Gone Missing, (Dead Dreams, Book 2) A Young Adult Psychological Thriller Mystery

Prologue

That I could be accused of murder hit me hard. I slipped the envelope Jim had handed me out of my backpack. If someone was out to gun me down, perhaps I needed to write something to clear my name. I placed the envelope on the steering wheel and jotted the incidents that had led to my sorry state.

To whoever who finds this, please take this to the police if I am found dead.

Here are some background facts:

A girl named Sarah McIntyre answered my Craig’s list advertisement to share my apartment two months ago. I didn’t know she had a trust fund or that she was to inherit millions soon after she was to move in. She was the one who approached me, asking to switch identities with me, as she was afraid her uncle, Stu, or brother, Todd, might kill her. She told me that switching identities would confuse them and buy her time until she could claim her inheritance.

I wouldn’t have believed her except that two days before she told me her plan, a burglar broke in. Sarah claimed it was one of her relatives and her cover was blown. If I didn’t help her, she might have to move away, but eventually, her enemies would catch up with her and kill her. She couldn’t go to the cops, as she was afraid this would jeopardize her claim to the inheritance. Her best option was to remain hidden for a short while, and this was possible only with my help—especially since Sarah trusted no one.

But now, here I am sitting in the car, with Sarah missing. I had nothing to do with the blood spattered walls in my bedroom, or with Sarah’s murder, if she was even killed.

Also, if I am found dead, please locate the private investigator who tried to help us. His name is Jim Salazar. He has a brother, Peter Salazar, whom I’d worked with at Stay Fit. Jim was the one who passed me this package on Jackson, Sarah’s ex-attorney. I believe Jim might have some proof to clear my name. But, he seems to have disappeared.

Brie O’Mara

P.S. Please tell my mom and dad I love them. And I’m sorry.

I slipped the envelope under the seat of the Jag.

Chapter 1

I peered out the Jaguar’s window. Four more hours to my scheduled flight to Mexico. I had to find a way to clear my name. Murder was a charge not to be taken lightly anywhere. If I missed the noon flight, a sure incarceration awaited me. Could I even survive life behind bars?

Seeing the coast was clear, I pulled out of the underground lot. Not a star twinkled in the sky. Was this the omen of what lay ahead for me? Life without a sparkle of hope? How had I gotten myself into this mess? Some teens were accused of lying, or being tardy, or of being irresponsible, all three of which I was never guilty. I was associated with murder.

I could kick myself a million times, but it wouldn’t erase what I’d done. In life, a tiny slip can have irreparable consequences. How I might have actually committed a crime worse than bank fraud was beyond me. Murder!

Stupidity and greed had blinded me.

It was almost five. The sky was lightening. If I didn’t get away, someone would spot me. My brother Keith might be rounding a corner to the apartment building where I lived. I’d thought about driving my Mini Cooper—hardly a typical getaway car—but had decided to take Sarah’s Jag instead. If there was going to be a police chase, I could at least do it in style. Besides, the four suitcases fit better in the Jag. I’d texted Keith, pretending I was Sarah, his partner in the scheme.

Unexpected turn of events—visitor, my message said. Can’t say much. Understand? Do NOT come over. Will let u know when ready.

Would my cryptic message convince Keith? Did I sound enough like Sarah? If he was in on the plot, he might fall for it. It might buy me an hour, maybe two.

I sped up Burgess Drive and headed toward the El Camino for the safe deposit box. I’d found the card key—of all places—in the glove compartment of the Jag. It was just like Sarah to dump valuables into a glove compartment. Convenient, I supposed. Her life was so full of deception she had to resort to shortcuts so as not to overload her system with things to keep track of.

A truck rumbled by and the driver hooted. My heart lurched. Was it the red truck?

I glanced at the driver, who glared at me. Perhaps I was driving too slowly for the time of morning, but the El Camino Real was a 35-mile-per-hour zone, and fear stopped me from going even a hairline over. I fingered the brass keys dangling heavy on my chain as I turned onto Waverly Lane.

Moments earlier, I’d opened Sarah’s suitcases and rifled through her belongings—items she’d deemed suitable to take on our escape mission. Surprisingly, she’d packed light. Going through Sarah’s things sent a shiver up my back but it also gave me an idea. I might find answers to my plight, answers to point me in the right direction.

I stopped by a side street and slipped into her blouse and shoes and re-did my makeup hurriedly in the car. The Jag’s rearview mirror wasn’t big, and the lighting was far from adequate for a makeover, but the practice at the bank was fresh in my memory.

Hands shaking, I glued on false eyelashes, something Sarah always had on during the day. I teased my bangs to resemble the style she wore. A quick glance might allow me to pass as Sarah—provided the security camera didn’t capture my image and incriminate me.

My gut tightened at the thought.

If I were to be stopped at reception, I’d be caught as the imposter trying to get her hands on more of Sarah’s fortune. This would give the law more basis to prosecute me, provide the cops with harder evidence, and maybe even convict me as a cold-blooded murderer.

Who’d believe that switching roles with Sarah wasn’t my idea? That when I’d interviewed her to be my roommate, committing a crime had never crossed my mind? Her supposed immense wealth hadn’t been my motivator to accept her into my life.

A photo stuck in Sarah’s wallet confirmed that it wasn’t fate that had brought us together. It was a scheme. My brother, Keith, and Sarah had set me up. The cops wouldn’t believe I was a victim, though. Who’d think that a straight-A student from Robinson High could fall prey to such a plot?

I could hardly believe it myself. Yet, here I was, driving like a mad duck to search for any crumb of evidence to clear my name, if that was possible.

As I drove, I groped for the phone inside my backpack, the Louis Vuitton Sarah had bought me that was similar to hers. Had Keith replied?

Three more minutes, and I should reach Home Storage. I’d Google-mapped Portland Avenue on my own Samsung phone.

Finally, I came to a small two-story building with Roman columns flanking the entry porch. By the looks of it, this was no ordinary storage facility. Security cameras would abound. I parked on the curbside and killed the engine.

The Burberry coat Sarah always wore when the winds picked up here in the San Francisco Bay Area sat in the back seat of the Jag. Dawn was as good a time as any to throw on an overcoat. It would make me look Sarah-like. Good thing she always tottered on high heels, too. I had on my flats, which meant I wouldn’t seem obviously taller than she was.

But, just as I was about to step out of the car I noticed that everything seemed dark inside the storage building. The facility was still closed. Another idiotic miscalculation!

But, an idea hit me.

The sky was lightening, but Portland Avenue was off the main thoroughfare in Atherton, secluded on a boulevard lined with giant oaks and hundred-year-old redwoods. Anyone approaching me would stand out like a sore thumb.

I grabbed my cell and punched Pete’s number. He might have his mobile off, since Stay Fit, where we’d once worked together, gave its staff a bad rap for personal calls during our shift, but I had to try.

Three rings, and the call went to Pete’s voicemail. I stared at the phone, willing it to communicate with him somehow. I needed a friend. My family was already burdened by my dad’s hospitalization. Please, Pete, answer.

I called again. Again, voicemail.

I started the engine, backed out of the lot, and headed toward Stay Fit, taking side roads just to avoid cops cruising at this early hour. I was only five minutes away.

Pete’s old station wagon his mom had given him sat on the street outside Stay Fit. I pulled up behind it. A couple of fitness fanatics marched up the pathway toward the entry. Pete would have been behind the reception counter, but when the front door swung open I couldn’t make out his familiar figure.

I sucked in a breath and got out of the Jag, glancing over my shoulder. Pete’s brother, Jim, a PI Sarah had hired, was the best ally I had against the evidence stacked against me. Evidence that might lead me to my execution—the lethal injection—in California. Unfortunately, Jim had disappeared a few days ago. Now, evidence that I’d committed murder and fraud that would break my parents’ hearts was piling up against me. I needed Peter to locate him.

Heart pounding, I kept my head down, and stepped forward. Just then a police cruiser slowed down as it went by. Quickly, I ducked and slipped back into the Jag’s front seat. I redialed Pete’s number, my eyes below the level of the steering wheel, peering out for more cop cars coasting.

The phone rang, and this time someone picked up.

Pete? I said before I heard his voice.

Brie? His voice was low, gravelly, as if he had a bad throat or had been crying. Where are you? I sensed the tension in his tone.

Is something wrong? I asked.

Hold on. Let me get to the locker. Someone’s muffled voice was in the background. A pang of homesickness hit me, even though I’d complained too many times that Stay Fit was a dead-end job and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Was Pete buying time to report me to the authorities that might already be searching me out? That couldn’t be. Pete was a friend, I reminded myself. Like I thought Sarah was? My mind raced, and my pulse jacked up to overdrive mode. I kept my gaze on the road in front.

After a few moments, Pete spoke. His voice was hushed now, as if he had his mouth close to the speaker. Do you realize what you’re up against?

When in doubt, always listen. My mother always said God gave us one mouth and two ears so we should talk less and listen more. Whad’ya mean?

"Jim. Someone’s threatened him. They said to stay away from you and Sarah unless he wants his son… killed. They want him to lie low till they say when. I’m not even supposed to talk to you. We’d better hang up. Trevor’s life’s at stake. I’m sorry."

Wait…. The line was already dead. It wasn’t like Peter to be scared. Was the phone bugged?

I stared at Stay Fit’s front doors. No one entered for some minutes, so I heaved in a deep breath, got out, and sprinted for the entry. If I could signal Pete to slip out he might be more willing to tell me more. I glanced at the street to check if anyone lurked about in a parked vehicle, perhaps taking down my every move. The coast seemed clear.

Before pushing the door open, I peered in through a small gap. Pete was handing a locker key to a male patron. Suddenly, someone from behind grabbed my arm. I sucked in a breath, swiveled around, and came face to face with Thao, my ex-manager.

Hey, change of heart? Coming back to work already? she said. I was even more surprised that she actually wore a friendly smile, as if she were hoping I’d say yes.

Good to see you, too. I gave her a quick hug.

From the corner of my eye I caught Pete coming toward us. Dark circles ran under his eyes, and his gaze flitted about.

Hey, Pete, Thao said. Come give Miss Stuck-up here a hug. She gestured with her chin at me. She has a new hairstyle, new coat, new look. Very nice. Struck lottery?

Peter came over and awkwardly wrapped one arm around my shoulder casually, but he whispered in my ear. You must get away. Hide somewhere. I don’t know where. He slipped a paper into my hand.

I nodded slightly, too overwhelmed by things spiraling out of my understanding. The crumpled note in my grasp felt like a reminder that I still had a friend in him.

I blinked rapidly to stop tears threatening to burst out.

I’ll catch up with you another time, I told Thao. It was awesome working here. I tried to sound businesslike, although my voice cracked, and the burning sensation behind my eyelids intensified.

You fine? Thao asked, and she gripped my arm in a concerned manner. It was funny how I’d never seen Thao as a person, a fellow human being with the potential for deep relationships, instead of just as an employer, a boss who evaluated my every skill. She could have been a friend—a better one than Sarah who had ulterior motives.

I’m well, thank you, I lied. I’ve got to go. I was in the neighborhood.

So nice of you to drop in. Don’t forget us, she said and she turned and breezed in through the double doors.

Pete stalked after her, in an obvious hurry to avoid my company. He never turned back to wave good bye. Who was he afraid of? And, what had he written in the note? I pulled Sarah’s Burberry collar up to hide my cheeks. The security camera behind me might have caught some of the action, but my back was to it. I could’ve very well passed for Sarah or a guest with a similar coat. Not Brie, the possible murderer.

Back in the Jag, I opted to drive off before reading the note. Better find a less conspicuous spot on one of the inner streets. If whoever had threatened Jim was after me, Stay Fit would be a place to start. That, and my parents’ home. My dad’s hospital was another red flag.

What if they hurt my family on account of me? I shuddered at the thought. They’d threatened Jim, enough for him to hide. Whoever they were, they had to be tied to Sarah’s disappearance.

My eyelids drooped with sleepiness, and my mind fogged up, but I slapped my cheeks a few times to keep alert. It was already six thirty, and I had to hurry to Home Storage, since my flight was at noon. Questions shot through my mind like poison darts. What would I find in Sarah’s storage shed?

Chapter 2

I pulled up behind a blue BMW parked a good five minute brisk walk from the Home Storage building. My fingers shook as I unfolded Pete’s crumpled note.

His writing was scrawled, and his letters leaned forward as if he’d written in a huff. He’d probably scribbled everything in that minute I was untangling myself from Thao.

B, Jim sounded scared when he called, and nothing much fazes him. I have Trevor living with me now. J said my phones might be bugged. He sent an image, and I looked it up. Looks like a hospital in Switzerland. I’m taking Trevor to my grandma’s this weekend. Call me Sunday from a payphone. 650-772-0992. I think her phone won’t be bugged. Take care. Trust no one. J warned. P.

I reread the message, studying every word. Was this information I should rejoice at, or did it show that my invisible enemies were always three steps ahead? Only one thing jumped out and made my heart miss two beats. Switzerland. How did Jim know? And, why was he there—assuming that was where he was or wanted me to go?

The morning after Sarah had laid down the switch identities plan and warned me not to contact anyone, I’d had a moment of weakness. I’d wanted so badly to know where Drew, my high-school boyfriend, was that I’d Facebooked a mutual high-school friend who’d said Drew was in Switzerland.

Did Jim know about Drew being there? Provided it was really Jim who’d spoken to Pete. What if Pete had been fooled? Some of the voice-altering technology could fool anyone. My mind reeled with possibilities.

Pete might know more than he was letting on—like why Jim had contacted Drew. It couldn’t be random coincidence Jim had gone there so soon after Drew had been admitted into the Berne Institute. Drew’s parents, desperate to find a cure for Drew’s paralysis, had dragged him there.

Sarah could be right about private information leaking out once it was set on Facebook. Someone keeping tabs must have read my posts asking about Drew. Should I go to Switzerland and locate Jim, who might be my only ally? Or was this a trap?

I resolved to call Pete when I reached England. For now, I had to scour Sarah’s storage to look for clues that would help me survive. I had too little to go on to make sense of the puzzle.

Before going into the building, I spent a few minutes reading my e-mails—mostly notifications from Facebook and tons of promotional banter from stores. Sarah’s warning rang in my ears. Toss your phone! You don’t want it acting as a beacon, signaling your whereabouts. But, I needed to check on things—like how to get to Switzerland. I used Firefox as my browser. Hopefully, it was more secure than the other ones.

I was becoming as paranoid as Sarah, my once-upon-a-time friend. Or, maybe she never had been. I absentmindedly brushed the back of my hands across my eyes. My lids weighed so heavily that if I closed them I’d doze off…something that might cost me my life.

My web search told me that Switzerland was nestled in a mountain range, five thousand feet above sea level. Berne had a population of just over 100,000, out of Switzerland’s fewer than eight million. The country’s density was made up of travelers from all over.

As a tourist, I could snoop about without arousing suspicion. There couldn’t be too many American teenagers with a broken back seeking treatment at the Institute in Berne.

I could seek Drew out. Maybe Jim had contacted him.

If Jim was trying to communicate with me, my pursuers might never think to link Drew to me. Maybe Drew could convince his parents to harbor me as a fugitive as we gathered evidence to clear my name. But, would Drew want to get caught up in my mess?

When a familiar red truck grumbled past me