Vanishing

6.

Lindsey

Present Day

When the plane touches down in the terminal the only thing I want is a shower.

I grab my luggage and hail a cab taking out my phone to search for the address of the campsite I am headed to.

The drive is long through winding roads and a deserted part of Miane. It does nothing to settle my already frayed nerves.

We pull into what looks like a giant log cabin. Forest on one side and water on the other. It seems promising. I only hope there is running water and electricity here. Anything to squash the ever-growing pit in my stomach telling me this was all a terrible idea.

I mentioned it to my therapist who said it was an effective way to get over what happened so long ago. I never could understand how ten years seems long enough to anyone that went through what I did.

I stopped voicing my opinion though. It never seemed to matter.

I take my bag inside where a steward greets me. He shows me to my room and insists that I unpack and relax until dinner at five when all the guests will be present.

Not going to argue with that.

I put my clothes in the dresser and headed to the bathroom to unpack my toiletries.

When I finish that task, I grab a towel and change clothes and shower off the plane ride and the sick feeling I have.

I take an Ambien and wash it down with water. I never touch alcohol. I have seen what it costs you. I lived it for fifteen years.

I tie my hair back and lay on the four-poster bed which feels like a cloud and feel myself drifting off to sleep. A rarity these days.

When I wake up to the knock on my door letting me know that dinner is about to be served, I notice it is raining. Another bad omen that reminds me of that night ten years ago.

I stretch and fix my hair before following the maid back towards the dining room.

"Wow." I breathe looking around. It is elegant.

"Miss Walters takes great pride in the building." The maid beams showing me to my seat at the table. I am the first to arrive.

I look around at the room. Fireplace going lowly, a low hanging chandelier low lit. The tablecloth is silky to touch, and the candelabra is lit also adding to the calming atmosphere. My shoulders drop slightly as some of the earlier tension leaves my body.

Closing my eyes I catch the scent of dinner. Chicken and pasta. Rolls. Fruit and a bowl of salad. A bottle of what I am sure is incredibly expensive wine sits there as well.

"This is nice." I hear Catherine say as she takes a seat across from me. What are the freaking chances? I open my eyes and nod.

"Nice spread too." Fisher comments flashing me his perfect smile.

Before I can respond the air gets sucked out of the room. My eyes narrow as Charlie Dempsey takes the chair beside Fisher.

More footsteps follow. Two sets. The last two guests. I brace myself for what I am sure is about to happen.

Of course.

Brody Dawson and Tommy Jenkins take their respectable seats. Nobody moves except to look around at each other.

"What the ever-living hell is this?" Brody sneers.

"Someone's idea of a joke, obviously." Tommy states grabbing a plate and piling food onto it.

But I know, so very deep in my bones, this is no joke. This was calculated. Planned. Somebody knows what happened that night and they want to make sure we see what exactly is about to go down...