The Runaway

Chapter 2.

Volkov Chekhov

Everything is a blur when I see Sawyers bed empty and her patio door open.  I checked it before she went to bed just like I do every night.  It was locked. 

I can't seem to catch my breath as I go out onto the patio and take a look around the surrounding area.  There's glass on the floor, there's also blood on said glass. 

My guess is someone broke in, someone broke in and now Sawyers gone and there is only one explanation.  I angrily grab the door handle and pull it roughly, the door ends up breaking off of its hinges and falls to the grass below.

My wife yelps and cups her mouth, burrowing into the side of the bed as sobs wrack her body.  I almost let mine slip, but I can't fucking cry right now. 

She holds a picture tightly to her chest while shattered pieces of glass that surround it pierce into her skin right before my eyes. 

I hurry forward and grab it away from her clutch, "my love, please." I kiss her forehead and bring her head into my chest.  "Luca!" I yell a moment later while rocking my body side to side.

I hear footsteps, 3 pairs of them which means all of my sons are coming and I whisper encouraging words to my wife in the meantime, "we will find her Dianna, I can promise you that.  I will stop at nothing to bring her home. 

She nods, obviously trying to contain the sorrows surrounding her. 

Luca barges into the room, his breath erratic as he takes in the scene before him.  "Fuck. Oh fuck." He curses and dives forward for his phone he dropped moments ago when entering.

He's ordering nonsense that I can't seem to understand.  Gill and Linden circle their mother and wrap her in a hug.  "My baby." She whispers, "Volkov, she's 16, she doesn't know anything."

"I know, I know." I want to sob.  But I have to be the strong one, for her, for my sons and for my daughter. 

——-

Sawyer

The night before

I take a deep breath while packing the back-pack Ryder gave to me last night.  I have everything I need, plus more I probably don't need.

"Okay." I sigh to myself and push the bag underneath my bed.  I lay down and read my book until I hear the familiar footsteps of Papà.

I take a deep nervous breath before telling him to come in.  "Hi baby." He smiles.  "You ready for bed?"

I nod and bookmark my book so I can place it on my nightstand.  "Is Mama coming?"

"She's on her way honey, she was just finishing up with her book." He explains and does his routine checkups.  He checks the patio, which is completely useless because Ryder made an extra key.

He checks the windows, which surprisingly don't have locks but are just as stuck.  At the end of his checkup he comes and sits down next to me, already tucking the blanket into my sides. 

"What did you do today?" He asks, just like he does every night. 

I hum, "baked, cooked, read." I respond, just like I do every night.

"What did you end up baking today?" He kisses my cheek and softly pushes the hair back, away from my face.

"Croissants." I murmur quietly.  I feel guilty, not only guilty but sad and frightened.  All I want to do is hug him and tell him everything.  But I know that wouldn't end well and the consequences to my actions are just.