Page 29 of Where Daisies Breathe (Star Meadows #2)

AVA

A few minutes later, we’re pulling into the back parking lot behind the bar. Ellis parks, and my anxiety spikes when he puts his gun in his holster that’s tucked underneath his jacket.

“Are you planning on using that?” I ask, shoving the door open.

The scent of freshly fallen rain whisks into the cab.

“No. It’s just protocol.” He extends his hand for the door handle but pauses. “I don’t know if you should go in with me.”

“What? Why not?”

“Think about it. If the bartender is part of this, and he did drug your drink, things could get bad. And I can’t put you at risk.”

“He’s already going to know this has to do with me,” I stress. “And it’s a bar. There are other people in there. At least let me go inside. Maybe it’ll tug at a memory.”

Hesitancy consumes his features. “I don’t know?—”

“I’m going in.” My voice trembles, but I remain firm. I have to do this. I have to try to remember.

Not that the darkness and fog have started to thin, I can’t live blindly in it anymore.

I climb out of the car and shut the door. The puddles soak through my shoes as I wind around the front of the vehicle. My pounding heart is an echo in my head as I wait for Ellis to get out.

He does, then closes the door and locks up the SUV.

He pockets the key fob, smooths his hands across the front of his jacket, then lifts his gaze to mine.

Uncomfortable silence stretches between us.

It’s a first for him and I'm not a fan. Jason and I used to share moments like this, but those were woven with fear, a pause before the thunder following lightning—before he exploded.

This isn’t the same. Ellis is nothing like Jason, something he’s proven and proves again when he says, “I can’t stop you from going in. It’s your choice. But I can’t let you be there while I talk to the bartender since it’s police business.”

I nod. “I understand. And thanks.”

His brows knit. “For what?”

I lift a shoulder. “For respecting my decision to go inside.” I rush toward the bar, feeling exposed for reasons I can’t quite grasp.

His footsteps thud behind me as he follows me. We remain quiet the rest of the walk, but he catches up with me when I arrive at the door.

“Find a table to sit at and wait for me.” The rain is drizzling again, and raindrops dot his face.

“And if for some reason, things get bad, run out of the bar and wait for me in my car.” He uses his free hand to dig his key fob from out of his pocket, then places it in my hand.

“Don’t hesitate, okay, even if it looks like I’m in trouble. ”

I furrow my brows. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“Hopefully nothing.” The doubt that seeps doesn’t do anything to alleviate my nerves.

But it’s not his job to do that. I’m choosing to come in here, so I have to suck it up.

We enter the bar with me going in first and Ellis behind me.

Music touches my eardrums, and the scent of wood, stale peanuts, and beer burns my nostrils as I make my way to the table area and take a seat.

More people are here than earlier today, and it’s getting late enough that the rowdiness has increased—people are dancing, chatting loudly, and taking shots.

I sit as discreetly as possible, fiddling with a saltshaker that’s on the table while watching Ellis approach the bar. The bartender is the same guy who’s been behind the bar every time I’ve come here over the last week.

Ellis sits down on a barstool and shows the guy his badge. The guy shows a few signs of discomfort, but those are probably not noticeable to anyone who isn’t looking for them. A slight tenseness in his jawline, a drop of paleness to his cheeks, an anxious shift of his weight.

As I sit and wait, I get the inkling I’m being watched.

I scan the tables, chairs, and crowd just to make sure no one is.

That’s when I see something that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

A flash of long, blonde hair in the crowd that belongs to a woman whose face I can’t see.

But her height, weight, and the daisies on her dress…

It looks just like the person in the field last night. And like with the previous night, I find myself wondering…

“Clover.” It’s not possible—I know this.

I saw Clover die, and yet the way this woman dances reminds me so much of how she moved, all carefree and effortless.

I have to see her face.

I get up and push my way toward her, delving deeper into the crowd, even though it’s causing my stomach to churn.

The woman moves forward too, staying out of my reach, her blonde hair disappearing from my view.

Panicking, I shove people out of my way until I stumble out of the crowd.

The blonde-haired woman is at the door, her back toward me.

I run toward her as she yanks open the door and hurries outside.

The door swings shut. A second later, I reach it, yank it open, and barrel outside.

The overcast in the sky has grown thick enough that the parking lot is covered with shadows.

I frantically glance left and right, but I can’t see her anywhere.

She couldn’t have gotten far—I was only a few seconds behind?—

A giggle echoes from my right.

A giggle that sends potent memories bursting through my mind like starlight in a sea of night.

“Clover,” I whisper as I powerwalk in the direction of where the giggling came from.

It happens again.

I quicken my pace, the gravel crunching underneath my boots as I jog toward the corner of the building. When I round it, though, I slam to a halt.

The sidewalk is empty.

I cautiously make my way up it, eyeing the building to my left.

It’s a two-story apartment with a single door that leads to the inside.

When I was in high school, I went to a party in one of the apartments on the second floor.

It was right before Clover died. I can’t recall who held the party.

I can’t remember much of anything during that time, not because of amnesia but because I spent a lot of time drunk and stoned.

I deliberate on what to do next. I’m aware that the woman I saw is likely not Clover, but whoever it is wants me to believe she is. It could be the same person who left the daisies at the hotel door. And who was standing in the field last night.

Sucking in a breath, I grasp the handle of the door and pull it open. The first detail I notice upon entering is the musty air. It yanks me back to memories of days filled with glass pipes, muggy smoke, and self-induced insomnia that went on for days.

I peer around at the small entrance and then at the narrow stairway in front of me that leads to the apartments.

I start up it, the stairs creaking underneath my weight with every step I take.

The higher I get, the colder the temperature becomes, as if the heating isn’t working up here.

The orange carpet is stained and has holes in it, the wood walls are rotting, and the ceiling has water stains everywhere.

At the top of the stairway is a hallway lined with doors, and the floor is covered in fragments of paint that have peeled off from the walls. Music is booming loud enough that I know the door to one of the apartments has to be open.

Laughter cuts through the music, and then a guy and girl around eighteen or so stumble out of one of the apartments.

They look trashed as hell. Or at least the girl does.

She can barely walk, and the guy, who appears much more coherent, has his arm around and is forcefully guiding her toward where I’m standing.

“Come on, I know this place downstairs we can go,” he tells her with a shit-eat smirk as the girl mumbles incoherently, her eyelids lowering.

“Don’t pass out on me yet.” She attempts to shove him away as he leans closer, but he merely laughs.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. Just come with me.

” He gropes her before turning her around and steering her in my direction.

When he spots me, his footsteps falter. “Who are you?”

I glance at the girl leaning against him, looking as though she’s barely grasping onto consciousness. I’ve seen this state before. I’ve felt it myself.

And no one saved me.

Helpless.

Drowning in a lake of moss wrapped around my ankles and arms, trying to drag me under.

No one ever saved me.

But maybe I can save her.

I’m terrified for sure. Scared shitless, to be exact. But I’m also angry, and that’s what I grasp onto.

“You drugged her,” I say, glancing at the guy.

“She drugged herself, dumbass,” he replies, adjusting her weight as her head bobs to the side. “She’s a fucking lightweight. Now move out of my way.”

My legs shake, but I stand firm. “No.”

His eyes narrow. “I can make you move.”

I cross my arms. “And I can dig my pepper spray out of my pocket.”

His mouth opens, then shuts it. “Bullshit.”

“Try me.” Music is drifting through the air along with chatter.

He observes me, trying to read me. Jason used to say I was an open book, that he could read with one glance. Jason lied a lot, though.

“Whatever, you fucking cunt.” He shoves the girl to the side.

She hits the wall and tries to brace herself but collapses to the floor.

I hurry toward her as the guy swings by me and stomps down the stairs.

My adrenaline is thumping more fiercely than the base-driven song as I kneel beside the girl and check her pulse.

She has one, and she’s semi-conscious as she peers up at me.

“Where am I?” she mutters, her blonde hair looking white against the dirty floor.

For a moment, she looks like Clover, but when I blink, the distortion is gone, and I realize nothing about her face is similar. I’d think she was the woman I followed up here, but she’s way too out of it.

“You’re okay,” I tell her, my gaze traveling to the open door at the end of the hallway.

Every muscle and bone in my body is begging to go in there, to find the woman, to see who she is and why she’s taunting me. But then the drugged girl clutches onto my arm.

“I want to go home,” she whispers. “I’m scared.”

I’m scared, mommy.

Please help me.

Please make him stop.

Please make the pain go away.

Please make him go away.

The only answer I ever received is silence.

So much damn silence.

I dig out my phone and text Ellis.

Me: I need your help.