Unlovable

Chapter 33

Roger passed the Illinois line into Chicago at around 3:00 p.m. He'd always planned on visiting Chicago in the future, big city lights and all. Never had he imagined that he would come here under these circumstances.

Roger cast a glance at the fuel gage and frowned when he saw that he was practically on E. He pulled into the nearest gas station and couldn't believe how much they expected him to pay for gas. He filled the truck and bought himself and Wishbone ridiculously overpriced beef jerky. He drove through the slums of the city and then finally reached downtown. He hadn't a clue where he was going, but it didn't deter him for a second.

He had to find her.

*~*~*

By 3:55, Harold had Darcie rushing around the house trying to get ready for a press conference that she wanted nothing to do with.

"Get a move on, Darcie!" Harold bellowed from the front door.

Slowly, painfully, Darcie stepped up to him. Her back was bruised and swollen. Her dignity was completely shattered. She limped toward the car slowly, the pain radiating from every inch of her.

"Hurry up!" he demanded as he yanked her arm, jerking her forward.

Darcie groaned as the pain intensified throughout her body. He pulled her at his fast pace and shoved her into the passenger side of the SUV.

"No funny stuff at this press conference," Harold reminded her for the fourth time in the last two hours. "I swear to God, if you embarrass me you'll regret it for life."

He pulled the car from the driveway.

"This morning will falter in comparison."

Darcie didn't say a word. Blankly, she stared outside the window at the high rise apartments and condos, the office buildings and shops. She remembered the month she was free, and wished she could feel that again.

Instead, she watched the buildings pass her, feeling completely aloof, living a real life nightmare.

*~*~*

Roger and Wishbone drove around the city. Roger was unsure of where to start his search and felt his resolve begin to fade when he stopped and took in the sight of the large, looming city around him. The task was a daunting one, impossible really, and Roger was overwhelmed.

Roger felt a glimmer of hope as stopped at a phone booth, grateful one still existed and kicking himself for forgetting his cell phone charger in Oswego. He looked up Harold Kincaid in the faded phone book that dangled from the nearly extinct phone booth and found two in the city of Chicago alone, not to mention the three H. Kincaid's in the outer suburbs.

After he jotted down the addresses, he picked up the receiver and realized the phone was present, but completely inoperable. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell, hitting the button on the side to light up the screen. His phone flashed that his battery was critically low but he hurriedly called Lily anyway. He cursed out loud to himself when she didn't answer the phone.

Some psychic she is, Roger thought before dropping the phone back into his pocket.

It'd taken him slightly over an hour to drive between the two houses in the city, but none of them matched the description Darcie had given him during one of their late night chats. Roger slammed his hands on the wheel in frustration as his practically dead cell phone vibrated in his pocket.

Roger didn't recognize the number, but it appeared to be a Chicago area code, which had him quickly answering the call.

"Hello?" he answered, aggravated, but hopeful that it would be Darcie's voice on the other line.

"This Roger Reynolds?" the unfamiliar, and very male, voice asked.

"Who wants to know?"

"I believe you sold a house to Mrs. Darcie Kincaid. A cabin home to be exact, in Oswego, Virginia. I need to reach her boyfriend, Roger Reynolds, as quickly as possible."

Roger slammed on the breaks. The cars behind him honked as they were forced to come to a screeching halt, but he ignored them and focused on the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Speaking," he said.

The man on the other end huffed in astonishment.

"Well, well."

"Do you want to tell me what the hell this is about? I'm kind of busy here."

"You better be," the man said quickly. "Please tell me you followed them here. Back to Chicago."

"Who is this?" Roger demanded.

"Someone who's trying to help you. Look, if you're here you can find her at CPD. That son of a bitch is making her sit through a press conference. I think he's going to try to make her name you as her kidnapper, man. The conference starts five o'clock, in time for the news, so if I were you, I'd get my ass in gear." Roger accelerated. "It's being held outside of the Chicago Police Department. The address is 727 E 111TH St. You can't miss it."

"Who are you?" Roger asked as he drove through traffic.

The man laughed nervously.

"I don't think it's such a good idea to let you know too much about me. Besides, getting her safe from that piece of shit is the only thing that matters."

Then, the line went dead as Roger's phone turned itself off. Roger threw the phone in the passenger seat, almost hitting Wishbone where he slept. The pup perked his ears up and looked toward Roger with a tilted gaze.

Roger didn't know if the guy he had spoken to was being truthful or just feeding him a line of bullshit. But what other options did he have?

*~*~*

"Who were you talking to?" Sheila Jackson asked her husband Eli as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He smiled and reached up to pat her hand.

"Just some unfinished business," Eli said with a smile. "Go on and finish up dinner. I'll bring the boys in from outside before I take off for the conference."

Sheila kissed his cheek and left as Eli felt the guilt ease off from his burdened shoulders. He knew he'd done the right thing, even if at first he had helped create the problem by being just a little too good at his job.