~The Hunter~

The apartment door is locked which surprises me. Mrs. Anderson never seemed to remember to lock it before. But I can still get in because Belle gave me an extra set of keys. She said I was practically family and I spent so much time over I might as well have them.

Taking a shaky breath, I turn the key in the lock. The door creaks open to reveal a dark narrow hallway. The only light comes from the moon shining through an open window that has given the place a chilly draft.

I pull my jacket closer to me and gaze at the photos on the walls. My favorite one is a collection of pictures including Belle and I. It was taken last year at a street carnival. We were in a photobooth that took a bunch of silly photos with one big photo of us in the center. Both of us made half of a heart with our hands and we put them together. Everyone assumed we were a couple. I use to like to think they weren't far off but Belle shut the idea down every time by swiftly avoiding the conversation.

Is our friendship only a memory? Will I ever see her again?

Tears roll down my cheeks and I let them. I've never let myself full out cry since Bella left. I kept trying to be strong but I can't be anymore. I just can't.

I stare at the empty dining table where no family meals were held. It was hardly ever used. Only for me and Belle to do homework or that one time we actually tried to cook together and almost burned the building down. I let my finger brush its rim and a layer of dust comes off.

It's been too long.

I continue into Belle's bedroom. It's a little cramped and cozy room. There's a shelf in the corner spilling with books and a purple bean bag seats where she would read. Then her bed which was made and perfectly neat like it always is. The room smells like that new book smell. It smells like her.

I lean against the wall and take it all in for a minute and try to feel what I'm feeling.

Anger.

That's what I feel. Sizzling, hot anger that wants to explode right out of me. But it's trapped in me with no one to direct it towards. No way to channel it. It's like a loud thunderstorm or raging sea.

My eyes land on a broken frame hidden under Belle's bed. It looks very out of place in the neat bedroom. I pull it into my lap and realize it's a picture of Belle's mother when she was healthy and sober. In other words, it was taken a long, long, time ago.

I know who I'm angry at now. Belle's mother is to blame for all of this. If she would have been brave for Belle, became an even more responsible mother when her husband died, Belle would have had a great life. She wouldn't have been kidnapped. She would be safe. She would have had the life she deserved. It's all her fault. I hate her.

And now she's over at rehab getting better so she has a better life. Rehab isn't going to bring Belle back. There are probably people there telling her it isn't her fault and she needs to live a happy life for Belle. No. She needs to know it was all her fault. She needs to feel all the guilt.

I take out my phone and dial the rehab place's number, my fingers shaking in anger.

"Center for Recovery, how may I help you?"

I don't try to make my voice sound kind or sweet. "Can I talk to Miss Amy Anderson? She's a patient."

"I'm sorry but here at Center for Recovery patients are free from outside contact-"

"I'm her family and it's an emergency. I only need 5 minutes," I plead feeling my patience slip.

I hear a sigh and then a few clicks. "Fine. You got five minutes." The line goes into a fit of beeps and ringing and then abruptly stops.

"Hello? Who is this?" Mrs.Anderson askes. Her voice sounds a little muffled through the phone.

"It's Grayson," I reply dryly.

"Oh. . . Well, how are you doing? Anything new with the search for Belle?" Her words are normal words. They don't hold any sort of drastic emotion but I want them to. I want her to be hurting like I am.

"No, nothing new with Belle. The police won't say it but they think she's dead. They're not gonna search for her forever. They are gonna give up looking and then that'll be it. We'll never see her again-"

"Stop!" She barks into the phone. "Don't say stuff like that. It's no good for anyone."

I bite my trembling lip to keep from crying. She should feel alone in her pain. "But it's the truth. She's probably dead and it's all your fault!"

She gasps and I can almost picture her hurt expression. I keep going, letting the fire inside me out at her. "You were the one that always held Belle back in life! Belle had to spend all her free time taking care of you! It should have been the other way around!"

"Grayson, please stop! Why are you saying these horrible things?!" she sobs through the line.

"And then what happened? Her mother had to go out and steal from a murderer that took her daughter away and did who knows what to her!" I know I should stop. I know that these words can pierce her and destroy her forever. But I just can't. I've gone too far to stop now.

"Go ahead. Picture all the horrible things that could have happened to her. All the pain and suffering she probably went through, is probably still going through," my words are shaky and I know soon I won't be able to hold back the sobs. Just saying the words is difficult. I don't want to believe the words. I don't want to believe Belle went through all that.

"And know that no matter what anyone tells you, it's all your fault," the words seem to echo off the walls of the abandoned apartment and I hang up immediately afterwards, horrified at myself. Horrified that I said them. Horrified that I mean them.

Body shaking with sobs, I curl up onto Belle's bed and let the rest of the anger out through tears. I never knew a person could feel so much hate.