines, Nick and Amanda entered the party. She wore a sleek white dress with a balconette bustier and lace trim. Her feet were adorned with silver bejeweled stilettos that matched the sparkling diamond on her finger. Meanwhile, Nick was dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and the top few buttons undone. Putting aside their differences for the evening, they walked arm in arm to the cocktail party.
Having waiters walk around, serving unlimited champagne, made the evening more bearable for Nick. As much as he wanted to hold a grudge at Amanda, he had to suspend that resentment in the name of the job. He drank another glass of champagne as he listened to a man blather on about the economy. And despite the fact that Nick didn't trust her completely, he allowed Amanda's body to settle into his embrace. He splayed his fingers at her waist, tracing the dip and bow and burning it into his memory. His skin slipped against the silky material of the dress – the dress that made his mouth run dry and his heart leap into his throat the second he saw her descending the stairs.
For the rest of the evening, they met new people and socialized with acquaintances they had met at the country club. They flirted openly with each other; although, the alcohol in his system had him coming on stronger. But Amanda didn't resist his advances as she intertwined their fingers together, and rested her head on his shoulder. And as the night wore on, champagne was traded in for colorful cocktails for her neat amber liquor for him. And with every sip, the physical contact grew bolder.
Lights were turned down low and the live jazz musicians drowned out the intimate conversations. Stepping into that space took them back to another period in history, where women wore shimmering frocks and men called each other 'old sport' while they held a pipe between their lips. And although the guest list comprised of prominent albeit stuffy individuals, the party itself conveyed a lackadaisical – almost reckless - atmosphere.
Couples lazed on velvet loveseats, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. At the bar, a woman barely listened to her spouse recount a story; and when she thought no one was paying attention, she stole a glance with the lone man at the end of the bar. An older man, who was once joined at the hip with his beautiful wife, snuck up the grand staircase. Minutes later, a much younger guy pounced up the stairs. They didn't return to the party for at least another hour, the wife having no idea that their son's friend from boarding school was sodomizing her husband.
Amanda stood beside him as she dodged another compliment from a man at least twice her age. He told her she looked exquisite, even though his eyes never left her breasts. When the man wouldn't stop ogling, she placed her hand on Nick's bicep and leaned into him. "Let's get another drink." She said it loud enough that her admirer could hear it, and she even threw in a breathy giggle that tickled his ear.
On the way to the bar, they ran into the evening's host. Violet was dressed in a slinky, scarlet gown; its provocative neckline dipping below the valley of her cosmetically enhanced breasts. Her dark brown hair was pulled up in a sleek chignon to reveal diamond chandeliers framing the sides of her face.
She flashed a brilliant white smile. "I'm delighted you two are here."
"Thank you for having us, Violet," Amanda began before she continued to praise the woman for the party she had thrown. They all caught up briefly as Violet rehashed the story of how she ran into Nick earlier that week. She stared at him with a sparkle in her eye and called it kismet.
"You know, I haven't seen your husband all night," Nick started, craning his neck to look around the crowd. "I've been meaning to say hello."
"Owen's in the city. His meeting ran late so he decided to stay in our penthouse on Fifth." She waved her wrist dismissively and rolled her eyes. There was no disappointment in the tone of her voice; it was simply annoyance. It was as if she had expected him not to show up, or she was irritated just by the mention of her husband's name. "Anyway, there's a friend of mine I want you two to meet," she said as she steered them to the other side of the room. "He's an artist from Milan, who does nude portraiture."
In a secluded and gated area outside of Southampton, a driveway wound through the forest leading to a palatial lake house. Made of stone and wood, it blended in with the natural environment.
Within its walls, Owen Walker reclined on the four-poster bed adorned with black satin sheets and opulent fur throws. He was dressed down in a pair of slacks and an ox-blood shirt undone to reveal the sprinkling of silver on his chest.
He had his eyes shut, his blood pressure dropping and breaths relaxing, when a woman entered the room. His eyes fluttered open as he inhaled the scent of her cotton candy perfume tangled with the heady jasmine in her blonde tresses. Instantly, Owen recognized her. She had been at his service before, her mouth and tongue doing dirty deeds between his legs. He remembered her; although in that moment, her name slipped from his mind, which was slowly sinking into sedation.
Her rail-thin body walked into the dark room. Equipped with a silver tray and a bottle of Dom Pérignon, she poured him a glass and served it with a smile so sweet it reminded him of a succulent peach. He could have taken her right there – bent her tight, little body over his lap and spanked her ass until she begged for her daddy.
But he knew that she wasn't the main event. This pretty blonde was more of an intercessor between him and the service he was actually paying for. This girl was tasked to ensure that everything was set up the way he wanted. She supplied the champagne and replenished the Quaaludes and cocaine on the nightstand. Her sweet face looked up from the arrangement of toys – whips, handcuffs, balls, and chains. Who knew that under that angelic exterior, she was a wild one, spreading her legs with no qualms or reservations. She allowed him to exercise his most depraved kinks on her and she fucking loved it.
But tonight, that wasn't what he needed. He craved for true innocence… for something virginal.
She refilled his champagne; her blue eyes locking with the icy grays of the man lounged in bed. Her name slithered to the tip of his tongue. He was starting to remember it as a place, perhaps a city below the Mason-Dixon. And then it flowed from his lips. "Savannah."
Her cheeks flushed as she tried to suppress her smile. Turning on her heel, she slowly sauntered toward the door. She opened it and helped a younger girl into the room. She was just what he ordered. Her caramel skin glowed under candle light, revealing the natural curves of her developing body. His gaze travelled from her shaved mound to her breasts, which weren't as large as his wife's but they looked like soft pillows. Long, ebony hair framed her round, innocent face. And when she bit down on her quivering lip, a single dimple appeared on her left cheek. Her fear was the kind of feeling he wanted to evoke from her; and his cock stirred to life.
Owen curled his finger and urged the girl to come closer. He stared at her like a predator about to ambush its prey. His mouth salivated at the image of her young body just waiting for him to ravage. The hair on his arms prickled with excitement as he imagined the feel of her smooth skin under his touch, the feel of her resistance under his iron grip. He grew harder as he imagined her writhing in pain and pleasure under him, as he pictured her coming for him against her will.
With a nod and a smirk, he dismissed Savannah, leaving him alone with the fifteen-year-old whore.
The fast-paced jazz in combination with the sugary cocktails was giving her a headache. In the dark space, where guests hid in corners to exchange secrets, spasms of flash bulbs burned bright.
Photographers, with their Society Pages badges on their nondescript vests, continued to roam the party. Collectively, they scoped out for familiar faces – the elite of the elite. But there was one particular photographer that captured Amanda's attention. He had dark hair and a scraggly beard. His round, tortoise-shell glasses frequently bumped into the viewfinder as he took a picture; so every time he set the camera down, he had to readjust the frame on the bridge of his nose. He had a different approach from the other photographers. The way he was snapping candid shots felt voyeuristic. He canvassed the room for groups engaged in intimate conversations, couples canoodling on chairs meant for one, secret lovers kissing in shadowed corners.
Amanda saw it as her in.
Her husband was across the room, talking to a group of men he seemed to genuinely get along with. These social gatherings weren't as mentally and emotionally exhausting for him as they were for her. In Nick's experience, conversation was light and easy. And it wasn't like Amanda had social anxiety, but it was hard to concentrate on what people were saying when she was on constant look out for any signs of Kim. When every single skinny blonde in the room made her heart race in frenzy, it was hard to be a functioning social being.
As she approached the men, she thought about how Nick had carried her for most of the night. Introductions were easy, but remaining interested in other people was a challenge. So it was a good thing to have him by her side to keep her from appearing too distracted and withdrawn. He also took the flirting up a notch; which, judging from the vacant look in his eyes, he was only doing to advance the assignment.
Linking her arm into his, she approached him from behind and excused him from the group. They were fascinated by her husband's involvement in professional sports. And, luckily, Nick knew enough about fantasy football to make a convincing sports agent.
"I'm sorry." Amanda smiled sweetly, her southern accent drizzling like honey into every syllable. "Would you, gentlemen, excuse me and my husband for a moment."
The men grinned back, allowing the interruption as they had some idea of what she wanted from Nick. Their eyebrows wagged, smirks playing on the corner of their lips. When they thought she wasn't looking, they raised their drinks to him as a toast. It was all very objectifying but she didn't have time to lecture them about the finer points of feminism. That was best saved for another occasion.
She slipped her hand into Nick's as she led him away from the other men. Dragging him across the room to an isolated space, she stopped a few feet from where the photographer was standing. He had his head lowered, busy adjusting the settings to his camera.
"Amanda, what are we doing here?"
Pulling on the lapel of his jacket, she leaned in close to his face and whispered, "Trust me."
Before he could get another word out, she crashed her lips on his for a heated kiss. Nothing was tight-lipped about it this time. His mouth parted slightly in surprise, swathing around her with warmth and tenderness. He was so caught off guard that their noses got in the way, pressing against each other it became difficult to breathe.
As they broke apart for oxygen, Amanda opened her eyes just in time to catch the first flash of the camera. Closing her eyes, she pulled him down for another kiss. Tilting her head, she pressed hard on his mouth. His hands found her waist, slipping down to dig into her hips. She felt like her body was melting slowly from the contact alone, but she needed more…. No, they needed more. For the cameras.
Her tongue traced the perimeter of his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He coiled his arms around her lower back, pressing her body harder against him. She slipped her tongue and he met her halfway, exploring the softness of each other's mouths. Her hands travelled to the nape of his neck, intertwining her fingers as she pulled him further to express the depth of her desire. His hard body emitted heat and she felt like molten pools of candle wax dripping at his kiss.
And even when the flash bulbs ceased to burn and the photographer afforded them their privacy, the husband and wife still kept going, unaware.
It was no longer about putting on a show.
