The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.
★

Long after the police had left his childhood home, Archer remained behind, roaming the aureate halls of the house. He was looking for Abigail or, at least, a clue that would help him find out where Abigail was. He did not believe what the butler had said about Abigail staying at a friend's house because his mom had no friends —at least not the kind that would let her spend the night. Abigail had ostracized herself from her friends. She spent most of her day at home or at some charity. There were only a few times when she was called to the wine company for an important board meeting. She never socialized; she was what some would call a certified introvert. So where had she gone?

Archer searched the entire house, literally tearing rooms apart and found nothing —no Abigail and no clue of her whereabouts. Now, he leaned against the wall in his mother's room, dreading what he would find if he searched through his mother's more intimate things.

Instead he stared out at Hyde Park. From the window in his mother's room, he could see the beautiful green rolling hills that made Hyde park so damn expensive. The view would be breathtaking if he was the kind of person to be excited about such things. He imagined the residents of this glitzy neighborhood living their lives with pomp and splendor, so carefree, so oblivious to the crimes going on in this very house.

Archer turned and faced his mother's room, his eyes, immediately, falling on the clothes that lay disorganized on her even more disorganized bed. He picked up the clothes and a scent wafted off of them. It was a mixture of sweat, perfume and something else —something distinctly masculine. He stilled, the clothes falling soundlessly on the bed.

The live-in janitor —a stick thin man called Hank or was it Henry? It didn't really matter because both those names were more suited for a mechanic than a janitor— walked into the room. He stopped on seeing Archer in the room, placing his cleaning supplies by the door.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were still here. I just came in to clean. I can come back later."

"Wait a minute. Which friend is my mom going to be staying with?" Archer said while picking lint from his shirt.

The janitor blinked twice. "Pardon?"

"Downstairs, you told the police that my mother is staying at a friend's house. Do you happen to know which friend she is staying with?"

The janitor's eyes darted around anxiously. He was so obviously nervous that Archer felt pity for him. "Like I said downstairs. She didn't tell me where exactly she was going. All she told me was that she would be staying at a friend's place for a few days."

Archer arched a brow. "Is that so? Alright then." He paused. "Is it okay if I help you clean?"

The janitor's eyes widened and Archer felt a brief stab of annoyance. Hank or Henry or whatever the fuck his name was probably thought that he was one of those rich snobs who didn't know how to do any housework.

"You don't have to do that. I can manage." The janitor said, picking up his equipment.

Archer was so persistent that he picked up the mop. "Please. I insist. I want to help." He said, waving the mop in his hands.

The janitor shrugged, completely oblivious to Archer's plan. Archer was using cleaning as an excuse to get close to the janitor. Archer wanted — no needed— to smell him; he had a hunch. And when he did so, all his suspicions were confirmed. Now all he needed to do was confront the janitor with the truth and see if he cracked under pressure.

"You are sleeping with my mother, aren't you?" Archer said, placing the mop against the wall.

The janitor blinked many times —a sure sign of his anxiety. "Pardon?"

Archer didn't back down. If anything, he got even closer to the butler. "Are you doing the bing bong with my mother?"

The janitor's face turned an ugly red color. He was ashamed. He began to fumble with his tools. When Archer showed no sign of dropping the topic, he sighed. "Our relationship is not limited to the bing bong as you call it. Your mother and I are in love."

Archer couldn't help himself. He laughed so hard that tears escaped his eyes. "Oh wow. You really crack me up. You are delusional. You really think that a woman who doesn't love her own children would love a man like you. No offense. But you're poles apart and not in the cute and romantic way."

"You just don't understand." The butler stubbornly said.

Archer pocketed. "Oh really. So you think that you understand my mother so well just because you know her inside and out. You know what? I am in no mood to argue with you. Please pack your bags and leave."

The janitor threw the bucket on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly belligerent. "I am sorry but I don't answer to you. So you can't fire me."

Archer was so close to pummeling the butler. He started grinding his teeth. "You have got five minutes until I am an entirely different person."

The janitor scurried off, leaving his cleaning equipment behind. Archer ran his hands through his hair multiple times, almost pulling it off in the process. He waited until he had the front door slam closed before he went downstairs; he couldn't trust himself to be in the same room as the butler and not kill him. What a delusional idiot, Archer thought.

Archer plopped down on the white sofa in the living room —the same one he was never allowed to sit on when he was younger. He felt like a little child venturing into the unknown. Archer waited to feel something like satisfaction or happiness or even triumph but he didn't feel anything. Mostly he just felt empty —empty just like this house, so devoid of life, of color despite the extravagant decorations. Archer remembered a time when he and his sister had painted their parents' room a color besides white and black. It was meant to be a surprise for their tenth anniversary. They had even drawn little flowers and stars around the bed. His mother had taken one look at the room and slapped him hard across the face. That had been the first and only time his mother had ever hit him. His dad on the other hand....

On a whim, Archer turned on the Television. He scrolled through the channels, not finding anything worthwhile to watch. He sighed and settled for watching the news. No harm in getting acquainted with current affairs. He watched as the old sharply dressed reporter gave yet another fruitless update on the forest fire. Archer was about to dose off when the headline changed. It was a story on a kidnapping. He sat upright in his seat, his body going rigid; such cases never went well with him because of Emilia.

The reporter was in a basement parking lot that was filled to capacity with police officers and EMTs. The reporter tapped her mic twice, tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear and began reporting.

"I'm currently in the basement parking lot of Shack's Bar and Grill where there have been reports of a possible kidnapping that has left one woman injured. Our efforts to have the police comment on the matter proved futile. It remains to be seen whether this kidnapping is related to that of twenty year old Harleigh Amari. We shall continue to update you as the information trickles in. This is Agatha Agillard reporting for Fox news."

The hairs on the back of Archer's neck rose. His phone pinged thrice in his pocket. They were text messages from Benjamin. He read the texts, his heart sinking with every word he read.

★★★

The drive to Shack's Bar and Grill was mostly a blur. All Archer could remember was running three red lights and crying while he drove at break neck speed. It was a miracle that he was still alive to tell the tale.

Shack's Bar and Grill was littered with bystanders, gossips, media personnel, police officers and EMTs. It looked more crowded than in the news. Archer tried to fight his way in but was met with a lot of resistance from the crowd blocking the entrance way. He gave up and resorted to finding a police officer that would help him get in. Luckily, a female police officer managed to get him in.

Archer entered and was immediately pulled away by Benjamin.

"Hey, I need to tell you something." Benjamin said.

Archer was so done with the suspense. "What?" Archer said, his tone sharp and his facial expression hostile.

"It's not clear yet. But I think Rosalia worked with Matthias to set Emilia up. Something must have gone wrong, though because Rosalia was shot. She was probably betrayed." Benjamin said in a conciliatory manner.

Archer started to object but then he stopped. He remembered what Rosalia had said when she'd come to his house after finding out about the divorce. She'd said  she would destroy Emilia and her entire family. Could she really stoop as low as working with a killer to kidnap the woman he loved? Was she that cold? Archer watched as an EMT wheeled an injured Rosalia away on a stretcher. Was she fucking smiling at him after all she'd done? Fucking bitch!

Archer lost it. He was strangling Rosalia before he even realized that he had moved.

"You fucking traitor. How could you do this to me? Where did you fucking take Emilia? I will make sure you rot in jail. If Emilia dies, I will kill you with my own hands. And that's a promise I plan to keep." Archer shouted, spit flying from his mouth. The look on his face was that of a man who was desperate. Benjamin was immediately on him, pulling him away from Rosalia.

Benjamin shook him violently. "Calm the fuck down boy. It won't help if you kill her. It will just make things worse."

Rosalia sat up and coughed until she was wheezing. She leaned close to where Archer was standing and spat blood on him. And then she cackled. She really cackled. Archer would have strangled her again if the EMTs had not quickly bundled her into the ambulance.

Archer sat on the floor. He had never felt so helpless in his life. His fiancee was in danger and he couldn't do anything about it. Matthias was going to kill her. Archer tried to think of a way out but he couldn't focus; his mind was in a haze.

Benjamin brought Archer a bottle of water which he gulped down so quickly that he gagged. Archer needed to break something, then curl into a ball and cry. He started rocking himself on the floor, only stopping when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It was a message from an unknown number that simply read, Hey bro!

Matthias

Archer nearly laughed. Did Matthias really expect a cordial reply after everything he'd done? Was Archer supposed to text back a hey or, perhaps, a hi. Maybe he expected something corny and childish like wassup or maybe Yo bro!

He started to text back when a second message came in from the same number.

You know where to be.

Pocketing his phone, Archer stood up. He thought for a moment and then he got it. He'd been so stupid. He checked for his car keys and took off towards his car, towards the forest, muttering a prayer as he got in.