by Ker Dukey
It feels wrong sleeping in my room. The idea that Willis was in here, invading more of my life, makes me want to scream. The toxic fear burrows beneath my skin, terrifying, polluting, claiming. I don’t care what the detective says, it has to be Willis. Everything feels so personal, calculated. Sitting up, I drag my old box between my legs and lift the lid, finding the remnants of my newspaper clippings. The police only took the ones scattered on Lee’s body. Reaching inside, my eyes close. It feels like my world is on fire and I’m choking in the smoke at the center of it all.
The body of missing teenager, Emma Hartley, was found after a grueling, fourteen-day search.
A routine traffic stop ended with a disturbing discovery when an officer, Markus James, pulled over a white Chevy Crusader.
The Chevy Crusader was being driven after dark without lights on.
What was thought to be a routine ticket stop turned out to be the break in a case plaguing the local police and the small town of Hollywell.
The body of the teen was found in the bed of the truck with another victim believed to be missing teen, Tasha Presley but not confirmed due to her age and to protect her identity still alive in the back seat.
The cause of death has not been made public at this time, but the driver, Mr. Langford, is being held on suspicion of abduction, sexual assault, and murder.
It has not yet been made clear whether this death is in anyway connected to the discovery of the body belonging to Jessica Lee found in the marshlands on September 5th.
Shoving the clipping back in the box, I throw myself down on the bed. Banging followed by a gentle humming vibrates through the ceiling, oddly soothing me.
Charlotte is sitting at the small table when I wake up a couple hours later. She looks sheepish as she watches me. “I looked him up,” she announces. “The Willis guy—he kidnapped his son Jack.”
Jack.
I hate Willis’s name on her tongue. She should never have to speak his name, know what he did—know the evil inside him. She turns her laptop to show the news article she’s been looking at.
Amber Alert
Missing
Jack Peters
Age: 8 years old
Height: 4’1
Weight: 68 LBS
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Green
Missing from Portland, TN
Call 1-800-090-FIND
Believed to be in serious danger.
Suspected kidnapping.
Suspect highly dangerous. If seen, do not approach.
“If this is him, Lizzy, you need to tell me everything.” There’s a desperate plea in her voice.
Filling a glass with water, I take the seat opposite her, an ache coursing through me.
“I was there. Willis…” Closing my eyes, I try again. “Willis killed our mothers, then stole my best friend right from in front of me.” I want to swallow the words back as soon as they leave my lips, but also feel like I can take a breath that isn’t crippling.
“Your mom…” she whispers. My mind races with the memory of the last time I saw her.
Crimson liquid all around her. “Mama?”
“She was murdered?” God, it’s painful. Still, after all these years, her memory cuts into me, bleeding me out.
“Damn, Liz, you’ve never spoken about your past before.” She closes her laptop, swiping away a tear. I’ve never told her because we weren’t supposed to be friends. We were thrown together out of circumstance. It made sense to share an apartment and half the rent, but that’s all it was.
“It’s not something I advertise.” I half-laugh, but there’s no humor there, just sadness. Sipping the water, I watch her as she watches me.
“I can stay home tonight. We can have a girl’s night?” she offers.
I don’t do girl’s nights. “No,” I shudder internally. “I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep some more.”
“Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy for you. God, Liz, do you really think this is him?”
Exhaling, I shrug. “Cops say Lee fell.”
“And the girl from your class?”
“Could be a coincidence,” I say, not believing my own words, but not wanting her to be afraid to be around me. I’ve never allowed myself to admit it, but I need her. I think back to the detective mentioning another woman. “Can I borrow your laptop?”
“Of course.” She pushes it toward me, then stands and walks around behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “This shit is why you call out for him in your sleep. I wish you had told me sooner—helped me understand.”
Our tainted history haunts my waking hours as well. Echoes of the pain, the torment, my mother's cries, my silent sorrow. How I wished I could go back and change it all. How I wish I’d never let go of Jack’s hand. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a long time ago, but it’s still painful to think about let alone tell people.” I stroke at the scars on my palms.
“I’m not people, Liz. I’m your best friend,” she murmurs. She’s right, and maybe that’s why it’s so hard to tell her, because in order to allow her to be my best friend, I have to let a piece of Jack go.
“I know. Thank you for sticking by me. I know I’m not easy.”
“Well,…” she winks, “we can’t both be.” I appreciate her lightening the mood even at her own expense. “You want me to ring Jeff and tell him you’re not coming in today?”
Smiling, I shake my head. “No. I want to work. It helps keep me busy.”
Thirteen
Work hours have never gone so slow. The shop is dead, and despite telling Charlotte the opposite, I don’t want to be here. My thoughts keep going back to the search results for suspicious deaths in the past few months. A woman at her own home was found with stab wounds, but that’s all I could uncover. Is she the street worker, or is there more than one?
“Your admirer is back.” Jeff rolls his eyes and points with the pen he’s using to do the crossword from yesterday’s paper. He had offered to give both Charlotte and I a day off after what happened, but insisted he would need to deduct from our wages to pay someone else to cover our shifts if we did. Grade A asshole.
“How do you know about him?” I wipe down the counter, my heart racing.
“Who doesn’t? He’s a weirdo who comes in looking for you.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re calling someone weird?”
“What the hell does that mean?” he grumbles.
Energy races up my spine and tingles over my neck as I follow to where he pointed with his pen. Warmth floods through me. “What do you mean he comes in looking for me?” I ask, letting my hair fall over my face so I can hide the blush creeping over my cheeks.
Grunting, he says, “When you’re not on shift, he doesn’t stay. Weirdo.”
“Anything in there about Lee or Abigail?” I ask, pulling off my apron and jerking my chin to the paper he’s holding to take his focus away from Green Eyes.
“Nothing new. If it is that Hollywell Slayer, I doubt they’ll catch him. He’s been running too long, outsmarting the police this entire time. They probably thought he was dead.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“I’m done,” I tell him, grabbing my coat and purse.
“What, do you want a medal? Bye.” He shoos me away with disinterest. Jerk.
Biting my lip as nerves bounce around my stomach, I walk up to Green Eyes’ table. “Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask straight up with a confidence I don’t usually possess. A heavy silence hangs between us, his gaze on mine with such intensity shining in his eyes, I feel a rush of need pulse through me.
“When you’re ready to hear it,” He swipes out his tongue to dampen his bottom lip. What the hell does that even mean? I give him a couple more seconds. When he doesn’t say more, I turn and leave.
Pulling on my coat, I wrap a scarf around my neck and walk to the door, pushing out into the brisk night air. I see his green eyes on me through the window, but I don’t have time for games. There’s alrea
dy someone out there moving me around a board.
When I get to our apartment building, it takes me a few seconds to be able to go inside, Lee’s death plagues me, haunting the stairway. Just breathe. One, two, three…
Racing up the stairs as fast as I can, I barge into our apartment like the devil is chasing me. “Charlotte,” I call out.
“In my room,” she calls back.
My stomach rumbles, and I curse myself for not grabbing a snack from work. I have around nine dollars to my name and a bag full of laundry that needs washed.
“The front door was unlocked.”
“Was it?” She grimaces. “Oops.”
Oops? Fuck.
“Do you need anything washed?” I huff out as she continues holding up different dresses against her body, undecided on which one to wear.
Sniggering, she says, “My soul?” She’s in good spirits, which is a relief. I’d worried the trauma was going to change her in some way. Like it has me. But nope, still leaving the door unlocked and her legs open. Guilt for my thoughts hits me immediately. She has her way of dealing, and I have mine—avoidance.
“How was your day?” I ask, moving around the apartment, collecting up the laundry.
“I didn’t lock myself in my room all day if that’s what you’re asking.” She winks.
“So better than mine?” I smile, looking briefly to the neighbor's window. Who will feed her cats now that Lee is gone? “Do you want to come with me to do laundry?”
“Oh, as appealing as that sounds, I’m going to pass.” She pulls a duh face.
“Lock the door behind me,” I warn her.
“I have someone coming over.”
I spin, dropping the laundry bag to glare at her, my mouth unhinged. “From that dating app?” My tone is accusatory and nasty. I shake my head and try to sound less judgey, “I don’t think we should be inviting people we don’t know over right now, Char.”
“I do know him.” She pouts.
“Who is it?” I raise a brow.
“A friend.” She narrows her gaze on me.
“What’s his name?”
“Tim.”
“Tim what?”
Huffing, she opens the door, picks up my laundry bag, and shoves it against my chest. “Bye, Liz.”
I look around and see I’m alone.
The machines whirr and slosh the clothes around, and my heart begins to pound to the hum of the drum. It’s so dead on the streets, it’s almost eerie, like I stepped into a horror movie and Pennywise is going to appear from one of the washers not in use. I should have waited and forced Charlotte to come with me, but I’m running out of clean underwear and her rule of turning them inside out is just not something I can get on board with.
Checking my phone, I hover my finger over Stephan’s name but decide against calling him. He’s already done enough. I can’t just use him for rides when I have no desire to invite him up to the apartment and indulge in small talk. The door squeals open, nearly giving me a heart attack. Placing a hand to my chest, I suck in a breath. Green Eyes stop in the entryway, his brow dropping. “Hey?” he says, a question in his tone. Can this be a coincidence?
“What are you doing here?” I spew out.
Pointing behind me to the lost property box, he says, “I think I left my keys here earlier today.”
My pulse roars in my ear as he walks toward me. A mix of excitement and fear washes through me at his approach, an undeniable pull, but also a neon warning sign flashing in my mind. There’s a killer out there. Willis or someone else?
Picking up the lost property box, he roots around, then holds up a set of keys, amusement lifting his plump lips into a lopsided smile. He’s so beautiful. “I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.” He jerks his shoulder. “You here alone?” he adds, looking around the empty shop.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“It’s a public building. Technically, anyone can just come in,” I remind him defensively, a phantom weight sitting on my chest.
Taking a step toward me forces me to take a step back. Pain etches into his features. “Are you afraid of me?”
“I don’t know you.” I rush out, even though my mind screams, “Yes, you do.” The atmosphere thickens around us, stealing my composure.
“That’s not true, and I think you know that.” His words are said with such intensity and emotion, tears spring in my eyes. My heartbeat becomes erratic, making my head spin. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice a raspy tone that delights me in parts that haven’t been touched in a really long time. Is this normal? To feel such a quick connection with someone and fear them all in the same breath?
“I was just wondering why I haven’t seen you around before, and then suddenly, you’re everywhere I look.”
He appears taken aback by that statement and furrows his brow. “I haven’t lived here long. I actually came here for work.”
“Oh,” I breathe, feeling guilty for bringing it up and stupid for acting like a frigid, scared freak. Maybe it is purely coincidental.
A beeper signals the dryer has finished its cycle. He jumps forward to help me unload the clothes into my bag, and I redden when he pulls out a pair of my panties. It doesn’t affect him, or if it does, he doesn’t show it. He just attempts to fold them, and I turn eight shades of red. When the machine is empty, he picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”
“No, it’s fine.” I drop my eyes to the ground, feeling stupid for not wanting to let him walk me home. No matter how much lustful madness is coursing through me, he’s still a stranger. Is he? I take the bag and half-heartedly wave goodbye, pushing out into the night air. Shivering, I sigh. It’s colder than it was earlier. I’m regretting my choice of clothes. This jacket is too thin for this weather. The door opens again behind me. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you? It’s not really safe to be walking around on your own.”
“I’m aware of that, but I’ll be fine, thank you.” I shake my head, knowing I’m being foolish, and begin the walk home with the moonlight for company.
My footfalls tap against the concrete, and I try to ignore the shadows seeping out from every alley and doorway. I should have taken him up on his offer, but what if something like what happened with Lee happens to him because of me? I can’t live with more blood on my hands. I’m not safe to be around. The darkness around me suddenly closes in. I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I hate Willis for making me afraid again. It took a long time to learn to breathe again after everything that happened. My aunt tried to lead me into the light, but she was as trapped in the darkness as I was. She lost Mom too.
Soft pellets of rain begin to patter down on me, and I cuss under my breath. Every movement sends my heart skittering when I start to think about the girl who was murdered and how much she resembled me, the figure watching us from our own apartment window when we went to check on the neighbor. I wonder if the cats are hungry, if they have enough to see them through until their owner comes home.
I detour from my route, hurrying toward a nearby shop, the florescent lights offering safety from the darkness outside. Counting my change, I cringe. Nearly two dollars. I find the cheap tuna on the back of a shelf and huddle to the checkout.
When I make it to the apartment building Lee will never return to, sickness churns my stomach. Asking Charlotte to come with me is a no go, so I guess it’s on me.
Trying the handle, my heart skips seeing the latch broken. Anyone can just walk right inside this building. Nerves jump around inside me like grasshoppers. What if her apartment door has been locked now? I reach Lee’s floor, my heart racing. What will the woman think when she comes home to learn Lee’s dead? My teeth sink into my bottom lip, piercing the skin and drawing blood when I see her door ajar. Is she home? Should I knock? Raising my hand, I go to rap my knuckles, but the door gives way, opening up. A silhouette stands there, a crooked brow frowning at me. “Lizzy?”
“Detective Hernandez,” I breathe,
clutching the strap of my laundry bag.
“What are you doing here?” we say in unison. I hold the can of tuna and shrug. Opening it, I place it down by the door. “I was worried about the cats. Lee, the man who died, was supposed to be checking in to feed them.”
“Right.” He nods. “I’ll call animal control.”
“Why? Isn’t the woman who lives here going to be home soon?”
He looks over his shoulder into the apartment, then steps out onto the landing, pulling the door closed. “Actually, we’re having trouble locating her.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“I thought she was away on a business trip?” Is it getting hot? My cheeks burn as my head swirls.
“Supposedly, but the hotel she booked doesn’t have it on their system that she ever checked in.”
Why is he being so forthcoming with information? “Do you think something happened to her?”
“I’m hoping not.”
My mind races. “What about the blood? On the petal.”
“I was going to come to see you about that. The sample came back with a match.”
Wow, this is it. It’s Willis. I know it.
“Who?” I say forcefully, refraining from reaching out and shaking him for the answer.
“You,” he says, studying me for a reaction.
Gasping, I step back, darkness closing in, threatening to consume. What? It can’t be. “How?” He reaches for my hand, turning my palm up. Tiny scabs litter my flesh from me re-opening old scars over and over. I have to go. I tug my hand free and run down the stairs, spilling into the street, almost falling to the ground. I still, grasping for air. Something moves behind me, so I dart toward my building without looking to see who or what it is. Only feet from my building, I break into a stride and grab the handle as my heart warns it’s about to burst from my chest. Someone reaches out for the handle at the same time, and I screech, spinning to face them with my hands out in a defensive manner, the laundry bag still in my grip. Green Eyes? What the hell? He steps back and holds his hands up in surrender. My nerves are fried, and my heart is in my mouth. “Are you following me?” I accuse, my breath ragged.