Chapter 72 CHAPTER 074
I love her. God. I am in love with her. She had told me she loved me one time after a session of passionate love making and I cowardly avoided the topic. Till now. Till this. And now I don't know if I am ever going to see her again.
I glare at the sunlight forcing itself into the den, splashing across my face, the alcohol has numbed me to a stupor where nothing matters but Amelia. My head hurts with a terrible migraine and everything makes me sngry.
I am painfully aware of the fact that the more hours that passed, the more danger she might be in. The more volatile the situation becomes. And it is all my fault. I don't know if I will ever forgive myself if anything happens to Amelia.
Hernandez walks into the den from somewhere beyond my limited line of sight and I eye him angrily. It is good that he is a top professional, else I don't know how he put up with my violent outbursts. I would be embarrassed if I wasn't too drunk.
"Mr. Dmitri. Good morning." He says, taking his seat on the chair next to me. Though he pulls it some distance away from me.
I peer at him, my drunk foggy brain debating on which response is best suited to him. I come up with nothing so I just turn back to my glass.
"I have got the full background details on Tyler." He says. I look at him sourly. He is not saying what I want to hear yet. I want to hear that his men have a fucking solid lead as to where Amelia is right now. I don't give a fuck about anything else.
"Full name is Tyler Smith. Grew up in Brooklyn, with a single mother, Sheryl Smith, who still lives in the apartment complex he grew up in down in Brooklyn..." Hernandez pauses in his monologue when he sees me watching him with some interest.
I don't know why but the name strikes me immediately. It draws me from my stupor and my mind whirs frantically to remember why it is so familiar. Sheryl. Sheryl Smith.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck. It definitely can't be. It can't be the same Sheryl. I chug down a mouthful of the bitter whiskey, the burn shoots straight to my brain and I turn bloodshot eyes to Hernandez who has been watching me quietly.
"Sheryl Smith? What else you got about her and her son?" I ask, my words slurred and slow. Heavy with tiredness and yet determined. My head is swimming, I really should let go of the alcohol but it is the only thing keeping me from totally losing my mind.
"She and Tyler don't talk much. Basically cut off. They had a supposedly huge fight about something and stayed apart the summer before he went to college. He has not returned since. I gathered this through careful questioning of their neighbours. The father has never been in the picture. Sheryl is very private about him. It goes that Tyler doesn't know who his father is. Maybe this was the reason for their drifting apart. I can't tell but it is obviously played a huge role in how he turned out and ended up here. Mr. Dmitri...Mr. Dmitri... Linc, are you okay Sir?" Hernandez places a tentative hand on my shoulder and I jolt awake. I had been so lost in my thoughts, not particularly clear ones, that I zoned out of Hernandez's monologue.
"What?" I ask fuzzily. That is it. I drop the glass in my hand and push the almost empty bottle of whiskey away. It would be my third one in twenty four hours. Not good. That probably undoes all my years of conscious healthiness. But I will worry about that later.
"You suddenly went pale, Sir. Do you happen to know these people? Sheryl Smith?" Hernandez asks, I look at him like I don't understand a word of English he is saying. Now I regret the marathon drinking. I need to be alert and I am fucked up.
"Sheryl." I reply dumbly. Fuck. Do I know Sheryl? Of course I do! But I can't begin to explain all that history in my current state. Just one thing is important.
"Look, I am going to have to sleep this fucking whiskey off but I need you to do one thing before I wake up. Get Sheryl here immediately. Take my private jet. Reach Charlotte, she will direct you on my orders.
I don't care how it is going to happen but you are going to make it happen. I am going to sleep by this damn phone in case that bastard calls." I say, taking the phone and getting off the chair, I stagger a bit, fuck, why did I drink this much? I sway till I reach the couch.
I don't know if Hernandez understood me or even said anything in reply, immediately my body laid on the couch, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
I squint awake to Hernandez looming over me, calling my name in that firm professional voice of his. I open my eyes fully and I feel like a thunderbolt went off inside my head, I squint hard, but the intensity of the migraine doesn't recede.
I open my eyes again, I have to work through this. There was a point in my life where I used to write exams whilst being fully drunk or hungover or high out of my senses and managed to pass. This is nothing.
"What time is it?" My voice sounds foreign to my ears. Heavy and unfamiliar. My mouth has a bitter taste and I feel like even worse shit than when I fell asleep. The hangover is splitting my head and I feel like I could actually disintegrate into the migraine. Allow it consume me.