Treasured (Book Two)

Chapter 12: Stacy

"What?" I began. "How did this happen?" "When did this happen?" Luke asked. "It was after you kids left Los Angeles," Mom  explained. "How did Stacy-" I began. "She drowned in her bathtub," Mom interrupted.

"The police are trying to prevent this from going public." Luke rubbed his eyes and buried his head. This is all my fault, I thought miserably.

I was being so mean to her. I wish I would take those comments all back. "Where is Stacy?" I asked. "She's in the hospital," Mom said. Without a word, I finished my snack, grabbed my coat and slippers, then left the house.

"Cole," Mom called. "Where are you going?" I didn't say a word. Luke finished his then ran after me. "Cole!" Luke cried. After he caught up with me, I turned to face him.

"It's all my fault," I said softly. "Stacy died because of me, and I am going to find Ellen and bring her back to Los Angeles." "The police hates it when we get involved-" Luke began.

"I don't care!" I shouted. "I am getting sick of these rules, of being useless. A woman died because of me, and I have to save Ellen before she ends up like her half-sister."

I grabbed my bike that was lying on near the porch and hopped on. I started to pedal on the sidewalk until Luke stopped me. "Move," I snapped. "My car is faster," he said. "Let's go."

"Huh?" I said. "You want to find Ellen, do you?" Luke asked. I jumped up and down then hugged Luke very tightly. "Let go of me," Luke grumbled. I released him and rushed to the front seat.

Luke slid in the driver's seat and started the car. "Is there a hospital near us?" Luke asked as he drove out of his driveway. I checked on my phone then nodded.

"Yeah," I answered. I tell him the address. Luke grunted as he shifted the car to avoid heavy traffic. His face glowed as he pulled the brakes. "Why did we stop?" I asked.

Luke pointed at the traffic lights. It had just turned red. "Ugh," I groaned. "This will take forever!" "Be patient," Luke sighed. "We will just have to wait." Soon the cars began surrounding us.

It felt like being trapped in a small box. I have to take my mind off of the traffic. "So," I began. "What did you find while I was talking to Mom?"

"Some police records," Luke said. "Your dad was in the bathroom." "Wait," I said. "You stole the records?" "No," he answered. "I read them."

I blushed. I forgotten that he has photographic memory. "The files I had read belonged to Stacy and Ellen." "What did they say?" I asked. "For Stacy's," Luke began. "She had been obsessed with death when she was a little girl. She kept cutting herself, try to jump off the roof of the house, and even tried drowning."

"Her parents tried everything to make her stop, especially going to child therapy, but it didn't work." "After her parents died in a car accident, Stacy stopped cutting herself and started a career in fashion designing." "What about Ellen's?" I asked.

"Ellen was born in Korea in the nineteen nineties," Luke said. "She came to America when she was only eight years old. Her father, Mr. Cherry, picked her up from the airport and took her to the house."

"The intriguing part was, Stacy wasn't even born yet." "Is there anything else?" "No," Luke said. "Are you sure?" I asked. "I couldn't find anything more about her," Luke insisted. " No school records, where she stayed, nothing like that, but I did get her phone records."

"You did?" I asked hopefully. He handed me a folded sheet of paper and focused on the road. As I unraveled the paper, I stared at the inked words. About January 2nd, twelve thirty a.m., Ellen had called Dad.

Some dialect was said between them. Hello Lewis, it's me, Ellen. Do you want to go out for milkshakes?  I glanced at Dad's response. "I can't Ellen, I have to do some errands for Dennis."

"Whose Dennis?" Ellen was saying.  "My cop friend," Dad answered. "Why do you have to do errands for him?" "It was a stupid bet that I lost, maybe some other time?" Dad asked. "Okay," Ellen nodded.

The next three conversations were the same. Ellen wants to go out with him, but Dad says that he has other plans. It seems to me that Dad was avoiding her for some reason.

He keeps mentioning his friend, Dennis way too many times. "Do you know Dennis?" Luke asked. I shook my head. "He never mentioned him around the house."

"Then why to Ellen?" Luke asked.  The red lights miraculously turned green. The cars throttled forward, leaving us a cloud of dust. Luke pressed his foot against the glass and steered the car to the left.

"Did you ask your father?" Luke asked suddenly. "Even if I asked Dad," I snorted. "He wouldn't tell me the truth." He sighed when a huge truck came in front of him. He halted the pressed the horn.

"Come on!" Luke shouted. The truck reluctantly moved out of Luke's way. He gave the driver a look then continued driving straight.

"How many more miles is it?" he asked. "Five miles," I answered. He breathed in relief. "Good," he said. "Turn right," I instructed. Luke swerved the car to the direction then parked next to the red car.

We hopped out of the car then raced into the hospital. The lobby has only three people sitting in the blue chairs. In front of them was a table covered in magazines and an old television set.

The receptionist was sitting behind the desk, listening to seventies disco on the radio. The entire room was the color of  white.

It looked like a mental institution. Luke and I walked up to the receptionist then gave her a smile. "Excuse me ma'am," I said politely. "Do you know where Stacy Cherry is?"

The receptionist chewed her gum slowly then pointed to the direction. "Her room number is 13, straight down." she replied. "Thank you," Luke beamed.

"Whatever," she responded. We headed straight down the corridor, running until we saw the number 13 on the door. As soon as we opened it, we saw Stacy in her hospital bed, breathing in a tube.

Her eyes were closed. "Hey Stacy," I said softly. "It's me, Cole." She didn't respond. I crept up to Stacy and looked at her ghastly face.

Her brown hair was still wet from the bathtub, her forehead was dotted in sweat, and wore a white hospital gown. She looks terrible.

"I heard the news," I continued. "I am really sorry that my dad did that." Still, no response from her. I touched her pale arm
and shuddered. It was covered in red slashes.

"Sorry for disturbing you," I said. I slipped my hand off of Stacy's arm. Just then, she grabbed my hand then yanked it very hard. Luke raced over and tried to release Stacy's hand.

But it was no use. "Let me go," I whispered. "Please Stacy." Her right hand jolted as if it was shocked by lighting and removed the breathing tube from her mouth.