Days passed, and the police had been as helpful as a newborn changing their own diaper. Cassandra's room remained closed, but it felt like an energy was drawing me there. Occasionally, I found myself standing in front of the door, but I didn't have the courage to open it. Despite my recent suspicions about Cassandra, overall, she had been a very loyal and honest friend. I didn't want to break that trust by entering her room.
But she was missing, right? What did they expect me to do? I couldn't just sit and wait for the police. What if there was a note from the kidnapper in Cassandra's room, threatening her since last month?
I remembered the conversation of my kidnappers, "bigbig wants the blonde."
"Elizabeth." Marina opened the door to my apartment at the same moment I grabbed the doorknob of the room.
I froze, and we stood there, looking at each other.
"Let's do this," Marina finally broke the ice.
I let go of the doorknob and waited for her to approach.
"I'm surprised the police haven't done this yet," I commented.
"Well, it was a snatch-and-grab kidnapping; they don't expect to find clues in the room..."
"Unless it wasn't a random abduction," I interjected.
"Yes, they're dismissing that idea. For some reason, they think it wasn't personal."
Marina and I looked at the closed door. After all, who was Cassandra? I think we were about to find out.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
"Elizabeth, don't call back this number, I need your help. Don't tell the police, don't trust anyone for God's sake."
My eyes widened reading the message. It could only be Cassandra. My heart raced; could I trust Cassandra? Should I tell Marina? Of course, Marina was my best friend. And even if I decided not to tell her, she had already taken my phone from my hand, and now her eyes were also wide.
The phone buzzed again.
"This is my uncle's address; I'm transferring all my money from my account in Brazil to help you get there. My uncle Pierre will help you. You're not safe there, Elizabeth, I swear."
The address was none other than in France.
"No, Elizabeth. Why the hell didn't she just send the message directly to her uncle?" Marina cut off my thoughts before I had a chance to think, she was scared, and so was I.
As excited as I was like never before, I had to hand over those messages to the police. It wasn't safe; I didn't trust Cassandra, and I would never go to France.
"What if we're her only salvation?" I argued nonetheless.
"Who are we? Seriously, Elizabeth. We can't do this."
We spent hours sitting on the couch staring into space. I didn't know what to do. Marina was sure we should go to the police, and I was 99 percent sure, but that 1 percent...
"Girls?" Heitor opened the door. Did anyone knock before entering anymore?
Marina sighed with relief when she saw him.
"At least we know she's alive," Heitor commented, sitting on the couch.
"Marina," I scolded her. I couldn't believe she told Heitor. The message was pretty clear about not trusting anyone.
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I got nervous."
Marina's eyes were filled with tears; I didn't know if it was fair to be angry with her, she had always been a bit of a gossip, but it didn't seem malicious. She just trusted people and ended up blurting things out.
I took a deep breath.
"It's okay; this information can't leave this room to anyone else, okay?"
Heitor and Marina nodded.
"At least for now, we need to think," I concluded.
My phone buzzed with the notification of the bank transfer made by Cassie. It was a lot of money.
"Elizabeth..." Heitor began carefully. "Do you know how suspicious this looks? The girl is kidnapped, and all her money automatically goes to you?"
"It seems more like they're trying to incriminate me," I agreed.
"I have Guimarães's number, the investigator who came to your house. He gave me this card; it might be better..."
I took the card from his hand. My intuition told me that Cassandra sent those messages, but it also told me that the woman who used a lot of ketchup on her chicken croquette was a vampire, so she was a bit unreliable.
"Okay."
We sat for a while longer without saying anything. My head was spinning; I felt like I was failing by doing one of the first things my friend asked me not to do. I typed one of the numbers from the card and dialed.
"Guimarães?" I asked when someone answered on the other end.
There was a moment of hesitation, but then a response came.
"Yes, it's him."
"It's Elizabeth Prado. I think I received a message from Cassandra."
Another silence.
"Are you sure?"
"Well, she transferred money to me and told me not to call back the number she sent the message from, and... Look, wouldn't it be better if you came in person?"
"Oh, you can be sure I'll be there," he sounded nervous for some reason.
"Okay, I...," the call ended.
The days stretched on, and I felt like a puppet in a play I didn't audition for. The police had made no headway in finding Cassandra, and my mind was in a constant state of turmoil. Marina and Heitor had been by my side, offering what comfort they could, but the weight of uncertainty pressed down on us all.