If We Disappear Here Read online
Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
BOOKS BY MINDY HAYES
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
PREVIEW OF STAIN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
If We Disappear Here
Copyright © 2022 Mindy Hayes
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Mindy Hayes
Cover design by ©Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
Editing by Traci Finlay
ALSO BY
MINDY HAYES
Faylinn Novels
Kaleidoscope
Ember
Luminary
Glimmer
Daybreak
Willowhaven Series
Me After You
Me Without You
Me To You
Standalones
The Day That Saved Us
MINDY HAYES
WRITING AS M HAYES
Standalones
Stain
If We Disappear Here
CO-WRITTEN WITH MICHELE G. MILLER
AS MINDY MICHELE
Seaside Pointe Novels
Blossoms & Steel
Copper & Ink
Satin & Grit
Raven & Ice
Paper Planes Series
Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost
Subway Stops and the Places We Meet
Chasing Cars and the Lessons We Learned
Backroads Duet
Love in C Minor
Loss in A Major
Standalones
Nothing Compares 2 U (novella)
To the survivors
ONE
maeve
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
What is tha––
Agh. A sledgehammer pounds against my skull. Over and over.
And over.
I groan, prying open my sandpaper eyes. Hurts. Everything hurts. I shift, a cool surface beneath me lacking give, and I shiver. This isn’t my bed. It’s not even the carpet or hardwood floor in my house.
When everything comes into focus, I blink and blink again. Fear pours into my veins.
Where am I?
A rusted industrial light is mounted in the center of the ceiling, mini metal cages surrounding each bulb. One flickers every few seconds, same as my oxygen. Peering around, all I see is concrete. Floor, ceiling, walls. Concrete with chalky, colorless paint peeling off.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
My gaze stops. In the corner of the cold, muted room is a masculine, limp body, a slow drip falling from the ceiling by his head. His limbs are fixed at odd angles, like he was dropped there and didn’t move. Ashton?
“Ashton,” I try. My voice is gravel, jagged and small. I cough and crawl across the unrelenting surface. Missing strength, I flop to my stomach and slither, my knees scraping the uneven ground. “Ash-ton,” I cry, and even the tone is sluggish, his name coming in two choked syllables. I need water.
Gripping his shoulder, I roll him onto his back. His face angles toward me. Square jaw, slightly crooked nose, short black scruff.
I scramble back.
Not Ashton.
Not my husband.
If I had the energy, I’d scream.
Who is this man?
I poke him with my foot, but he doesn’t move. Is he alive? I wriggle back to him and listen for a heartbeat. It’s slow, but it’s there. He doesn’t so much as twitch at the weight of my head on his chest. I lean away.
Where are we?
On one wall is a large steel door with a tiny rectangular window at the top. If I can just reach it.
On my hands and knees, I force myself across the floor, inch by inch, my brain instructing my limbs to put one in front of the other. The effort dizzies me, blurring my vision, and I’m reminded of that one and only frat party I went to in college when some jerk spiked my drink. Patches of concrete move in and out of focus. I have to stop halfway there, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
When I reach the door, the cold metal does nothing to help my frozen, heavy fingers. With no handle to hold on to, I claw my way up the smooth steel, getting to my knees. From this angle, the window is miles away, too far out of reach. I can’t make myself stand.
I slink back down. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I let the darkness take me.
Something jabs my shoulder, and I shy away. My brain isn’t ready to work yet. The soft, rounded stick jabs me again. My head lolls to the side as I lift my weighted eyelids. Sharp green eyes stare down at me with a finger pointed in my face.
“Oh, good. You’re alive,” he says, gruff, as he crouches above me. “Who are you?”
I roll away like he burned me, my back hitting the rough wall. The reality of what I woke up to earlier crashes down. No. It wasn’t a nightmare.
“Who are you?”
In a steady voice––the opposite of my galloping heart––he says, “My name is Ledger.”
“But who are you?”
His dark brows knit together, a stern crinkle to his forehead. “Someone stuck in this concrete hell beside you. Now, I’m going to ask again, who are you?”
Is this the man who took me or is he really a prisoner like I am? For all I know, Ledger kidnapped me and trapped us in here together for some twisted pleasure or experiment. He’s not exactly the most personable man.
I swallow, coating my parched throat. “How do I know that’s your real name?”
Rising to his full height, the man pats his pants pockets like he’s looking for his wallet. The tiniest of dry smirks graces the corner of his lips. “I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Is he cracking a joke? Or mocking me? My entire body is shaking, tears begging to brim, how can he find any humor in this terrifying situation?
I steal a couple of breaths, allowing my eye
s to take him in. Standing in faded jeans and a black tee, he’s shorter than my husband, but that’s not hard to do. He can’t be more than five-ten or eleven. His hair is the color of how I like my coffee. Dark with a hint of cream. The emerald eyes I woke up to are weary and bloodshot, flecked in amber. And he’s barefooted. Same as me.
It’s not the Arctic in here, but it’s unpleasantly cold. My toes curl in as I fold my arms across my breasts. In my favorite pair of ripped-knee jeans from college and a worn out I Forgot About Dre shirt I stole from my older sister Elva, short sleeves and jeans don’t do much to take away the bite in the air.
I’m more lucid than I was the first time I opened my eyes, but I’m still in a dilapidated room with a strange man. A surge of questions rush through my mind. Is he dangerous? If he’s not, why is he here with me? Why were we taken? And how long have we been here? How did we get here? Where is here?
As I scan him, still crouched, there’s a small scratch at the edge of his jawline, a dotted line of blood along the linear mark. Could be a cut from my nail when he tried to take me or he could’ve gotten it from our captor. While he’s not giving me much, traces of fear and distress glint his eyes. And from the looks of it, he’s my only shot at getting out of here.
Clasping my hands together to hide the tremble from him, I say, “I’m Maeve.”
His nod is curt as he looks over my shoulder. My eyes follow. The steel door.
“Dumb question, maybe, but have you tried opening it, Maeve?”
“With what handle?”
His eyes rove over the only exit. “Why is there no handle?”
Able to see better now, I notice a small difference in the metal at the bottom, like a horizontal doggy door. My elbow nudges it, but it doesn’t budge.
With more strength than I had before, I get to my feet, lifting on my tiptoes to peer out the slim window. I’m not tall enough. I turn back to Ledger, and he motions for me to move. So I step aside, giving him a wide berth.
Swiveling his head from side to side, he searches. “It’s a dark hallway. I can’t see much aside from a couple other steel doors like this one.” Then his fists pound the metal, the hollow bang echoing. “Hello?” he yells. “Hello? Somebody! Anybody! Help us!”
I beat the door beside him. “Somebody help us! Please! HELP!”
No one responds.
Ledger slams his fists against the steel door again.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
“HELP US!” We scream until our voices are hoarse.
No one comes. Nothing happens.
Ledger turns back with a defeated sigh.
“Why are we here?” A tear trails down my cheek.
“I don’t know. I think we were drugged.”
Squeezing my eyes tight, I try to grasp screenshots of who might’ve done this, but all there is is empty space. “By who?”
“I woke up with the same answers you did, next to a woman I’ve never met.” Ledger rubs his eyes and exhales. “My throat is killing me.”
Mine, too. “How long do you think we’ve been out?”
“There’s no telling. My body feels like it’s been days, but drugs have a nasty way of skewing reality.”
I nod and take in the neglected room again with a clearer head, blinking away moisture. The only things other than the impenetrable door and the industrial light are a random hook—what on earth?—in the ceiling of the far right corner and a small metal box with a circular grid in the top left corner. An antique speaker? How old is this place?
“Where do you think we are?”
“Some abandoned asylum? Or a warehouse? I’m trying to figure out what kind of place has something that old.” He points to the left corner.
It’s a rusted silver box. Something you’d picture in an old military bunker. Imagining this place as an insane asylum sends my skin crawling.
Ledger skirts the perimeter, hands walking across the paint-crumbling walls like he’s checking for any give. Something on his left hand catches in the inconsistent fluorescent lighting—a thick, silver wedding band.
Ashton must be terrified, wondering where I am, if I’m alive. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t sleep until he was found.
Please find me, Ash.
My stomach growls, the hunger pangs hitting. I’m starving. When was the last time I ate?
Flipping through my memories, I try to figure out the last thing I remember. I took I-95 home from the hospital and once I got there, changed my clothes, sat down to eat dinner with Ashton and… and… That’s it. I don’t remember doing dishes or going to bed. I don’t remember anything after that. Did whoever took us hurt Ashton? Oh my gosh, what if Ashton isn’t okay? Is he dead? Did they kill him and take me?
I look back at Ledger, still inspecting the walls. Searching for a trap door or hidden handle? “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Ledger stops investigating the concrete as he rotates to his back. Sliding down the wall, he rests his forearms on his knees and locks me with a penetrative stare. “You ask a lot of questions.”
I cringe away from his sour tone. “I’m sorry for waking up scared and confused in a prison with a strange man. Do you not have the same questions?”
“Something tells me you don’t have the answers to my questions.”
“You’re kind of a dick, aren’t you?”
He grunts, lowering his gaze to the ground. “Forgive me for not being a damn conversationalist. I’ll get right on the chit-chat train as soon as we figure out what the hell is going on.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, jackass.”
He releases a resigned sigh as if to say, fine. “I was getting in my car after work. But that’s it. I don’t remember driving home or anything else.”
Not that he asks, but I offer my answer in hopes of gaining some comradery. “I was eating dinner with my husband. If we were drugged, with who knows what, we can lose hours of time. We could’ve been taken at any point.”
Ledger’s head bobs, but he doesn’t look at me, keeping his stare far off.
If I scream would anyone hear me? Probably only whoever put us here. Concrete and steel? Nothing is getting through. We could be in some basement, too far from civilization for anyone to find us.
“We need to get out of here.”
Lifting his head, Ledger cocks a sardonic eyebrow. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Ignoring his derisive comment, I take in our prison once more, hoping I missed something. A window or drain, a vent we could crawl through, but there’s nothing. No means for escape. The panic flowing through my veins converts to rushing rapids, making it difficult to breathe. But I close my eyes and clench my quivering jaw, hunting for deep breaths to slow my cheetah-racing heart.
Why were we taken and brought here? I can’t think of any reason why someone would kidnap me. Or us, together. I deliver babies for a living and have little to no social life. All my free time goes to Ashton and my sisters.
Ledger sits with his head bowed, eyes trained on the floor. Nothing about him screams psychopath, but they come in many forms. The handsome ones are just as deadly, if not more, so unsuspecting.
I don’t know any Ledgers. Not now, not growing up. But maybe his last name could trigger something. Maybe I know his wife.
“What’s your last name?”
Ledger’s gaze lifts, red-rimmed and on edge. He blinks as if trying to figure out what I asked or maybe gauging why I’m asking, but he clears his throat and says, “Abbott.”
I don’t recall any Abbotts, but my head also isn’t the clearest at the moment. Not that that means anything. His wife might not have taken his last name.
“You?” he asks.
I don’t know why I hesitate.
“Tit for tat.” His eyebrow arches.
“Campbell. Maeve Campbell.” I lick my chapped lips and take my chances asking him another question. “Can you think of why someone would want to kidnap you?”
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Ledger snorts. “I could think of a reason or two.”
I wait for further explanation, but he doesn’t elaborate. Opening my mouth to ask him why, I’m cut off when he asks, “You?”
I shake my head. “I’m an obstetrician.” Not exactly the poster child for unhappy patients. “I live a pretty quiet life with my husband.”
I take care of pregnant women, while he works from home. We spend our evenings together battling over the remote—Ashton voting for some historical documentary while I plead for something comical and brainless—before repeating the cycle the next day. And when Ashton and I aren’t together, I’m with my sisters, running mundane errands, sneaking a workout in at the gym. Anything to get in sister time between our otherwise busy schedules.
Maybe there is no logical explanation for us being taken together, but if there is, I want to figure it out.
“Where are you from?”
His annoyed sigh almost makes me regret asking as he runs a hand down his exhausted face. “I grew up in Andover, but I live in Cambridge now.”
I haven’t lived in either of those places, but I’m not far from Cambridge. “Grew up in Springfield, and I live in Newton.” The first speck of hope shines. “So, we could still be in Massachusetts.”
He mumbles agreement, but makes no attempt to help make sense of the situation.
“Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe whoever took us got the wrong people.”
Ledger nods, but he’s somewhere else. I’m a vocal thinker, while he seems to do it all in his head. Silent and brooding. And rude.
The speaker crackles. We clamber to our feet, spines rigid as we stare at the tiny metal box. It works.
“Well, isn’t this precious?” A deep voice vibrates. “Trying to find a common link? Bonding in your mutual imprisonment.”
My cellmate and I share a tense look. Our kidnapper is here. And he can hear us. My little speck of hope disintegrates.
“Good luck.” The baritone voice chuckles through the unclear speaker. “It’ll be fun to watch you struggle, though.”
Watch… And he can see us? My eyes dart around the ceiling, but the only thing I see is that speaker. Is the camera inside?