Chapter 3

- N E W S P A P E R -

MISSING!

The famous and loved Blaire Hawthorn has suddenly gone missing. She was last seen at the Beverly Hills bar with her boyfriend Sutter Canton before she mysteriously disappeared.

She was wearing a black dress with blue heels and people say that they saw her get into a blue Honda with a guy dressed as a clown.

Others say she was drunk and was wandering the streets of Beverly Hills by herself.

If you have seen Blaire or have heard from her, please call or go to the nearest police station. Her family and friends are missing her and they are desperate to get her back...

Written by, Ron Latona. Published November seventh, twenty-sixteen

- P o l i c e R e p o r t -

Name: Blaire Amelia Hawthorn

Age: 17 years old

Caretaker(s): mother; Lilliana Regan Hawthorn.

Date of Birth: 03/13/ 1999

Where does he/she live: Beverly Hills, California. 880 Rocky Hills Rd.

Last place seen: Beverly Hills twenty and under Bar

Appearance: From picture, Blaire has curly dark brown hair. Hazel eyes and a light skin tone.

Height: five feet, seven inches

Weight: one hundred seventeen pounds

Any other notes: She received a letter that her mom found hidden under her bed the night she disappeared. It was addressed to Blaire and sent from someone who signed their name as T.

Written by: Lewis Cass

- B L A I R E -

11.06.16 // 7:23 p.m.

THE SUN IS SLOWLY creeping down the horizon, the orange spectrum lights cascade over Beverly Hills as I get ready for a night out. I tie my hair into a ponytail, catching a glimpse of the strange birthmark that is on my right wrist. Sutter is in love with it, but I think it is hideous.

My long loose curls fall effortlessly down my back. My black dress hugs my body tightly as if it is specially made just for me. My blue stiletto heels sit lonely in the back of the closet due to the fact that I haven't worn them in months. I stand up on my tippy toes and grip the straps of the shoes.

The heels make me three inches taller than I actually am and I feel like I am on top of the world, as I should be. I look at my reflection in the mirror one more time before I leave, making sure I look highly presentable.

My mom isn't at home because she has a business trip in San Francisco and wouldn't be returning until later on tonight, making it easier to sneak out. All I have to do is get past the housekeeper who watches everything closely, like a cat.

I tiptoe down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, but it is quite hard due to these heels that clink loudly against the marble staircase.

Ms. Lucia, the housekeeper since two thousand and five, swoops around the corner of the great room and stares at me intently, making me freeze halfway down the stairs.

"Going somewhere?" She asks, placing her frail hands on her hips. Her round spectacles slip down her nose slowly as she blinks up at me.

"I was just going to meet up with Victoria. Nothing big, just a couple of chick flick movies and popcorn," I lie, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I avoid Ms. Lucia's intense gaze.

"Dressed like that? Do you really expect me to believe you are just going to a friend's house? Your mom told me to keep you on lockdown until she came back."

"My mom doesn't have to know, just please let me go. It's one night," I beg, putting my palms flat against each other in a praying gesture. I bat my eyelashes at her and poke out my bottom lip. Ms. Lucia loses her serious face and breaks out into a small smile.

"Fine, don't tell your mom that I let you go out tonight or I'll be fired. Be back at eleven o'clock sharp or by all means I will hunt you down myself and drag you back here," she warns.

"Thank you," I breathe, visibly relaxing.

That was easy.

I can't help but squeal with excitement and take the rest of the stairs to hug her. She laughs and hugs me back quickly before pulling away.

Germaphobe.

I leave the house, enter the lock code on the iPad next to the door, and breathe in the fresh autumn air. The last few bits of daylight still hang around in the sky, waiting for darkness to crack it open and take over. The air smells of rain and wet trees. The leaves crunch under my feet as I make my way around to the back of my house where Sutter's car is parked.

Sutter is leaning against the passenger side of his car, hands in his pockets and sunglasses on his face, looking his usual handsome self.

"Hello there, beautiful," he says, coming up to me and pulling me in for a long kiss. We are never, ever allowed to show our love for each other around our family, or anyone for that matter.

So at moments like this, when we are finally alone, we are always very... intimate. We've never had sex, mainly because in our family we had to wait until marriage, but it never stopped us from doing other things while we are alone.

I pull away when I start to feel something hard against my hip. Sutter blushes and stares at the ground, reaching up to scratch the back of his red neck.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Stupid hormones." I laugh and duck my head to hide the blush that has crept its way up my neck.

"We should get going before one of the workers catch us," I tell him and he nods, turning around to open the door for me.

I slide into his car and run my hands up and down the smooth leather seat. Sutter's favorite music, anything from classical to jazz, plays faintly from the radio. I hum along to the familiar tune as Sutter gets in and starts up the car.

"Who wrote this?" I ask, referring to the music. Sutter takes a quick glance at the radio before looking back to the road, taking a smooth left turn and cruising down the open street.

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart," Sutter responds in a British accent and I roll my eyes.

"You know this song is Italian, not British," I tease. Sutter shrugs and turns up the radio. He reaches over to rest a hand on my knee, then begins running his hand up and down my thigh, making goosebumps appear wherever his hand trails.

"We don't always have to listen to what our parents say," he whispers seductively. I roll my eyes and push his hand away.

"You know if we ever did that, we would probably be shunned by everyone we know and sent to live in Saudi Arabia or something," I tell him.

"That isn't such a bad place," he says, biting his lip.

"Well, I want to go to Yale and last time I checked, Yale is not in Saudi Arabia." Sutter shrugs and eases into the parking lot of the Beverly Hills twenty-one and underbar.

The fluorescent lights that make up the sign on the top of the building glow brightly with purple and blue. The outside of the club is black and I can already hear the loud music coming from inside.

Sutter pulls the key out of the ignition, gets out of the car, and swoops around to my side to open the door for me. He grabs my hand and tugs me to the entrance.