Amadeo sat motionless on the cold hospital floor, his head buried in his hands. His breathing was shallow, uneven, as he struggled to process what he had just learned. His mind spiraled into chaotic thoughts, each one sharper and more suffocating than the last. For a long moment, the sterile hum of the hospital faded into silence as he replayed the nurse's words in his mind. She left the day before... someone paid her bills... no name on file. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense..
Then, with a shaky exhale, he wiped the tears from his face, forcing himself to his feet. His body ached with every movement, his bandaged head and limbs screaming in protest. But Amadeo didn't care. He turned to the police officer standing nearby, his voice hoarse but resolute. "I want to file a missing complaint."
The officer blinked, momentarily stunned by the raw determination etched across Amadeo's features. "Ye-yeah, of course," the officer stammered. "But we'll need to go to the station for that."
"Okay, then let's go," Amadeo replied without hesitation, his tone leaving no room for argument.
But before the officer could respond, the attending doctor stepped forward, his face lined with concern. "No, you can't leave," the doctor insisted. "You're heavily injured. We need to observe you for at least 48 hours. Moving around in your condition could worsen your injuries—".
"Please!" Amadeo's desperate plea cut through the doctor's reasoning like a knife. "Every
moment matters. Elle is missing, and she's in danger. I can't sit here doing nothing while she's out there... I beg you."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The doctor's resolve faltered.The doctor exchanged a reluctant glance with the officer, both torn between duty and compassion. The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of Amadeo's plea pressing down on them.Finally, with a heavy sigh, the officer nodded. "Alright," he said. "But you'll need to take it slow. We can't risk worsening your condition."
The station was bustling with activity, the murmur of conversations and the clatter of keyboards filling the air. Amadeo sat at a desk, his fingers trembling slightly as he filled out the missing person's report. His pen scratched against the paper, each word feeling like an echo of his desperation. As he wrote Elle's name, his grip tightened, his heart twisting with a mixture of hope and fear.
"Elle Fontaine?" a voice broke through the din, pulling Amadeo from his focus. One of the officers at a nearby desk glanced up from a file, his brow furrowed in confusion. "How many Elle Fontaines are missing today?"
Amadeo froze, his head snapping toward the officer. "How many?" he repeated, his voice sharp and urgent. "How many are there?"
"Well," the officer began, flipping through his notes, "there was another Elle Fontaine reported missing earlier today. Her taxi driver witnessed the kidnapping. He's here, making a sketch of the suspect."
The words hit Amadeo like a physical blow. He stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor as he turned toward the corner of the room where the driver sat with a sketch artist. Without thinking, Amadeo rushed over, pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands.
"Is it her?" he demanded, holding up a photo of Elle on his screen. His voice cracked under the weight of his desperation. "Is this the girl you saw?"
The driver's eyes widened, his expression hardening. "Yeah, yeah, that's her. That's the girl!" he said firmly, his voice rising with certainty. "I saw her being taken!"
The room fell into stunned silence. The officers exchanged incredulous looks, their thoughts racing as the pieces of the case began to collide. This was no longer a simple missing person report—it was a deeply tangled web, and Elle Fontaine was at the center of it.