by Amelia Wilde
“Officer Harold,” I answer him in a monotone and slip the phone into my pocket. I just got in and didn’t see his car in the lot. But I didn’t check for it either. I didn’t do anything except worry about leaving Chloe Rose alone in that house. She’s getting to me even worse than she did back in high school.
All I can do is think about her, and that’s a mistake. For both of us.
“What can I do for you?” I ask him as I walk out of the back and head straight toward him. As I cross my arms, I make a mental note of who all’s in here. Eddie’s behind the front counter and watching everything, although he’s pretending to go through the weekly invoices. I don’t know why he bothers putting up a front. Officer Harold is in Romano’s back pocket and Eddie knows that. As does everyone else who’s working in the back.
So that means Romano sent him, or this is a test.
Either way, I don’t care for it. Other than Eddie, I don’t think anyone else is here yet. Which could be bad news for Eddie if this goes south.
“Have you heard about the recent killing spree?” he asks me and gestures to one of the two small tables in this place. They’re circular with peeling, flaking vinyl on the top and thin metal legs that match the rickety chairs. They’re dated and not meant to keep people wanting to stay. Most of the people who come in here pick up their packages and leave. Those who decide they want to hang around often change their minds as quickly as they can sit their asses down in these spindly seats.
“Killings?” I question him like I haven’t thought much about it. The sound of the metal feet of the chair dragging across the floor makes Eddie cringe as he peeks up from scratching his pencil on the notepad. “I know Tamra Stetson was shot and killed, I heard about that the other day.”
“Tamra and before her, Barry Jones, a few days before him a girl named Amber Talbott was found dead.” Officer Harold doesn’t sit like I do. Instead, he remains standing. Fucking prick.
I push back the chair and spread my legs wide as I sit back and shrug. “I only know what you know,” I offer him, and he gives me a smug smirk.
“And what is it that you think I know?” he taunts me, sucking his teeth and keeping his back to Eddie. Eddie doesn’t hide the fact he’s watching.
Again, I shrug and say, “Whatever’s in the paper and on the news.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Not a sound from anything. Not the air conditioner, not the cars outside. Nothing as he watches me, looking over my expression. I keep it easy and relaxed. It’s something I worked hard to accomplish. You never let them see a damn thing from you. Carter said his dad taught him that once. That you don’t give anyone anything. It’s the one thing Carter taught me that’s helped me survive longer than I would have otherwise.
“And what about your girl, Chloe?” Officer Harold asks me, and Eddie stops jotting on his pad. The scratching of the pencil halts and my heart pounds heaviy. I can feel my lips twitching on my face to pull down into a scowl and the need for my forehead to show a sharp crease.
I want to rip out his throat for even mentioning her name. I wish I could see her right now. That I could see she’s safe and ensure they’ll leave her out of this. Adrenaline pumps hard in my blood knowing she’s involved now, but she did that to herself when she came here. Fuck, I wish I could take it back.
I can protect her though. I will protect her; I’ll make this right.
“Chloe Rose?” I say her name and force my face to soften, to stay casual wondering how the best way to play this would be. I rub the stubble on my chin and look past him. “What about her?”
“Why did you go to see her?” he asks me. Anxiety races through me. She’s always flown under the radar. Gorgeous and tempting, but no one’s paid her any mind. No one wants to deal with the sad girl who’s stuck here with no one and nothing. Now she’s a person of interest, all because of me.
“She came to see me,” I correct him.
“That’s not what I heard.” My pulse pounds at my temples. And again, I struggle to keep my composure. I feel my throat get tight as I swallow.
Letting out a low sigh, I exaggerate. “A few nights ago, she was walking home.” I meet his eyes to add, “Alone. And the streetlight went out. Spooked her some.”
His eyes stay hard as I sniff and shrug my shoulders. “She wanted some company. I checked out her place. I don’t know if you know this, officer, but someone broke into her house a while back.”
His eyes narrow; I know damn well that he knows what I did. I had to tell Romano, who tells Officer Harold when he doesn’t have to go searching for a killer. Problem is, Romano doesn’t know who’s doing these killings. Romano should know if I had something to do with it, I’d tell him. The fact that Officer Harold is here is telling. The uneasiness flows through me the more I think about it.
I shrug. “I guess she liked that I was willing to give her some company.” I tilt my hips up some, implying a little more happened. “I liked it too.”
“So, this has nothing to do with Tamra Stetson or the killing spree?” he asks me and sucks his teeth again, but his demeanor has changed. No longer on the attack, instead he’s desperate for a lead.
“It’s freaking Chloe out some, being alone and watching these girls turning up dead… which is only helping me get laid. But I don’t know shit that could help you.”
“Just to clarify.” The good officer puts both hands on the table and leans forward, getting so close I can see where he nicked his chin when he was shaving. “For everyone,” he adds, although the heavy implication is that Romano will hear about whatever I say. I already know that though. This little visit was obviously triggered by Chloe running in here the other day. I know damn well that Romano doesn’t know shit, and neither does this prick.
“Whatever you want to know,” I say and stare him dead in his eyes, feeling the tension rise.
“You don’t know anything?” His eyes search mine as I answer him, “Not a damn thing.”
My heart beats chaotically and I swear if he could hear, he’d know I’m lying.
Sniffing and standing straight, Harold fixes his shirt, tucking it back in. “If you hear anything…” he says even though he’s already walking out. With his back to me, he doesn’t bother to give any parting words. Only the sound of the bells bids him farewell.
“What’s up his ass?” I ask Eddie even though my eyes are on the glass door as it closes behind him.
After a moment with no response, I look over at Eddie, but he’s already gone. The notepad remains on the counter, the top piece ripped off.
There are enemies everywhere. Every step of the way.
The deeper I get with Romano, the less likely it is I’ll ever have a chance to leave.
11
Chloe
They feel so real. That’s why I can’t shake them.
The nightmares are something I was used to when I hadn’t come to terms with the reality.
My mother’s gone.
She died years ago.
I remind myself once again and blow across the top of the full cup of tea in my hands, but it’s no longer hot, it’s barely lukewarm. I’ve only just now realized I must have been holding it for a while without even taking a single sip. I’m slow to set the cup down on the end table and then reach for the blanket. My fingers grip on to the soft woven fabric like it can save me. Just as I used to think when I was a child.
My mother’s gone.
She died years ago.
It was hard to say the words back then, but I have to keep saying them now.
Not because I don’t believe them, but because every time I fall asleep now, she’s there, haunting me and saying things that scare me. Things she knows would put true fear into my heart. She’s reminding me of memories I’ve long buried.
She’s angry and wants revenge for what happened. I can feel it. Her killer joining her six feet in the dirt isn’t enough justice. She’s starved for more. A taste of his blood wasn’t enough.
When I wake up breat
hless and terrified by how realistic the dreams are, I can feel the weight of her hand gripping my arm, but no sane person would believe me. I would just sound crazy.
I’m going crazy. I know that’s what they’d say and as I pull my knees into my chest on the sofa, I struggle to deny it. I’m fucking insane.
All I can think, is that whatever Sebastian gave me is fucking with my head. I can’t sleep without seeing her, without feeling her. I swear the scratch on the back of my neck is from her.
I don’t want to go to sleep. I only took the sweets, as Sebastian calls it, that one time, but I’ve been so fucked up since then. Although, so much more has happened since then too.
My fingers press into my tired eyes, feeling the burning need to sleep and I remember how I woke up last night, sweating, crying, my throat raw as if I’d been screaming. I prayed like I’d never prayed before and when I whispered for someone to help me, I felt the coldness of her presence. As the chill traveled up my spine, I swear I heard my mother whisper, “I am.”
A sudden knock at the door has my heart galloping in my chest. Two days of not sleeping but also not knowing what to do has left me jolting at every sudden sound.
“Chlo,” I hear Sebastian’s voice call out through the front door and he knocks again as he says, “Open up.”
Just hearing his voice is calming, and I easily swing my legs down and listen to my bare feet pad across the floor as I go to unlock the door and let him in.
I swing open the door without even looking in the small mirror in the hall to see if I look presentable. I’m sure I look like hell, and I wouldn’t keep him waiting, so it doesn’t matter anyway.
With his hand still raised to knock again, we both stand there for a moment, waiting for the other to say something. I swallow thickly, feeling the nervousness rise up again. He’s never taken so long to say anything before.
“You look like you’re ready for me to drag you to bed,” he finally tells me and then steps inside, not waiting for me to invite him in.
“If you’re lucky, I’d let you.” I try to make it sound like a joke, but at this point, I would. “I feel like I’m going to fall over,” I tell him groggily and turn my back on him to saunter back to the living room, but he grabs my wrist as he kicks the door shut behind him.
It closes with a click.
“What?” I ask him, staring pointedly where his fingers are wrapped possessively around my wrist. “I wasn’t serious. You aren’t dragging me anywhere.”
Keeping my face deadpan, he cracks a smile and then I mirror his, a small simper of a smile, but it doesn’t reflect anything that I feel.
“You okay?” he asks me.
Blowing a lock of hair away from my face and straightening the strap of the tank top on my shoulder I nod and ask, “What’s going on?” No matter how much I want to tell someone about my nightmares, I refuse to speak the words out loud. It would only make me sound unhinged.
“The cops wanted to know why I came to see you.”
Cops. That was the last thing I wanted to hear. My stomach drops, as does my gaze and I pick under my nails to distract myself.
“How would they even know?” I ask him without thinking, but if I’d just let it sink in for one second, I’d know better. Everyone here is crooked, everyone knows everything. It was the only good advice my mother ever gave me. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be all right.
“Ignore me,” I tell him absently and rub the tiredness from my eyes as I walk to the sofa. I plunk back down into my cozy seat and pull the throw blanket around me again.
When I peek up at Sebastian, he’s eyeing me with a look I can’t place. “What did you tell them?” I ask him to get the attention away from me.
“Well, I had to tell a white lie.”
“What did you say?” I whisper and fight off the yawn that threatens.
“I told them you meant something to me and I was just checking in on you.”
It’s quiet for a moment as I take in his words. I have to remind myself of what he said. Me meaning anything to him is a white lie. The thought makes my fingers ball into a fist under the blanket.
“Okay,” is all I give him as I sit there, with my neck craned so I can stare up at him as he stands in front of me.
“And now they think we may be a thing.” His eyes assess me, and if I wasn’t so tired, I would blush, practically ignite like I’ve done before. But right now, all I can think is how he said it was a white lie.
I almost ask him what a white lie means, so he can tell me to my face in blunt terms that I don’t mean anything to him. Instead, I just ignore it all and focus on a pounding ache that grows in my temple.
“What’s in that stuff you gave me?” I ask him a question that’s been nagging at the back of my head.
“Nothing serious.” His forehead creases as he answers me. “Why?”
“It feels serious to me,” I tell him. although my heart beats rapidly, begging me not to push him away with my insanity.
The moment passes, and with the silence, the tension grows.
“What happened?” he asks me. “Are you sick?” The concern in his voice is so genuine that I nearly tell him to be careful, that everyone will see that I mean something to him. But the spite and jabs from his white lie comment mean nothing to me right now.
He’s here. He’s listening to me. Whether he realizes it or not, I know I mean something to him. So, I couldn’t care less if that’s what the cops think. I couldn’t care less about people running their mouths or any of that right now.
There’s only one thing haunting me at this moment.
“I’m just…” I trail off and swallow thickly, burying the words in my throat.
“When’s the last time you took it?” he pushes for more information as he takes the seat next to me, making the old sofa groan with his weight. He sits closer to me than I sat to him last time. He’s so close, I can still feel that heat that lingers on his shirt from the summer sun.
“I only took it the one night.” I look up into his steely blue eyes and watch the grey flecks mesmerize me as I add, “The night I texted you.”
“You’re supposed to take it every night, Chlo. It doesn’t stay in your system for long.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him quickly. “Because it feels like it’s still in my system.”
The sofa protests as I readjust in my seat to face him more and he asks, “Have you been sleeping?”
I only nod with a small frown gracing my lips as my chest tightens with worry. “I don’t want to though,” I whisper the confession.
“Chlo,” he scolds me, immediately running the middle finger and thumb of his right hand down his temples. His large hand covers his eyes as he does it.
“Don’t do that,” I bite back, not hiding the sadness and disappointment at his reaction. “I’m not a child and I’m not okay.” Although my voice wavers, I say the words as strongly as I can.
He lets out a heavy breath as his hand drops to his side and my eyes plead with him to understand.
“I’m afraid. I’m dreaming these things...” I gulp down the confession and settle on a simple truth as I conclude, “and it’s not okay. I think it’s what you gave me.”
“You think the sweets has something to do with what you’re dreaming about?” he asks me, and I can only nod with a tension in my stomach that threatens to make me sick. “Tell me,” he says, and his command is soft and comforting. As if confiding in him will make it all go away. “Tell me what’s got you worked up like this.”
“It’s my mother,” I tell him and struggle to confess to him that every time I drift to sleep, I relive the hell that existed before she died. Every memory I’ve shut away and buried with her is back. “I feel crazy because the nightmares are so real.” I can feel myself breaking down and the moment Sebastian notices, both of his hands are on me. One on my thigh, rubbing back and forth and the other on my shoulder. I’m in a sleep shirt that comes down to my knees, my legs covered by the blanket.
His right hand though is touching my bare skin. The rough pad of his thumb rubs soothing circles against my collarbone and I lean into it. I’ve never felt the need to be touched so gently before. The need to be held.
If I had even a hint that he’d still respect me after, I’d climb into his lap right now.
“It’s all right.” His voice is strong, but also frustrated and it reminds me of that day back in high school. He’s barely keeping it together as he takes me in.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to do other than apologize. “I don’t want to be this way,” I plead with him to understand. “I think when I drank the--”
“It’s not the sweets. It’s what’s going on around us. This shit is bringing up old memories. The drug is just a knockoff pharmaceutical. Most people don’t even know about it. It’s like any other sleep med, Chlo. A friend gave it to me to sell, but no one buys sleep meds off the street.”
“You don’t understand,” I tell him.
“Make me understand.”
I think long and hard about exactly how to explain it. It’s not an old memory. These terrors are so real and lifelike, they don’t leave me when I wake up. “I’m scared,” is all I can say, and the confession comes out as a whisper.
“I want you to come spend the night with me,” Sebastian speaks like it’s a request, but it’s not. I can hear it in his voice and along with the shock is something else.
Desperation.
I can’t move, thinking I’ve misheard him. All I can do is stare into his eyes and listen to every single beat of my heart.
“It’s in my best interest to keep an eye on you,” he tells me slowly and then licks his lower lip. It’s slow and sensual but there’s something else there like he can’t quite figure something out. “You look like you could use some company. It’ll do us both good.”