CHAPTER 3 WHERE IS WENDY JACKSON?
1161 Words
The car ride was silent, save for the soft hum of the engine and the rain that thudded against the windshield. Wendy sat curled into the passenger seat, her arms wrapped around herself as though trying to keep from falling apart. Steve stole a glance at her, noting the way her chin trembled, the way she stared blankly through the window, as though the world had become a blur she no longer wanted to focus on.
When they arrived at the hotel, Steve helped her out of the car. She winced as her wounded leg scraped against the door. Steve didn’t speak, he simply slid an arm beneath hers and steadied her until they reached the room.
He placed her gently on the bed and reached for his phone.
“I’m calling someone. He’s a doctor. He’ll check your injury,” Steve said.
Wendy didn’t respond. She simply sat there, soaked and shivering, staring at the floor.
Steve stepped out onto the balcony and dialed quickly.
“Jace. I need you to come to Hilton Grand, suite 304. Now. There’s someone I need you to look at. She’s hurt.”
There was a short silence.
“You okay, Steve?” Jace asked, his voice full of concern.
“Just come,” Steve replied, ending the call without another word.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened and a man in his mid-thirties with dark glasses, a satchel, and a commanding presence walked in. Jace Henderson, top trauma surgeon, brilliant, charming, and blunt.
He took one look at Wendy and whistled softly under his breath.
“Rough night?” he asked Steve as he pulled out his gloves.
Steve didn’t answer.
Jace walked toward Wendy. “Hey. I’m Dr. Jace Morgan. I’m just going to take a quick look at your leg, okay?”
Wendy nodded faintly. Her voice was gone.
Jace crouched and gently rolled up her jeans to reveal the bruised, bloodied knee. “This should’ve been cleaned an hour ago. Lucky it’s not infected yet.”
He worked quickly, cleaning the wound, disinfecting it, and wrapping it with sterile gauze. Throughout the process, Wendy didn’t flinch, didn’t even make a sound.
“Done,” Jace said, tossing the used supplies into a trash bag. He straightened, giving Steve a long look. “She’s in shock. The physical injury’s minor, but her emotional state… Steve, whatever this is, it’s deep. She needs more than just a bandage.”
Steve nodded. “I know.”
“You want me to stay?” Jace asked, lowering his voice.
Steve shook his head. “No. Thanks, Jace.”
Jace hesitated. “Keep an eye on her.”
“I will,” Steve replied.
After Jace left, Steve walked over to the bed where Wendy now lay curled into the duvet, eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion and emotional fatigue.
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said softly. “You and I need to talk.”
Wendy didn’t respond, but he saw the faintest nod beneath the covers.
With that, Steve turned and left.
The next morning, the office was unusually quiet. Wendy’s seat remained conspicuously empty.
CEO Reginald glanced at it more than once. Finally, he looked at Clara, who is Wendy’s best friend.
“Where is Wendy Jackson?” he asked. “She didn’t ask for the day off or call in sick.”
Clara looked up, startled. “I—I don’t know, sir. She didn’t say anything to me.”
“She’s one of the sharpest in your department. Find out what’s going on.”
“Yes, sir,” Clara replied, already rising from her seat.
Wendy hadn’t replied to her texts. Clara had assumed she was just taking a personal day off, but now concern prickled her chest. Something wasn’t right.
She took a cab to the Jackson residence.
Clara stood in front of the large white-brick house, her chest tightening as she rang the bell. It took a moment before the door swung open.
Mr. Jackson stood there. His hair was slicked back, his shirt perfectly pressed, but his eyes… his eyes were sunken.
“Clara,” he said, trying to summon a tired smile. “It’s been a while.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jackson,” Clara said, her voice uncertain. “I came to see Wendy. She didn’t come to work, and I was worried.”
The older man looked away for a second, jaw tight. Then he stepped aside.
“You’d better come in.”
Clara entered slowly. The house was quieter than she’d ever known it, no scent of fresh tea, no classical music from the hallway speakers. Something was missing.
They sat in the parlor, and Mr. Jackson leaned forward, rubbing his temples.
“Nana passed away,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Yesterday Afternoon .”
Clara gasped. “Oh no. I’m so sorry, sir… I had no idea.”
Mr. Jackson sighed. “Wendy saw her before it happened. She… she couldn’t handle it.”
“She didn’t call anyone? Not even me?”
“She was hysterical,” he said, shaking his head. “Tried to blame herself for everything. She stormed out of the house that afternoon and hasn’t returned. I’ve called and texted, nothing.”
Clara bit her lip. “Where would she go?”
“I wish I knew,” Mr. Jackson said, sorrow etched in his expression. “Wendy is fragile. She’s always been sensitive. I just want her back safe.”
There was a heavy pause. Then he leaned forward, gripping Clara’s hand tightly.
“If you see her—if she contacts you—please, Clara, call me. Immediately. I need to bring her home. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I will,” Clara promised, her voice quiet.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Clara stood.
“I’ll do everything I can to find her and I’ll contact you when I see her.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Jackson said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Outside, Clara clutched her phone, trying Wendy’s number again.
Still no answer.
Something didn’t sit right. Wendy had never been the type to just vanish without a word. And Nana… she was strong, healthy the last time Clara saw her.
Why hadn’t Wendy told her anything?
Why had she blamed herself?
Clara stood on the porch, her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing with a creeping suspicion.
As she turned to leave, a curtain in the upstairs window fluttered, and Clara swore she saw a shadow move—just for a second.
Her heart pounded as she backed away, hurrying to her cab.
Back in the house, Mr. Jackson stood behind the curtain, his eyes locked on Clara’s retreating figure.
His face, previously sorrowful, now held something darker… something calculated.
He reached for his phone and dialed a number.
“Keep an eye on her. Wendy should contact her soon.” he said coldly.
- Writer
