CH 18: Missing

Louisiana, 1927

As he continued to listen to the story unfold before him, the radio host's mind was rapidly switching stations, trying to figure out who could potentially be of use in this situation. The problem was that the Lucianos mostly kept to themselves in the city, Esme being the old one raising attention with her performances and associations with him. There weren't too many secret locations in this town that he could consider Margo running off to. Each time he spoke to the girl, she appeared to be very honest, then again he didn't know her that well, "Are you certain that she isn't just hanging around the French Quarter somewhere?"

Esme shakes her head in disagreement, "She's not a social person, Alastor. She would've never gone anywhere without telling me!" She paces the office, tormenting herself with her own racing thoughts. How could she be so careless to take her eyes off of her one responsibility? For what? For her own enjoyment? For her own fantasy? She finally sits down on a small sofa, her face in her hands and sobbing uncontrollably.

Alastor hated seeing her like this. She was weak, helpless, and broken. There was nothing he could do to assure her that Margo would be okay, and he knew deep down that this wasn't good. He knew that her going on this date wasn't a good idea, although he had no idea at the time why he felt so strongly about it. Call in intuition. Alastor sits down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Take deep breaths. What about the boy she went out with?"

With an audible sigh, her eyes narrowed as she looks up from her palms, "He said some man came up to her and took her away. She left with him willingly." She stands up and throws her arms into the air before they slam down on the outside of her thighs, "It has to be someone connected to my father, he said he was a friend..." She picks at her fingernails, edging some cuticle off her skin.

"Do you think it's time to call your hi-"

"NO!" Esme exclaims, "Absolutely not! He'll send for me to bring me home and I won't have any say in it. It will be a whole mess, an absolute shitshow, and this whole town will go up in flames" She says, beginning to pace the room once more. If she was attempting to deter him from this possibility, she wasn't doing a very good job. This sounded just splendid! A whole dinner and a show full of rabid gangsters picking the streets clean and splashing blood on the walls in warming signs. He was missing the red stop signs, "I'm going to find whoever did anything to her and when I do..." She walks up to his desk, her back turned to him, with her hands tightly gripping the desk, "I'm going to gut him like a fish." This tone is nothing he has heard from her before. It was dark, calculating, something he would imagine out of a wolf in sheep's clothing. 

Oh, but she was no lamb. 

Alastor chuckles, "That sounds fun." He says, standing up, "But for now, it may be wise to hold in that...rage..of yours." He says, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It will blind you, and you will get sloppy. Think with a clear head..." He says, tapping her temple softly, "and you'll get much further." He smirks, "But maybe it's time that you stay with me. Until we figure out what's going on, I need to ensure your safety."

As much as she hated to admit it, it did make perfect sense to her. She couldn't possibly stay in a house that Margo was taken away from, knowing that there was somebody out there that had it out for her family. After all, Esme couldn't save her sister if she herself were put in harm's way. She knew Alastor was perfectly capable of keeping her safe. He had done it already once, he wouldn't hesitate to do it again, "Alright, I guess that sounds better than being alone." She nods in agreement, "I just need to pick up my belongings. But..." she pauses, "What if Margo comes back?"

"I'll check everyday, Cher." He reassures, holding her hand tightly and swiping the top with his thumb, "I'll check for any signs of her." Although, he knew he wouldn't find any, he knew she was most likely gone by now. There was no way he was going to tell her that so soon, especially after seeing how she was beginning to fall apart. The logical sense of his brain, aside from his sheer insanity, knew that the type of people Esme was involved with didn't play nice. This situation was past the point of negotiations, past the point of settling a deal and shaking hands. To stoop so low to snatch someone so innocent, meant that whoever this was had little to no empathy. He had to handle this the way he would look at his own pastimes. 

"And your safety?" Esme questions, "Isn't that dangerous?"

Alastor laughs quickly at her words, hunching over, his hair draping over his face. He stands up, sighing and catching his breath as he moves his hair out of the way, "You don't need to worry about my safety, I assure you."

He was fast to dismiss himself from work, telling his secretary that he has an urgent matter to attend to and will be back to the office the following morning. The two walk back to Esme's house. They don't say much, Esme still very much lost in her thoughts. How could she do this to Margo? She could have, should have, been smarter. Why did she ever leave her alone in a city she was still adapting to? She's failed her. She was gone the night she needed her the most, all to be with him. Was it all worth it? Will it ever be worth it? She would kill to get a second chance at this. To hold her sister in her arms and tell her how much she meant to her. How she would protect her at all costs. How she would kill and burn cities for her. 

She was there when she learned to walk for the first time, catching her before she fell on the kitchen floor. Every first that Margo shared with the world, Esme was right beside her. She was only eleven when her mother brought the babe home for the first time, but on that night she became all that mattered. Throughout her teen years, Margo was her little shadow, constantly glued to her hip. Even when her father took her away to start work, she always came home and made sure that her little sister stayed sheltered and protected against the wickedness of their lifestyle. 

Now, where was she? Was she somewhere cold, scared, and alone. Was she in pain for torment or just the gnawing ache of being denied food and drink? Who was the first person she called out for when she realized she was in danger? She prayed it wasn't her...

As the two approach the house, Alastor's voice breaks the silence.

"Darling...did you leave the door open?" He asks, his arm coming out to the side and stopping her from walking any further.

Her eyes look up to the stairs and she can see their front door slightly ajar. She hadn't locked it, but she could distinctively remember closing it fully. It was a quiet town and it was fairly common for families to leave their doors unlocked, but that was open and lightly blowing in the wind, "N-No I didn't..." Esme's breathing becomes erratic, thinking possibly Margret had returned. Yes, she had to be! She would be inside fixing herself up some tea or some lunch! This was all some ridiculous misunderstanding! She goes to charge for the stairs, but Alastor pulls her back by her waist before her foot can make contact with the step. 

"What did I say? Remember..." He taps the side of her head. "Stay here." He says sternly, turning to her one last time before heading inside, "You stay right here, do you understand me? Do not move an inch." He turns and heads inside the house, his hand tucked inside his jacket and resting on the smooth handle of a pocketknife.

Once he enters, he can see that the house is completely ransacked. The pictures off the walls shattered on the floor, vases broken, the curtains torn. Whoever did this was definitely sending a message to the family. There's a small piece of paper on the floor. He picks it up.

If you want to know what happened to your sister, meet me in the park at 4 tomorrow morning.

Of course he would want to play a useless cat and mouse game. This prick is toying with her, keeping her on a hook and tempting her with the thought that her sister is alive. I am no simpleton, you and I both know she is far gone. You, my good man, have made an enemy where you don't want one. Alastor's eyes squeezed shut as he read the words, crunching the paper in his hand in pure frustration. She was not safe here, she was never safe there! He doesn't bother going upstairs, getting the message loud and clear. Instead, he turns around and exits the house, closing the door shut.

"Call the police." He orders nonchalantly as he comes down the stairs.

"What?! What's inside?!" She charges him, but he holds her back once more, calmly handing her the note. The breath is squeezed out of her lungs as she reads it, a sickening feeling settling in her stomach. So, she wasn't in there. The hunt was no where close to over, and now she has no choice but to play this sickos games.

Her confidant speaks in a hushed voice, only for her to hear. "Do not tell them you found this, just listen to me. When we get to my home, you will call the police to have them secure the house, then you and I will go to the park." He explains, walking in an oddly calm manner towards the street. "Come, Cher. We have much to do." 

If it was a game he wanted to play, this sap would surely lose.

Esme's eyes water at the note, crunching it between her hands and silently crying in frustration. She can only mutter small noises, whines and whatnot to prevent her from screaming and drawing attention to herself. She tucks the note in her chest and follows Alastor down the street. 

The walk is silent, the only noise coming from the nearby carriages and automobiles going up and down the streets. For someone who usually held her head up high to the sky, Esme's eyes remained downcast at her heels on the pavement. Over time, she linked her arm with Al's for comfort. His warmed accompanied by his unsettling statue provided her support in some twisted way. She knew by his voice and behavior that she made the right decision bringing this to his attention. At the end of the day, no matter how this came to a finale, she knew that he would ensure justice was served. Even though, deep in her heart, she secretly hoped that justice would be delivered by her own hands. 

It wasn't something she did often, and never for pleasure or kicks. Esme would only stoop to such levels if she felt the wellbeing of herself or her loved once was being put into jeopardy.  That night she had met Alastor, behind her collected persona, she knew it was either going to be her or that man on the floor - possibly even both. If she had to put a bullet through his head to assert her dominance and remain secure, than so be it. 

But this time...this time it was revenge. A deep seeded, rageful, bloodthirsty...revenge. 

🖤Words: 2014🖤

~Artemis🦌💗