Take my Heart

Chapter Two

     The police say that never happened. My phone never rang. I never answered. Asia never called me. But it did. I know it did.

      Unfortunately, the police do believe the next events unfolded just as horrifically as I remember them.

I was frightened from the phone call (that 'never happened'), so I ran down the hall to the front door. I threw on my worn sneakers and a jacket, then sprinted out the front door. Yet, I didn't get very far before tripping on a box sitting on the front porch.

The box was addressed to me, so naturally I took it into the kitchen to open. I never get packages, so I was actually pretty excited. It took me a few seconds to locate a pair of scissors to cut open the box since it was taped shut.

As soon as I had the scissors, I cut off the tape, struggling at the durability. I mean, It was duct taped shut. You probably think I would have noticed how unusual that is, yet I didn't. But alas, I got it off. I wish I hadn't, but I did.

There was no note. Nothing telling me who it was from, or why I was given it. Inside the box was just a styrofoam takeout food container. Confused, I pulled out the container and set in on the table. I slowly opened it up and peeked inside.

Inside the styrofoam container laid a heart. An actual human heart. It took me a moment to realize, and then I sprinted over to the trash can and threw up. Twice. And then once again when I thought about it. I couldn't even manage to stay standing upright. I feel to my knees and kept my head in the trash.

But I did manage to call the police, and that's how we got here.

"So what led you to discover the package?" The old cop asks, his mustache looking like a moving chipmunk on his lip when he speaks. He holds a small notebook in his hand, and writes in it with a pencil as we talk.

"I already told you," I say in annoyance. "My best friend had called me. She said something that worried me. I was going to go check on her. But I saw the package on my porch and, well, you know what happened next." I slide my foot slowly across the linoleum floor. The dim lights produce a grim reflection that I choose to cover up with the toes of my sneakers.

"But Ms. Night, there's no record of any phone call with your phone at the time in question," Mustache Cop points out, raising his grey eyebrows up in an 'aha!' motion. He's got a sick smile on his face, as if he just broke through my alibi. My true alibi. Poor guy, this is probably the most exciting thing he'll ever investigate in a county this remote.

"Well then I must be absolutely insane. Now can I please go check on my best friend?" I ask, pleading Mustache Cop with my eyes. I still don't know where she is, and I'm growing more paranoid by the second. She needs me, I can feel it.

"Wait—" Mustache Cop starts. "Is there any possibility that your best friend is Asia Peterson?" His bushy grey eyebrows go up again, but this time it's in a different expression. And expression that I can't quite place, but somehow worries me.

He must see the shock on my face, because his expression softens. "How'd you know that?" I ask desperately. I must have said it.

"I'm very sorry Ms. Night," Mustache Cop says. He tucks the notebook and pencil into the front pocket of his police uniform and takes a step back.

"How'd you know that?!" I say again, with more urgency and unsteadiness in my voice. I stand up and get a little in his face as I fight back the tears pushing their way out. I know I didn't say her name.

      He takes another step back.

"I can't give out this information to you, Ms. Night," Mustache Cop says, not meeting my eyes.

I grab him by the shoulders and force his brown eyes to meet my teary ones. "Please. She's my best friend. My only friend. Wouldn't you like to know if anything was happening to your only friend?"

"I could lose my job," Mustache Cop says, pleading me to stop. He holds his eyes closed, refusing to meet mine.

"If something happened to my best friend, I have a right to know," I mutter, and he knows I'm right. He opens his eyes and looks into my very tired, teary ones, and I know I've won.

"Okay," he whispers. "But this stays between us." His face has now sunk to a place that I cannot imagine is comfortable.

I nod my head reassuringly, showing him the secret is safe.

"Asia Peterson has been missing since Friday night. No one had seen her nor heard from her since."

My bottom lip quivers and I look away.

"And we think the heart that was sent to you belongs to her," Mustache Cop continues, and the air gets knocked out of me. "We can't know for sure until the lab results get back in, but Asia had heart surgery when she was a baby and the scars match up."

     "Oh the scars match up? I'm so glad that the scars fucking match up. What a relief. No need to peruse my lost best friend. Because if the scars match up, it must be her! Oh wait a second, Asia isn't the only person who's ever had heart surgery!" I scream, and everyone in the station is staring at me like I'm crazy. But I don't care. "Maybe you should focus on actually looking for her instead of just taking the first easy explanation that pops up." I sprint towards the door, itching to leave this nightmare.

     I'm almost out, until I run smack into something. It knocks me on my butt, hard. "Hey!" I exclaim, already furious.

"Oh no. I'm so sorry," the guy I ran into apologizes. "I didn't see you coming."

He's got dark curly hair that hangs in his eyes a little. His eyes are crystal blue, and seem to go on endlessly. He's young, a few years older than me, maybe. "Clearly," I sneer, taking out my frustration on him even though it's not his fault Asia is missing. And it is my fault that we collided.

"Where were you off to so quickly, if you don't mind me asking?" the guy asks politely.

"I don't know," my voice softens, "away I guess." He reaches out his hand to help me up off my butt, and I take it. His hand is deeply callused, and feel rough in my own.

"And why's that?" He asks, a crease forming between his eyes as he asks.

"No reason," I lie. "Just needed some fresh air."

"Well, I'm leaving for the night. If you want me to take you somewhere, I can," he offers, and I consider accepting.

"I don't even know your name," I reply.

"Chase," he sticks out his hand politely, and I shake it.

"Sawyer."

"So, I'm leaving. Are you coming?" Chase asks. He pushes open the glass door and steps out, holding open the door for me.

I turn around and glance behind me. People are crying. One guy sits in handcuffs shooting death glares at an officer who's probably holding the key. A child pokes her mother in the shoulder repeatedly and asks when they can finally go home. Her face shows deep pain, and the child doesn't seem to understand why. There's a man leaning on the back of a chair, fast asleep. I turn back around and face this new guy that I know barely anything about.

I step out the door, trying to leave behind my confusion and anger. I'm getting into a car with a stranger, yet one thought lingers in my mind. What could Asia have done to deserve this?