Fiona paused again, putting the book down on the table as she drained off the rest of her glass and got up to pour more without asking Gage’s permission this time. Gage smiled a little at that, loving how quickly Fiona seemed to get used to this new place, but in the back of his mind, worry nagged at him like a pestering child. Why is she drinking so much? Is she okay? Gage wondered. But he didn’t push the issue, at least not for the moment.
“The Bandits’ clubhouse is near the mall, right?” Fiona asked as she settled back in her chair, gripping her glass in her hand. “At least, that’s the way I remember it.”
“It really depends on which mall,” Gage said, rolling his eyes in the back of his head as he thought of the different shopping malls in this part of the city. “But yeah, the one closest to her house and school…is that one.”
“So let’s go,” Fiona said, getting to her feet and quickly draining her full glass, cringing a little as it slid down her throat into her stomach.
“Wait, why? Just because she met a guy there?” Gage asked, confused.
“Most victims know their murderers,” Fiona reminded him. “Even if it’s just an acquaintance situation, this is the best clue we’ve got right now. We need to go see if that guy still works at the sunglasses shop. He might be our guy.”
“The mall closed, like, ten minutes ago,” Gage said as he checked his watch. “We’ll have to go by tomorrow to see if we can find him.”
“Shit,” Fiona groaned, sighing deeply before standing up to pour herself another glass of scotch.
“You know you’re supposed to drink that slowly, right, savor the taste?” Gage couldn’t stop himself from saying.
“Fuck off,” Fiona said as she continued to sip at the dark brown liquid. Gage had to smile a little at that. He missed being told off by Fiona, hearing her cuss at him at the drop of a hat. Somehow, she was all things, all the time: fragile, weak, strong, and a badass, all at once.
They were both quiet for a minute. Gage watched Fiona’s face became scrunched-up as she concentrated, staring down at Tori’s diary, looking at a page next to her last entry where she’d drawn hearts, large and small, from the top of the page to the very bottom. She’s so young, Gage thought wistfully, thinking about Abby, how she used to talk about the boys she had crushes on in middle school.
Suddenly, he felt energized, his blood pumping harder in his veins as he thought about his sister, about Tori, and about the other nameless, faceless girls that The Knife had taken away. All those women—whose lives had been absolutely erased, whose identities were traded in for the all-encompassing label of “murder victim”—all of those stories, lost forever.
Not this time, Gage thought to himself, balling up his hands into fists and digging his nails sharply into the sensitive skin of his palms. Not this time. Not these girls. They will get to live. They will get to be people, just like Fiona.
Except Fiona wasn’t exactly doing okay either. He could tell just from looking at her, the way she pulled at her hair, that she was coming out of her skin. It was like she had too much energy inside of her and nowhere to put it. She couldn’t move forward with her discovery given that the mall was closed and there was no way they could figure out who the man was that flirted with Tori.
“Her cell records,” Fiona finally said a minute later. “Call her parents; get the cell records. We can see if she texted or called a number the day she was taken.”
“Oh, that’s good. That’s a great idea!” Gage said, but then a minute later, he saw another path. “There’s another way, you know—to get the cell records faster.”
“What is it?” Fiona asked, her eyes alight with a fire that Gage hadn’t seen in years. It made him scared and excited all at once, seeing that flame within Fiona, that old spark that she had, the desire to save someone burning inside of her like a bright hot sun.
“Jack, from the Bandits. He works at a phone company, has connects with others. I could talk to him to ask if he can trace the calls. She has her phone number written down on the front of her diary, on the first page. Look,” he said, leaning over Fiona to flip the diary back to the first page, brushing their shoulders together in the process. Tori’s number was written there, in bright pink ink.
“The Bandits…” Fiona murmured, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Gage asked, confused as to why she suddenly seemed so much more anxious than she had mere seconds before.