He doesn’t respond to my request. We’re at the end of the road now, and I can see the roll of his throat as he swallows, trying to decide whether to turn left or right.

“Please,” I ask him. “I just need until tomorrow.”

He releases a pent-up breath and then turns right—the opposite direction from our homes. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”

“More like a million,” he mutters.

I look in the back seat at Charlie, and she’s staring at me, obviously terrified by what she’s hearing.

“What do you mean this will happen again tomorrow?” she asks, her voice trembling.

I crawl into the back seat with her and pull her to me. She melts against my chest, and I can feel her heart racing against mine. “I’ll explain everything at the hotel.”

She nods, and then, “Did he call you Silas? Is that your name?”

Her voice is raspy, like she’s screamed herself hoarse. I don’t even want to think about what she’s been through since yesterday.

“Yeah,” I tell her, rubbing my hand up and down her arm. “Silas Nash.”

“Silas,” she says softly. “I’ve been wondering what your name was since yesterday.”

I immediately stiffen and look down at her. “What do you mean you’ve been wondering? How do you remember me?”

“I dreamt about you.”

She dreamt about me.

I pull my short list of notes from my pocket and ask Landon for a pen. He pulls one out of his console and hands it to me. I make a note about the dreams and how Charlie knew me without having memory of me. I also note that my own dream about her felt more like a memory. Could our dreams be clues to our past?

Charlie watches me as I write down everything that has transpired in the last hour. She never questions me, though. I fold the paper up and slide it back into my pocket.

“So what’s the deal with us?” she asks. “Are we like…in love and shit?”

I laugh out loud for the first time since yesterday morning. “Yeah,” I say, still laughing. “Apparently I’ve been in love and shit with you for eighteen years now.”

I told Landon to come to our hotel room at eleven thirty tomorrow morning. If this happens again, we’ll need time to adjust and read the notes to get acclimated to our situation. He was hesitant, but he finally agreed. He said he would tell Dad he’s been out looking for us all day with no luck.

I feel bad for making people worry until tomorrow, but I’m not about to put myself in a situation where I let her out of my sight again. Hell, I wouldn’t even let her shut the door when she said she wanted to take a shower. A warm shower, she clarified.

When we got to the hotel, I told her everything I knew. Which, once I laid it all out, didn’t seem like much.

She told me what had happened to her since yesterday morning. I’m relieved it was nothing too serious, but disturbed that they were holding her in the basement. Why would The Shrimp and her mother be keeping Charlie against her will? The woman was obviously trying to mislead me yesterday when she told said, “The answers to your questions lie with someone who is very close to you.”

Yeah, I’d say. The person with answers was very close to me. A mere two feet away.

I feel like this information is one of the best leads we’ve gotten in the past week, but I have no idea why they were holding her captive. That’s the first thing I want us to figure out tomorrow. Which is why I’m ensuring our notes are detailed and precise, so we can get an even better head start.

I’ve already made a note for Charlie to go to the police station and ask for all her belongings to be returned to her. They can’t keep them now that she’s no longer missing, and we desperately need those letters and journals. The key to everything could be written in there somewhere, and until it’s all back in our possession, we’re completely stuck.

The bathroom door opens wider, and I hear her walking toward the bed. I’m sitting at the desk, still writing notes. I glance up at her as she sits on the mattress, her feet dangling off the edge of the bed as she watches me.

I expected after her ordeal that she’d be more shaken up, but she’s tough. She listened intently when I explained everything I knew, and she never once doubted me. She even threw out a few theories herself.

“Knowing me, I’ll probably try to run tomorrow if I wake up in a hotel room with a guy I’ve never met,” she says. “I should probably write myself a note and stick it over the door handle, telling myself to wait until at least noon before I hightail it out of here.”

See? Tough and smart.

I hand her a piece of paper and a pen, and she writes herself a note and then walks it to the hotel room door.

“We should try to get some sleep,” I tell her. “If this does happen again, we need to be well rested.”

She nods in agreement and climbs onto the bed. I didn’t even bother asking for two beds. I don’t know why. Not that I have any ideas about how the night’s going to play out. I think I’m just extremely protective of her. The thought of not knowing she’s right next to me makes me too uncomfortable, even if it would have been a different bed just two feet away.

I set the alarm for ten thirty in the morning. That’ll give us time to wake up and prepare, while hopefully giving us a good six hours of sleep. I turn out the lights and crawl into bed beside her.

She’s on her side and I’m on mine, and I’m doing everything I can to not scoot over and spoon her, or at least put my arm around her. I don’t want to freak her out, though, but it also somehow feels natural for me to do those things.