by Amelia Wilde
Especially because it’s her. And the way she’s going about this is going to cause problems.
That anxiety comes rushing back, not just from what everyone else is wondering, but also from what Chloe has to say.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I ask her again and toss the hand towel onto the steel counter.
“Angie keeps asking me that too,” she mutters beneath her breath. Swallowing thickly, she looks over her shoulder before gripping my forearm and whispering, “I need to talk to you.”
Her pale blue eyes plead with me, sinking deep inside of me like she always does. And for the first time in so long, I wish she wouldn’t.
“Did something happen?” I ask her innocently, every hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I can hear people moving again, going back to their business, but they’re quiet and slow to move. They’re listening to everything.
“Did you see the news?” she asks me, and I stare back at her straight-faced as I shake my head no. I already know what’s coming before she keeps going. It’s only now that I regret going to see her; I invited her to think she could rely on me. She doesn’t know what she’s doing though, and all the shit I’m in right now.
“Tamra Stetson is dead,” she tells me in the barest of whispers as if she’s speaking a sin in the holiest of churches.
She has no idea what she’s doing. She doesn’t know how everyone is watching her. Watching us.
This city will talk, and word spreads like wildfire. That could be dangerous, but I already knew I was fucked. I just can’t risk her going down for this.
“Why don’t we go out back?” The question is really a demand as I grab her elbow. Her gasp is short-lived as she walks quickly beside me and my grip on her tightens. Using my forearm, I shove open the back door and pull her out back. The heat and the sun are blinding for a split second.
There may be no one out here, but there are plenty of people watching. Listening. It’d be naive of me to think that Eddie is the only person keeping tabs on me for Romano. Waiting to hear something they can use against anyone who has anything they could want.
Like her.
Chloe hisses between her teeth as the door closes with a loud clack. “Did you have to be such a dick?” she asks me with a fierceness I fucking love.
She rips her arm away and the action makes her shirt slip off her shoulder, showing me more of her soft skin and the dip in her collar.
The second she sees me looking there, she pulls it back into place.
“You should know better than to come here,” I warn her, keeping my voice low, making sure she hears the threat. She’s reckless, beautifully so, but it’s dangerous. Right now, I can’t have it.
“I need you, and--”
“It can wait,” I cut her off, feeling my heart slam harder. Every time she says those words it does something to me. It rips me apart knowing how badly I want those words to be true and how wrong she is.
“But Tamra--”
“No one gives a fuck about Tamra.” My answer is brutal, and I bite it out quickly, defensively even. Enough that I notice the change in my tone, but she doesn’t.
“You don’t understand, I wrote this list.” She barely gets the words out before shoving half a sheet of paper against my chest. It’s ragged like it was ripped from a spiral notebook and crumpled up before being smoothed out. It looks old as fuck and takes me a moment to recognize what it is.
Seeing the column of names on that piece of paper sends ice through my blood.
“Each in order,” she says, and I hear her swallow before she looks back up at me. “It’s every name in order.”
Amber
Barry
Tamra
Mr. Adler
Dave
Andrea
“I didn’t put last names, but look at them, look at the list.” She doesn’t have to explain it for me to know. “It’s happening right in order,” she continues and struggles to breathe as if every word is suffocating her.
All the recent deaths have taken place according to this list. First Amber, then Barry, and now Tamra. Everyone knows about Jeff Adler. He’d been with Chloe’s mother that night in the bar bathroom. He told the cops he’d heard her screaming but didn’t feel like dealing with her. He’s a piece of shit, always has been.
“Why would you even write this?” I can feel my anger and the tension in my body. The heat that’s running in my blood, but the sight of her changes it as her hands wrap around my hand holding the note.
“Tell me it’s a coincidence,” she begs me with a choked voice. The tears in her eyes linger and she only stares at the paper, rather than returning my gaze that I know she can feel. She struggles to breathe again and then covers her mouth.
When she lifts her eyes to mine, everything in her begs me to answer her with what she wants to hear. “Tell me this is all a coincidence, please. I keep dreaming about them. My mother and…” She trails off, but her regret and remorse are palpable. She shakes her head when I don’t answer, as I stand there stunned by the raw emotion and innocence.
“I’m just going crazy, aren’t I?” she asks me, and I let the tension between us wane. I give her a moment to calm down as she lets out a hard breath of air. “I’m just having these nightmares and--”
“Was there another name?” I ask her, cutting her off, and rub my thumb against where I can feel the indentations from a pencil. Where it’s obvious she put her own name down before erasing it. I know it was there, just beneath Andrea. I know it.
She chooses to go the route she always does with me, she lies, shaking her head and sending her hair swishing around her shoulders.
She grabs the piece of paper, trying to calm herself down and collect her composure.
“I wrote down the names of all the people who I thought deserved to die. I wanted them to die when they said they did nothing to help my mother when they admitted it with no remorse. I wrote it years ago, but just remembered it this morning when I turned on the TV. I was getting breakfast... and…. and suddenly I remembered. And when I saw it...”
The sound of a car backfiring in the distance makes her jump, but then her eyes close as she shakes her head as if admonishing herself. Her eyes open slowly and the pale blues stare at nothing.
“What if someone found this?” she asks although I don’t know if she actually wants me to answer.
“It’s in your hands,” I tell her with strained frustration.
The huff she lets out is short and full of bitterness. Shoving the paper into her purse, she keeps going, keeps letting her emotions get the better of her.
“I’ve literally gone crazy.” She wipes at her eyes although she doesn’t dare cry. “I just don’t understand. It’s three in a row, like a fucking checklist.” The anger comes out before she breathes in deep and says softly, “That’s not a coincidence.”
Spearing her fingers in her hair, she grips onto the roots at her temple. Her shoulders are hunched, and she looks worse now than she did years ago. “It’s not a coincidence,” she says quietly and her voice is shaky.
It looks bad. It looks really fucking bad. I can see why she’d be freaked out, but this isn’t the way she should have handled it.
I can hear her breathe in sharply as I lay a hand on her shoulder, but I make sure to keep my touch gentle, and she slowly melts. Every bit of her is breaking down.
She licks her lower lip and struggles to look me in the eye as she tells me, “Ever since they found him…” She trails off and rolls her eyes although sadness and guilt even, mar her expression.
“Calm down,” I tell her as she takes in a breath. “You’re all right.” I try to pull her in close to me, to be close to her like I was a few nights ago, but she pulls away enough that my hands fall from her.
She looks me in the eyes as she confesses, “Ever since that night, I’ve had these nightmares… My mom…” She takes in a shaky breath.
“You need to sleep and eat and let it all go, Chloe.” I
hold her gaze as I take a step closer to her, willing her to let it go. “People die.”
“They’re being killed,” she replies forcefully, although her bottom lip wobbles. Her eyes dart from me to the door as she takes a half step back. “I dreamed of her last night,” she whispers darkly. “With Tamra. And the others before.”
Letting out a breath, I straighten my back and run a hand through my hair. Behind the butcher’s is a mechanic shop and I stare at a patch of rust on an old beat-up hood as a wind gust blows by and the heat lets up for a moment.
“You didn’t do this,” I tell her without looking at her.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” she says in a sad voice that forces me to look at her. Her doe eyes reach mine. “Truly crazy, Sebastian.”
“You’re scared and searching for meaning where there is none,” I tell her, hoping she’ll just drop it already.
“I don’t know what to think, but it’s not--”
“A coincidence?” I cut her off, staring into her eyes and forcing her to let it go. “It is. That’s all this is.”
Her head wavers with the smallest of shakes and she looks at me bewildered. “But even you said the cops would think--”
“Jesus,” I cut her off again and run a hand down my face. “Is that what got to you?” I ask her, tilting my head and staring at her like she should know better. I can feel my brow furrow as she struggles to come up with an answer.
“Chloe, you can’t be doing this. You need to sleep-”
“I did!” she protests.
“More than one night,” I add. “And you need to eat. You need to take care of yourself and stop worrying about those assholes.”
She lifts her hand up to her shoulder and lets her thumb drag along the collar of her shirt as she looks out onto the mechanic’s shop. “It’s just a coincidence?” she asks me, although it sounds more like a hopeful statement. I wait until her eyes are on me to tell her, “Yeah, you’re just tired, Chlo.”
She holds my gaze for a second and I swear if it had been a second longer, I would have had to look away.
“I’m sorry,” she says with another shake of her head. Biting down on her bottom lip she looks away from me and says, “I didn’t mean to come here and…”
“You definitely shouldn’t have come here,” I tell her with a seriousness that makes her flinch.
“I…” she starts to respond and then corrects herself, “I said I was sorry.” The instant the words slip from her, I can feel her walls start to go up. For a moment I had her, but I’ll be damned, I don’t want to lose it. Not again.
“Come have lunch with me.” I don’t offer her an out or a chance to turn me down. Feeling the heat get to me from the direct sun, I wipe my hand down the back of my neck. “You need to eat anyway.”
“I don’t know that I should,” she tells me although her words come out as if she’s asking a question.
A huff of disbelief leaves me. “So, you think it’s okay to come here and talk to me about people being murdered?” I wait for her eyes to meet mine before I continue. “But going out to lunch is where you draw the line?” I let my expression show a bit of disappointment, even a little sadness. She’s always been a sucker for that.
“I’m sorry.” Her expression shifts to one of sympathy as she says, “I didn’t mean--”
“I know what you meant,” I tell her and splay my hand on the small of her back, giving the shop one more look before guiding Chloe around the building to the front parking lot. “You need to eat.”
7
Chloe
This diner isn’t remarkable, but the food is. I think it’s all the salt they put on everything. They even put it on the pizza.
Even though it’s my favorite place to eat, I’m surprised I was able to eat anything at all.
The fear and paranoia are embarrassing. I’m fucking embarrassed I got so worked up this morning. It’s just… finding that list and the nightmares really got to me. I felt like I was drowning in a childish fear that still has its claws rooted deep in my thoughts.
The fear faded to uneasiness when Sebastian talked me down. Just being around him makes me feel safe and protected. If I could be with him always, I would. Because he settles something deep down inside of me. He makes me crave more. More from life, but also more from him.
A different kind of nervousness took over the moment I got into his car. The soft leather was something I didn’t expect. The hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clearing of Sebastian’s throat were the only noises the entire ride.
This morning, I had to tell someone and he’s my only someone, even if that’s a pathetic truth. I didn’t think twice. He didn’t answer his phone, so I went to where I knew he’d be. It made every bit of sense to me at the time.
Until I slipped into his car and was engulfed in his scent. Until I peeked at him as he drove his car with an air of dominance and authority.
In a room with other people, or even in a room I’m used to being in, Sebastian is still the boy who kissed me. But alone, in his car, something changed. And suddenly I lost my voice along with every thought I ever had, except for the dirty ones that crept up late at night about Sebastian doing more than just kissing me.
Today has been nothing but a series of fucked up thoughts running wild in my head.
“What’s on your mind, Chloe Rose?” His deep, rough voice breaks into my thoughts and I take my time reaching for another fry, carefully taking a bite before answering him.
“Just wondering about how much can change in a single day.”
I can feel the heat rise up my chest and to my cheeks, all the way to my hairline as he leans forward, his broad shoulders stretching out the t-shirt as he tells me, “I would swear you were thinking about something else.”
His steely blue eyes seize all my attention and hold me accountable. I can barely breathe, but he doesn’t need the confirmation. He’s plenty full of himself already, so I simply eat the rest of the fry and shrug. I ignore the butterflies and the desire to push him for more of that teasing side of him. This is the part of his personality I’ve craved, but I don’t want to appear desperate or say something stupid. I don’t want to ruin it. I can barely believe I’m here with him. I don’t even want to think about it for too long; I’m afraid if I do, it’ll all go away.
His cocky half smirk is what makes me look anywhere but at him as I try to remember how I ended up here with him.
Thoughts that I wish I hadn’t tried to return to.
Remembering when my mother died, how I felt the same way. Afraid and paranoid. I felt like no one understood why I was so completely distraught. The mix of emotions never felt right, and I never had any control over them. They hit me relentlessly, like the constant blow of boughs as I was forced to run through trees in a forest. Swiping at me, scratching me, taking me by surprise. I was only a girl, but old enough to remember, old enough to know I could have done something.
“I thought I was done with all this,” I tell him absently.
“How’s that?” Sebastian asks me with his brow furrowed and a look in his eyes that’s compassionate and curious. This is how I imagined he’d look when I read those texts all that time ago. It was only an image conjured in my head because I’d never seen anything of him other than the hard, dangerous boy he wanted everyone to see.
“Do you really want to know?” I question him, the uneasiness returning. He nods his head once and I figure, why not? I have no one to talk to and after this, I’m not sure he’ll even talk to me again. So why not let it all out?
“I thought I was over feeling like this…” Before I can finish, the air conditioner blows across my skin from above me just then, and a flow of goosebumps trails down my arm and shoulders making me wish I hadn’t picked this seat.
“You want to switch spots?” Sebastian asks and again, I’m surprised he would ask me that.
I gently shake my head and try to recall what I was thinking only seconds ago. Before Sebastian dest
royed my thoughts again with a mere five words. He’s good at that.
Clearing my throat, I stare down at the half-eaten pile of fries and remember the gut-wrenching feeling and sickness of what’s to come. The living in fear and agony part. Oh yes, that’s what he took my mind from.
“I thought I’d gotten over this feeling of being in constant state of fear and guilt.” I don’t look at him as I speak this time. If I do, I’m not certain that my mind will stay on course. “Even after you…” I don’t mention what he did, and my gaze almost darts up to meet his eyes, but instead, they fall on his lips. “Even after school let out that year,” I say, choosing to settle on the time rather than the action we both know I’m referring to. “Even then, at night there was this feeling, but it drifted away. And then when my uncle died, I was just angry.” My voice raises at the thought, my breathing coming in faster.
Sitting back into my seat, I look at him and feel as if I should feel ashamed, but I’m not.
“Angry?” he questions.
“Yeah. I was angry. It wasn’t fair that I was stuck here.” Emotions threaten to come up at my admission. I loved my uncle and he’d passed only two years ago, right before I graduated high school. I was old enough to take the shit debt he left behind. “I know it’s not his fault; he wanted better for me…”
I don’t finish that line of thinking. “The point is, I thought I was done with all of this. For the first time in so long, I was fine.”
“You were relying on yourself. So, of course, you were fine.” Sebastian sounds confident in his response, but he doesn’t get it. Parts of me are so thoroughly broken that even the idea I have to rely on myself is horrifying. Rebecca used to say it was understandable after the trauma I’d been through. What she called trauma, I just called my childhood. No wonder I turned to books and writing to help me cope. Getting lost in my stories was a lot more enjoyable than facing reality.