All That's Left

Chapter 30 | Dorian

Present

2023

Seventeen years old

I took the same route to the bakery that I did every morning. It had become a routine, my little moment with Vania before I had to go to school. I'd grab a coffee for me and Max and maybe a pastry if I was feeling up for one, and we'd talk for a bit before I had to head out. It was the best part of my day, even if it was just a few minutes.

Todays, though, something felt off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but as I pulled up to the bakery and parked, I felt this gnawing pit of unease settle in my stomach. I stepped out of the car and headed for the door, brushing it off as my usual overthinking. Vania was probably inside, busy making a fresh batch of something delicious.

But when I pushed open the door, the little bell chiming above me, I knew instantly something was wrong.

The bakery was empty. Completely still, like it hadn't been touched since yesterday. Vania wasn't behind the counter, and the cozy hum of the ovens was gone. The place felt abandoned. My eyes scanned the room, heart pounding as I spotted Vania's apron, crumpled and tossed carelessly over the display case.

She would never leave it like that. Vania was careful, meticulous. She always hung it up neatly at the end of her shift.

I took a step toward the apron, every alarm in my head going off at once. My gut told me something wasn't right—something was very wrong.

"Vania?" I called out, but the bakery was silent. My voice echoed back to me, hollow and unnerving.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed her number, my fingers shaking as I pressed the call button. It ranf one...twice...

Then, from the back of the bakery, I heard the muffled sound of her phone going off.

No. No, no no.

I rushed into the kitchen, my heart hammering in my chest. There, on the counter, was Vania's phone, buzzing with my call. She had left it behind. That never happened. Not with her.

Panic gripped me, cold and suffocating. I stared at her phone, the screen lighting up with my name. She wouldn't just leave it lying around, especially in the kitchen. Where the hell was she? 

My first instinct was to run outside and start searching the streets, but I forced myself to think. I needed help. I couldn't do this alone.

I dialed my dad's number, pacing the kitchen as it rang. He picked up after a couple of rings, his voice casual. "Hey, Dorian. What's up?"

"Dad," I said, my voice tight with fear. "Vania's gone."

"What?" His tone immediately shifted to concern. "What do you mean she's gone?"

"She's not at the bakery. Her phone's here, her apron's just sitting on the counter. It's like she left in a hurry or...I don't know, but something's wrong, Dad. I can feel it."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then his voice came through, steady but tense. "Okay, listen to me. Don't panic. I'm heading over there right now. We're going to call the cops and figure this out. Stay calm, Dorian."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. But something's wrong, Dad. I know it."

"I know, son. I'm on my way."

I hung up and ran a hand through my hair, trying to keep it together. My mind was racing with possibilities, none of them good. I had no idea where Vania could be, and the thought of her out there, scared or in danger, made me sick to my stomach.